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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

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All Men Have Limits - X

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 4,100+

Previously on…

The next three days were one of the darkest periods of Dick Grayson’s life.

He was thrown back into the past to the moments after his parents were murdered. This felt the same but somehow worse. Because he was convinced he had the power to stop it, to keep Y/N safe.

Why did everyone he love have to die?

Was he cursed?

Was he responsible for their deaths?

He hadn’t even been able to tell Y/N how he really felt. He’d been holding back all this time, terrified that his truth would just push her away and make her decide to close off from him.

Now Dick wished he could go back in time and confess everything to her. If she had pushed him away, he would found his way back to her somehow. He sees that now – now that it’s too late.

He looked at Y/N sleeping peacefully in her bed at the manor.

Is it a miracle if conjuring was used to fight back at fate?

Dick doesn’t even remember what he said when he contacted Zatanna. He must’ve sounded hysterical and utterly desperate. His vision had been blurred from the tears he couldn’t control.

He already blacked the whole thing out.

Zatanna told them that Y/N would sleep for a few days. Even if her magic saved her life and Y/N wouldn’t even have a scar to prove she had died, her body was still exhausted from the trauma of it all.

But even with Zatanna’s reassurance, Dick hadn’t left Y/N’s side, absolutely terrified that she was still in danger, that she could still leave them forever.

When Y/N started to shift, Dick sat up straighter in the chair that he’d pulled close to her bed.

Y/N winced before her eyes fluttered open.

Dick didn’t want to overwhelm her, so he just waited for her to fully wake up.

Y/N seemed confused when she realized that she was back in her room at the manor.

Then her gaze moved to Dick.

“Bruce, is he–”

“He’s fine,” Dick cut her off before she could get herself into a panic.

Her entire body relaxed and she let out the breath she was holding in without realizing it.

“He has a concussion and he’s a little beat up. But he’s had worse,” Dick elaborated.

She raised a brow. “You tend to say that a lot.”

Dick shrugged.

But it was true: Bruce had been in much worse condition.

“You saved his life, Y/N.”

She seemed uncomfortable hearing that and didn’t meet his gaze.

“I did what anyone would’ve done,” Y/N mumbled.

“Not everyone would be that brave.”

A silence settled between them for a few moments.

“How am I here?” Y/N finally asked Dick quietly.

But they both knew she was really asking, ‘How am I alive?’

“I’m not sure you really want to know all the details…” Dick had been dreading this conversation.

“I’m assuming you called in another favor with your magic friend,” Y/N thought aloud.

“Zatanna,” Dick confirmed. “And, yes. Something like that.”

Y/N gave him a look that told him she wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

“She used a spell that reversed your injuries. She…” Dick had to pause and clear his throat and get rid of his emotions that were threatening to spill. “She used your blood to write a spell, making it far stronger than most she’s cast. It saved your life.”

Y/N watched him for a moment.

“That must’ve been scary,” she whispered, truly understanding what she had put him through.

She simply could not imagine had it been the other way around. The idea of watching Dick die was something she hoped to never live through.

“He hadn’t left your side until Alfred basically secretly drugged him and scared him to get his own bedroom.”

Y/N moved to get out of bed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dick panicked as she stood up to stop her.

“I feel…” she thought about it for a moment.

“Like you were stabbed to death?” Dick offered darkly.

“No. I feel…I feel fine.”

He could tell she was telling the truth.

“Perks of magically being healed?” She offered innocently.

“Guess so.”

She moved out of the bed and realized she was wearing cotton shorts and a baggy t-shirt that she most definitely didn’t die in.

What had happened while she was asleep? How long was she dead?

Y/N went to the window and looked out at the grounds of Wayne Manor.

“What happened when the cops showed up?” She asked quietly, almost in a daze.

“You’d have to ask Tim for details. I was preoccupied with…” Dick’s words died out.

Y/N turned away from the window to look at him.

She may have survived, but that was never going to make talking about that night any easier for him.

Luckily, she understood what Dick couldn’t put into words.

Dick took in a deep breath and crossed his arms, “We got them, Y/N.”

It almost seemed to good to be true. They’d been at this for months. It took them weeks just to plan their final blow.

Y/N didn’t realize how hard it would be to believe that it was truly over.

It didn’t help that there was no returning to her old life. Too much had changed.

“With the evidence you gave the FBI, there’s not a lawyer in the world that can save them. Even if a member’s hands aren’t dirty, the public shame will be enough to neutralize them for good,” Dick added with a bit of optimism.

But he could tell by Y/N’s face that she was having trouble accepting the truth.

He took a step toward her.

“If there’s members of The Court that slipped out from underneath us, if any of them try to come after you, it’ll just prove to the world that The Court of Owls is still operating. And exposing that will be the last thing they’ll want.”

She tried to force a small smile and nod, but it was unconvincing.

Dick closed the space between them and grabbed her hands.

“Y/N, you did it.”

“It’s really over,” she whispered, staring into his deep blue eyes.

He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.

Then Dick’s focus shifted. He looked her up and down. “Y/N, you should really get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N sighed. “I think I’m gonna take a shower.” She smirked, “Get all that death off me.”

Dick frowned. “Not funny.”

“Jason would think it’s funny,” Y/N teased as she walked to the bathroom.

He playfully glared at her. “I’ll give you some space. But I’ll be down in the cave if you need me.”

Dick only got a few steps before Y/N called his name as if she’d forgotten something and rushed to him.

He looked at her expectantly.

Y/N stepped forward and locked her arms around Dick and buried her face into his shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as his hands rubbed her back soothingly and he pulled her closer.

Dick wanted to tell Y/N that she didn’t have to thank him. He saved her life and he would do it again and again and again, and he would never expect gratitude for it. Because Dick knew that it was just as much for him as it was for her.

So instead he just held her in silence and felt the warmth from her body – the same body that had been ice cold and lifeless just days before.

When they finally pulled away, Dick was studying her face to make sure she was alright to be left alone.

He gave her one last look before leaving her.

Y/N took her time in the shower, making the water as hot as her skin would allow without giving it burns. There wasn’t a single bruise or cut on her. Her fingers traced over the place on her abdomen where the katana had been shoved through.

There was nothing.

She wondered if there was a price to pay for such magic. Would she be held accountable? Or would it be Dick’s friend who faced the consequences?

Y/N didn’t know how long she’d been showering, but when she finally walked out, the bathroom was filled with too much steam.

She quickly put on sweatpants and a t-shirt when her stomach started growling. She couldn’t even remember when her last meal had been.

Y/N moved to her door after deciding that going straight to the kitchen was quite necessary.

But she stopped as she heard footsteps walking past her room in the hall.

She froze, thinking it was Bruce.

What would she say to him? Would he be angry with her? Would he not react at all to her resurrection? What would hurt her more between the two?

But it wasn’t Bruce.

Tim and Damian were walking down the hallway.

“How much longer do you think he’ll stay?” She heard Damian ask.

“I don’t know. I heard the Titans have been bugging him to come back,” Tim answered. “I’m sure Kori misses him and has been texting.”

Damian just hummed in acknowledgment.

Y/N realized her hand was suspended over the doorknob.

And she had a realization: she was safe to leave.

But more importantly, she wasn’t the only one that could return to their “normal” life: so could Dick, so could everyone else in the family.

Soon, Tim would go back to his condo in the city. Jason would stop working so closely with the family he tried to disown and he’d probably stop coming around manor so often – if ever. And Bruce…Bruce would move on to new cases and return to the usual patrolling.

Y/N turned and looked at the bedroom that had become her new home in the past few months. Her personality was nowhere to be found inside. It wasn't actually hers. She was just one of its many visitors.

Y/N grabbed her duffle bag from underneath the queen-sized bed and started throwing her belongings into it.

Ten minutes later, Y/N had her jacket and shows on, and all of her belongings were packed in her bag.

She still had to deal with all her equipment that was sitting in the cave. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with it. She needed to leave – before she changed her mind.

Y/N was just yards from the front door when she heard his voice.

“Y/N?” Dick asked just loud enough to catch her.

She froze in place.

While her back was still to him, she closed her eyes in grievance from the failure of being spotted.

She slowly turned around.

“You trying to sneak out of here?” Dick asked.

It was meant to sound teasing, but she heard his disappointment loud and clear.

“It’s about time I get out of your hair.”

“We’re not exactly kicking you out…” Dick tried to joke.

“You said so yourself: it’s safe for me now.” She sighed and walked closer to him. “Look, I just…I need some time alone.”

Dick took it a bit too personally. Were they really that exhausting to be around? He thought she had started to see them as her own family. He thought things were OK.

“At least let me drive you,” he offered quietly.

“I called a cab. It’s waiting for me outside.”

Before Dick could say anything else, she quickly turned and made her escape.

Y/N knew what she was scared of. She was scared he’d tell her he was leaving Gotham now that the case had been solved. But she was even more scared that he’d tell her he was staying.

She wasn’t ready to deal with either scenario.

So, Y/N did what she did best: she ran.

————————

Y/N stared at the wall of her safe house.

The silence that she had once grown used to long ago was now irritating.

Y/N hadn’t realized how accustomed she had become to the chaos of Wayne Manor until she had torn herself away from it. Even when it was quiet there, she could feel the presence of everyone.

Now she was left only to her thoughts.

And just she was about to escape the silence and go grab food at a nearby diner, there was a knock on the door.

Y/N knew for a fact that this safe-house hadn’t be blown yet – and that included with the Wayne family. It was exactly why she chose to come here instead of the one where Bruce first found her and dragged her to Wayne Manor for her own safety.

Which was why Y/N grabbed one of her guns and checked to make sure it was loaded and the safety was off before she tiptoed to the door.

She looked through the peep hole and her stomach twisted when she saw Bruce Wayne was on the other side.

She knew he could sense her presence on the other side, and there was no hiding. So she opened the door quickly.

Bruce eyed the gun in her hand. “This has become a habit of yours.”

Y/N ignored his comment, uncocked the gun, and carefully placed it on a table near the door.

When she was finally able to take Bruce in, she noted that his face was covered in bruises and small cuts. To be honest, Y/N expected more damage after being a witness to his near-death beating.

“May I come in?” Bruce asked softly.

She blinked rapidly, realizing she had yet to invite him inside.

This was all reminiscent of that night.

And Y/N didn’t appreciate the memories and feelings Bruce was stirring up.

An awkward silence settled between them. The silence of her apartment was doing nothing to help.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N knew the question was sincere, but Bruce still managed to ask it without showing any ounce of emotion – as if he wasn’t personally invested in the matter.

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly. Her eyes softened. “Are you okay?”

He simply nodded.

Silence again.

“You can never do that again,” Bruce declared.

“Do what?”

“You risked your life to save mine. The boys refused to tell me what happened, but I saw the footage. You threw yourself in front of me.”

Y/N remained calm as she said, “You did the same for me.”

Bruce shook his head. Because they both knew it wasn’t the same thing.

The truth was that Bruce woke up to find Dick crying over Y/N’s dead body. And then a few minutes he had watched as Dick begged Zatanna to help him.

And Bruce? Bruce had been unconscious when Y/N had needed him the most.

He had protected her all these months – with his own family and his own home – just to be useless in her final moment of need.

When Bruce finally woke up recovered to find out that Y/N had fled the manor, he knew he needed to go to her. He needed to make sure she never did something so stupid as risking her life to save him.

But now Bruce stood before her and he knew he needed to tell her so much more than just that.

“What are you doing here, Bruce? Did you just plan on lecturing me again?”

But Bruce wasn’t realized he couldn’t use any words tonight.

Ever so slowly, he stepped into her space, putting less and less space between their bodies. Y/N could feel the heat coming from him. And she sucked in a gasp from his proximity. She breathed in his cologne that she’d grown to love so much that it instantly relaxed her.

Her heart beat faster and faster as his eyes shifted down to her lips, hesitating in a way that was excruciating to Y/N. But it gave her time to resist, to allow her to shut this down before it could continue.

But Y/N didn’t want to do that.

Bruce brushed her hair away from her face, then his hands shifted slightly to cup her face. His touch wasn’t soft, but insistent.

He pressed his lips to Y/Ns. Brisk and determined.

The tension finally snapped and pushed them to a passionate kiss that was long overdo.

Was this only going to cause them both more pain in the future?

Or was this what they should’ve done long ago?

Bruce pushed Y/N against a wall.

And then everything became a blur.

Bruce picked Y/N up and wrapped her legs around his waist for her, silently instructing her.

Clothes were unzipped and unbuttoned, and thrown around the apartment without thought.

Their breathing was heavy and reactive to the way their hands raced across each other’s now naked skin.

For never being at this particular safe house, Bruce found his way to the bed with ease.

From the movement of their bodies and obvious desire for one another, one thing became clear: they were never meant to only share one night together.

————

Y/N had tried with all her might to stay awake – even if that meant pulling an all-nighter.

She was trying to break the pattern. And even though Bruce had exhausted her body to no end, she didn’t want to wake up to find his side of the bed empty.

But she was shocked to open her eyes and find not only that Bruce was still in her bed, but that she had been sleeping on his bare chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Y/N could feel that he was awake. Apparently he was much more disciplined than her.

Little did she know Bruce hadn’t slept at all, not wanting to miss the feeling of her against him.

Y/N slowly lifted her head, “Hi.”

He smirked at the sleepiness in her voice.

“Hi."

“Didn’t expect you to be here still,” she admitted quietly.

“I can leave if you want.” And he meant it, even though it would hurt.

“No,” she scolded him in a breathy gasp.

The tension in his body released.

Y/N shifted off of his chest

“And where do you think you’re going?” Bruce questioned.

She shifted so she was no longer resting on his chest, but laying on her side beside him so she could see his face.

“I just wanted to look at you,” she whispered innocently.

Bruce smirked at her answer.

Y/N made sure the bed sheet was successfully covering her nudity.

Bruce seemed amused with her sudden modesty, but said nothing of it.

“How did you find me here?” Y/N asked him.

It had been the first thing she’d wanted to ask when he showed up to her door last night. But Bruce hadn’t exactly given her a lot of space to speak last night.

Bruce’s jaw tightened, which was a message in its own.

“Bruceeeee,” Y/N pushed back with irritation.

“You aren’t going to like the answer.”

She glared at him. “Did you put a fucking tracker on me, Bruce Wayne?”

“Your phone.”

“When?” She asked.

“After you tried to turn yourself in to the Talons.”

Y/N sighed, clearly annoyed by the answer.

They both knew she could easily disable it now that she knew about it. Even if he hadn’t confessed it, she would’ve figured it out on her own eventually.

“You’re upset,” Bruce observed.

“How would you feel if I did the same to you? But it’s…you. And I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Need I remind you that we only met because you blackmailed me and threatened to expose my identity to the world?”

“You know that wasn’t the same,” she shot back as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re right.” Bruce sighed. “I promise I will deactivate it.”

“No,” Y/N surprised him by saying. “But I will make you a deal…you can always know where I am if I can know the same for you.”

Bruce knew this was a test. Because Y/N expected him to immediately shoot down such an offer. Couldn’t such information be used against Batman?

“Deal,” he agreed.

Y/N was so shocked by his compliance that her overwhelming emotions forced her to lean into him and capture his lips in a kiss.

“Should I make us breakfast?” She whispered to him after barely pulling away from his lips.

She lightly bumped her nose against his.

Bruce nodded with a grin.

But before Y/N could ask what he wanted, a knock at the door interrupted them.

Her heart raced at the thought of another intrusion – and a less welcomed one.

Bruce frowned, but remained calm.

“Stay here,” he warned before placing a light kiss on her bare shoulder.

Before she could argue, he slipped out of bed.

He put his boxer briefs on, but didn’t bother with a shirt or pants.

Even though Bruce told Y/N to stay put, she still figured a mysterious knock on the door was a sign to put clothes on.

She practically threw on her underwear, but couldn’t find a single piece of clothing she had on yesterday. Yet somehow she found Bruce’s white button down and quickly buttoned on to give herself some semblance of decency.

Bruce looked through the peephole.

He held his breath.

Bruce would’ve rather it been an attempted attack on Y/N than…this.

“Y/N, I know you’re there,” Dick called from the other side of the door.

Bruce knew she couldn’t hear him. But he knew there was no other choice than to open the door.

Bruce looked apathetic as he faced his first protégé.

But Dick knew Bruce well enough to see that there was guilt hidden underneath.

He took in Bruce’s attire – or really, the lack there of.

Dick huffed out a laugh, “Of course. I should’ve known better.”

He shook his head and turned to leave.

Bruce slammed the door shut and rubbed his face in distress.

Before he could even think of something to say to Y/N, she rushed past him and threw the door open again.

“Dick! Wait!” Y/N called to him and caught him in the hallway.

By some miracle, Dick stopped and turned to her.

He looked her up and down, lingering far too long on the white button down she was wearing that so clearly belonged to Bruce.

“Needed some time alone, huh?”

Throwing Y/N’s own words back at her was meant to come out harsh and cold. But it ended up sounding heartbroken and betrayed.

And, honestly, that was worse to Y/N.

She have any idea what to say to him.

What would even make him feel better?

So, Y/N just watched Dick slowly walk away.

She stepped back into the safe house with tears in her eyes.

Bruce immediately moved to her.

“Y/N–”

But Y/N shook her head, stopping him from saying anything more.

“I should go,” Bruce told her.

He couldn’t help himself as he reached to wipe her tears away.

“I should probably give you your shirt back,” she said between sniffles.

Had the situation been different, it would’ve sounded funny.

But there was no humor here.

Bruce’s innocent touch of wiping her tears away made it hard for Y/N to concentrate.

So she escaped into the bedroom and quickly changed into her own clothes.

When she walked back out, she had all of Bruce’s stuff in her arms.

Once Bruce was in his clothes again, he didn’t know what to do or say next.

It was hard for Bruce to leave Y/N when she was so visibly upset. Dick wasn’t here to make Y/N feel better this time...and that was all Bruce’s fault.

“I’m not used to saying bye to you,” Y/N finally broke the tension.

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

A sad look flashed across her face as she processed her thoughts. “Usually I wake up…and you’re gone. You don’t even give me a chance to.”

Bruce bowed his head in shame. “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he finally admitted to her.

Y/N nodded slowly, agreeing with him.

“But you did,” she whispered.

Her voice sounded congested from all the tears she just shed.

“And all this time, I let myself think it was OK or even that I was the one who had messed it all up.”

Bruce quickly shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N.”

Her eyes darkened. “Why did you have to make it so hard to stay away from you, Bruce?”

An he knew he deserved that. “I’ve been selfish,” he confessed.

Bruce hesitated before giving her a slow kiss on the cheek.

It was the first time Y/N had ever seen him unsure of himself.

Without saying anything more, he turned and left.

“Goodbye, Bruce.” Y/N whispered long after he could still hear her.

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Part XI

Did I ruin your life? Let me know 😂

#all men have limits part 10 #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader x bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader x dick grayson #batboys #batfam #dick grayson reader insert #bruce wayne reader insert #nightwing x reader #batman x reader

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kreidewaltz · 3 years

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top of the castle | t.k.

pairing. tsukishima kei x f!reader

about. your only goal is to be on top of everything. every change he gets, he pushes your buttons and does things that stirs something inside you. it's totally not your heart beating wild in your chest.

word count. 6.3k (this is my baby)

genre & warnings. fluff. angst. swearing. sky castle and highschool au. lots of swearing. happy ending. parents are kind of a jerk. subtle pining. enemies to lovers. bestfriend!kuroo. film major!tsukishima and y/n.

author's note. ik i posted this super late but here it is!! this is part of the promptly yours collab by issy :D ty for being understanding kisses you !? this is my first time writing an e2l go easy on me pls :( quick overview: sky castle is a neighborhood for the rich, and they do everything to be ahead of the other families! big thank you to @rintsuru for beta-ing this mwah i'll edit some stuff here tomo :') reblogs & feedbacks are appreciated ty <3

part of the promptly yours collab ✪

“during the dinner, entertain the guests, and kaa-san will be proud of you.” your mom says whilst brushing your hair multiple times. she sends you a threatening smile in the mirror which forms annoyance in your mind, yet a fake smile ghosts your lips. you clench your fist on your pockets, fingernails digging hard into your palms. last night she came to your door, unannounced, and mentioned that she’ll be having a private party after sending your applications to SNU Medical School.

“time to relax after working hard, a reward too for the parents.” you recall her saying, while running her fingers on your head before she shuts the door. the excitement evident in her movements when you hear the repetitive clicks of her heels. you play with the hem of your pajamas as you mimic your mother’s voice in distress, huffing after while you cross your arms on your chest. if she sees you roll your eyes or heave a disappointing sigh, expect a lecture about manners that'll go on for a few minutes.

when you entered middle school, she started to be strict and always repeated that you’re “only going to be successful when you’re on the top of the castle”. the metaphor she often forces in your mind—enjoying your success and growing money. watching other people force their way to the entrance, but this is where her persona morphs into something sickly sweet. she uses her shit ton of money to compromise, and those people leave as if they never disturbed your castle. in her eyes, you’re the embodiment of an independent, hardworking, and stepping on others kind of student which is something you want to erase.

“sit straight, act interested, act modest—”

“bring down the rivals, except kuroo.” you cut your mother off while a subtle smirk appears on your face, running your makeup brush on your powder blush before putting it to your cheeks. she stops for a moment, the silence makes your palms sweat on your school blazer, but relief washes over you when she murmurs okay, good. the moment is interrupted when your dad screams on the other side, assuming that he’s finding her and checking the table set-up for approval. she gives your shoulder a harsh squeeze before leaving you alone in your room, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“bring down tsukishima.” raising your brows, you try to keep yourself sane because people saying his name irks you. his stupid voice and looks down on you just because of the height difference. he looks down on you when he’s done harm to you years ago, and to the Hara family. when the school year started, you had no clue that he attended Yongsan School for Seoul. his presence immediately annoys you to your bones and when he talks, you have the urge to tape his mouth and watch him struggle and enjoy that he’s suffering. when he enters the room, you almost stand up from your seat and protest but you keep your lips shut. attempting to bottle your resentment and continue with the basic introductions and orientations for the school year.

what he did in middle school is the main factor why you resent him.

“your highness!” he yells as soon as you enter the classroom, sending tsukishima a sarcastic smile before you sit comfortably. you try your best to not be grumpy at eight in the morning. good thing that the teacher isn’t here, or you’re in for another lecture about that you should get along and be humble with your classmates.

lame lame lame.

“yeah, i’m a princess hm!” you point a finger at him while you put on a grumpy expression before putting your hands on your waist. huffing a few seconds later, you look through your bag and prepare your cute notebook and pencil. you begin to check the schedule for the day on the first page before reviewing the past few lessons, skimming it with attention that you mentally practice yourself, and clench both of your fists in excitement when you got the right answer. you cross your legs while checking your notes, eager to start the day because you're feeling productive, and seeing the stamps of stars on the first page makes you ecstatic.

“hara y/n, did you hit tsukishima?” your teacher’s voice is stern which scares you, but what frightens you is your mother hearing about the issue. you fiddle with your fingers as you rub your eyes, desperately trying to hold the tears threatening to fall. you and tsukishima are left alone in the classroom, with the teacher sitting across from you. the beautiful sunset view from the window is giving you temporary solace, releasing a sigh before answering.

“no, sensei! he- he hit me!” your voice unintentionally going higher, not realizing that you’re getting defensive. you stand from your chair and stare at him, fuming with anger when you see the smirk forming on his face. the teacher sighs in disappointment since he knows you’re one of the top students this year. your attendance streak is all green, never missing a day. what they don’tknow is how your mother forces you to always go to school no matter what happens, that school is the only path to success.

i hate tsukishima, hmph.

“she did, sensei. you saw her holding the book.” your patience is on thin ice because he has the audacity to lie in front of the teacher when he knows he did it. he slaps the book against the back of your desk and you feel the impact on your shoulders, resulting in a high pitched scream and break the momentum of your classmates writing and your teacher narrowed his eyes at you, shaking his head in displeasure before writing on the blackboard. then you hastily grab the book he's holding and about to throw it on his desk but gasps echo on the room. from their perspective, you're about to hit tsukishima with his book while he's looking across, focused on the discussion that's interrupted.

"you hit me with the book!" frustration slowly seeping out while you bounce on your desk angrily. your pigtails get tangled which fuels your irritation. life likes bad boys, you thought while mocking him by copying his expressions, forgetting for a moment that your teacher is watching you make faces on your own. tsukishima waves his hand, fisting his other hand to put it in the pocket of his purple jacket. the loud bell rings and ends the discussion, and you sulk on your seat while he prepares his things. your teacher walks out of the classroom to call your mom, you assume, because of the way he takes a glimpse at you while holding his phone to his ear.

i don't want to go home.

“i didn’t do it!” you keep repeating the same sentence as you set a foot in the house. your small hands clutch the strap of your backpack tight, agitated on what she’ll have to say on what happened. your teacher called your mom and had a quick discussion while you bowed to your mom before going home. the awkward silence caused you to grab your backpack and stand behind her, looking down on your shoes to distract yourself. when the both of you entered the car, she didn’t spare you a glance, even on the rearview mirror. the good thing is your favorite song is playing which soothes your worries temporarily. but the car ride was mentally exhausting and your nervousness kept boiling in your chest.

"the one time life is well! and you had to do that." sitting on the edge of your bed, disappointment and frustration join forces in your head while you clench your fist tight. tears trail down your cheeks freely and you have to grip your shorts so you wouldn't explode. hearing her sigh loudly makes you look at your hands to distract yourself from thinking while you sniffle quietly to yourself because your mom tells you to mask your true feelings with other people.

"i'm your princess! i didn't do it!" bouncing on your bed to defend yourself while she doesn’t say anything. she goes to your study table and grabs some of your books and pens. you looked at her in distress, tears forming in your eyes, since your mom's punishments are something you avoid if you have the chance.

“ah long time no see! come in!” your mom cheerfully greets when you see the Oikawa family entering the house, bowing down in respect with a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face. he acts like a prince charming when he bows, trying to charm your mother. she acts as if she’s swooned by his alluring smile before she rushes the family to enter the extravagant room, eyeing oikawa while he fixes the buttons of his school blazer. you and oikawa had a while you’re flipping the pendant of your necklace, the loud banter on the stairs a few meters away gets your attention.

“oh! kuroo looks dashing as usual!” she clasps her hands together, the gold rings on her fingers clashing and creating light noises which only you could hear. after they pick up on your mother’s voice, kuroo abruptly stops arguing and casually puts his right hand in his pocket. his mother gives you a soft wave and pecks your mother on the cheeks. you’re not in europe. the thought comes to mind while they chit chat. his father comes to the dining table, leaving you with kuroo for a few minutes. you extend your other leg in the front, putting your hands on your waist, and when you catch his monotone gaze. kuroo looks to the side while the tip of his ears slowly become red.

“ah! i’m glad our parents are okay.” you whisper in front of him while you pat your cheeks and put on your serious expression because your mother always tells you to act elegant when there are guests. a sympathetic smile appears on his lips, knowing why you changed your face in seconds—because you have a reputation to hold.

“mhm, okay talk to you later.” he says before lightly bumping your shoulder with his fist which you return with the same force while a smile dances on your balmed lips. the both of you don’t notice his mom’s gaze softening because of your brief chat.

“yuuji! you should’ve brought your vest!” your mom giggles when she hears the voice of the Terushima family. her covers her mouth with her hand (also her way of showing off her accessories). his mom’s voice is pretty loud so you hear her clearly when they’re on the stairs. a childish whine leaves his lips while his almond eyes begin twinkling in excitement seeing the grand decoration on the entrance. “oh hi y/n! pardon me, and yuuji.” his mom is always enthusiastic and humble.

you raise a brow when you notice the piercing on terushima’s ears. “you pierced?” you point a finger at his ear before the smirk on his face grows, knowing that you’re not allowed to get pierced or tattooed under your parent’s household.

“yeah, you want one?” he leans in with a teasing smirk on his face and slowly licks his bottom lip, and you get a glimpse of his tongue piercing. a tsk leaves your lips before you push him away with your clenched hands. your mom intrudes in your conversation and pulls you to her chest. your mom’s thoughts about you not listening to her and actually getting piercings are running like a hamster on a wheel. his mom covers her face with the palm of her hand, thinking that she won’t get used to terushima bragging about his piercings and possibly influencing his friends to get one. your mom giggles about him and repeatedly pats his back, escorting the Terushimas to their seats at the table—a long and wide one she bought for this day, and a few hours later, the cleaners will struggle to put the furniture back on the basement.

“ah n/n! wait for tsukishima, alright?”

your mom waves her fingers with a smile plastered on her face, leaving the entrance in your hands. going rebel sounds intriguing but you decided to go against it. you intertwine your fingers together and put them behind your back, walking around back and forth along with an occasional twirl because the black skirt whirling is satisfying for your eyes. annoyance bubbles in your chest when she mentions his name, and the fact you’ll escort them all the way to their seats at the table. relief courses through you when she picks their seats further away from your vision.

good, i can’t stand his golden eyes at—

“dear y/n, always elegant like her mother!” your dad mentions while the food is being served. the maids delicately hold the plates even though the appetizer only consists of green leaves, a drizzle of oil and other vegetables mixed in. a confident smile comes to your face while the boys giggle along with their parents, knowing that they nudge their waist to go with the flow and attempt to be your parents’ right hand and be their disciple. kuroo kicks your feet under the table while a subtle smirk on his face, and before you could misunderstand his intentions, he eyes the other parents then quickly rolls his eyes after. the clanking of the plates and forks begin to ring your ears and you immediately connect the clues on what he likes to say.

look at them, trying to get on your parents’ side.

you lightly slap his knee with your foot to get his attention, and you successfully do so while not realizing that about to take a bite of the vegetables. while kuroo thinks about embarrassing himself, again, despite that your parents and the other boys are lost in their own conversations, you take a big bite of everything that’s on the plate, not noticing your mom’s stern gaze on your figure. when he’s finished fixing his hair, he raises his brow while you cross your arms over your chest, nodding in defeat while rubbing your forehead, mimicking those disappointed adults you’ve seen in dramas. he covers his mouth while his eyes crinkle, controlling the laugh he desperately wants to let out. you massage your shoulder for a moment because it’s getting uncomfortable but you have to keep your act—act like you have your shit together in front of the guests.

“oh! oikawa-kun, how’s the japanese lit for you?” initiating a conversation between your rivals while the parents reacted quietly to themselves, as if they’re going to witness harsh exchange with words until emotions overtake your head. this is the sky castle, you think while straightening your posture, satisfied when you get a glimpse of him jolting on his seat before putting on his charming facade and entertaining your question.

“easy peasy! bet i’ll get a perfect score.” he runs his hand through his hair, fixing his school blazer and acts mighty with the other people around.

terushima begins to tease him by making faces to push oikawa’s buttons, and you tap your mouth with the tissue before dropping the bomb and witness his face morph to dread. “you know that i check the papers too, right? you’ve got three mistakes already.” bring down people so you can walk forward, you think while oikawa’s eyes are large like the globes you use for geography class. you loosely intertwine your fingers as you press your cheek on your palm. your mom peeks at you, amused, at your actions that she fights the urge because a smile is threatening its way on her deadpanned face since the beginning of the dinner. the other parents whisper to themselves, especially Oikawa’s parents who look at you with distaste occasionally when they talk. the maids are astonished with your attitude since you're a sweetheart, in the time where your mom is out and does her daily shopping to further decorate the house.

as the dinner continues, you're mentally patting yourself on the back for doing a great job to keep your castle undisturbed. you didn't notice the blonde fighting the urge to smirk to himself because it's the first time he witnessed you being brazen. he takes a big sip of the water, stretching his hands and resting it on his back as he catches your eyes which widens his smirk. resulting to strengthen your rage—and the fact that you're enjoying how attractive he looks.

ugh, let's get this over with.

“what? never expected me to be on top?” a condescending tone laces your voice as you cross your legs, the exhaustion you carried throughout the dinner is dissipating when you rest your back on the chair. feeling a certain pair of golden eyes piercing your soul, you intentionally ignore the sweating of your palms and curl your toes inside your shoes because you keep moving as long as you feel his eyes focused on you. the sassy persona you’ve worked hard lasting long is crumbling, as if tsukishima is taking his time to disassemble the pieces.

“finally we’re away.” terushima whispers to no one before running his fingers on his hair. all of your parents settled on the tea room as your mom calls it to chit chat and relax for a few hours and you know she'll subtly brag about your achievements in school and the furniture around the house that are only available to the rich she quotes.

"away from our parents who force their dreams to us? hell yeah." oikawa added before stretching his neck, the table erupting into laughter because what he said is the truth.

"hey! too mean." narrowing your eyes at him and seconds later you realized how contradicting you are. you scold the brown haired for being mean (when he only said the truth) yet you call oikawa earlier on the dinner for having three mistakes on the test of film studies. the silence stopped you from saying something further so you sit back, looking at the lights and decorations hanging on the wall so you won't embarrass yourself further.

we're even i guess, oikawa whispers under his breath before looking at you, his smile not reaching his eyes. you slap your cheeks while you're looking hard at oikawa, not noticing how the blonde plays with his fingers before looking at you, his eyes glimmering of mischief. since tsukishima knows what pushes your buttons and he always uses it to his advantage.

"stop the good girl act. you feel that way too, idiot." he cleans his glasses with his vest while his eyes narrow and look at you. as you look up and stare at him, you’re perplexed seeing him without his glasses and get amazed on how golden his eyes are. while your arms are flat on the table, his words earlier came back crashing on your head. good girl.

“good girl act, huh? why? you want me to be a bad.. bad girl tsukishima-kun?” you retort back quickly, and you’re pleased with your counterattack since hearing low whistles and gasps beside you fueled your ego. you raise your brow with a mocking smile on your lips to taunt tsukishima even more, intentionally ignoring the repetitive beating of your heart. you felt kuroo kicking your ankle under the table but you dodge his kick since you didn’t want to be bombarded by his remarks because you know he’ll never let you forget about this moment.

“and what if i do, princess?” he raises his brow in return, resting his chin on his palm while cocking his head to the side, amused with your response but he wouldn’t let you know that. you’re obviously dumbfounded, hating the way he uses that nickname casually in a conversation. the uneasiness you’re feeling doesn't go away when you feel eyes on you, eagerly waiting on what you’ll have to say. you clear your throat and you’re about to say something when-

“okay! y/n you got ice cream?” terushima jumped in the conversation before the tension rose on the table. at first you’re bummed when he cuts you off suddenly but you’re glad because you’re not going to talk to tsukishima after this. nope, you keep repeating to yourself. you nodded and led the way to the kitchen, slapping your cheeks lightly with your fingers to snap out of it.

“y/n, suck it up and do the first move.” kuroo murmurs louder to mortify you before taking a bite of the ice cream from the glass, his smug expression makes you want to punch him right there. you playfully kick his chair while you mindlessly mix the spoon on the glass, the ice cream melting as time ticks by.

“what- i’m not- you jerk!" their eyes fall on you since your voice tends to get loud when you defend yourself, and you forget about that while kuroo annoys you on purpose. you grumble shut up under your breath, cupping your cheeks while a frown takes over your face. you angrily grab the scooper to get more desert, also denying the thoughts running in your mind and shake your head in the process while whispering no, that can't happen!

"you're screwed, my friend." kuroo waves his spoon in front of you and you grit your teeth in annoyance while a frown takes over your face. a part of you wants to give in and admit you’re feeling something for him but you’ll stick on what you’re good at-denying. you pout in defeat and sulk in your seat, your eyes falling on tsukishima sitting in the corner. he’s in his own world, taking a bite of the ice cream and repeatedly tapping his foot on the floor. you assume it’s because of the music he’s listening to because of his tangled earphones put on. when he caught your gaze you turned away a little late meaning he saw you. shame clouded your head and desperately try to distract yourself from him, and look at oikawa acting high and mighty, anything, so you won’t spiral back to your thoughts full of tsukishima.

“the hell!? no i’m fin-” he waves his hands and doesn't listen to your stalling, since he knows you’re doing that to convince yourself and not him. you scowl at him and cross your arms together, chanting to pull it together since you get aggressive when someone’s caught you so you cross your arms together and clench your fists. (you thought you’ll have wrinkles earlier than others because of how much you’re frowning).

“i saw what happened, don’t even.” he cocks his head to tsukishima’s direction with a grin on his face and he knew he conquered victory between the banter. you sent him a sarcastic smile before checking the others chat to themselves and hear the faint laughter of the adults in the other room. your mind starts to imagine what it's’ like to talk to your crush.

no didn’t say that!

“this is fun.” he added, which deepened your scowl and you clearly heard the teasing tone laced on his voice. you roll your eyes playfully while he ruffles your hair, and you’re bummed because you know he is right. don’t pull the bad girl card, he murmurs and twirls the ends of your hair. your thoughts halted when you heard the two words that brought you back to the situation earlier. you hold your breath while stretching your arms straight on the counter, hurriedly thinking of a witty response.

“hey! he looked good…” you closed your eyes quickly then you got a glimpse of tsukishima smirking and the way the nickname, princess, rolled off his tongue is making the tip of your ears faint red and sensitive. where’s the y/n that hates tsukki with all her guts? kuroo whispers and laughs hysterically after which caught the attention of the others. you know he’s teasing you for fun since you two often have light hearted banters. the urge to punch him in the face crosses your mind because there are times he knows and you know he’s right, it’s on you not wanting to admit it. his hand ruffles your hair once again before smoothly interrupting oikawa’s bragging, while your thoughts go on an overdrive in your head.

"miss pres! wait for me!" you stopped in your tracks and waited on the right side when you heard akari jogging to you. a dejected pout appears on her lips. she hangs onto your arm and grips it tight, catching her breath because you didn't wait for her outside after the film classes ended.

purposely digging her nails as her payback, because you didn't wait for her outside after the film class ended.

"damn, it's hard being the best friend of the student council president." she says with a defeated tone while fixing her skirt. your face scrunched up in response before walking together on the hallways. akari begins her rambling about the upcoming output your professor mentioned. you tightened your hold on the folders, frightened that the stack of folders will slip out of your hold since fate can be cruel, you muse while pushing the folders close to your chest.

"i can carry folders too, you know." her laughter echoed in the hallway when she saw your reaction! furrowed brows, a pout on your lips before you hesitantly gave half of the folders in her waiting hands. before you could explain what the folders are, you hear her gasp when she sees the title, in bold letters—CLASS 3 FILM STUDIES TEST RESULTS. she overheard you and the professor and learned that you're also checking the papers because professors trust you that much. akari likes seeing you lose your cool in public so she lifts the side of the folder. though it gets exhausting, you endure akari and her antics since despite her teasing she knows her boundaries. she's a good friend because holding the titles student council president, and top student scares away potential friends you could have. students gossiping about your family and status doesn't make things easier. so when she approached you in the library and blunty said you're taking her seat, you're grateful despite interrupting your study session.

it's safe to say that you didn't give each other good first impressions.

"miss pres, faculty room right?" akari's voice breaks your train of thought and wonders how you didn't hit anyone along the way since you take a few turns before seeing the faculty room.

"mhm."

“kari! let’s go back! i can convince sensei.” you whine quietly and stomp on your feet, you’re definitely ignoring your heart about to jump out of your chest when you see a glimpse of a blonde in front of the faculty room. after the party you held a few days ago, you didn’t pay attention to him and avoided him at all costs because you’re trying to figure out if feeling something to your rival is a big deal or not. you tighten your hold on the papers, a pout coming to your lips while akari is amused on what’s happening right now. she’s clearly not expecting you to go to the other way and avoid confrontation with the blonde.

“he’s there! i can’t face him!” you added and jutted your lips into a pout. in your head, you could roast him with other people because you have a perfect reputation to keep. she sighs for a moment while you stand there, she transfers all the folders in her other hand before smacking you in your arm. a shriek leaves your lips, not expecting your friend to hit you in the hallway. you knew you lose the disagreement when you see her as if she’s saying really? i’m done with you through her face. she puts a hand on her waist while she steps on the floor. a habit of hers that you noticed through time. you fix your hair that’s blocking your sight before nodding your head.

“fine… whatever.” you narrow your eyes and point a finger on her direction, acting like you’re threatening her but it didn’t have an effect at her. both of you silently walk towards the faculty room and finally see tsukishima in all his glory. he’s slightly slouching in front of the door because of his height. you quickly look at the other classrooms, acting as if you never saw him and ignore your heart beating at a quick pace. you’re in front of the room, just behind him and realize how tall he is. he looks back and catches your gaze before he smirks and waves at the professor inside. (they are clearly victims of the good boy facade he puts, you think). akari whistles to herself before going inside and gives the folders to your professor while you follow behind.

“ah thank you y/n! and akari. you can have your lunch now.” you bow quickly and smile before you shut the door gently. you fix your blazer and pat your skirt before going to the cafeteria with akari. on the way she keeps teasing you about how you daydream of tsukishima when you’re in class. she keeps mentioning his smirk when you’re eating and you almost choked on the food, since yes, maybe his smirk is attractive you think, maybe, you repeated.

“how’s life with rich people?” she whispers since she accompanied you to the library because you’re planning your scenes already and what emotions you’ll pick for the montage output. you stopped writing and closed your notebook, and rolled your eyes playfully because you know what she really wants to ask.

“i know you’re asking about oikawa, so go.” you say while crossing your arms on the wooden table, and stretch your back after writing for twenty minutes. on the time you’re working, she’s humming random songs and twirls her pen on the papers she brought, scribbling lines and occasionally add doodles on the paper.

“tsk, at least i’m proud of it.” she comments while you gasp, wondering why kuroo and her keeps forcing you to admit you like him. it wasn’t that you’re uncomfortable, your answer remains the same, you have a reputation to take care of.

“anyway! i heard you were mean to him.” she adds while burying her head in her open book, it’s obvious that she’s bored but she accompanied you nonetheless. you stopped twirling your hair and you processed what she said. how did she know, you lamented to yourself while your brows furrow.

“terushima… he doesn’t shut up. he might’ve mentioned that.” akari massages her scalp while looking at you, she’s attempting to relieve the minimal pain she’s feeling in her head. you continued to write on how the scene will go but your sentences ended in scribbles. you’re terribly annoyed that terushima talked about the party even, it wasn’t necessary, you thought while biting your lip.

“agh! whatever. it’s the truth.” you cried out after contemplating for a few minutes. you lean back on the chair, drinking from your water bottle to hydrate yourself once in a while. you sigh in satisfaction when the cold water goes to your chest, awakening your sleepy eyes. the silence helps you gain your focus and plan your outfit and makeup on the montage, but akari breaks the silence with a question.

“yeah sure.. the truth. so when are you gonna admit that you actually like tsukishima, huh?” akari prompts her elbow while a cocky smile goes to her face. you hum and stopped writing, utterly confused with her expression.

“well i like him but- what?! you and kuroo should be locked away somewhere.” you rambled after realizing her true intentions of why she asked that question. you kicked her foot slightly under the table to get back at her. she hisses slightly while you bow quickly to apologize. you sigh before grabbing your phone and usher akari to take a selfie in the library, even though her face looks funny on the picture, you’ll still keep it. while she looks through the photos you took, you look at the window and many thoughts keep overlapping but one thought stands out. should i finally admit that i have a crush on him? what if he doesn’t like me though? those are the thoughts you pondered on on the way home and the next few months.

it’s been five months since those thoughts spiralled on your head, almost haunting you every night. this day marks the start of vacation, no more school work to do and you’re not pretending to be a good student on campus all year. it's been a few months since you passed the montage output and you remembered how your professor’s mouth is open while watching yours, it boosted your confidence. you picked unrequited and longing which seems two complicated emotions to work on a montage but that’s what you like about it. when you did your shoot months ago, you couldn’t forget the horror on kuroo’s face when he saw the smudged make-up on your face while your dress looked elegant.

you waved him off that time and continued to film the flowers dancing to the wind, the group of birds flying high, and you accidentally filmed tsukishima walking away while the sun hit his direction and it created a warm yet nostalgic vibe. that time he didn’t give you insults or anything but god, he was cocky. kuroo and oikawa noticed how things changed on the two of you, because normally they’d be seeing you going at each other’s throats. but you did your own thing, and you didn’t complain about filming him and instead he saw you giggling to yourself while looking at the camera. the black haired finally connected the puzzles together and came to a conclusion: you’ve come to terms that you like tsukishima.

“i really like him! believe me.” you defended and hugged the pillow laying on the couch. you invited tsukishima to your house to convince your parents that you like each other even though you’ve been together for a few months already. when you often walk with your boyfriend (calling him that still makes you blush), you always see oikawa and kuroo snickering to themselves, and you teased kuroo that he replaced you with another. sadly, your mom didn’t like the idea and she went to another country to calm down, you think. that time you realized where you got your sulky attitude from. your dad acts casual and asks questions one at a time. you’re grateful because you couldn’t handle many questions at once and the accusations you’ll hear from your mom isn’t what you wanted right now. your dad giggles when you act pouty and defensive, while tsukishima bounces his leg to relieve the slight to little nervousness he has, he convinces himself. it didn’t help when kuroo grip his shoulder tight and give a little speech on how to protect you and show how to care.

“she does… unfortunately.” he whispers the last word which infuriates you and hits his head with the pillow lightly. your dad didn’t hear what he said so he glares at you, shaking his head, as if he’s saying not to hit your boyfriend. you pout and cross your arms, and give him the face that’s supposed to threaten people but it doesn’t work for him. (one time, you realized you’re friends with people who have resting bitch faces).

“do you want me to be your enemy again?” you threaten him but you fail because a big smile goes to your face. you fix the hair clip on the back of your head to keep your hair away.

“sure if it means i can see you be angry but look cute.” he retorts back and while you're about to explode, from your peripheral vision you see your dad giving him a big thumbs up and an awkward wink. he sends him a nod and acts cool.

"hmm, now i get why you like each other y/n." your dad comments he pats the space beside him. tsukishima gently rubs your lower back before letting you go, even though his heart is beating wild in his chest. you sit beside your dad before tightly embrace him, relieved of his reaction to your new relationship.

"thank you dad. we'll protect each other, don't worry. you can kick him if he broke up with me though." you whisper the last part so the blonde wouldn't hear you (he's suspicious based on the narrowing of his eyes and the gaze you feel at the back of your head). he pats your back while giggling lightly and stand up. he enjoys seeing you lost in your world and see the genuine happiness glowing in your eyes. this is something he should've done sooner, he thought because all these years you're caged in this house, alone and lonely.

“tsu-ki-shima-kun, let’s go?” you tease him because he once told you that calling him like that stirs something inside him. you giggle and look to him softly, an indirect way of asking permission to loop your arms together. you respect his boundaries, always, even though it didn't seem like it a few months ago. he nods and pushes his glasses, and you loop them while seeing his ears down to his neck go a little red.

“hey, let’s go to the library. it’s quiet there.”

you get out of the house and wave to the idiots (kuroo and oikawa) as you call them before going to the library with him. you had nothing to study for and you knew why he wants to go there, with you, you just know.

this is the sky castle, the place where you bring down people to walk forward. but after thinking about it, walking together with tsukishima doesn't sound bad.

143 notes · View notes

halloweenhoneylover · 3 years

Text

serendipity

summary: spencer cannot wait to propose, but you accidentally beat him to it (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 5k

warnings: some language! some minor angst!

author’s note: this is 100% based on one of my favorite episodes of new girl (google doc name is winston bishop type shit), also this is mega self-indulgent so if u don’t like dinosaurs and/or ferns i’m sorry :/

You let out a satisfied hum. Everything was quite nearly perfect. Presently, you were sitting on a bench next to the little duck pond in the park by your apartment, and you watched as tendrils of the weeping willow grazed the surface, sending gentle ripples across the water. It seemed to glow in the dappled sunlight. An adorable duck family was nestled into some of the reeds, and your heart was happy as you watched the mother tending to her ducklings. This was your favorite spot in the entire city.

“Hey, Spence?” Your head rested on his shoulder as he read one of the Ray Bradbury novels that he loved dearly. You weren’t sure which one he was on now; he’d been determined to read his entire collection this weekend and had been flying through.

“Yes, dear?” His eyes didn’t leave the pages, but you didn’t mind.

“What do you call a group of ducks?”

“There’s a couple names actually. It can be called a raft, team, or paddling; it’s a matter of preference.” Finally, he shifted his gaze toward you, and he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The flush of your cheeks and the wisps of your hair, he was so incredibly enamored, he loved you so much. And he was so excited to let you know so soon, but not quite yet.

“I think I like paddling.”

“Yeah, me too.” Shutting his eyes to revel in this moment, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you wanna get married?”

What.

Spencer floundered in the absolute contradiction of feelings that he found himself submerged in in that moment. Ice flooded his veins, and his face heated. His blood pressure skyrocketed, and oh God, it’s not supposed to happen like this. Yes, he loves her terribly, and yes, he absolutely wants to marry her, but he had a plan! An incredibly intricate and thoughtful twenty-two step plan that was going to take place over the course of the next month. It was all laid out in an entire binder in his desk. All he could muster in response was an extremely eloquent, “Uh—well, uh—”

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you finally lifted your head to look at him with the biggest heart eyes he’s ever seen, and he can’t help but feel so, so guilty. “I just thought, why not, you know? Spencer, I love you a whole lot, and I’m pretty sure you love me a whole lot too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want the rest of my life to start right now.”

“No.”

Judging by the look on your face, that was clearly not the answer you were expecting. “No?”

“Uh, yeah, no.” God, stupid dumb idiot, telling the girl you want to marry that you don’t want to marry her. What’s the point of having 187 IQ points if you use exactly none of them when it actually matters?

“No, you don’t want to marry me?” Your heart dropped into your stomach and was falling further and further every passing second.

“Wait no, hold on—”

“No, I get it,” you choked out, hastily standing up from the bench. “Actually, I don’t get it, but that doesn’t really matter, I guess.” You jammed your arms into the sleeves of your jacket, so you could get out of this moment as soon as humanly possible. Holy shit, had you been blind-sided. “Um, I think I’m gonna go hang out with Penelope, might spend the night, I’m not sure. Enjoy your book.” And with that, you were speeding down the path out of the park.

“Wait, (Y/N/N)!” Spencer tried to gather his belongings to run after you, but you had a head start, and he couldn’t gather all of the books in his arms fast enough. Leave the books!!! Go after her!!! But you had already turned the corner and were out of sight.

With his books finally secure, Spencer sprinted in the direction of your shared apartment. He needed to fix this. And fast.

———

Morgan sat at his desk peacefully looking over the plans for a house he was renovating when the phone rang, and he couldn't help but internally groan at the sound. If Hotch is calling on his weekend off, so help him God, he would hang up and chuck the phone out the window.

Instead, he was met with Garcia’s voice, which was so loud he had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, mama. Let’s take it down a few notches.”

“Alright, fine, babycakes,” she hissed, and Derek was shocked at the unfamiliar venom in her tone. “Would you please be so kind as to explain to me why your dear friend Reid is the most evil, most reprehensible, most despicable—”

“Garcia, what are you talking about?”

“You mean that little rat boy hasn’t come crawling to you explaining his crimes?”

Despite his infinite patience for her antics, he sighed quietly. “I’m in the dark, baby girl, but I’m sure whatever Reid did, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it can be that bad! He told (Y/N) that he didn’t want to marry her.”

“He did what?” Derek’s eyes were practically popping out of his head at the news. There’s no way that happened.

“He said that he didn’t want to marry our precious lily flower (Y/N)! I love that boy, but now, (Y/N) is here bawling her eyes out on my couch, and I don’t know what to do!”

His heart broke a little at the thought of his friend being so devastated, but he couldn’t help the roaring confusion that plagued him. Derek knew that Spencer was planning to propose to you; he’d seen the binder. He’d even been recruited to help with Steps 4, 9, 10, and 18!

Oh.

And that’s when Derek had a sneaking suspicion as to what had occurred. “Penelope, were his exact words ‘I don’t want to marry—” But his attention was drawn away from the phone by a knock on the door.

Speak of the devil….

“Garcia, I gotta go, but tell (Y/N) everything’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna have a word with our boy.”

“Oh my God, is he there with you?! That little bastard—” He hung up before her words could become any sharper, and the knocking became frantic.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” He jogged to go unlock the door. “You’re gonna knock the door down, kid.”

The door swung open to reveal Spencer, huffing and puffing with a red face and a binder in arm. “Morgan, I am the stupidest man to ever walk the Earth.”

“Did you run here?”

Ignoring the question, he pushed past him with an agitated step. “I am a complete idiot, a dumbass, if you will.”

Morgan shut the door and crossed his arms, walking to stand opposite Reid who had sat on the couch with his head in his hands. “Yeah, I might agree with you on that one. Garcia called me, told me (Y/N) is crying on her couch ‘cause you told her you didn’t want to marry her, which I know is not true.”

“I didn’t say that!” he cried, gesticulating wildly. “Not exactly. She asked me if I wanted to get married—”

“And what did you say?”

His hesitation was palpable. “...No.”

“Yeah, I’d say that constitutes dumbass behavior, especially because I know you only said that because you have your proposal all planned out, and you want it to be perfect.”

“Morgan, you don’t get it,” he implored, the desperation evident in his eyes, and Derek finally started feeling a little bad for the kid, an inkling of sympathy squirming in his gut. “No one deserves the most perfect proposal more than (Y/N). No one. You know how she’s always felt unwanted, and she’s told me that she felt like she always has to ask for love, and I couldn’t let her feel like that with me. I had to make sure that she had a special proposal because she’s special. And I want her to know without having to ask that I want her more than anything else in this world.”

Reid looked down at the toes of his scuffed Converse, hoping that he hadn’t permanently fucked up his best chance at happiness, and Morgan’s expression softened. “I know, kid. And I’m not trying to rub salt in the wound, but you do know that this was not the best way of letting her know that she’s wanted and loved?”

“Yes, I know, Morgan,” he muttered, voice breaking around the slug in his throat. “I wasn’t thinking.”

A sigh. “No, you weren’t. But I’m gonna help you fix it.”

Reid looked up with wide eyes. “Really?”

“You both deserve to be happy...even if you make some pretty stupid choices sometimes.”

Reid didn’t think he’d ever felt so grateful for his friend, and he offered a smile in gratitude. “Thanks. But I don’t even know where to start.”

Quirking an eyebrow and returning with a grin, Morgan picked up the binder from the table where it had been set. “I’ve got a couple ideas.”

———

“How is she doing?”

“Erm, it’s not looking great,” Garcia responded.

She was openly hostile when Reid had called her (he’d never been on the receiving end of Garcia’s wrath (so few people had been), and he was sure that was something he never wanted to experience again), but she’d finally restrained herself and offered a little empathy (not a lot though, she was too loyal to (Y/N) for that) when he had explained himself. However, when she’d been informed of the plan to apologize, regain your love and trust and to maybe, just maybe, ask for your hand in marriage, she had wholeheartedly avowed her support and pledged her help despite still being a little miffed at boy genius’ idiocy.

“She’s been sitting on the floor of the bathroom for an hour listening to Landslide on repeat and crying, so I would say she’s, um…not well.”

Spencer winced at that, and he felt physically sick at the thought that you were hurting because of him. His heart clenched unbearably, and he wished so badly that he could take back his words and just say yes, but unfortunately for him, time is linear, and he was just going to have to do his best to fix things.

“I just need a couple more hours to get everything ready.”

“Well, hurry up, pretty boy! I love our girl immensely, but if I have to hear Stevie Nicks mourn the passage of time and love one more time, I will lose my mind.”

“Garcia, please, just be patient.”

She groaned. “You’re lucky I love you.” And with that, she hung up.

———

You huffed a sigh, clutching to your chest a shiny pink pillow covered in sequins and giving Garcia the biggest puppy eyes you could muster. “Please, Penny, let’s not go out to dinner. Let’s just stay in and order Cheesecake Factory; you love Cheesecake Factory!”

“You’re right I do, but I love you more, and right now, you need to get up and get some fresh air!” The almost excessive amount of peppiness in her voice and her refusal of Cheesecake Factory was slightly suspicious, but you didn’t really have time to consider it as she dragged you up off the couch and to the door.

“Okay, counterpoint: what if you went out for dinner, and I stayed in and wallowed in self-pity?”

By the look on her face, you knew your evading tactics were not going to fly. She tutted slightly and said, “You’ve got to know I can’t let you do that. I’m legally obligated to stay with you until you feel better, that’s the deal when you’re friends with me.” She grabbed your coat, holding it open for you.

Reluctantly, you sighed and slid your arms in, grumbling, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, but let’s get a move on!” And with that, she herded you out the door.

———

It was a nice dinner, the two of you out on the town, and for a while, you were granted the solace of distraction. Garcia took you into the city, and somehow it felt a little easier to breathe there under the streetlights amidst a bustling Saturday night crowd. You nestled together in some street corner diner, ordering an absurd amount of food and jabbering on about anything and everything. If she noticed the moments when you fell silent, eyes distant and glassy, (and she definitely did), she never said anything; she just offered a new topic and redirected you from the very sad place that was thoughts of Spencer. And you would latch on eagerly, seizing the opportunity to forget.

So, you spent the evening with late night waffles and french fries and milkshakes and the unending source of cheer that was Penelope Garcia, and by the end of it, your mind didn’t immediately redirect to that morning’s tragedy, which Garcia would define as a success. Together, you found your way back to her car, and you tumbled into the passenger seat, your eyelids immediately fluttering shut. Penelope grinned and drove off.

When you woke again, you were engulfed in bewilderment and not just the regular post-nap disorientation. “Penny, why are we at the National Mall? This is the opposite direction of your house.”

She tapped her acrylics on the steering wheel and nervously surveyed the street in front of her, trying to escape your prying gaze. “Uh—no reason!”

Too exhausted from your day of grief and distraction to be suspicious of her terrible lying, you leaned your head back against the seat, watching the glow of the streetlamps as they roved over the interior of the car.

Garcia seized this movement to set the next part of Reid’s plan in motion. “Hey! You know, what’d be fun is if we went to the Natural History museum! There’s nothing better to cheer you up than dusty old dinosaur bones.” (She didn’t necessarily understand the appeal, but she was trying her best.)

A small chuckle escaped you. “As much as I’d love that, it closed at nine, so we wouldn’t even be able to get in anyway.”

Garcia’s mind thundered furiously as she tried to come up with some way to get you in that freaking building. “Let’s just walk past! Take a peek through the windows, see what we can see!”

Something in you sensed that she wasn’t going to let this go, so you relented as she finagled some sort of street parking that was definitely illegal. You could barely get your seatbelt off before she was dragging you the stone steps, the massive corinthian columns looming. You squeaked a quick Penelope! and tried to keep up. Entirely ready to give up and head back to the car when she tried the door, your mouth fell open in shock when it gave way with ease.

“Oh, look! It’s open! Let’s go inside.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond before she was ducking in the building, and you followed, completely and utterly baffled. Stumbling into the atrium, you were met by a receptionist at the desk. She smiled warmly, “Miss (Y/L/N), I presume?”

You nodded slowly before turning to Garcia whose devious smirk was undeniable. “Penny, what is going on?”

She grabbed your hands and looked at you with tears in her eyes. (Where the hell did those come from?) “Just remember that you’re a very forgiving person, and that sometimes the smartest of us can also be the most stupid.”

Furrowing your brows at that slightly cryptic message, you went to respond when the receptionist stood and said, “If you would, miss, please follow me.”

And so you walked with this stranger through the empty halls, the click of her heels echoing. It was odd to see a space that was normally flushed with people completely empty, and you studied the walls as you walked. “Um, may I ask what’s going on?”

The receptionist grinned, “I’m sorry, but I’m under strict instructions from Dr. Reid to not reveal anything.”

Strict instructions from Dr. Reid. You gasped a little at that, and your thoughts raged with possibilities of what Spencer could possibly have planned. If this was an elaborate attempt at an apology, you were a little overwhelmed; the little dispute this morning absolutely did not necessitate a response of this degree. Sure, you were disappointed, and you needed time to deal with it away from him, but you weren’t mad at him, not really. You had talked about marriage and knew that it was something you both wanted, but you had never discussed when. If he wasn’t ready to marry you quite yet, that was fine; you’d adjust. You were pretty sure you’d wait a whole lifetime for him. Besides, you had sprung it on him quite abruptly, and you knew Spencer and that he was not always well-equipped to deal with monumental change, and how could you blame him for that? You’d wait as long as he needed.

“Here we are!”

Her words broke you from your thoughts, and you looked up to realize you were at the Hall of Fossils. (You had always been fond of the dinosaurs.) Glancing at the girl, you asked, “What do I do now?”

She laughed a little at that. “Just go inside. Take a look around.” And with that, she turned around, leaving you to wander the exhibit.

So you ambled easily through the prehistoric relics and fossilized memories of a past Earth. It was rather haunting, the eerie silence and the illuminated dinosaur skeletons. You peered down at one of the explanatory plaques and instead found a blue post-it note. COLD. A grin wormed its way onto your face, and you jogged a little to the next plaque. GREENHOUSE GASES—WARMER. Spencer was always one for a game. So you zig-zagged through, collecting post-its. GLACIAL PERIOD—COLDER. CRETACEOUS WARMING. EOCENE KIND OF HOT!

With the last note, you looked up and gasped yet again. Spencer was standing in a sea of different plants and flowers placed throughout the central clearing, and donning his signature tight-lipped smile and your favorite of his cardigans, he gave you a small wave. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Your response was breathless, and now that you had met his eyes, you couldn’t tear yours away. A weight lifted from your lungs, it was such a relief to see him, and you hadn’t realized how much you had missed him in the hours you spent apart until you could breathe properly again. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He chuckled at that, but the tension in his shoulders never released; he was clearly anxious, but for what reason, it was hard to say.

An amusing gleam in his eye, he replied, “Same to you.”

“How did you get into the museum after hours?”

He took the moment to examine the toes of his shoes, replying delicately, “I have friends in high places.”

“Ah, Dr. Reid, I always forget that you ruled the world of academia before your time fighting crime.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Do you remember our first date?”

You gave him a tender smile, and his racing heartbeat eased ever so slightly, you just had that kind of effect on him. “Well,” you began, “I remember you were wearing that cardigan, the one that I love, and I was so nervous I thought I was going to pass out—”

“I was definitely more nervous. I was so anxious I forgot who Carl Sagan was at one point.”

“I’d forgotten about that!” You giggled at the memory. “But I remember being in this room, and we were making stupid dinosaur puns, and I believe I told you that you are dino-mite….”

He nodded meekly with a subdued grin. “I think that was the moment I fell in love with you.” Meeting his eyes once again, you felt the wind knocked out of you. The utter honesty you found radiating from his soft golden irises hurt your heart, and it was impossible to not believe him. He fell in love on the first date, how sweet and lovely and perfectly Spencer is that?

You took a breath and began to walk closer, skimming a hand over the lush greenery around you. “You know, the last time I was here, I didn’t remember there being so much flora.”

As if he had forgotten the miniature forest that surrounded him, he surveyed the plants surrounding him. There was a sea of succulents and ferns and honeysuckle and peonies and almost every other plant under the sun. “Yes, they’re a new addition. And if I recall correctly, it seems that lots of your favorites have made an appearance.”

“It does appear that way.”

He reached out to gently lift one strand of a nearby fern. “I believe you’ve mentioned before that you would ‘take a fern over a flower any day of the week.’”

“That would explain why they seem to be taking over the windowsills of our apartment.”

“True. Did you know that in the Victorian floriography, the fern represented sincerity and humility? So maybe if somebody had made a stupid mistake and they were trying to let someone know that they were really sorry, they might give a fern to say that they know they were being an idiot and they felt really bad for what they did.”

You laughed airily, “No, I was not aware of that fact.”

He closed the gap between you, reaching to tuck an errant lock of hair behind your ear. He simultaneously managed to pull a small bouquet of purple-ish flowers from thin air, causing more laughter to bubble from you. The laughing is a good sign, he thought, grinning. Keep going! “To really drive the point home, they might also give some columbine which represents foolishness.”

You looked up at him, your expression bright. “Oh man, this guy feels really bad.”

“Yeah,” he agreed before his words took a more somber cadence. “Yeah, he does.”

Your face softened. “Spence—”

“Um, before you say anything else, (Y/N), I just need to let you know how sorry I am for this morning. I love you so, so much, and I never want you to doubt that, and—”

“Spencer, slow down. Really, it’s okay! I’m not mad.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not angry with me, but it’s not okay because you still deserve an apology. A good apology. So,” he took a deep breath, “I am so very sorry for my actions and for letting you think for even a second that you’re not the most important thing in my life, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I want to marry you when you asked because I do. I really, really do.”

Something warm and elated simmered in your stomach, and you beamed at him. “I’m glad because I wanna marry you too.” But before you could get too caught up in the moment, you remembered your earlier thoughts. “I don’t want to push you in any way, though, or make you commit to anything before you’re ready because marriage is kind of a big deal, and I’m happy to wait. Spencer Reid, I’d wait for you forever.”

“I don’t want to wait.” He shook his head and began digging in his pocket.

Your eyes widened in shock and spluttered, “Spence, seriously, if you’re not ready—”

“I am ready.” Finally, he found it and pulled out a small velvet box, looking you dead in the eye. “(Y/N/N), I have been planning this for so long because I wanted it to be perfect for you. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and I wanted to give that to you.”

His admission gave you pause. “Wait, you’ve had this planned?”

“I’ve been planning this for months! This isn’t me trying to fumble around and fix my mistake. I have a binder and everything, you can ask Derek. That’s the only reason I said no!”

“You said no because you had a binder for your proposal plan?” you teased.

You both broke out into laughter at that.

Recovering his breath and trying to suppress his ever-growing grin, he said, “No, that’s not why. The only reason I said no earlier is because I needed to show you how much I wanted to say yes. You deserve the best, you deserve every star in the sky and every beautiful thing on this earth, and I wanted to make sure I gave that to you when we decided to spend the rest of our lives together because I want to be enough for you.” Trying to swallow around the slug in his throat, he continued, voice breaking slightly. “This is me giving you all the love I have to offer. You’re it for me, (Y/N). And frankly, I don’t want to spend another second without you.”

He settled on one knee and opened the box, looking up at you with the gentlest gaze and a pounding heart. The wetness of your eyes matched his, and you gave him a watery smile. “I’m saying yes now. I would really, really like to marry you, (Y/N/N), if you’ll still have me.”

“Of course, you absolute dork.” Yanking him up from the ground and grinning like a madman, you grabbed his face and pulled him in for the messiest kiss. He clutched your waist and held you as close as he could possibly manage. (His desire to never be parted seemed to be coming to fruition in the sort of melding of bodies that was occurring.) Clashing teeth and knocking noses, it was hard to settle things when neither of you could stop beaming. Overwhelmed by the complete and utter joy bubbling up in his chest, Spencer hugged you tightly before spinning you in a circle, both of you devolving into boisterous giggles.

“Wait,” he murmured. “I forgot to give you the ring, I still need to seal the deal!” To which, you responded with another peal of laughter (something he thought he would never tire of hearing), as his trembling fingers floundered for the ring.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but I’ll take it either way.”

He finally secured, and taking your hand in his ever so gently tenderly, he slid a glimmering emerald on your finger.

“Oh, Spencer, it’s beautiful.” He let out a sigh of relief. With light confusion, you asked, “What’s the sigh for, handsome?”

“I know you wanted a special ring, but when I went ring shopping with Derek, there was nothing I thought you’d like, so I special-ordered one from this shop that was going to be your size and everything, but that ring wasn’t going to be ready for a couple weeks. So today, when I knew I had to propose tonight, I ran to that vintage store you love and came across this one, and I thought you’d like it, but I wasn’t sure it was gonna fit, and—”

“I love it,” you looked at him, trying to will him to understand the depth of your sincerity. “And it fits perfectly!”

“How serendipitous.” He thought his face was going to split in half, he was smiling so wide. He couldn’t stop looking at the ring on your finger. How could one silly little rock make tears well in his eyes? Nonetheless, the sight of it made his heart race and his stomach churn with unrepentant butterflies because looking at it, he knew the girl he loved more than anything else on the planet, his favorite person had chosen to spend the rest of her life listening to his rambles and laughing at his jokes and sitting next to him by the pond in the park. The listless dream that had seemed so hopeless and romantic finally came to fruition in that shiny green stone, so no, he would not stop staring.

“Indeed,” you mused, subtle and irresistible risibility fizzing in the silence that followed. You contemplated for a moment before asking, “What do we do now?”

A thoughtful frown graced his lips, and then he shrugged. “We have the museum until midnight. We could just wander for a bit.”

Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and you tugged on his sleeve, your excitement palpable. “I’ve always wanted to be in a museum when no one’s around at night! Oh my god, Spencer, it’s just like Night at the Museum!”

He quirked a brow, and a sly smirk turned up the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean I have to protect you when the dinosaur skeletons come to life?”

You scoffed, “Please, we both know that I’d be the one protecting you.”

Another devolution into giggling. It seemed to be your thing tonight.

“Fair enough.”

“Also, do we get to keep all of these plants?” His eyes remained glued to your flushed face as you peered around the room. He wasn’t ashamed to admit just how besotted he was, shamelessly beaming at his fiancée.

“I bought them for you, so yeah.”

“Sick! Our apartment’s gonna turn into a little greenhouse!”

He extended a crooked arm to you, to which you looped yours in his and proceeded to set off on your museum adventure. You learned your head on his shoulder as you walked, completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you very much.”

“I love you too, dear.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #anyone else obsessed with winston bishop?#i'd die for him #also can anyone tell that my fav literary device is polysyndeton #bc i feel like i use it way too often :/#actually i don't care!#bc i love it #also i counted three allusions in this bad boy if u find them all u get extra credit :)#jkjkjkjk #i hope all of the three people awake rn enjoy this

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 3 years

Text

Happiness Continues

Part 11: The Delivery

Summary: Jensen and Y/n welcome their newest addition to this world.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 7.2K+

Warnings: Language, angst, descriptions of labor and birth

Author’s Note: Baby Ackles is finally ready to make their first appearance. If you have been following this story since the beginning, you may want to grab a tissue, there just might be some tears (happy tears tho). Also, I will preface this chapter by saying I have never been pregnant nor given birth so please don’t @ me with any inaccuracies, I tried my dudes. Special thanks to my loves for the constant undeserved support and my devoted beta @emoryhemsworth xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The winter sun had long ago dipped underneath the horizon, the night bringing a new level of quiet to the residential corner where the birthing center was located. Inside birthing suite two, the only soft light came from the LED strips that followed the length of the walls at the base and ceiling. Currently, they were tuned low and blue, the light mixing with the neutral decor in a way that made her feel like she was underwater.

Curled on her side in the queen-sized bed, Y/n watched out the window on the opposite wall. Through the sheer curtain, the center’s garden could be visualized. It expanded a few hundred yards until the treeline of the nearby forest began. In silence, she watched the water trickle from the stone fountain in the center. It had been turned off for the season, but the rain that had fallen earlier in the evening still clung to the piece, each drop falling in a slow rhythmic pattern.

Y/n found it more soothing than what the fountain had looked like last summer when they had first toured the place. She assumed if she was laboring in spring or summer, walking the trails in the garden would be something she found herself doing, even late in the evening as it was currently. But that was a dream she had let go of as the temperature dropped. All she had now was the counting of each drop in between contractions.

The instinct to hold her breath took over as the next contraction washed over her, the sharp inhale of breath alerting the dozing man next to her. Y/n closed her eyes and focused on taking deep breaths, trying to ground herself to the moment. Fingers pressed into her lower back, one on either side of her spine, applying counter-pressure to the contraction.

“Harder,” her word was weak, even in the quiet room. The pressure increased instantly, helping her to focus back on breathing through the contraction. It felt like a lifetime later when the pain began to subside before eventually tapering off. The sheets shuffled in the dark behind her before she felt an arm wrap around her abdomen.

“Where are you at?” Jensen’s voice broke into the room as he pulled her tight against his chest.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her gaze back on the fountain outside. “Trying to be anywhere but here.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Birth our child?” she tried, unable to stop the smile from creeping up on her face. If there was one thing Y/n didn’t handle well, it was being in pain. She would put back up every wall that anyone had become successful in tearing down, choosing to stew in silence. It was a defense mechanism she had perfected long ago. Never let them see you sweat. Unfortunately, that also meant that she tended to get mean, keeping it all bottled up until she exploded like a shaken can of soda. She truly wished right then that she had a catheter in her back delivering the good meds to her lower body, but she had committed long ago to do this as naturally as possible, her comfort be damned.

“As soon as they figure out how to do that, I’ve got you, babe,” Jensen chuckled behind her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck. She nodded in unfortunate understanding, her hand coming to rest atop her husband’s where it lay on her belly.

“Actually, could you top off my water bottle?” Y/n spoke back up after a moment of content silence.

“Of course. Ice?” He questioned, already climbing from the bed to grab her bottle on the nightstand near her.

“Please,” she confirmed.

“Be back in a flash,” Jensen pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before leaving the room to get ice from the main kitchen in the birthing center. A sigh left her mouth as she pulled herself into a semi-sitting position on the bed and grabbed her phone from where it lay charging. There was a mix of messages in her notifications, all from friends and family with varying messages of encouragement. She appreciated the gesture but to be honest, what Y/n wanted more than anything was to not have all the attention on her. It was yet another symptom of being uncomfortable. Her solace lay in the simple fact that she was not expected to answer any of the messages she received, considering she was in labor and all. Forgetting why she even grabbed the device in the first place, Y/n noted the time and tossed it back on the nightstand.

It was officially after midnight. Well, technically it was almost twelve-thirty which meant it was Jensen’s birthday. Y/n had found it funny when he had called his mother earlier to let her know that the baby was coming, Jensen had made his stupid joke only to have his face fall when Donna had laughed a little too hard. Her husband was caught up thinking about his mother and teasing the older woman that it didn’t even cross his brain what Y/n going to labor meant for him. Now, as she found herself nearly seven centimeters dilated as the clock turned into the new day, it seemed their baby would share its birthday with their father.

Jensen came back then, breaking her out of her thoughts but unable to knock the warm smile from her face. He walked around to her side and perched on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under him as he faced her. Y/n took a drink of the cool liquid, relishing in the calm it brought her.

“What is that smile about?” He had an equally bright smile of his own, unable to contain it as he watched his wife.

“Nothing just… happy birthday,” the pregnant woman shrugged in her seat, her eyes casting down to wear her hands now cradled her bump.

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed, his heart feeling so whole when he thought about it that it felt as though it might burst from his ribcage. There was so much love for the woman in front of him, he didn’t know what to do with it. It scared him sometimes. It didn’t matter what was happening at the moment, but he could look at her and he would forget for a second that the world existed outside them and all he knew was that she made everything okay. His heart would skip a beat so fast he barely noticed and the urge to cry became overwhelming. Only this time, he refused to fight it, allowing a few tears to well up in his eyes.

“What’s this about?” Y/n sat up, concern now etched into her features as she brought herself close enough to her husband that she could wipe away the single tear that had escaped down his cheek with her thumb. She had caught sight of it, of course, even in the low light of the room. In the few silent seconds that he sat there smiling, she felt warm under his stoic gaze, unsure of what was going on in that head of his. Jensen shook his head, his smile still not faltering.

“I love you,” he said simply.

“I love you, too,” Y/n agreed, her concern melting away and taking with it the crease in her brow. Her husband cradled her face in his hands, pulling her face up to press his lips to hers. He poured every emotion that was currently making him dizzy into that kiss, afraid that if he didn’t, she would never know. But she did know, and though Y/n didn’t need more than those three words, she couldn’t deny him the release he so evidently needed. The desperation seeped from his every pore as his lips brushed against hers, unwilling to part until the need for air overtook everything else.

A gentle knock on the door snapped his brain back down to Earth. Jensen released his hold on her face, watching as it took her a second longer to open her eyes once they parted. He cleared his throat before calling out.

“Come in.”

Their midwife, Melek, snuck into the room, not making a sound as she closed the door behind her. She turned the lights up just a touch, giving the couple a warning beforehand.

“Hey, I’m just back to check your progress,” she snatched a pair of gloves from their place in one of the drawers and came to the side of the bed Jensen was still perched on. He moved out of her way as Y/n scooted down the bed slightly. Melek asked Y/n how she was feeling as she went about her work. The midwife listened and nodded along to everything she explained.

“Well, we are getting very close. Based on how you’ve progressed so far, this baby could be here in the next couple of hours. You are going to start feeling the urge to push soon, might feel like you have to poop, don’t ignore that or any other changes you notice.” Melek stood from the bed and tossed her gloves before washing her hands. She made a note on the whiteboard in the room before coming back over to the couple.

“You are welcome to continue relaxing, whatever feels best. However, if you feel up to it, I would suggest taking a walk in the garden. I know it’s cold and late, but it will help to energize you before the big work starts.”

“Thank you. Is that safe?” Y/n was adjusting her nightgown back into place as she talked.

“Yes, if you choose to take a walk, I would go now. No longer than twenty minutes outside and I will be back in another hour,” Their midwife confirmed. The couple nodded in acknowledgment of her words, offering her more words of ‘thanks’ as she exited the suite.

“Well, what do you think, momma?” Jensen put his hands on his hips as he looked down at her.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Y/n shrugged. She offered him an innocent smile. “Help me put on my shoes?”

“Deal.”

****

A low groan emanated from her chest as she battled through her current contraction. Her hands were locked around Jensen’s neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. The actor was rocking her back and forth, once again applying counterpressure to her lower back.

“Oh god, I feel nauseous,” Y/n breathed out as the contraction subsided. She let up on the weight she had been putting on her husband.

“That’s normal though, right?”

“Yeah, I was just venting,” she let the air out of her lungs rush past her lips. “I don’t expect you to do anything about it.” Her words were clipped as they tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. The laboring woman cringed as she felt her husband stiffen underneath her. The soda had popped. Her movements were hesitant as she raised her head to look at him, regret written across her face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, you are allowed to do whatever you want to me today.” The smile that graced his lips was tight, but she suspected it was more from the exhaustion than anything. She could see the heaviness in his eyes.

“No, it’s not. Come on, yell at me. Tell me you don’t need that shit because you were just trying to be helpful,” she pleaded with him, the guilt heavy in her chest.

“You want me to pick a fight with you while you are in labor?” Amusement was heavy in his words.

“Yeah, please? I deserve it. You are being far too nice to me.”

“It’s not happening. Sorry, babe.” Y/n growled in frustration, causing her husband to throw his head back and laugh.

The sound of yet another knock had her releasing her grip on her husband as she called the midwife in. It was time for the hourly check of her labor progression, a task that Y/n had grown a distinct distaste for. As the hours came and went and it felt like nothing was happening, it all just felt pointless. At this point, she was begging this kid to come out.

Melek made quick work of the check, a smile on her face after when she pulled off her gloves. “Seems as though it’s time, momma. You are fully dilated. How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Y/n shared a look with her husband as their midwife headed over to the tub on the opposite side of the room and started the water. She gave a quick synopsis of what had happened in the last hour before asking, “Are we pushing now?”

“We can start. Sounds like you’ve already had some urges to. Right now it’s about listening to your body and what it’s telling you. I’m going to grab the nurse while you get in the water.” Melek left the water running and the couple dumbstruck.

“Okay, I guess this is happening,” Y/n scoffed, allowing her husband to help her from the bed. He stripped down to his boxer briefs while she slipped off the gown she was wearing, leaving her as naked as the day she was born. Jensen helped her into the tub and down to sit between his legs. As the water reached its max level, he stopped the tap and urged her to sit back against his chest.

True to her word, Melek was back in no time with a nurse and everything else they would need. They flourished around the room, getting ready as yet another contraction hit. Y/n’s grip on her husband tightened, her mind focused on one thing now. Jensen was whispering in her ear, helping to guide her breaths. Y/n gave in to the urge to push, more than ready now to have this over with. The pattern was quick and repeated itself again, and then again, and again.

The time clicked away on the clock on the far wall, each passing minute mocking the laboring woman as it turned over the hour. If she had thought she was exhausted before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Sweat dripped from her forehead, small tendrils of hair that had fallen from the bun on top of her head stuck to her flushed skin. She dropped her head onto her husband’s shoulder, soft pants passing her lips as she tried to relax before the next contraction hit.

Only it didn’t take long, the pain returning before she even had time to think. The contraction had her doubling in on herself, concentrating on bearing down. Her scream originated low in her chest, the sound of it low as it echoed out in the room. Y/n knew that Melek was coaching her, but she couldn’t hear the words anymore, her body too far spent.

“I can’t,” As the contraction dissipated, she threw her head back and hid her face in the crook of Jensen’s neck.

“You can, Y/n. Your body was made to do this,” Melek encouraged, a hand on the poor woman’s shoulder. Y/n swatted it away as she let out another sob.

“No, I can’t. I’m too tired,” her shoulders shook as she let it all out. Jensen turned and placed a kiss on her temple.

“Honey, if anyone can do this it’s you,” he whispered in her ear. “I know you’re tired and that means you are ready to quit, but you can’t, not yet. Just think about holding our baby in your arms, you are so close.”

Another sob shook through her as she indicated her disagreement with his words. She wanted to believe him, she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt but Y/n had never felt so defeated in her life. This was finally it and she couldn’t do it.

“Look at me, Y/n.” He waited for her eyes to open and focus on him. “You can and you will. I’m right here, I’ve got you. You are gonna push this baby out and we are gonna love it so much all this will be a distant memory. Nothing else will matter but the life we created.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” she hiccuped out with a laugh. Jensen chuckled along with her, offering another kiss to her temple. They nodded at each other, silent words being passed between them just before the next contraction hit. This time she put all her energy behind it, refusing now to be defeated. It was far from easy, but only she could do it now.

She couldn’t be sure how many contractions later it happened, the only thing she was sure of was the instant relief that washed over her body. Her eyes snapped open as Melek pulled her gook covered baby from the warm water of the tub, holding up its long body so both her and Jensen could see.

“It’s a boy!” Melek announced, placing the infant against Y/n’s bare chest. It all happened in a second and Y/n was holding her son in her arms. Jensen was peppering her face with kisses and muttering soft praises, his arms wrapped around her and helping the nurse wipe the baby clean. More sobs racked her body as soft cries came from the tiny body in her arms. Everything felt like too much like her whole being was vibrating on some new frequency she didn’t yet understand. It was invigorating and terrifying at the same time.

“I told you!” Y/n turned to look at her husband, the sobs that had been shaking through her now intermixed with soft laughter.

“Yeah, you did, babe. I’ll promise to never question you again,” the smile on his face grew as soon as he realized what she was talking about. The giggles coming from his wife seemed to seep into him and soon he was laughing along with her.

Y/n feigned a scoff, chuckles still seeping past her lips and a beautiful smile on her lips. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ackles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

****

It took a while before anyone was able to pry her son from her arms and even then, she refused to give up to anyone besides Jensen. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the nurse or midwife, she just felt that if she gave him up, the feeling in her chest would go with him. Only the soft voice of her husband was able to coax her out of the bubble she had wrapped herself into. Reluctantly, she handed the infant off to her husband who passed him on to be weighed and measured.

The nurse was then able to help her out of the tub and into the shower, washing away the remnants of her son’s birth from her body. In that short amount of time, she ached to hold her son again. Her mind couldn’t focus on anything besides him, and it pissed her off. She didn’t feel in control of herself, consumed by the maternal instincts now flooding her neurons.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Jensen was propped up against the headboard, his legs casually crossed at the ankle in front of him. Discarded still at the foot of the bed was his shirt he had peeled away before they had gotten into the tub, but he had slipped his Nike joggers back on his tall frame. His large hands dwarfed their son, who was only in a diaper, where Jensen held him against his chest. The couple shared a smile before she made her way over to him, climbing gingerly into the bed next to her husband and son. Y/n curled herself into his side as the nurse left them to be alone.

“Nine pounds and seven ounces, twenty-one inches long,” Jensen smirked down at the sleeping infant. Y/n choked out a breath, her jaw dropping open in the process.

“Jesus, I’m never gonna be the same,” she blew out a breath. The tired woman laid her head against her husband’s shoulder, her eyes never leaving her sleeping child. She could feel her husband shaking softly with laughter. Mostly, she was just as amused as him, but on the other hand, she wasn’t kidding.

As she settled into her spot, their son began to stir, his face scrunching into a frown. Jensen moved quickly, pulling the kid away and offering him to his mother.

“What, the first time he even indicates he might cry and you immediately hand him over to me?” Y/n leans away from her husband, a confused frown etched into her features.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t have the goods,” the Texan flicked his eyes down at her chest before looking back at her face. He had one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.

“Okay, how do you even know he’s hungry? Maybe he needs to be changed?”

“He’s fresh out of the womb and hasn’t eaten anything, you do the math,” Jensen held him out again. Y/n rolled her eyes for effect when the truth was she couldn’t wait to get her hands on that baby again.

“Well go get the midwife, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Y/n tilted her head towards the door. She had one hand cradling the infant and her other was working to pull her gown away from her chest.

“Right,” he bounded from the bed, grabbing his shirt as he went and pulling it over his head. The door barely had time to shut behind him before he was returning, Melek in tow. The midwife was more than helpful, guiding Y/n and her baby through their first feeding. It took them a few tries before it seemed like they finally got the hang of it. Melek left them again to the peace of the early morning.

The sun had yet to breach the horizon but that didn’t stop the birds from putting on a show outside. Jensen had climbed back into bed with his family, situating himself as close as possible to his wife. It gave him the best vantage to watch the miracle they had created. He rested his hand on the baby’s head, rubbing his thumb across the infant’s hair.

Y/n didn’t even bother averting her gaze as her husband nestled into her side. She was far too transfixed on her son. Every emotion felt magnified a thousand times since she gave birth, to the point where she felt like she might burst. It was hard to sort through them, the exhaustion of her body not helping at all. Now, as she stared down at the precious life she and Jensen had created, the only thing she felt was calm. His eyes were closed as he fed, the soft gurgles and breaths he let out the only noise in the suite.

“He’s perfect,” she mumbled to no one in particular, she just felt it needed to be said.

“He really is,” Jensen agreed. “I had no doubt, which is why I got you this.” Y/n tore her eyes away then as Jensen procured a long velvet case from behind him. He offered the object to Y/n who took it with her free hand.

“What is this? It’s your birthday today, not mine,” she tried arguing.

“Just open it, you dork. Besides, you’ve already given me the best gift I could ever have,” Jensen urged her to open it. His eagerness washed off him as he smiled at her, his hand back on his son’s head.

Being careful to not jostle the child eating in her arms, Y/n used both hands to flip open the case. Laying against a dark cushion inside was a gold bracelet with a row of seven round stones in the center. She caught the card that was placed inside when it tried to fall away, reading the small paragraph.

‘Customised with seven beautifully crafted semi-precious stones amidst a string of shimmering beads. Each stone is traditionally associated with various characteristics that also typify those born in that particular month – The March birthstone is Aquamarine, which has a pale blue appearance and symbolizes honesty, loyalty, and happiness.’

The tears fell from her eyes as she read, threatening to turn into full-blown sobs. Y/n sniffed as her emotions continued to get the better of her, using the end of the blanket to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. Happiness. There wasn’t anything she could think of better to describe how she was feeling. It was indescribable happiness that had begun on that New Year’s Eve two years ago and continues through the life she now held in her arms. It was happiness she feared she would never get to experience, and yet, here she was.

“Jay, this is beautiful. But how-”

“I ordered one for February too, can’t be too careful,” he answered before she could ask, earning a giggle from his wife. “You really like it?”

“Honey, I love it. I can’t imagine a more perfect gift.”

“Here,” Jensen pushed away from the headboard and offered his hand to take the case from her. She handed it back to him, allowing him to take the delicate bracelet from its setting. He urged her to raise her arm, making quick work of clasping the piece of jewelry around her right wrist. “There, perfect.”

“Perfect,” she agreed.

****

The midwife cleared Y/n and the baby to go home just before noon that day. They had spent less than twenty-four hours in the birthing center, but as she dressed her son to go home she couldn’t help but feel like she was going to miss it. That stupid little room now held so much meaning to her, and she hated it. The exhaustion and hormones were making her stupidly sentimental.

As they turned into their driveway, Jensen was forced to pull their SUV into the yard since the entirety of their driveway was filled with cars. He hopped out of the driver’s seat to help Y/n from the car before grabbing the car seat with their son inside. Her husband allowed her to waddle along in front of him, a smirk on his lips when she looked over her shoulder before opening the gate to their home.

Across the stone courtyard, she could see their family all huddled in front of the expansive window that saw into their living room. Everyone waved excitedly as the new family made their way towards the house. Y/n took in the faces of her and Jensen’s parents, along with her brothers and their families. Jensen’s siblings were too far out to make it right now, but even still Y/n was surprised to see her brothers. Donna and Alan had come down as soon as they called to let them know Y/n was in labor, staying in their guestroom for the coming week to help the new parents adjust. She expected her parents too, even though they couldn’t stay longer than the night, rooming in Jared’s guesthouse and leaving in the morning. But yeah, her brothers were a surprise.

The family was greeted and the door, an array of excited faces welcoming them home. Someone had hung a ‘congratulations’ banner, with a matching ‘happy birthday’ one just below it. Everyone wrapped the new mother up in a tight embrace before passing her along to the next family member while the kids swarmed Jensen and the baby. It took quite some convincing from the parents to quiet down the little ones, all excited to meet their new cousin and forgetting that they needed to chill out as he was sleeping currently.

“Alright,” Jared’s voice broke above the commotion of multiple conversations. “As the godfather and the whole reason this child even exists, I call dibs on holding him first!” He looked to his sister, his brows high on his forehead as he waited for her answer.

“You all are going to get a turn, I don’t care who goes first. But stop saying you are the reason he exists, it’s weird… ” She waved him on before adding, “and don’t forget the sanitizer.”

Jensen lifted the car seat to the island as Jared bounced over to him. He literally was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his sister rolling her eyes as she followed behind him. The giant of a man moved delicately as he pulled the sleeping infant from the car seat. If she had thought her son looked small in her husband’s arms, it had nothing on how he looked compared to Jared. He took the newborn over to sit on the couch, all the cousin’s swarming him in no time.

“You need anything?” Jensen put his hand on her lower back to bring her attention from their family to him.

“A water?” She suggested as she looked over to him, knowing she would need it sooner rather than later. He nodded and turned to grab a water bottle for her. A soft ‘oh’ had her turning her head back towards her husband. Jensen stepped out of the way to show her their freezer full of Tupperware of different foods.

“We all made a few things for the freezer. I know Donna is staying with you for a little while, but once she is gone, you’ll thank me,” Y/n’s mother appeared next to her.

“Thanks, mom,” Once again she found herself fighting back the tears as she pulled her mother into a tight embrace. Sharon ran her hands up and down her daughter’s back as the younger woman refused to let go. Half of it was not wanting to let go, the other half was hiding her tears in the black sweater her mother wore. When she finally relented, Jensen was standing there with a tissue. He offered it to his wife who took it with a sheepish smile before he also hugged his mother-in-law.

The group in the kitchen returned to the living room where the rest of the family was, fussing over the baby. Jensen sat down in his chair near the fireplace that was angled to where the rest of the family was on or near the couch. He grabbed his wife’s wrist and pulled down along with him, situating her into his lap. The new mother fidgeted in her seat, struggling to get comfortable.

“Would you stop that?” Jensen’s voice was low in her ear as he squeezed her legs in a vain attempt to hold her still.

“I-,” She shifted again with a soft sigh before turning to whisper in his ear. “I’m very sore down there, and your legs are not the most comfortable right now.” His lips formed a thin line as he nodded. Before she could say anything else, he lifted and moved them both so she was situated in between him and the side of the chair, effectively taking the pressure off of her sensitive area.

“Better?”

“God yes,” she huffed before snuggling into his side. The couple watched content as their family traded their son around. The looks of amazement from the kids and the near tears from the adults filled her heart more than she imagined it could have ever been before. Just when she thought it was full, it somehow found room for more love and happiness.

“So, have you two decided on a name yet?” Sharon spoke up as he was passed to her. The older woman was gently bouncing on her feet, her husband peering over her shoulder.

The new parents shared a look, unsure which of them should answer the question to the information they had filled out in his birth certificate just before leaving for home. Everyone had been asking since they got the news he was officially here, though the couple didn’t have an answer as they struggled to come up with something. Jensen tilted his head to her, signaling that she should answer.

“Yes, after an agonizing two hours of staring at him and willing him to tell us what his name should be, we finally picked one,” Y/n explained, her husband chuckling next to her at the memory of her talking to him as he slept. “His name is Ezra Jay Ackles.”

There were murmured compliments and agreements that the name more than fit the little bundle of joy they had just welcomed into their family. Sharon passed Ezra on to his other grandmother, the woman giddy as she took over baby holding duty. Ezra had woken up by now, his dark eyes searching and unsure of the commotion around him, but he had yet to fuss.

“Did you go with Jay because he looks just like Jensen?” she questioned, not taking her eyes off the infant in her arms.

“Ugh don’t remind me,” Y/n huffed, her face scrunched up at her mother-in-law’s words.

“Hey, I thought you liked the way I looked,” Jensen pouted next to her, but she could see the twinkle in his eye.

“That’s not the point. It would be just my luck that I carried him for nine months, was in labor for over eighteen hours while also needing to feed him every two hours, for him to look just like his dad. Where’s the justice in that?” Y/n frowned as her family laughed at her confession.

“Welcome to my world,” Gen piped up. “All of them, little clones of their dad.” The Padalecki women all nodded in agreement to that sentiment, much to the annoyance of their husbands.

“Hey, the Padalecki genes are strong, we can’t help it,” Jared protested, making Jensen throw his head back in laughter.

“If that’s true then I guess the Ackles genes are even stronger,” the new father countered, earning a shove from his wife.

“Alright you two, put the rulers away,” her joke got the rest of the room cackling at the boys’ expense. That satisfied the woman more than she would ever admit.

Not long after the reveal of their baby’s name, the family began to pack things up and head out. It had been a busy and tiring twenty-four hours for the new little family, and their loved ones headed out to give them some peace. Once everyone was gone, Alan offered to go to the store and grab something to whip up for dinner, leaving just Donna with the new parents.

“Y/n, honey, why don’t you go lay down. I know you haven’t really slept since yesterday,” Donna piped up, noting how the woman’s eyes were getting heavy. She was curled up on the couch next to her husband who was holding their son once again. Donna was picking up the mess left by the family.

“Mmm that sounds good but he will have to feed soon, I should just stay here,” Y/n answered with a hum. She couldn’t deny, a nap sounded wonderful but everything was about Ezra and his needs now.

“Couldn’t we just give him a bottle?” Jensen asked, earning a shake of the head from both of the women in the room.

“No, if you guys are committed to breastfeeding, she’s got to get her milk supply in and the best way to do that is for him to feed. Also, there is nipple confusion,” Donna stated matter of fact with Y/n nodding along the whole time.

“Nipple confusion?” Jensen looked to his wife, confusion written all over his face. The term sounded familiar to the actor, but he couldn’t for the life of him come up with a definition.

“It means that Ezra could get confused between the bottle and the breast, and the concern is that he would prefer the bottle,” Y/n explained, her hand absentmindedly running along her son’s cheek.

Jensen nodded in understanding and shrugged, “Not if he’s my son.”

The new mother reared back in confusion. “Why?” was the only thing Y/n could say after she and Donna looked at him with equal disgust and disappointment. Jensen grimaced under their looks before she continued. “Your mother is in the room.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mom, I don’t know why I said it,” the look of shame on his face morphed into fear as he prepared for a scolding, but that moment never came. Instead, Donna stood and walked over to where they were seated.

“Alright, give me the kid,” the older Mrs. Ackles reached out for her grandson. Jensen gave him up without question. “Both of you need to sleep. Don’t worry, I will come and get you if he gets hungry.”

“It’s best not to argue with her when she makes that face,” Jensen muttered under his breath, but not so quiet that his mother didn’t hear him. She raised her brow at him, an action that was remarkably similar to the one Jensen often emulated.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Y/n agreed, allowing her husband to help her to her feet. Jensen gave his mom a quick peck on the cheek in passing as he pulled his wife along with him to their bedroom.

Inside the curtains were still drawn from when they had left yesterday, only a small sliver of light peeking into the room from its edges. Neither of them bothered with changing, knowing it was too much work for now. Instead, Jensen just turned down the bed, allowing them to slip under the cool covers. He settled into the pillows, lifting his arm to invite her back to his side. Of course, she obliged, snuggling into his chest with one hand placed where she could feel the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips.

Jensen wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting against her arm, rubbing soft circles against her skin. He stared up at the ceiling in the semi-dark room, watching the spinning blades of their ceiling fan make countless revolutions. His mind was racing, all the emotions of the last day starting to get to him now that he had nothing else to focus on.

Y/n was silent as well, but he knew she hadn’t fallen asleep yet, her body still too tense to have fully succumbed to the exhaustion. If he wanted to ever get some shut-eye, he knew he had to get some things off his chest. He needed to let go.

“You know what this reminds me of?” There was a gruff undertone to his voice, yet it still managed to be soft as he sought to not startle his wife. She hummed in response, letting him know she was listening. “Our first night together. Well, after… everything.”

“How so?” Y/n shifted so she could have a better view of her husband who now had her full attention.

“I couldn’t sleep then either. Too much going on in my head,” Jensen took a deep breath, his eyes still on the ceiling as he continued. “I kind of have this tendency to push all my emotions to the side to deal with them another time, even if that other time never comes, but that night, I just… I couldn’t get myself to do it. As I stared down at you, sleeping against my chest with that stupid little content smile on your face, I realized that you were worth all of it, every emotion: the fear, the anxiety, and even the guilt; they were all worth feeling for you.”

The crease in her brow deepened as her husband confessed to her what he went through that night. Jensen looked down at her then, a smile on his face and tears once again pooling in his eyes. He brought up his hand to caress her cheek before continuing.

“I never believed in love at first sight, hell, I still don’t, because even through all of that fear and anxiety what I felt most of all was love, and that didn’t happen overnight. It happened in the weeks we had spent in the makeup trailer, in the way you trusted me with the things you wouldn’t even tell your brother, and in your sarcastic comebacks that never failed to surprise me. I spent weeks falling in love with you and didn’t even realize it.”

“The only thing I could do was watch you sleep, so irrevocably in love with you that I was scared if I pushed away those bad feelings… if I didn’t consider every possible thing that could wrong from that moment on, that I would lose the best thing in my life now, so that’s what I did, just watched you sleep and go over every possible scenario my mind could come up with of how us being together could go wrong. I know...” He had to stop again, needing a moment to take a shuddering breath. “I know that day when I told you we needed a break hurt you and made you question everything I ever said to you and sure we’re past it now, but I really need you to know that when I came to you that next morning and asked you to go on one date with me, I didn’t make that decision lightly. I had decided before you even tried to sneak out of the guesthouse that you were worth everything.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” After he was silent for a moment, she couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Because I… I feel so much right now that I can’t shut it out. The love I feel for you and our son right now, I want to stay in that feeling forever. Even if it means facing every fear or anxiety over making sure you both are safe and happy and thriving. I just had to let you know that you two are my whole world now and I will spend the rest of my life never letting you forget it,” Jensen confessed, allowing the tears that he had been biting back now flow freely. Deep down he knew it was what he needed, that release of every emotion before he could truly relax. Just like she also knew that the time for words was over.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she nuzzled back into his side, pressing her cheek against his chest to listen to his heart again. Y/n knew it wasn’t easy for her husband to admit all of that to her. Those true moments where he exposed himself fully to her were rare. Not that she minded, Y/n didn’t need him to cut out his heart and serve it on a silver platter. Her husband was a man of action. He showed her all she needed to know in every first cup of coffee he brings her in the mornings or running her a bath when she needs time alone. Marriage is as much about the little things as it is about any grand declaration. If you asked Y/n, she would take the soft smiles and lingering touches over a grand speech any day, but this was nice too.

Part 12: Home

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @briagallen @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deandreamernp @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @suckmyapplejacks @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @thoughts-and-funnies @tranquility-or-chaos�� @waywardbeanie @winchest09

Happiness Continues: @afangirlreacts @anaelsbrunette @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67 @cno92 @deanbowlegsackles @deangirl93 @deans-baby-momma @death-unbecomes-you @dvnmbabe @fangirl199813 @spndestiellover @hoboal87 @itsdesiree86 @jbsgirl4eber11 @let-me-luve-you @linki-locks11 @lunarmoon8 @neverland14353 @onethirstyunicorn @parinarain @rebeccathefangirl @rebelemilu @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @squirrelnotsam @stoneyggirl @supernatural3002 @traceyaudette @winchestergirl82 @winqhster @zpandaqueen

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chokemeanakin · 3 years

Text

Give Me Love

Chapter Ten

Wc: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

“Master,” Anakin faltered on his way to the piloting chair. His eyes lingered on you for a long moment, unreadable. “I was wondering where you’d run off to after Grievous fled. Looks like you’ve earned yourself another vacation.”

Grievous had thrown him off a building? You’d heard legends about how awful the part-human mostly-droid General was, but you’d never been at the same battle as him before. A small part of you wished to see if the stories people told about him were true-- if he really was the feared Jedi-killer he was known for being all across the galaxy.

“That won’t be necessary this time,” Kenobi was thankful for the banter. It gave him an excuse to get his mind off the searing pain in his arm. “Thankfully, I have Y/n here to fix me up good as new.”

“You’re right. She is extremely capable, isn’t she?”

His eyes twinkled, just slightly so that only you could catch it. You smiled, chest blooming with warmth as your fears were all washed away. Things weren’t different because he’d been gone for so long. He still cared for you, the same as you cared for him. The war couldn’t change that.

“I would trust no one more with my saber arm,” Kenobi grunted again as you began to wrap gauze around his shoulder, fitting it into a makeshift sling.

“Enough flatter,” you hushed them both, though the smile was evident on your face. “Keep this ice on your shoulder and take it off if it goes numb. And don’t move too much-- we won’t know if you broke a bone until we get you x-rayed.”

You let him take over holding the ice pack to his shoulder, reaching into your medcase for some painkillers. You were scraping the bottom of the bottle, honestly surprised you even had any left to spare.

“Lucky you, you get the last two.”

Kenobi grunted in an attempt to laugh, and swallowed the pills you gave him. After waving off your attempts to get him to lie down somewhere, he stood with a groan and braced himself on the back of Anakin’s piloting chair. He began to heckle him, trying to kick him off so you could have a look at his head.

“What’s wrong with your head?” Your heart stuttered in your chest. You had seen a trickle of blood on his cheek, but that was it.

“It’s nothing,” Anakin growled at Obi-Wan, but gave his seat up anyway so the injured man could sit. He pressed a few more buttons on the piloting interface, putting the ship on autopilot as he stepped away. “Y/n, I’m fine.”

You were already pushing him by the shoulders to sit on the chair Obi-Wan had previously been occupying. He sat with a huff, crossing his arms childishly as you turned his face in your hands.

“See?” he mumbled. “Nothing to worry about.”

His forehead had been gashed open, from the top of his hairline to the tip of his eyebrow. Your blood began to beat thicker in your veins, the panic causing your stomach to knot as you got to work dabbing the blood away with some alcohol cloths. It looked worse than it was-- the cut wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, but it had bled a lot. Head wounds always do.

He winced slightly as you cleaned the wound, the half-second of pain crumpling his face causing your movements to freeze.

“I’m sorry,” you stroked his jaw with your other hand, the one that was holding his face steady. You hoped it would distract him from the sting.

Those blue eyes stared at you the entire time, unperturbed. “It’s okay, really. I’ve had worse.”

You assumed he was right. If this scratch was all he’d come out with after weeks on the battlefield, he was either really lucky or really skilled. You guessed it was both. The evidence of less fortunate encounters rested on his right thigh, clad in a leather-buckled glove. You couldn’t even imagine what that pain had been like.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you said this quietly, so Obi-Wan wouldn’t hear. Anakin brought his flesh arm up to hold your hand to his face, closing his eyes and relishing in the feel of your soft, smooth skin. He had desperately missed your touch, your voice, those steely eyes and that gentle strength. After so long wishing you were there to curl up beside him in the off chance he got to rest, you were finally here. Now, he was going to be selfish and make up for that lost time.

“We’ll be right back,” Anakin called to Obi-Wan with his eyes still closed, hand still holding your palm against his cheek. “Y/n’s going to come to engineering with me to help repair my arm.”

“Your arm? You mean the metal one? I didn’t know it was damaged.”

“Just a little waterlogged. Shouldn’t take too long… or maybe it will. We’ll see.”

Anakin stood, the tips of his fingers tickling yours. He led you out of the room, through the halls of the cruiser, slipping into an unoccupied resting room and slamming the lock on it.

“If you’re expecting me to know how to help you with your arm, you are very mistaken,” you admitted. “I know nothing about mechanics.”

Anakin blinked at you, and then laughed. That glorious, glorious laugh. His arms fell to his waist, where he unclasped his belt and then discarded it on the desk. His tabards came next, and then the robes underneath. You ogled him as he stripped, a steady flame rising to your cheeks, thawing out the weeks of grey-nothingness.

“Umm.. Anakin.. what are you doing?”

It was suddenly very hard to swallow as his bare middle was exposed to you, rippling with muscle. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you were frozen in your spot, unable to do anything but stare.

“I’m getting out of these wet clothes so I can properly hold you,” he explained, bending down to dig through the drawers underneath the metal cot. He turned to eye you up and down, shamelessly lingering on every inch of your body. “I suggest you do the same.”

“Huh?” You looked down, seeing the blood stains splattered all over you. “Oh.”

He was pulling a loose-fitting recreational shirt over his head, the same kind that was supplied in all resting rooms for people to wear if they wanted to sleep in something more comfortable. You were still rooted in your spot, forcing yourself to gather enough wits to unzip your field suit.

All you were wearing underneath was a black undersuit, tight enough to leave little to the imagination. It was meant to keep you warm and wick away moisture, not to be seen in by any incredibly sexy Jedi Knights. Your heart hammered in your chest, skin beginning to sweat as his eyes probed into you.

“You need help unzipping?”

“Uh… I got it,” your fingers snapped to your zipper, now that he was watching you, you didn’t want to be a fumbling idiot.

You were glad for when he seemed to become enamored by the state of his clothes, and you knew it was for your sake. Still, it did little to calm the pounding of your heart as the suit dropped to your ankles, every inch of your black-spandex clad body now available to his eyes.

Get it together. Your chest was visibly moving up and down as you fought to control your breathing, almost panting with anxiety. It’s not like you were naked. What a fucking virgin.

He turned from his pile of clothes, those blue eyes making no effort to hide the way they scanned you up and down. All you could do was stand there at his mercy, burning under that stare.

You expected him to frown. To snarl and pull away and tell you to get dressed again. How disgusted, he should be, you thought. How appalled.

You knew you didn’t have the best body. You’d been to enough nightclubs, seen enough people naked in your workstation, watched enough programs on the holonet to know that. You had always wanted to be like Ahsoka and Sabè— they were slim and toned, long and graceful. Their cheeks were sharp, their fingers elegant, and waists tiny. Your thoughts turned to Padme— his past lover— horrifying you further.

You were nothing like her.

That tiny frame, the beautiful face, and the perfect body. She was so smart, so important, and shaped so womanly. You were nothing to compare.

How could he even stand to look at you?

“Okay, I guess I’ll come to you then,” that silky voice teased, and suddenly you were wrapped in a pair of big, strong arms. It took a moment for your breath to return to your lungs before you realized he hadn’t pushed you away, and instead he was clutching you to his body like a starving man.

“I missed you,” he breathed into your ear, cementing this reality. Your body erupted in a flurry of butterflies, warming you from the inside out.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He still liked you. He missed you. Even after seeing your body like this.

“I missed you, too,” you returned his words with emotion thickening your voice, bringing your arms up to wrap around him as well. He sighed at the feeling of your arms on his back, melting further into your neck.

“Wanna move this to the bed?”

He did most of the work shuffling your embrace onto the metal cot, lying down and pulling you so that you were on top of him. You were beginning to think you actually just had a heart condition, because it was beating out of rhythm constantly now, your pulse spiking and temperature rising at this new position.

You loved it.

He was hard, and warm, and strong beneath you. You were able to lay your head on his chest, stare at the exposed skin of his neck as he rested his chin on your head. Your legs slotted between his, so long in comparison to yours, while his arms secured you to his body around your back.

You’ve never felt safer in your entire life.

Still… you couldn’t help but wonder. Were you crushing him? Was he uncomfortable? What if he was and he was just too polite to make you get off? These thoughts caused you to tense up in his arms, suddenly rigid with fright.

“What’s wrong?” He caught onto your worries immediately. His hand smoothed up and down your back, hoping to soothe your tense muscles.

Maker, you were sick of being the insecure one in this relationship. You wanted nothing more to lie on the man you adored’s chest. Anyone else could do it. Why couldn’t you?

Relax. You hissed at yourself. Relax relax relax relax relax—

“Am I making you uncomfortable again?” The pieces clicked in his head, and the brush of his hand against your back stopped. “I’m moving too fast, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I should have asked—“

“No.”

You wiggled your body, wordlessly begging him to resume his motions. You clutched tighter to his shoulders, dug your head deeper into chest, even turned to plant a small, lingering kiss to his collarbone.

“You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re okay.”

“Yeah?” The smile was evident in his voice.

“Yes.”

You could never ask someone to make more of an effort to make you feel comfortable around them than Anakin did. And he did it with no price held over your head, no expectations, no pressures. If your timid nature put him off, he never let you see it. Honestly, you were surprised he was still here. Any other guy, you wholeheartedly believed, would be running in the other direction when they realized you couldn’t even hold eye contact with them for longer than 5 seconds.

But this shyness— it was exclusive to Anakin. You wouldn’t be this way with anyone else, and it frustrated you to no end.

The least you could do was prove that his patience was paying off, and take a leap yourself.

You planted your hands on either side of his body, pushing yourself up so that you were hovering right over his face. Your knees followed, holding your weight as you sat yourself onto his lap.

Scandalous, for the amount of clothes you were wearing.

A surge of confidence ran through you at the surprise that crossed his features. His eyes were wide, confused, as you took his face in your hands, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

This was your domain. You had always been the mynx of the group, luring men in and then leaving them cold. You loved the power it gave you, the ability to promise everything and then take it all away. It left them yearning for you, begging for you. And you loved it.

Sabè and Ahsoka were entertained to no end, watching you string along guys all night just to leave them hanging by the end. It was all a game to you, the flirting and teasing and wooing. You loved to feel needed, to feel wanted, but you never actually planned to do anything more with them.

So when the night ended, and you wanted to go home, you would break the game off and leave them feeling cold, and angry, and cheated. That’s when you’d get cussed out by egotistical whiny men, demeaned and degraded until their little hearts felt satisfied. To be fair, you never promised that anything would happen. It was simple flirting. It was completely on them that they expected things to go any further than that.

That’s why when Anakin came around, you felt like you had been run over by a speeder. He was the only one capable of making you feel like a bug next to him. Every moment he had you tripping and stumbling, your heart stuttering out of time, your cheeks burning with bashfulness, you hated yourself. How could you let one man have that kind of effect on you? It was pathetic.

But now, you were determined to get a little part of your old self back. You wanted to feel in control again, to have that power. He was just a man, after all, and most men were the same. You just needed to dangle, and they’d be all over you.

You continued to smooth his bangs away with the tip of your finger, ignoring the adorable look of confusion he had on his face. Actually, he seemed to really be enjoying himself despite not understanding where this was coming from, so much that his eyes were closing and he was thinking about maybe taking a little nap.

With his eyes closed, it was easier to lean your face in further. Your eyes zeroed in on those perfect pink lips, so full and inviting and soft, even after weeks of brutal combat. You wondered how they would feel on your own, how he would respond to you kissing him. You could imagine the way he might sigh and cup your face, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper. Sharp pangs of longing twisted your stomach into knots.

Anakin could feel your soft breath on his lips. His heart thrummed in his chest, fingers tightening on your waist. Were you going to—?

He was ready for it, no matter what it was.

Just as he was sure you were going to press your lips against his, you pulled away, planting a teasing kiss to his cheek instead. With no explanation, you fit your head back onto his shoulder, lying down against his body again.

What was that all about?

He opened his eyes, glancing down to see you resting with your head buried in your neck. You were like a kitten, breathing quickly and softly, a small smile curling your lips.

He dismissed the thoughts to analyze for another time. Right now, his body ached and his head throbbed. Your figure was soft and warm against his, and your calming presence was making his eyelids grow heavy. He decided to take your lead, and followed you off to sleep.

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#give me love #anakin x fem reader #anakin fic

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stolethekey · 3 years

Text

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

hello! this is for the (final!) @b99fandomevents—i can’t believe how far these two (and this show) have come, and i’m gonna miss them so much. i got to write this for @amydancepants-peralta, who wanted a fic where jake and amy have a disatrous first date, and then amy decides to transfer to chicago—jake has three days to convince her to stay.

enjoy! (you can also read this on ao3.)

It’s their first date, and it’s a disaster.

Neither of them has said anything in the ten minutes since they’ve sat down. Jake buries his nose into the menu, hoping that he looks occupied enough with choosing an entrée to excuse the heavy silence that has settled over the table. A few feet away, in the other side of the booth, Amy does the same thing.

A young man in a pressed suit and tie approaches their table, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes!” Amy nearly leaps at the chance to talk to someone who is not Jake. Jake tries not to feel too hurt by the desperate excitement in her voice. “I’ll take the chicken piccata, please.”

Jake lingers around the chicken parmesan but ends up going with a steak, because he’s determined to show Amy and maybe himself that he can eat like an adult. They pass their silk-embossed menus to the waiter, sip their waters, and suddenly it’s too quiet again.

“You got a haircut,” Jake notices, wringing his hands nervously under the table.

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long, and then Jake says, “This is awkward.”

Amy chokes out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Another moment passes. Jake swallows the non-existent saliva in his mouth. Their waiter, mercifully, returns with their food a few minutes later. Jake doesn’t want him to leave. He does, of course, and then they’re left in that terrible silence again.

Jake makes it through half his steak before speaking again. “Should we, um, just get really drunk?”

Amy grimaces, reaching for her water. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated. “If we can’t do this sober, what’s the point?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s stomach, but he stabs his fork into his a piece of broccoli anyway. - It’s the day after their first date, and Amy asks for a transfer.

Jake learns about this through a wail from the evidence lockup that he hears from a good twenty yards away. He bursts through the door, frantic, to find Charles curled in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Charles gets out the details in between sobs, or at least enough details that Jake gets most of the picture. Amy put in a transfer to Chicago, it’s been granted on account of an emergency vacancy that needs to be filled, and she has three days left at the Nine-Nine.

“Three days,” Charles gasps, tears streaming out of his eyes. “Three days, you have to convince her to stay, Jake, you have to—”

“Hold on,” Jake says desperately, watching Charles dab at his face with a completely saturated tissue. “Let me get you another box of Kleenex.”

He opens the door to leave and runs straight into the source of Charles’s despair, in the flesh.

“Oh,” says Amy.

Jake closes the door behind him before Charles can see her and have a heart attack, then crosses his arms. “Is it true? Are you leaving?”

Amy has the grace to look self-conscious, shuffling her feet and shoving her hands in her pockets. She nods, and Jake feels strangely like the walls are swimming around him.

It just makes sense, she says. She has family there, and New York is too crowded, too expensive, and maybe Chicago is a better place to live anyway.

“Is this because of me?” Jake demands. “Because of…you know…our date?”

“No, of course not.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.

Jake scoffs before stalking past her into the bullpen, ignoring her half-hearted call of his name. He blinks back the hot, furious tears forming in his eyes, and internally he starts a calendar. - On Day One, Jake calls in sick to work.

He responds to the “r u ok??” texts from Charles, Rosa, Gina, and Terry with a copy-and-pasted “I’m ok. Just feeling gross.” He ignores the ones that mention Amy. He also pretends like he doesn’t notice that Amy hasn’t sent him anything.

The morning is spent mindlessly scrolling through his social media beneath his blankets, with no regard for time or his grumbling stomach.

At noon, Charles posts a picture of the squad from Halloween with the caption “Gonna miss my favorite Halloween-hater. #SayonaraSantiago.” Jake decides he’s had enough Instagram for the day and finally hauls himself out of bed.

He orders a pizza, then turns his phone off and the TV on. Inadvertently, the pizza becomes both lunch and dinner and one Die Hard movie becomes a marathon—and before he knows it, the sky outside his apartment is dark.

“Well, that was productive,” Jake mutters, brushing the pizza crumbs off his lap before standing up to toss his trash into the garbage.

On Day Two, they aren’t talking to each other.

Amy looks up almost timidly as he walks out of the elevator, then waits until he reached his desk to let out a small, hesitant “Hi.”

Jake grabs the file waiting for him on his desk and walks out of the bullpen without looking at her.

So, strictly speaking, this is mostly his fault.

That fact does not do anything to quell the mixture of anger and hurt writhing in his stomach. He spends the day furiously completing paperwork in an empty interrogation room, jabbing his pen so furiously into the paper that he rips a hole in an I-918 and has to start over.

At noon, Rosa stops by with a turkey sub, which she drops wordlessly on the desk in front of him before sliding back out the door.

At five, he has completed more paperwork than he has in the last month combined. He drops the stack of files on Terry’s desk, forces a smile, and says, “Finally caught up on all those forms you’ve been hounding me about.”

Terry, his eyes piercing and slightly concerned, does not laugh. “Dismissed.”

It’s Day Three, and Holt has had enough.

He assigns Jake and Amy to label evidence in the lockup together, much to Jake’s chagrin. Amy turns and speeds off without a word. Jake turns towards Holt with a big, reproachful protest on the tip of his tongue but is cut off by Holt’s raised eyebrows and stern expression.

“Peralta, you need to get over yourself.”

“What?”

“You need to get over yourself,” Holt repeats. “Your partner of six years is leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t spoken to her in three days.”

Jake snorts, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, she’s leaving because of me, so—”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Holt says, not unkindly. “If you let her leave like this, you might never get the chance to talk to her again.”

Jake stares at the ground, furiously attempting to dig a hole in the ground with his toe.

“I know you don’t want this to be the way things end.” Holt’s voice is gentle, and Jake can’t bring himself to look up. “It would be unwise to let your pride get in the way of your last chance to save your friendship.”

“Whatever,” Jake mutters irritably, but something uncomfortable has begun to form in his gut. “Gimme that Sharpie so I can go write case numbers on a bunch of ziplock bags.”

Jake does not, in fact, get over himself—at least not for the first few hours. He chooses to instead label evidence in the same furious silence that has occupied his past three days, pretending he doesn’t see the furtive, almost timid glances Amy throws his way every few minutes.

Then he walks to a bodega for lunch and realizes mid-chew that this is Amy’s last lunch at the Nine-Nine, and the uncomfortable thing in his stomach grows a lot bigger.

He finally swallows his pride on his walk back to the precinct, and when he re-enters the evidence lockup the thing in his stomach has started feeling a lot more like guilt.

Amy walks in a few minutes after him, tossing a balled-up sandwich wrapper into the trash, and notices that he’s watching her. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jake says quickly. “I do.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, and Jake’s heart sinks a little.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” Jake says. “For how I reacted, and for icing you out the past few days. It was immature of me, and stupid, and I should’ve been an adult about it, but—well, I guess we both know I suck at that sometimes.”

Amy snorts, but her expression has softened slightly. “Thank you.”

“And I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jake continues, almost determinedly. “We’re gonna make this the best day you’ve ever had at the Nine-Nine.”

Amy laughs slightly. “I don’t think that’s possible, given the amount of work we have left.”

“Who cares?” Jake shrugs. “The best part of work has always been the people anyway.”

And for all the organizational skills Jake may lack, he sure knows how to delegate. All it takes is a couple text messages to a new, Amy-less precinct group chat and the rest of the Nine-Nine is off. Gina cashes in on a favor and gets Shaw’s to close its doors for the evening. Rosa makes a last-minute motorcycle trip to a local party store and uses a sizable amount of cash and her surprising aesthetic skill to acquire a large box of decorations. Charles says, “leave the food to me,” and no one is brave enough to question him about it.

Jake stays with Amy on the floor of the evidence lockup. They talk and laugh as they work, reminiscing about their years at the Nine-Nine and the particularly memorable perps they’ve brought in.

There’s also a supercut of the stuff that wasn’t work at all—the precinct parties, Charles saving Thanksgiving, the Boyle-Linetti wedding. There are the Halloween heists, the Jimmy Jabs, and there’s the Bet, with a capital B. Neither of them mentions the last one, but Jake is definitely thinking about it.

“Remember that time Terry tried to do the full bullpen and almost knocked a tooth out?” Amy asks, grinning widely. “I thought Sharon was gonna pull him out of the force immediately.”

“You have no faith,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I knew she’d let him stay.”

“You did not.” Amy points at him, narrowing her eyes. “You were so scared when she came to pick him up.”

“I was not—”

“So scared. I’ve never seen a grown man visibly tremble like that, but—”

“God, shut up.” Jake throws a balled-up piece of tape at her, and she laughs. It’s a real one, this time, one that’s bright and infectious.

They let it fade into a gentle silence, one that’s more comfortable than the ones of the past few days.

There’s a beat, and then Jake says, “Don’t go to Chicago.”

He expects Amy to be surprised by this change of subject—to recoil and give an affronted, “what?”

Instead, she sighs, long and slow, and closes the manila folder in front of her. “Jake—”

“I mean, I know it’s your decision, and I respect that,” Jake says quickly. “And if you truly meant what you said to me earlier, about how it’s important to be near your family and it’s a better place for you to live and you’ve grown out of New York—if that’s really the reason you’re leaving, then that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll shut up about it and we can just have a big blowout goodbye party and you can leave.”

Amy picks at the edge of her boot and says nothing.

“But if it’s not—if you’re leaving because of what happened on our date—I don’t want to be the reason you give this up, Amy. I know how much you love it here, and this place loves you too. Captain Holt is a phenomenal mentor to you, we both know that, and you might not get that in Chicago—you’ve done so much good work here that I know you’re proud of, and I can’t be the reason you don’t have that anymore.”

Amy looks at him, her eyes a stormy mix of unreadable emotions, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Jake says, splaying out his hands in front of him. “That date was kind of a disaster, we both know that. And I think it’s because we were both trying too hard, because we cared too much. Because we’re friends, Amy, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t care if we never date. I don’t care if I never get to hug you, or kiss you, or do any of the things I’ve so desperately wanted to do. I just can’t lose your friendship. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and an even better friend, and I would be more than happy to just be friends with you for the rest of my life. God knows it’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve plenty,” Amy says softly.

Jake swallows the way that makes his chest flutter. “I’m just saying—I’m laying my cards all out on the table, here. I want you to stay, and I respect it if you don’t want that. But please don’t let me be the reason for you leaving.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Amy gives him a small, wistful smile that says everything Jake needs to hear.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Party at Shaw’s it is, then.”

Amy slaps the last label on a duffle bag, checks her watch, and stands. “I’m actually taking off early—I need to clear up some stuff at City Hall before I leave. I’ll meet you there?”

“Oh,” Jake says, a little dumbfounded.

Amy notices his expression and shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s not—I mean, this has been settled for days, Holt knows, I was always leaving at three today. So it’s not, like, spontaneous, you know. I would’ve told you earlier, but—"

“I was being an ass. Yeah.”

Amy gives him that little sad smile again, and Jake wants to kick a wall. “I’ll see you at the bar,” she says, almost gently.

Jake forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” - When he pushes through the doors of his favorite bar a few hours later, Jake is expecting loud music, streamers, and—if Gina’s Instagram stories were credible—possibly Mario Lopez. Instead, the bar is completely empty.

There are no balloons, no decorations—the only set table is in the middle of the floor, and on it sits a pizza, two salads, and two glasses of water.

“What—what is this?” Jake mutters, mostly to himself.

“A dinner between two friends,” Amy says, emerging from behind the bar. She gives him a small, slightly nervous smile. “And if it goes well, a second date.”

Jake blinks.

“You were right,” Amy tells him, carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to the table. “Our friendship is the most important thing, here, and it means a lot to both of us. I mean, that’s why we were trying so hard in the first place, right? Neither of us wanted it to fail.”

Jake nods in silent assent, not trusting whatever his mouth would say if he let it.

“But it did fail. Miserably.”

“Uh-huh,” Jake says, somewhat stupidly.

“So the worst thing that could happen has already happened, and we’ve gotten through it. And I think—I think, now, having gone through the past few days, we know enough to give it another shot. As long as we set very clear boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” Jake repeats. “Boundaries are good.”

“Yeah,” says Amy with a slightly amused smile. “So, we’re friends. Really good friends. And that’s what we have to protect, above anything. So this is not necessarily a date. It’s a dinner, and we’re a pair of very good friends who are gonna eat it. And if we want to, afterwards, we can decide to call it a date.”

“Can you do that?” Jake asks. “Label something a date after it’s already happened?”

“Who cares?” Amy smirks. “Since when have you followed rules?”

Jake swallows and shrugs.

“Anyway, if it’s awkward, or weird, then we move past it. It’s a slightly awkward moment between friends that doesn’t have to mean anything. No more silent treatment, no more rash decisions, just two friends who are still friends afterwards. Got it?”

“Afterwards,” Jake says slowly. “So—Chicago—”

“Yeah, I’m not going,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling. “That was a dumb thing I did to avoid this guy I went on a terrible date with.”

A broad grin starts to make its way across Jake’s face. “He sounds like he sucks.”

Amy laughs, then pulls out a chair and points at it. “So—pizza?”

The grin on Jake’s face softens into something smaller, something gentler. “Definitely.”

They each take a slice, then a bite, and Jake will never admit it—but it’s the best Meat Supreme he’s ever tasted.

#b99 summer 2021 fic exchange #this one was fun i hope u guys like it!#i can't believe this show is almost over #i'm gonna miss it very much #my fics #my b99 fics #jake peralta x amy santiago #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #b99

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

Not So Unrequited ⚜ JJ Maybank ⚜

request - (from Anon) JJ and the reader arguing about anything and he’s like I Love you and she’s begging him not to say it because she doesn’t think she can be loved. warnings - swearing (lots and lots your welcome), steaminess, synopsis - in the middle of an argument with your best friend, he says something to you that you had never wanted to hear.

(thank you for this, anon, I love it! I hope this is what you wanted, I made it a lil steamy because- well, I have no excuse. Threw a little bit of body positivity in there because everyone is beautiful, and you all deserve to know that.)

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Kie sighed, pressing an ice pack against JJ’s cheek. “She’s gonna be pissed.”

JJ rolled his eyes, letting Kie baby him because it made the both of them feel a little bit better. He opened his mouth to say something when the door to the Chateau opened.

He had expected it to fly open with a flurry followed by the hurricane that was y/n. But when it creaked slowly, barely opening enough for you to slide inside, both Kie and JJ froze. JJ flicked his gaze away from Kie and met yours.

A chill ran down his spine at the look in your eye. Silent as you were, everything that you weren’t saying was storming behind your eyes. Your dead calm was more terrifying than your raging storm.

You walked into the dark Chateau and leaned yourself up against the wall, crossing your arms. Tension shrouded the room. Kie felt like she had stepped in the middle of a show down, her movements on JJ’s bruised knuckles short and awkward. JJ knew he was about to get his ass handed to him in a verbal beat down and he wasn’t really in the mood for it right now.

And you, you were pissed off. Beyond pissed off.

Kie stood slowly, setting her cleaning supplies off to the side. She glanced quickly over at you, but your gaze was fixed solely on the blond boy currently nursing a bruised cheekbone. With a sigh, Kie put a hand on JJ’s shoulder.

“Good luck,” she whispered before making a quick break for the door. JJ grunted in response.

The tension in the room increased ten times when Kie left. JJ refused to meet your gaze again, still holding the ice pack to his face.

“Why are the lights off?” you asked, breaking through the silence.

“Hurts my head,” JJ mumbled. You resisted the urge to sigh dramatically.

“Cause you have a concussion. That’s what you get for getting in a 3-on-1 fight.”

JJ tightened his jaw and slouched farther in his seat, dropping his hands into his lap. You finally let out that sigh you had been fighting back. Pushing yourself off of the wall, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the floor in front of JJ’s feet. He watched you carefully with wide, curious eyes, just waiting for you to explode.

But you didn’t.

You lifted your hand slowly and took the ice pack from his hand and gently pressed it back against his swollen face. His breath hitched in his throat from the sudden cold. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Being so close to you made him freeze, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. It made him want to throw up. He wondered why people liked falling in love if this was how it felt. Or maybe this was only what an unrequited love felt like.

“You are a fucking idiot for taking those guys on like that,” you said, your voice quiet but shaking.

“They were dicks,” JJ replied. He looked away from you as you cradled the ice pack in your hand.

“You can’t fight every dick in the world, Jay.”

“But I can fight every dick who treats you like shit.”

You’re calmness started to quake, threatening to become something far more wild.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” you told him, setting your jaw to keep your anger at bay. He had been trying to help, after all. JJ scoffed and slouched even farther. You pulled the ice pack away and scowled. “What, you think I need you to fight my own battles?”

“You can but you don’t,” JJ snapped. “You let them harass you and call you names. You let them get away with it.”

“I don’t let anyone do anything. I just don’t justify their taunting with a response. They’re not worth my time.” Your eyes narrowed at JJ. It had always been this way. Someone said anything bad about you and he would throw himself into a fight instantly, even if you were unphased. You just wondered why in the hell he thought that meant he should take it into his own hands. “If they’re not worth my time they’re sure as hell not worth you getting all bloodied up for.”

“God, you do this every time.” JJ pushed himself up out of the chair and stepped past you. You glowered at him as he paced toward the other side of the room. Rising from you ground, you couldn’t bite back your irritated response.

“Every time you do something stupid? Yeah, I’m sorry for caring about your sorry ass. Newsflash, jerk face, but I don’t like seeing you get beat up. It’s not fun, for any of us.”

JJ ran his hands through his hair, but he didn’t say anything, which only fueled your fire even more. You crossed your arms and your glower turned into a full glare.

“Why do you insist on fighting every goddamn prick who has to run their mouth?” You continued. “What’s so important that you have to throw yourself into every fight? Why can’t you just leave it be?”

He still didn’t respond, but he turned his back on you as his face went red.

“Huh? Are you listening to me? Jay, why-”

“Because I love you, goddammit!” JJ whirled around to face you, his eyes wide, his hair a mess, his breathing ragged. You stiffened, the anger in your chest vanishing like a painful mist.

“What?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the shock evident in your face. JJ’s face fell in desperation, dropping his hands back to his side.

“I love you.” He said it again, much more desperate, but with no less emotion. JJ almost smiled. He took one short step toward you and you took one back, your eyes dropping to the ground. JJ’s smile fell.

“Well, stop it,” was all you could find to say, your voice still quiet.

“What?” You hated to hear the heartbreak in his voice, but it was better that you break his heart now than ten years down the road.

“Just, stop!” Your hands trembled at your sides.

“Stop what? Stop loving you? I tried that already and it didn’t work.” You crossed your arms over your stomach and turned your face away from him. “Say something, please. Anything.”

“I don’t even know what love is, JJ. How could you possibly know?” You asked, still not looking at him. He shrugged his shoulders, throwing his hands up in the air.

“All I know is that every time I’m around you, I want to be holding you and my stomach gets all tied up in knots. That I miss you whenever you’re no around. That whenever I see you with another guy, I want to tear his fucking throat out. That it fucking breaks my heart when you cry. That I would burn down the entire world before I let anyone hurt you.”

You finally looked up, your heart beating wildly in your chest. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, not now, not ever. You were supposed to just be friends. It was better that way.

“What happens when those feelings go away, huh?” You asked, nose burning and eyes brimming with tears. “I say I love you back and we start dating and we get married and have kids and then what happens when you don’t have those feelings anymore and you wake up some day and you don’t love me anymore, what fucking then, JJ?”

You sounded angrier than you felt. You felt terrified, like an animal trapped in a cage, the walls closing in tighter and tighter around you, suffocating you.

“We’re not your parents, y/n.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they said the same exact thing when they were our age.” Bitterness laced your every word. Sure, maybe you had been talking about your own parents, but he didn’t have to actually mention them. It just made the sting all the more real.

Your dad had up and left when you were 12, leaving you with a mother whose heart was broken beyond repair and a 4 year old sister to take care of. You hadn’t believed in love from that day on. And JJ knew this, so why was he throwing it on you now? Why was he putting you through this when he knew damn well what it meant to you?

“You can’t,” you said, giving your head a shake and praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. “You can’t. Not me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m fucked up, JJ.”

“Everybody’s fucked up.”

“I’m especially fucked up.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” There was real anger in his voice, but not anger directed at you. He was angry that the world was so messed up that it had convinced you that you didn’t deserve to be loved.

And it shook you to the core.

“I’ve kept my damn mouth shut about this for so long, y/n.” His voice broke painfully. He looked exhausted. You wanted to cross the room and pull him into your arms and wipe the tears from his eyes because if he wasn’t saying the words he was saying now, that’s what you would have done. “Didn’t even tell the Pogues. I kept it to myself because I knew what it meant to you but you’ve gotta know because I can’t do this anymore.”

“What about all those....all those girls from the parties?” You crossed your arms as your mouth ran dry, grasping for straws. JJ scowled, looking more hurt than ever.

“They were nothing.”

“Those girls aren’t nothing, JJ. They’re people.”

“I meant they were nothing to me. They were just...distractions.”

“From me?” You said the words like a breath, your stomach twisting as you did so. Because the more JJ spoke about what he was feeling, the more you recognized them as a mirror of your own.

“Yeah. From you.” You felt yourself fall still again, but it wasn’t that frozen stillness from fear. It was a calm that washed over you and you didn’t know why. “Because every time I saw you sneaking off with one of those guys I just-”

JJ’s words fell off as you took one small step toward him. As soon as that first step was taken, you couldn’t stop yourself from crossing the room until you were standing right in front of him, chest to chest.

He looked down at his, his lips parted. Your eyes flitted from his down toward his mouth before venturing back up to meet his stare once again.

“Maybe....” You paused, glancing down again. “Maybe we aren’t our parents.”

JJ’s eyes were fixated on your lips, a breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t going to make the first move, you knew that, yet you weren’t sure you had the strength to break what was left of your walls. You wanted him to do it for you, but he wouldn’t want to push you any farther than he already had.

Your stomach was already tangled into knots even before you stood on your toes. JJ’s eyes were closed even before you pressed your lips to his. Those knots detangled into butterflies and exploded throughout your bones.

The kiss was a ghost of a thing. At least, it was at first. Because once the dam was breached, the water all came rushing out with a startling force.

Your hands left your sides and found their place tangled in his hair, pulling him down closer to you. He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as the desire raged within him.

“Are you sure about this?” He whispered, his eyes opening just a tad. You gave yourself one chance to breathe and second guess yourself. “Because once I have you, there’s no chance in hell I’m letting you go.”

You pulled one of your hands out of his hair and rested it against his cheek, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. You chewed on the inside of your cheek before giving a short nod of your head.

“This is what I want,” you told him. “I just want you.”

That was all the permission that JJ needed. All of his hesitation was gone, vanished into thin air. Tucking his hand behind your neck, he put his lips right back onto yours with a fire that was just waiting to burst forth.

You thought you had been control when you broke the dam, but JJ took no time in proving you wrong. With one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your hip, he pushed you back toward the wall.

What little breath remained in your lungs was sucked away as your back hit the wall. Months of tension and deep rooted desire hit a boiling point as your lips found a rhythm with his. Your fingers left his hair to tug him closer by the collar of his shirt. Any space between you was too much. You needed his skin against yours, you needed to take his heat for your own. You needed him and you were no longer afraid to admit it, at least to yourself.

JJ pinned you to the wall, his hips pressed up against yours. His hand shifted from behind your neck to the front, hanging loosely around the base of your neck just to keep you steady. His other hand found it’s way under the loose fabric of your shirt, kneading at your skin with his palm.

You let out your first ungodly sound of the night, muffled only by JJ’s lips. You felt him smile so you pulled back.

“Careful,” you murmured, eyes still closed. But JJ’s grin persisted even as he pressed butterfly kisses against your cheek, trailing past your jaw and finding rest against your neck.

“Shit,” you breathed as his tongue grazed across your skin, his teeth pulling gently here and there. He started to work his hand farther up your shirt and you had to pressed your hands against the wall to keep yourself from falling.

“All those other boys didn’t make you feel like this, did they?” JJ whispered against your skin. His breath was warm and sent ripples down your spine. You popped one eye open to glower at him.

“Fuck you,” you breathed as he smiled against you. His hand at the base of your throat tightened ever so slightly and your glower deepened.

“Was that a no?”

“I don’t play that way, Maybank,” you ground out through your teeth.

“Then how do you play?”

You pushed him away from you and for a moment a look of hurt crossed his face. But when you grabbed hold of the bottom of your shirt, never breaking eye contact as you pulled it off and discarded it on the floor, a grin replaced that fear. You reached out for him, pulling him back in.

Both of his hands went for your shoulders before tracing the curve of your body all the way down to the waistband of your shorts. You nipped at his lower lip, tugging gently, you hands holding his head just where you wanted.

“Damn, y/n.” There was that damn smirk still. You wondered what it would take to wipe it off his face. His hands worked at the zipper of your shorts, tugging on the hem before you even realized he had them unbuttoned.

“You really don’t waste any time, do you?” You asked him. Instead of responding, he pressed a kiss against your neck. Part of you wished he would stay there again. But then he kissed your collarbone and then he was lowering him self slowly, pressing his lips to the skin beneath your breasts, then just below your bra.

You were pretty sure no boy had ever done anything like this before. You weren’t ever one to take your time with them because, after all, they were just a poor replacement for who you really wanted. But the attention that JJ gave your body as he continued his trail of kisses down your stomach was enough to make your eyes roll toward the back of your head.

He was on his knees in front of you, tantalizing, as he pulled your shorts down as slowly as he could. He kissed your thighs once they were exposed as he pulled the shorts the rest of the way down. You were going to simply step out of them when he put on hand on your calf and the other just under your knee.

“What are you doing?” You asked with an almost nervous laugh. JJ looked up at you as he started to lift your leg. A smile pulled at his lips.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to have you,” he mused. “And I’m not wasting a second of it.

He rested your foot against his shoulder and gave the side of your knee the smallest, most butterfly inducing kiss. You heaved out a breath and leaned your head back against the wall as JJ continued to kiss your inner thigh. His hands kept you steady. You had never felt more grounded. Your toes curled, fingers tensing.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, as if it was just a spoken thought. You lifted your head and looked down at him.

“What?”

He looked back up at you a look somewhere between concern and amusement.

“You’re beautiful.”

You moved your leg off of his shoulder and joined him on your knees. For a reason you didn’t know, your eyes swam with tears. His smile was gone but there was something far deeper in his eyes that a smile couldn’t properly communicate in that moment.

You took his hands in yours and pressed his bruised knuckles to your lips. When you met his eyes again, you gave a small shake of your head, the tears threatening to overflow.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” you whispered, trying to offer some kind of explanation for your strange actions. JJ looked taken aback.

“Bullshit.”

“No, JJ, I’m serious. You’re the first person-” Your voice broke.

“Is that why you didn’t believe me when I told you I loved you?” Your head fell and the tears you had been feeling started to fall from your eyes. He hooked his finger underneath your chin and moved your face to look back at his. “Hey, you’re beautiful, alright? And I’ll say it a million times until you believe me.”

You nodded, sniffling as you tried to hide your embarrassing tears from him. He leaned forward and kissed both of you cheeks. You let out a small laugh as he pulled away.

“Sorry to ruin the mood,” you said, still holding one of his hands. That look returned to JJ’s eyes, the hungry one, as he looked down at the clothes you were left in, or lack thereof.

“Nothing’s ruined,” he said. “I’m still getting you in that bed.”

You wiped away what was left of your tears and felt a smile of your own pull at your lips.

“What are you waiting for then?”

***

Pope grumbled angrily as he climbed into the van, Kie sliding into the front seat.

“I don’t see why they had to kick us out,” he said, plopping down into one of the seats.

“I don’t think we were really kicked out, per say,” said John B up front with a slight smirk. “You were the last one in there, Kie, what happened exactly? One minute they’re screaming at each other and the next....”

Kie shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on the road as she started the car.

“Guess they just reached their breaking point.”

“I think that bed is going to reach it’s breaking point,” Pope huffed. “I mean, couldn’t they wait until they were alone to start going at each other?”

Kie rolled her eyes and John B just laughed.

“Give it until the morning. I’m sure they’ll pretend like it never happened,” John B said with a sigh.

“Are you kidding?” Kie looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Those two have been waiting to tear each other’s clothes off for months.”

“Really?” Pope and John B both said at the same time. Kie laughed and looked back to the road.

“You boys are so clueless.”

“Damn,” Pope breathed. “And they didn’t tell us?”

“He’s afraid of commitment and she’s got abandonment issues, of course they waited this long.”

“Kie, when did you become a goddamn genius?”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

The van rattled down the road, the three friends laughing together.

***

JJ’s arms curled around your stomach, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He slept softly, breathing gently through his nose. Every now and again, he would mumble something, his lips grazing against your exposed skin.

But you were wide awake. You ran your fingers aimlessly up and down his arms, relishing in the feeling of his skin still against yours.

He hadn’t stopped telling you you were beautiful since he first said it. Every chance he got, the words would pass his lips. He probably said it more times than anything else, other than “shit” and “fuck”, which you loved to hear almost just as much. Almost.

When he flopped down next to you, sweaty, breathless, and still grinning like an idiot, he wrapped his arms around you and said it one last time, whispering it into your ear before he fell asleep.

And you believed him every time.

If he had been any other boy, this was the time when you would have scurried out of bed, collected your clothes, and made a break for it. But you stayed. There was no where you would rather be than here, cradled in the arms of the boy who loved you. The boy that you loved.

You moved slowly, carefully, turning until you faced him. JJ groaned quietly, shifting his head against the pillow, but he didn’t wake. You felt yourself smile again at the sight of him. That stupid grin was finally gone from his face. Now you found that you were missing it.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice quieter than the breeze that blew the curtain of the window above you. You tucked your head under his chin and he pulled you in tighter. A smile graced your lips.

Even if he didn’t hear you, it was good to say aloud. Maybe now you could say it when he was awake. Maybe someday. Maybe not today, but someday. That thought was enough to sing you to sleep.

JJ opened a single eye and looked down at you, unable to keep his smile at bay any longer. You had fallen asleep quickly, but he didn’t care. You didn’t need to know he heard you. He would deal with that in the morning. For now, he just let you sleep.

#jj maybank #jj imagine #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj maybank smut #is it really smut?#idk probably not #but its the closest i'm ever gonna get to #so enjoy it while it lasts i guess #outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #request #outer banks request #anon

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

prompt 2 with v tysm take care of you ^^

Thank you for this wonderful request, and apologies for taking my time writing it!

I thought a whole lot about this prompt and Jihyun and my mind said PINING and I wrote this long, sprawling thing. It’s a slightly different format from my other requests—I hope you don’t mind! Writing this made me feel all kinds of things. ♡♡

two: fall into yours arms again

JihyunxReader, G, words: 3620

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97 days

It’s windy today.

You wake up late and throw open the window that you can reach from your bed. The sun’s already high in the sky and beating down through the thin, gauzy curtains. You need to buy new curtains.

The window sticks; you push; it opens. The cool breeze whips through your hair, in stark contrast to the sun—nauseatingly hot and dry. The wind cools your neck, wipes away the last remnants of what you suspect was a nightmare.

Though it’s June, the air still smells of spring. The azaleas in the community garden down the street have wilted, but some of their fragrance is in the air today, and it startles you, spins your head around.

He left in March and the chaos of April and May have been locked away in your memory, behind a wall that says think about this later. Now it’s undeniably summer, the days lengthening, your tendency to sleep through the morning worsening. Time has slowed: the afternoons feel languid and the nights unbearably long. You stretch, letting your shirt—his shirt—fall off your shoulder. It’s long lost its scent by now, grown softer as you’ve slept in it, worn it while cleaning up the little loft you once lived in by yourself. You lived here what feels like forever ago, before you made the misguided decision that led to your life turning upside down and now, somehow, righting itself in ways you still don’t understand.

“I miss you,” you mouth into the wind.

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191 days

When you get home you’re shivering, underdressed and underprepared for the turn in the weather. You turn the key in the lock, shoulders hunched against the cruel chill that has abruptly permeated your quiet little neighborhood.

You slip inside and shut the door, the wind chimes jangling harshly. You toss your things haphazardly to the side—keys, bag, sunglasses, coffee cup. Everything you needed for the day except a stupid jacket.

The house is cool, too—the wood floors retain some of the warmth of summer but you haven’t turned the heat on yet out of some convoluted mixture of stubbornness and frugality. You shrug on your thickest, floppiest sweater and move through the house, closing the windows one at a time. You shouldn’t have left them open to begin with.

You survey the mess you’ve made: bag spilling out onto your multicolored shag rug, sunglasses hanging over the hand-painted lamp on the side table. You decide to leave them there.

As you so often do lately, you slip into the well-worn chair at your small desk in the corner, under the little window that faces north. You rub your hands together, gaze at the growing pile of paper, stacked precariously high. You know there’s work to be done, emails to be answered—instead, you pull a new sheet of paper toward you, begin a letter than can never be sent.

“How are you?” you write. “It’s getting cold here. I hope it’s warm where you are.” You pause, well-chewed pen cap in your mouth. Scrawl the words you know he won’t read on the paper you have no way to send to him. “I think about you,” you write. “Every single day.”

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277 days

You laugh and wave and laugh again as you see the grey cloud your warm breath makes in the air.

You call out a last goodbye toward your friends’ receding backs and then wrap your scarf more tightly around your neck, feeling the cold more strongly now that you’re alone. You make your way back through your neighborhood, stopping only to pet the head of the tabby cat that your down-the-street neighbor lets roam free. The sun is setting—the midday chill is turning to a biting evening cold.

You approach your little loft: open the gate, half-run down the path. When, you think, will this feel like a home again? How long, you wonder, till this feels more real that those two weeks that are still illuminated in your memory, brighter even than the events of yesterday or last month or last summer?

Automatically, you check your mailbox. Automatically, you riffle through the bills you can just barely pay and the magazines subscribed to by the apartment’s former occupants. At the very bottom, there’s an envelope, one side covered completely in stamps. You climb the steps, peering at it curiously. You recognize the writing.

You trip.

You should get back up and go in the house and turn on the lights—open the letter where it’s warm and bright. But instead you stay right where you are, on the bottom step, jacket twisted up under you. You tear off one mitten, your hands shaking a little, and open the envelope.

“Dearest,” he’s written. “I don’t know if I’ve sent this the right way or how long it will take to reach you.”

There are already frozen tears on your eyelashes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away frantically with your other hand, still engulfed in your warm, chunky mitten.

“There’s no regular post office where I am so I had to improvise,” he goes on. His thin, messy scrawl is the same as you remember it. You can feet your heartbeat in your fingertips. “Still, that’s no excuse. I’ve written so many letters to you and thrown so many away. I never knew where to begin. I hope you can forgive me.”

The tears are falling hard and fast now, and you give up on wiping them, squinting to read the minuscule letters he’s crammed onto one single sheet of paper.

He describes where he’s staying in detail. It’s beautiful and evocative and you can tell that he’s stalling.

He asks after you—how your work has been going, how you’ve settled back into your own home, if you’ve been eating well. He asks after the RFA too, one at a time, by name. This answers a question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind—so it’s true, you think. He’s written to no one else.

The final paragraph is neater that the rest, as if he’s written and re-written it, practiced and copied it over.

“I am trying to live in the present moment and not worry over the future,” he says. “But every night I can’t help but imagine the life we could have together, when we are both ready. Do you imagine it too?” Your eyes are blurry with tears. “I miss you,” he writes, and you mouth the words as you read them, almost able to hear them in his sweet, gentle voice.

“If you don’t feel like writing me, I’ll understand,” he says. “But I’ll be at this address for some time, so please do write, if you like.” You think of all the letters, the ever-growing pile on and under your desk. You giggle through your tears, imagining how much it would cost to send them all.

He signs the letter “Yours.” At the bottom he’s added cramped letters, so small you have to bend over, nose almost touching the paper, to read them. “By the way,” he writes. “Please call me Jihyun.”

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352 days

To you, March will always be him: the sudden rain showers in the midst of sunny days are his eyes and the scent of plum blossoms in the air is the indescribable warmth of his arms.

There’s a string of pictures now above your bed—you’ve hung each one that he’s sent, strung them up on a piece of bright green yarn. When you told him you’d started doing this, he began sending them with a hole already punched in the top—delicate, perfectly round, just the right size.

You sit on the floor, bare legs extended in front of you, a book propped on your lap.

“All the snow has melted except for the one, long icicle outside my window,” you write. “I think I’ve grown attached to it, and I’ll be sad when it’s gone.”

Your letters have grown longer over the months—his last was five whole pages, front and back. He sends photographs he’s taken of the beautiful landscape where he’s living and sketches he’s made, mostly of nature—and a few of you.

He includes vague references to his companion, and though he’s never mentioned him by name, it’s become clear to you who he’s with. It’s brought you immense comfort to know—if not in much detail—that he is alive and well.

“Tomorrow I’ll be seeing everyone,” you write. “I know you both still need more time, but not being able to give them any news is killing me. Not everyone is doing so well, you know.” You bite your lip, consider crossing off the last few lines. You don’t. He’s healing—and you’d give anything in the world to ensure that he has the space and time he needs. That they both do. But the time you spend with the other members has been dwindling and the evidence of their suffering—some of them more than others—is becoming abundantly clear.

“I think I want to have a party,” you write. “Not for months, maybe longer, but I want to start thinking about it. I think it might help.”

You sip from the glass of water you’ve set on the floor next to you, swirl it around a little to listen to the sound of the ice clinking.

“I miss you desperately,” you write. “And I love you, Jihyun.”

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478 days

The song that plays through your headphones is soft and pretty, not nearly loud enough to drown out the shouting of the street vendors and the overall atmosphere of chaos. It’s Sunday, and you’ve ventured into the city to shop. You don’t love the crowds or the fast pace, but you do relish the savory scents drifting from food stalls and the feeling of your thin pants swooshing against your legs.

You hoist the two large fabric grocery bags up; they’re nearly slipping out of your sweat-slick hands again. The mid-afternoon July sun beats down on you. You slow your pace.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve gotten a letter. This isn’t shocking—he’s staying somewhere new now, and it’s even more remote than before. He has to travel into town to mail his letters, so the gaps between them have grown longer. You’re used to it, but you still can’t help feeling like a cold hand is clenching around your heart whenever you check the mailbox and find it empty.

You reach the train station, grip both bags with one hand so you can tap your card. You go through the motions: standing in the station, boarding the train. As you have so many times, you repeat the words of his last letter in your mind. You know it by heart.

“I bought plane tickets last week,” he wrote. “He hasn’t been feeling well the last few days and we decided together to cancel them.”

This isn’t a first either—the tickets bought, the tickets cancelled. And you know that it isn’t just Jihyun’s “companion” who needs more time. They are both still healing—physically, mentally, emotionally.

“Please tell me when you decide on a date for the party,” he wrote. “I’m sorry to hear the plans aren’t going smoothly. And I’m sorrier that I can’t offer the other members some solace—particularly where it concerns him. I must respect his wish for privacy.”

The train is packed; you set your bags at your feet so you can hold on. The gentle rocking motion is familiar; the air conditioning is a relief.

“I saw a flower yesterday that I couldn’t identify. It was raining here, but the flower’s petals were open. I was afraid it would wilt from the force of the rain, but it didn’t. I watched it for a long time, and saw the raindrops collect inside it. I thought of you.”

The train rumbles to a stop. More people get on. You adjust. A new song plays in your headphones—it’s slow and a little melancholy.

“Every morning I imagine the things I will do with you in our bright and beautiful future,” he wrote.

The train picks up speed again. Sweaty people read newspapers and speak quietly to one another, underscored by the gentle music in your ears. You close your eyes.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

555 days

You run to catch the bus, the leaves crunching delightfully under your feet. It’s pulling into your stop as you’re crossing the street and—why does this always happen?—you bow your head and sprint, waving frantically at the driver.

The driver sees you. Smiles. Waits.

“Thank you,” you pant, jumping the steps two at a time.

“It’s okay. I remember you.”

Ouch.

You stumble to a seat and collapse into it. If you’re late for the bus often enough that the driver remembers you, you’ve really got to try and pull yourself together.

You comb a hand through your sweaty hair. It’s hard, as it turns out, planning an RFA party while keeping up with your old life—you’ve got one foot in the world of working and cleaning and paying bills and the other in the world of CEOs and mysterious guests and anonymous donors.

As you’re catching your breath, you pull the newest letter from your bag. It arrived just this morning—perhaps that was why you almost missed the bus again—and you’ve only read it once so far. You scan the page with eager eyes, searching as you so often do for clues and hints and promises hidden between the lopsided words.

“I made a painting today,” he tells you. “I won’t describe it to you, because I want to show it to you in person.”

But when? you want to ask. You can’t help the frustration that’s creeping under your skin. The bus rocks; you lean your head against the window.

“I’ve realized something,” he writes. “I wonder what you think about it. I feel closer to you than I’ve felt to anyone before. And yet every day I find things I still don’t know about you, because of our circumstances. What are your favorite things to eat? What smells make you reminisce about the past? What music makes you sleepy?”

You sigh, fold up the letter. It’s true, you think. You love him with a warmth that encompasses your whole being—a feeling you’d never even dared to imagine. But how does his face look in the morning when he sleeps through his alarm? Which groceries does he always forget to buy?

You don’t write these questions down. Instead you turn over the letter, scribble on the back.

“The party will be March 24th.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

641 days

It hardly snows this winter, but it rains. The sound of the rain fills your dreams: it pounds on the roof of your little apartment, and you wake up and run to the kitchen to check that the window is closed. It fills your waking hours, thrumming on your giant umbrella as you navigate the narrow streets of the city. When it lets up, you still hear it, humming in your eardrums, reverberating inside your chest.

You sit at your desk again. No longer is it covered in stacks of paper, records of yearning—those letters have been long sent or put away in pretty boxes with colored lids. Your laptop buzzes, hopelessly trying to cool itself down. You press send and cut the frightening number of messages in your inbox down by just one more.

You lean back in your chair. The rain goes tap tap tap on the roof and you rub your sore neck. It’s a Friday night and even in this weather, you can hear the distant sounds of people gathering at the bar on the corner. You open another email.

“I’m working hard,” you wrote in your last letter to him. “Sometimes I feel that I can barely keep up with it all. Other times I’m sure I’m burying myself in all of this work on purpose, making myself busy so I don’t have to feel lonely.”

You scan the email with expert eyes, dash off a quick reply. Both are true, you suppose—planning a proper party, not one hastily thrown together in a few weeks under extreme circumstances, is a full-time job all on its own. But you are lonely, you think, taking a break to stretch your arms over your head. There are people around you all the time, but your chest feels hollow. “I’m taking good care of myself,” you wrote to him last week. “I do feel fulfilled. But…”

But you can no longer re-create in your mind the exact way that he smells, the sweet freshness of nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You can’t always hear his voice clearly in your mind when you read the sweet, beautiful words he writes to you. “I love you like the way the ocean crashes into the rocks and then spills peacefully over the sand,” he writes. “Does that make sense?”

It does.

You shake your head to clear it, type a few brief, carefully-worded lines.

“I’m ready,” you say out loud, and the words echo in your apartment: warm and cluttered and bright and full to the brim with thoughts of him. “I’m ready when you are.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

702 days

For the first time, you wait to read his letter.

You find it in the mailbox as you’re leaving in the morning and you whisper “patience” to yourself as you walk to the bus. You wait at the light, you cross the street. You sit at the bus stop for two whole minutes before the bus arrives and the driver raises his eyebrows at you in surprise.

“Patience,” you whisper to yourself again as you exit the bus, breathing in the fresh, early-spring air. And “patience,” you think, as you greet the venue manager and listen to her running through the event checklist for what feels like the eight hundredth time.

“Almost,” you tell yourself as you leave, taking a picture on your phone of the orange and purple sky. You board the bus again, watch the sunset fade into star-speckled navy through the smudged window.

“Now,” you say out loud as you unlock the door to your flat, hanging your light jacket and keys on the hooks you’ve recently mounted by the door. “Now.”

You tear into the letter as you make your way to the bedroom, turning on lamps as you go, bathing the room in amber light.

You pull out the paper and your hands, steady all day, start to shake. You hold it up to the light. It’s shorter than usual. He’s written your name at the top and he’s answered your questions, described a walk he took on the waterfront yesterday, offered updates on the plants growing beside the house where he’s staying.

And at the bottom, he’s sketched a picture in light blue ink. His lines are soft and wavy, but the details are clear: it’s two plane tickets. They’re dated.

You inhale sharply.

Thirty-two more days.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

734 days

It’s warm, but not too warm. The lights are dim, but not too dim. The air is lightly scented like spring flowers and rain, but it’s not overwhelming, and the chatter of the crowd is enthusiastic and warm.

In other words, you’ve done a very good job.

You step onto the balcony for a moment, patting your red cheeks with both hands. You’ve been receiving compliments all night and it’s made you feel like you’re floating several centimeters off the ground. You’re proud of yourself—you worked hard for this.

But as the night’s worn on, your anticipation has built to a fever pitch, and you have to keep reminding yourself to breathe. If he were arriving on any other day, you’d be meeting him in private— and would you feel more or less nervous, then? You can’t decide.

But of course it’s today, because the most important events of your life always seem to coalesce around each other. There’s a beautiful garden surrounding the party venue and you take comfort in the ivy wrapped around the wrought-iron trellis; it reaches almost as high as your eye level and its balance of sturdiness and delicacy gives you strength.

You slip back inside, take in the groups of expensively-dressed people clustered around tall, elegant tables. There’s a string quartet in one corner and a mouth-watering array of hors d’oeuvres arranged toward the back wall.You straighten out your clothes surreptitiously, sneak a peak at the clock, flash a bright smile at the nearest group of guests .

And then, for a reason you’ll never be able to explain, you know what’s about to happen. Your eyes fly to the door. You gravitate toward it like a moth to a lamp and you know no one else has noticed but somehow you feel that the room has quieted for you.

The door opens. Your hands fly to your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

He’s always been spring to you but it’s as if he’s brought summer with him. He’s taller than you remember and his collared shirt is open and he’s got the warmest smile you’ve seen in your whole life. Your thrill and worry and hope are reflected in his bright eyes.

He holds out a hand—cautiously, as if afraid you’ll float away. You take it and his fingers are soft and cool, like the petals of a flower.

“Welcome home,” you say. “Jihyun.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my future mysme writings <3

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #mysme #request #gureishi writes requests #jihyun kim #v #jihyun x reader #v x reader #hunterelys

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munchcorner · 3 years

Text

Stolen Photos (SakuAtsu)

Atsumu and Kiyoomi are both stubborn. Everyone could tell both of them are in love with each other, but neither of them wants to confess because of the fear of rejection.

Osamu, Rintarou, and Komori have been trying to make them confess, but nothing could beat their stubbornness. So, Rin decided to take photos as evidence.

He started to take photos of Atsumu and Kiyoomi when they're talking. Just the photo alone could serve as a testament to the love they feel for each other. But knowing those two, they'd just shrug it off and say that it's just their imaginations.

Rintarou took another photo. This time, it was when Atsumu was talking to Shoyo. Atsumu had this bright smile on his face as he jokes around with Shoyo, and behind them was Kiyoomi with his eyebrows furrowed and lips pouting. Rin stared at the photo, and he could see how the lens had captured the evident jealousy in Kiyoomi's eyes.

But that still wasn't enough. He needed more.

The third photo was an after-game photo. Rin was at the bleachers, and even though he's that far from them, he was still able to capture the smile on their faces. Everyone was celebrating around them. Their team was scattered around in obvious joy of winning, but even though they were surrounded by their teammates who wore the same uniform as them, Kiyoomi and Atsumu still looked like they were the only people at that moment. The photo looked like the world vanished around Kiyoomi and Atsumu, and Rin couldn't help but shake his head, "how stupid,"

Rin didn't like keeping from Kiyoomi and Atsumu. He wanted to quickly show them how in love they are. Even a simple camera lens can capture all those emotions. It's stupid how blind they are to each other's feelings when it's so obvious in their eyes, but Rin needed patience.

The fourth photo was taken when Atsumu landed on his feet wrong. Kiyoomi was the first to dash to Atsumu, and out of everyone in that photo, it was evident that Kiyoomi was the most concerned. You can see the worry and panic on his face as he gently puts the ice on Atsumu's face. But what intrigued Kiyoomi the most was Atsumu's expression. He looked at Kiyoomi as if he was out of his reach as if Kiyoomi was someone he was longing to have but couldn't. It made Rin smile, a sad one, because now he knows that the fear in their hearts was real.

So, Rin decided to make the fifth photo the last one. He didn't want to take more because the five photos he has are more than enough evidence of how much they love each other. He just wishes it's enough to erase their fear of rejection.

The last photo was taken after they got drunk at a branch opening of Onigiri Miya. Everyone laughed and talked at one table while Kiyoomi and Atsumu were preparing the new batch of onigiris. Rin snapped a photo of their small touches, ones that should seem like nothing, but when it's them, it feels so intimate.

The brush of their hands, the touching of their shoulder, and the small smiles looked like something that shouldn't be photographed. But Rin still took the photos. He went through the photos, and the more he goes through them, the more he wants them to be together.

A week had passed after Rin had taken the photos and printed them. Now, it was time for Osamu and Komori to do their work. They separately met up with Atsumu and Kiyoomi to show them the photos, to show them the love they refuse to acknowledge.

Rintarou prayed that it would knock some sense into them. That those photos would make them let out the emotions they've been desperately pushing down.

All three of them didn't know what happened after the meeting. Atsumu and Kiyoomi remained silent, which made them feel anxious. They just wanted Atsumu and Kiyoomi to accept their feelings. They didn't want to make them feel awkward with each other. But the anxiety they felt vanished when Atsumu and Kiyoomi came to Komori's birthday while holding hands.

"Shit, I thought we fucked up," Komori says after greeting them.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, "almost,"

"I bet it was Atsumu who was in denial," Osamu says with his arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

Kiyoomi nods, "Took forever to make him confess,"

"Hey!" Atsumu says with a blush, "it only took two weeks,"

"Two weeks was enough to make us feel anxious," Rintarou says before smacking both of them, "I thought my photography skills would cause a drift, you know,"

Osamu and Komori agreed by nodding their heads and adding more complaints. Kiyoomi and Atsumu silently listened before bowing, "thank you for all your efforts. We promise we'll make it up to you," they said in unison.

"it's fine. What matters is you're together," Rin says and takes a sip of his martini, "I felt like a creep for taking stolen photos of you two,"

"Yeah, you just have to pay us by inviting us to your wedding," Komori adds with a chuckle.

"But we just got together," Atsumu says with a smile.

"So, what? That's where you're heading. So you better repay me by being a good brother-in-law," Osamu jokes with a glare, "I don't accept those who don't deserve my brother,"

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, "don't worry, I won't disappoint,"

They all laughed after that exchange. They talked a little more before they parted to party.

"I'm glad they decided to talk to us," Atsumu says while leaning on Kiyoomi's shoulder.

"I know. But I guess now I have to practice how to get on Osamu's good side," Kiyoomi jokes as he plays with Atsumu's fingers.

"Forget him. He already helped get us together that should be enough approval," Atsumu says before placing a kiss on Kiyoomi's lips, "I can't wait for you to be a Miya,"

"Me too," Kiyoomi whispers before they stood up to join their matchmakers.

--*--

I also have this posted on Twitter.

#sakuatsu #atsusaku #atsumu x sakusa #kiyoomi x atsumu #sakusa x atsumu #sakuatsu drabble

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reluctant-mandalore · 4 years

Text

Chilly Cuddles (Paz Vizsla x Reader)

Masterlist || Request || 900 Followers Celebration

Word Count: 2506

Warnings: Cuddlessss. Lots of fluff, and pinning. But not too much. Its mostly fluff y’all. Also not beta read. grammar? never heard of it

a/n: Hey everyone! I’m back at it again with the late night publishing lol. Anyway, here is the first installment to the 900 Followers Celebration! This is also my first time writing for Paz!! I hope you all enjoy <3

Edits: the usual spelling and stuff.

The night air had chilled you to the bones and made you shiver with every breeze that caressed across your form. The metal of the ship was icy to the touch, as it sent goosebumps to rise upon your skin. Frost could be seen already forming on the ship's few windows, making delicate and elegant designs for all to see.

Paz had just finished shutting the last hatch to the snowy outdoors, causing for a few stray snowflakes to flow into the ship’s hull. One of the lone flakes had settled itself on your nose, melting at the contact, and sending for another shudder to roll down your spine. While he prepared the ship for the night, you had stood watching him, wrapped in a thick blanket to try and keep warm. The fabric clung tightly to your form, only providing a little relief from the cold as you continued to shiver and quiver in your spot.

The ship’s heating system wasn’t working like it used to, and honestly it hadn’t worked well for a long time. This hadn’t seemed like a problem to you, or to the larger Mandalorian, when you had both first left on your journey. It wasn’t like you two had planned to make an emergency stop on a frozen wasteland planet, while the said planet was in the middle of suffering through a deadly blizzard.

“You know it won’t be that bad, and it’s just to stay warm.” You had spoken in between the chattering of your teeth, as you tried your best to argue with your stubborn companion, “You can keep your helmet on and everything if you want.”

“No.” He had said quickly, tittering on the edge of sounding harsh with his tone. “We’re not sharing a cot to stay warm, there’s no need to.”

A pout had crossed your features at his reply, making him look away in fear of crumbling to your pleading gaze, “No need? It’s literally freezing and the ship can’t produce any heat!”

“I know for a fact that you have at least five blankets in your own cot.” He had scoffed, a roll of his eyes following, as he thought back to all the blankets he had left for you not too long ago. “You’ll be fine. ”

“It’s still freezing even with all the blankets!” You said in a desperate tone, moving closer towards the much larger individual, who had stiffened at your approaching form, “Come on Paz, us sharing a cot for one night won’t kill you. Please?”

“No.” He had tried more firmly, though he and you both knew his resolve was beginning to chip away bit by bit. He had a hard time saying no to you on a good day and tended to melt like putty into your hands on a bad one. Everyone, including him and you, knew this to be fact. The only person who could ever bring Paz Vizsla crumbling to his knees was you, and that was a fact.

“I know you’re cold too,” You had continued, seeing your victory in the argument just a few seconds away. While taking another step forward, you grasped one of his gloved hands in your own, causing his head to snap over to look down your now entwined hands. Two of your fingers had soon slid themselves underneath his wrist gauntlet, pressing against his own skin, which had felt like ice beneath your warmer finger tips. “Paz you’re so cold! How are you not frozen solid?”

“That’s just because of the armor,” He managed to get out through his panicked mind. He had ripped his hand away from you, as his heart began to beat at a rapid pace from feeling your skin against his own. “We don’t need to share a cot to stay warm! Now stop bothering me about it.”

A frown spread across your face, and a look of hurt had crossed your eyes from his sudden outburst. The words which you had wanted to say had died on your tongue, and you chewed at your bottom lip, clearly upset with having him yell at you in anger. Even if you knew you had probably deserved from hounding him for the majority of the day.

The pained look you wore had sent a tumble of regret to flow through Paz. His own heart clenching, as he realized he had hurt your feelings with his outburst. He hated seeing you so upset, especially if he was the one who had caused it in the first place. Something which he did more often than he wanted to admit.

“Ok. I won’t force you.” You had finally muttered out, as another shiver trembled through your chilled state. Knowing you had upset him, you decided it would be best to leave him alone for the rest of the night. Turning to leave, you had paused briefly on your escape to the cockpit, looking back at him while trying to shove your frown away from your cheeks. “I’m sorry for overstepping any boundaries. I just thought it was a good idea... that’s all. I won’t bother you again tonight.”

A ping of guilt had nibbled in the pit of his stomach as he watched you leave. He hadn’t meant to yell at you in the slightest. He was just horrible with controlling and addressing his own feelings towards you. The idea of the two of you sharing a cot was actually a pleasant one to him. He had known he liked you for some time now, and he had been trying to find reasons to get closer with you. So, being presented with the prospect of sharing a cot with you should have made him jump at the chance to say yes. Although, clearly, it instead had made him fearful and down right nervous.

Paz may usually act like a tough and confident person, but when it came to these types of things he was clumsy and shy. When it came to you, his confident self melted away into that of a bashful man. He really did struggle when it came to facing his feelings surrounding your relationship.

After making his way up to the cockpit as well, he had watched silently as you continued to shake from the cold. Hearing him enter you had spared a glance over your shoulder at him, your face still possessing a frown, before you returned to your messing with the ship’s heating dial.

Paz had sighed seeing this, sending a distorted noise to sound from his helmet as he watched your pitiful attempt at trying to warm the ship. “Fine.”

“What?”

“We can share my cot, but only this once and never again.” He had finished, trying to sound his usual confident self.

Hearing his words had made you replace your frown with a wide grin, and he had let out another sigh at the sight of it. “Thank you Paz!” You had said quickly, popping up from your spot in the pilot chair, before dashing off to get the remaining blankets from your own cot to bring to his.

When you had eventually entered his room, you had initially paused staring at his cot for the moment. As you did, a sudden flush of heat had washed over you at the thought of sharing such a tiny space with the person of your affections. An exciting and anxious idea all in one.

Shaking your embarrassed thoughts away, you settled yourself into the nest of blankets that you had accumulated for the two of you, waiting for your traveling companion to join you in the piled warmth.

Paz had entered his room the same way he did any other night, his footsteps loud in the quiet room, as he moved about the small space. He paused briefly when he caught sight of you tucked away under the sheets, and felt his stomach knot when his eyes had met your own. He had soon felt himself warm underneath his armored layers, happy he had them to hide his heated expression from your gaze, turning to focus on getting himself ready for bed as a distraction.

“Do we really need that many blankets?” He had asked quietly, his voice wavering slightly through the modulator of his helmet.

An audible click had sounded throughout the darkened room, as he had begun to remove his armor. The realization of his undressing had fallen upon you and with a small gasp you had ducked to hide beneath the warm layers. The sight of you doing so had made the Mandalorian amused, and he felt himself smile before turning back to working on removing his heavier layers.

Paz truly didn’t mind if you saw him remove all his armor, it wasn’t like he was getting naked or removing his helmet. It wasn’t even the first time you would be seeing him in his underclothes, and admittedly, he had secretly enjoyed the idea of being able to show off his muscled figure to you. His large and beefy frame was something he always took pride in.

“Yes.” You had finally managed to croak out in response from underneath the blankets shielding your eyes, the sound of your own voice laced with both underlying nerves and tiredness.

“I can still sleep somewhere else.” The winter air sent a visible shiver to crawl down his spine as he spoke, his armor now gone, with only his helmet and underclothing remaining in place. The words leaving him had been soft and gentle, concern for you evident when he had turned to look towards where you laid in the cot.

A small smile spread across your face at hearing him so worried for your well being, and you peaked from under the thick sheets to meet his gaze once more. Seeing him stand awkwardly near the edge of the cot, while still shivering, had made your grin widen, “And let you freeze? Not a chance big guy.”

Lifting up the blankets slightly, you had patted the cot, motioning for him to join you in the pile of blankets. Seeing this had finally made him make his way to join you, the cot dipping slightly with his added weight, as he settled himself into the nest of blankets.

Compared to you, Paz was huge and took up the majority of the cot on his own. This in turn had made the space cramped, with your backs pressed flushed together as you both tried to doze off. The added heat from his own body had instantly eased you, and soon your eyes were heavy with the need to sleep.

Feeling his overflowing warmth, you couldn’t resist the need to feel more of it, and you had soon rolled over to bury your face into his back. The tip of your chilled nose had suddenly been engulfed with his heady scent, and you pressed yourself closer wanting more of his intoxicating presence to consume you while drifting off to dreamland.

Paz had stiffened when he first felt you nuzzle yourself into him, but soon he had relaxed at the contact, a small tired sound leaving him. Having you so close to him had made his heart beat like crazy again, and had even allowed his subsiding flush of warmth to reappear full force.

“Thank you Paz,” You had said suddenly, with your voice muffled from having your face pressed so tightly into him. “I know I’m not always the easiest person to put up with, so thank you.”

Managing to get out your last tired thoughts to him, you had begun to be lulled to sleep from his added warmth. Paz had then abruptly rolled over to face you instead. His movement making you whine at having been disturbed from your brief slumber, your eyes cracking open to stare at him with confusion.

He had chuckled in return, the sound of the deep rumbling from him causing for another warm heat to wash over your form again, as you had suddenly felt shy. His fingers now moving to lightly brush against your cheek, as if he was admiring your features in the darkness. While peering deep into your eyes, he had moved so that the cool metal of his forehead pressed gently onto your own. The gesture had caused for your own eyes to widen, and you had felt yourself become even more confused, but overjoyed by his sudden boldness.

The forehead press had felt like it lasted an entirety to you, but it was only a few more seconds before he had moved back once more to admire your beauty. Paz had rubbed his thumb against your bottom lip, the desire to kiss pooling into both your minds as he did. Even if you both were aware of the helmet blocking such a thing from happening, the need to feel each other’s lips against one another was still ever present within your den of blankets.

“Lift your head.”

Pulled out of your thoughts from his sudden words, tiredly you had done as he asked. Soon lifting your head from its place on the pillow almost subconsciously, while still distracted from his earlier affections. His one arm had then slid itself underneath your head, effectively providing itself as a pillow while he managed to pull you closer to him with a simple tug of his other free hand. His arm keeping you held tight into his board chest, now enveloping you completely into his strong embrace.

Paz’s thick scent had filled your nostrils once more, as your head fit perfectly into his neck, your warm breath ghosting over his exposed skin. His fingers had trailed longingly against your spin, as he continued to press your body into his own. His larger and muscled legs had now entangled themselves with yours, one of them fitting themselves over your hip, successfully trapping you in place. Both your bodies had fit together like they were meant to be that way, almost as if they were perfectly made for one another. It was like you two were meant to be forever entwined in this way.

The coldness you had once felt was now long gone, far from your mind as you completely relaxed into his grasp. At this point your own arm had slithered across his broad chest and around his waist. The feeling of him had felt firm beneath your touch, like solid stone that would not budge through any storm, and you hugged onto him even tighter, not wanting to ever let go.

“See?” You had said just above a whisper, making your lips lightly brush against the exposed skin of his shoulder, almost as if you had pressed a chaste kiss to it. “Sharing a cot was a great idea.”

“Go to sleep.” He had grunted out, the small smile he wore under the helmet evident in his voice, “We have a long day tomorrow.”

A sweet hum left you in response and for once you had listened to him without question. A small smile still playing on your lips, as you allowed yourself to succumb to your tired state while tightly wrapped in his warm embrace. The chilly night now far from both your muddled minds, as you both settled into the first of many nights spent in each other's arms.

---

Tags:

@ah-callie @starrywatermelon @readsalot73 @karnita-mexicana @a-seeker-of-imagination

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #paz vizla #paz vizla x reader #paz #fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfic #900 followers celebration

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kyber-crystal · 4 years

Text

➳ pickup lines || s.w.

summary: you’re oblivious to the fact that sam, your best friend is hopelessly in love with you. and it kills him inside because he’s been dropping hints for as long as he can remember.

warnings: none, just fluff and a cliche best friends to lovers trope :)

words: almost 2k

a/n: for @marvelsswansong ‘s late birthday present! sorry this was so late and that it’s so bad RIP i tried to write it in one go...anyway our boy sam deserves some more recognition sksksk

“Guess what this shirt is made of?” Sam smirked as he pointed at himself. “Boyfriend material.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a chuckle. “Oh, stop it.”

He slid into the seat next to you at the kitchen counter, swiping the spare muffin from your plate. “Y’know what’s on the menu today? Me-n-u.”

You just shook your head, spreading jam across your toast before biting into it. “Wow.”

“They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth,” he cleared his throat, “well, apparently, nobody has ever been standing next to you. You are absolutely breathtaking.”

“I look gross,” you argued as you tried to hide your face with one hand, “I got three hours of sleep after helping Bruce in the labs and I’m a mess.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You always look beautiful. Especially to me.”

Even if he was joking, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at his comment.

“Oh my god, will you shut UP,” Bucky groaned. “You’re cheesy as fuck, Wilson.”

“You’re just jealous because nobody likes you,” Sam retorted.

“Ooh, shots fired,” you whispered, cupping your hands around your mouth, “need some ice for that burn, Barnes?”

“He isn’t wrong, though,” Wanda shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee, “the chemistry is evident here. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten together yet.”

You let out a long sigh and went back to focusing on finishing your meal, not noticing the several glances Sam stole out of the corner of his eye at you.

...

“Y/N. “

“Natasha,” you replied without breaking your concentration on murdering the punching bag in front of yourself.

“Girl, how long are you going to keep this act up for?”

You dropped your fists by your side, sighing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You and Wilson.”

“What about it?” you questioned as you began unwrapping the tape from your hands. She handed you your water bottle and you took a long sip, “We’re best friends. I don’t see anything special about that.”

“Best friends or not, he clearly likes you. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: you’ve been the most oblivious idiot ever. If what he’s doing isn’t obvious enough, then I don’t know what is.”

“He does not. Sam’s just being Sam. That’s who he is. It’s in his nature to joke around.”

“Does he use pickup lines on me in every other sentence he speaks? No. Does he do that to Bucky? Never-”

“Because him and Bucky are rivals, and you guys are just f...”

“Just friends! Babe, you proved my point.”

“Oh, shut up...”

“If you don’t take matters into your own hands, then I will. You keep turning the poor man down and you don’t even know it. Tragic.”

“Natasha, I do not like any-” The redhead gave you her signature ‘look’, crossing her arms over your chest. Your shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

“What reason do you have to be scared? You’ve gotten shot, you’ve led countless teams into battle before, you’ve taken out aliens with the power of your fists alone. Hell, we survived the Red Room together, and you’re afraid of catching feelings?”

“What if I embarrass myself by telling him?”

“Are you nuts? He’d be over the moon if you did so much as react to what he said. Poor guy’s feeling discouraged by your poker face. Give him a chance. He’s your best friend, you don’t wanna ruin the relationship you have together.”

“Fiiiiiine.” You whined and tossed your sweaty towel at her. “Now leave me alone so I can go take a shower.”

She laughed and tossed it back. “Alright. Tell me when you’re officially dating!”

“I hate you!”

“Love you too, babe!” she called out after you as you left the facility.

...

“SAM!” you yelled from the bathroom “Get your ass over here!”

“Am I in trouble?” he asked innocently as he peeked his head through your doorway. “You need something?”

“I forgot to bring a shirt with me. Can you get mine from the laundry? The black one?”

“Yeah, of course.” You heard him shuffling around before falling silent, then there was a knock on your door. “Here. Take this.”

“Thanks,” you nodded before taking the shirt and closing the door behind you.

You looked down and let out a groan when you realized he’d mixed up the shirts and given you his instead - a V-neck you’d seen him wear plenty of times when you, him, and Steve went on morning runs together. It was ridiculously tight on him and you absolutely hated it because you couldn’t help but stare. But you didn’t like him. Definitely not.

Right?

Right.

You trudged down the hall to the kitchen, walking into to see Bucky’s and Sam’s awaiting smirks.

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at him, “Samuel, where is my shirt?”

“Dunno,” he feigned innocence, “I got mixed up.”

“Okay.”

“I’m no photographer, but I can picture you and me together,” he sent you a finger gun and a flirty wink.

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re such a sap.”

“Y/N! Hi!” Peter dropped his backpack and rushed forward, tackling you into a big hug.

You stumbled backwards in surprise but quickly returned the gesture, ruffling his hair playfully. “Hey, kid. How was school?”

He made a face. “Sucked. I actually need your help with an assignment. I’m supposed to interview three role models in my life about stuff and Mr. Stark is in the middle of a conference call right now so...yeah.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Me? I’m not special-”

“If you weren’t special then Ned wouldn’t constantly fangirl over you to me. He always asks me if it’s true you can shoot lasers out of your eyes and hands.”

You chuckled. “I feel honored. Count me in, Queens.”

The two of you headed off to the labs together, and as soon as you left, Sam let out a loud groan, his face falling into his hands. “She doesn’t get it. I keep throwing hints her way but she doesn’t get it at all. I don’t understand. What exactly am I doing wrong?”

“Y/N isn’t an openly affectionate person. She rarely ever tells people how she feels. She usually conveys her emotions through killing her enemies and channeling all her energy into punching bags,” Bucky replied simply. “And the occasional Mario Kart deathmatch. She’s not very easy to read.”

“Even I had a hard time getting to her,” Wanda admitted. “She’s very...private. Prefers to keep her feelings to herself.”

“Does she even have any sort of clue?” Sam looked over at the young woman with a desperate look in his eyes. “Otherwise I’ve been humiliating myself all this time, for nothing.”

“She likes you, but she’s too afraid to admit it,” Steve suddenly spoke up. All heads turned in his direction. “It’s a thing I picked up from my ma when I was young. I can read into body language. And hers, well...she likes you, Sam. She’s just very subtle about it.”

Hope glimmered in his eyes. “She does? So she doesn’t mind my pickup lines?”

The super-soldier laughed. “As terrible as some of them may be, yeah, she doesn’t. I’ve seen her walk away flustered many times.”

“What do I do now?”

“You’re gonna win her over, once and for all,” Natasha declared. “And we’re making sure of that.”

...

“Y/N.”

“Pete.” You glanced over at the teenager, who had stopped furiously scribbling notes down in his notebook, “what’s up?”

“What’s up is you and Sam.”

“What about us?” You quirked an eyebrow. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” The boy wrinkled his nose, “I know he likes you, and you like him. So why do you keep pushing him away?”

“Peter-”

“Y/N, I’ve known about this since we first met. So why haven’t you made a move yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s trying his hardest to win you over and you’re refusing to budge! I bet he feels so bad about it.”

“Oh, God, I know...” you rubbed your forehead and let out a long sigh, “I just don’t know how to react.”

“Send a pickup line right back at him! He loves pickup lines, so gauge his reaction on that!”

“Alright...”

"Back to Chemistry! Which you two clearly already have...”

“Queens!”

“Okay, okay!” You both burst into laughter. “Okay!”

The team had all agreed on an outdoor barbecue, so you all gathered outside on the massive rooftop of the compound to eat dinner. Tony, Thor, Steve, and Rhodey were busy flipping the meat, Wanda and Pepper were setting up the refreshments, while the others were lounging around and casually conversing with one another.

You noticed Sam standing alone by the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared out ahead at the horizon. He seemed to be deep in thought, but as soon as he turned around and saw you approaching him, his face lit up with a grin that the others knew he only had when you were around.

“Hey,” you offered him a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as you locked eyes - the early evening glow only made him look better than he already was. “Penny for your thoughts, Wilson?”

“Are you a magician? ‘Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears,” he stated.

“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you,” you replied smoothly, taking him by surprise. This was a first --

“Am I dreaming, or did Y/N just send me back a cheesy pickup line?”

“I did,” you laughed lightly, breaking into what he thought was the most beautiful sight on earth - a million-dollar smile. He’d never forget it. “How’s your week been?”

“Uneventful. You?”

Your face fell momentarily, and he felt his heart drop at the same time. “Could’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You took in a deep breath before responding. “Fury’s got me leading Team Alpha in a recon down south in the Outer Banks. Then as soon as I get back, I’m called to represent the team at a press conference about disaster relief. After that I’m stuck filing reports for a solid six hours and I end up only eating one meal that day. So yeah...it’s been pretty rough.”

“Did you make up for all that lost sleep, though?”

“A little. Compared to my typical three hours, I’d say 5 is a good enough improvement.”

“Progress is what matters. And you did that,” he nodded. “Look, if you ever need someone to talk to...you know I’m always here, right?”

“Definitely. That doesn’t eliminate our weekly Mario Kart competitions with Bucky, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

You stood there in silence for who knows how long, until he spoke up again.

“Did you know that when you smile, you can’t breathe?”

“Really?” You looked straight at him and gave him the brightest smile your face could produce.

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see you smile.”

At that moment, all the Avengers immediately stopped what they were doing and froze on the spot.

“I think you broke her,” Peter whispered as he poked you in the shoulder multiple times, and you didn’t move. “That was smoother than butter.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out, face burning with heat - the butterflies in your stomach had turned to hummingbirds. Since when did he make you feel this way?

“Yup,” Bucky coughed, “she’s definitely in love with him.”

"I’m not in love with him, I love him. I have for a while,” you muttered so quietly that he almost didn’t catch what you said.

Now, it was Sam’s turn to be left speechless.

#the falcon and the winter soldier #anthony mackie #falcon #falcon oneshot #sam wilson x you #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #avengers oneshots #marvel fic #marvel imagines #HAPPY BIRTHDAY BAE I LOVE YOU #theavengers #sam wilson oneshot #sam wilson imagine #this is late and i'm so sorry omg #avengers #marvel #mcu

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ahatintimepieces · 4 years

Text

The Start of New Moons

Soooooo I really wanted to write something for @fedoraspooky‘s weresnoodle au especially after reading the rp with @lovelycoris so here’s Lukas’ first night transforming into a weresnoodle hungry for souls! Beware painful transformation scenes and a fox does not make it out of this alive but there’s not a too graphic depiction of it but fair warning all the same! Please enjoy!

Lukas ran a hand through his reddish-brown curls, scratching absentmindedly at his scalp, as he tried to focus on the textbook in front of him. Usually, studies or a good story were enough to distract anxious thoughts but today was different. His heart occasionally skipped a beat, causing his chest to tighten uncomfortably, and he found himself sighing frequently due to forgetting to breathe. His teeth, particularly his canines, ached from what he assumed was clenching his jaw too much.

Scratching at his chest, he closed the textbook with a sigh and pushed to his feet. He stretched out his arms, favoring the still tender spot on his right bicep. A quick glance out the library window told him it was late in the day. Remembering that Vanessa had retired to her room early for a nap, he figured he best go check on her and see if she was ready for dinner.

Though he often had a difficult time eating when nerves overwhelmed him—evident by his forgetting to eat lunch earlier that afternoon—he found he was famished and yearned for some protein. Eager to join his love and eat, he walked briskly through the manor, heading to her bedroom.

“Princess?” He tapped on the door that was opened a crack. The door squeaked open and he hesitated before peering in. He found her room was empty but noted the electric blue forget-me-not she had tucked into a vase on her desk. Smiling, he calmly backed out of the doorway. He shut the door and decided to stop by his room to grab his surprise before heading down to dinner.

In his room, his suitcase was half-filled at the far corner by the bookshelf. He had started packing few days ago, hoping to return to Lucidia to spend some time with his father and brother. But Vanessa had insisted he stay for the weekend in Subcon, after a woeful reprimanding from her mother.

It had been his fault, really. Lukas had convinced Vanessa to sneak out into the village with him and took her to a flower field. Her mother had found out and Lukas could hear the yelling from his room. As soon as he had been able, he hurried to Vanessa’s side, finding her trembling with the tips of her fingers blue. Upon seeing him, she had immediately clasped her freezing hands around his right bicep and the ice burned through his shirt and into his skin. He had to grit his teeth to avoid wincing, but when he saw her features, he found it easier to forget about the pain in his arm. Tears had streamed from her eyes, coalescing into snowflakes that floated down to their feet. She had begged him with a cracking voice to stay, reminding him that he had suggested the excursion in the first place and that she was so miserable without him. He had agreed to stay, desperate to help his beloved feel safe and sound.

Regardless, he hadn’t unpacked his suitcase, as if stalling would magically open up a chance for him to return home. He loved Vanessa, but he missed his family with an ache.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he crossed over to the bookshelf and removed a book of poetry he had purchased from the village. He opened to the page with a collection of forget-me-nots he had pressed for Vanessa.

The sunlight streaming in through the window blazed orange as dusk began to stretch across the sky.

While Vanessa didn’t usually read poetry, he had thought the collection of love poems might cheer her heart and make her think of him, whenever she read them.

His heart lurched in his chest as a wave of anxiety washed over him. He frowned, scratching at his shirt as he tried to figure out what was making him feel so unsettled. Shades of pink and purple painted the twilight.

Closing the book gently, he took a step forward, intending to start for the kitchen, but the restlessness itched from his core and through his entire body. Dread overwhelmed him and he found his hands were quaking. Placing the poetry book down on his bed, he stared, bewildered, at his shaking hands. What—?

Nightfall covered the land and Lukas’ spine snapped as pain blazed in his chest.

He yelped, bringing his hands to his chest and hunching over. His stomach felt as hot as molten steel and his insides felt like they were melting. Horrid pops and cracks resounded as bones shifted under his skin. Dropping forward, Lukas gripped at the carpet, yelling as his clothes shrunk and pressed painfully at his flesh.

Tufts of purple fur bled from his hands like shadows. His reddish-brown locks in his eyes shifted into a similar shade as his chest expanded. The rip of his shirt and pants accompanied the tumultuous tear of muscles as his back lengthened and his legs stretched. Fingers melted together and claws slid against the carpet. His legs melted painfully together, and he stretched out his neck as his jaw split and reassembled into a glowing maw, his canines shifting toward the front of his mouth.

Lukas let out an inhuman scream, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the pain.

“Lukas?” Vanessa’s clear voice called.

The door slammed open and the beast open his eyes, which glowed as golden as the harvest moon. He only felt two things.

Pain. And hunger.

The creature let out a low growl, pushing a step back with drawn claws. Golden liquid dripped from his hanging jaw as he eyed the woman’s bright, enticing soul. A quick sniff told him the soul would be cool but soothing enough to ebb the pain of the shifting shadows that made up his body. Drool poured from his maw and he hunched into a hunting position.

“Lukas?” The woman’s eyes darted to the tattered clothes surrounding him and fearful tears welled up in her eyes, her features contorting into despair and horror.

The creature hissed, tail wiggling as he readied to pounce. Since she was distracted, it would be easy to snap the soul from her body and swallow the enticing supper. He was so hungry.

An ache in his chest urged him to stop. The creature paused as the woman started hyperventilating. Suddenly, the creature felt a wave of sorrow and guilt larger than his hunger. He whined, pawing unhelpfully at the carpet.

“What did you do?” Vanessa screeched, her hands becoming swallowed in the same pale blue that matched her soul.

The creature flinched back, tail thumping anxiously as he felt a phantom ache on his arm that he didn’t understand. He looked towards the window, locating the escape route. With one last hungry glance at her soul and one last pulse of shame, the creature crashed through the window.

Being as the bedroom had been on the second floor, the creature dropped down clumsily into the rose bushes below. Thorns cut into his fur and he whined. But hunger pushed him forward and his claws tore at the earth as his tail snaked behind him. He crossed the bridge as the warm summer night grew considerably colder.

There was a village in front of him. A plethora of souls could be sensed, and his mouth watered. But… no… something stopped him with a drum of an anxious heart. The beast pawed at his face and growled before turning towards the forest.

Yes. Good. Animals to hunt.

Not people. Anything but a person.

The creature practically flew into the woods, growling as the air began to frost. The creature, uncomfortable, hissed and flames licked at the corners of his glowing mouth. Warmth filled his core and he moved on, quickly locating the soul of fox already fleeing from the cold. Licking his flaming jaws, the shadowy beast took off after the fox and swiftly caught up to it.

Clamping burning jaws around the fox’s neck, the shadow beast sucked up its soul in one bite. The soul merged with the beast’s consuming shadows, curbing his itching appetite. Then, the creature finished off the fox in easy bites. While he crunched his meal, he barely registered the thickening frost in the air.

Bark of the trees cracked as ice formed in tree rings. The frozen grass chipped under the beast’s weight. Storm clouds formed overhead.

The creature, satisfied with his meal and suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion on his eyelids, let out a noisy yawn, stretching out his back before coiling up. The beast fell into a deep sleep as snowflakes started to fall.

The beast slept until the sun began to rise. Discomfort itched through his body and he stretched out his tail, uncoiling as he felt himself shrink. Growling, he rolled onto his stomach, clasping at grass as claws receded into human hands. Awful sounds of bones popping back into place disrupted the silence of the forest. Lukas tensed as his tail divided back into legs. When the transformation finished, he let out a worn sigh, aching all over.

His mind was fuzzy and his mouth felt dry. Wanting nothing more than to lay there, he would have until something icy brushed his hand.

“Nnngh?” Lukas jerked up, his back popping painfully. Holding himself up on trembling arms, he winced as bright white snow assaulted his vision.

“Snow?” He wondered; his tongue thick in his mouth. In summer? Wait. Why was he in the forest?

And where were his clothes?

He yelped, turning around and staring at his bare legs. Panic gripped his chest as the ice encroached upon the patch of grass he had been laying on. He tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs felt as steady as a house of cards. Dropping back down onto the ice, he shivered.

“Calm down,” Lukas muttered to himself, forcing steady breaths. He could figure this out. The last thing he remembered was grabbing the poetry book he wanted to give to Vanessa. He remembered he was heading to the kitchen and then—

Oh. Oh no.

It was difficult to discern exactly what had happened, but he remembered changing and hurting and then he remembered Vanessa coming in. Vanessa. The snow must have been hers.

He willed himself onto shaking and now shivering legs. Taking a cautious step forward, he managed to keep himself upright despite how his weak legs threatened to buckle. He stumbled through the forest, leaning onto frozen trees and grabbing frozen bushes as he went. Every movement aggravated his sore bones and the closer he got to the manor, the colder the air got.

Nearing the edge of the forest, he looked down at himself, flushing. Snapping a nearby cluster of branches from a bush, he awkwardly held it over his waist for cover. Once he left the forest, the frozen land before him caused his heart to drop to his stomach.

“No,” he gasped, his warm breath milky white. “No, this can’t be.”

The stone bridge to the manor had crumbled, with large boulders encased in the river of ice below. Massive shards of ice surrounded the manor, closing it off from the world.

Lukas shook his head, his breathing becoming more and more panicked as he recalled the fear in Vanessa’s eyes when he had almost—the thought made him feel sick.

Nausea twisted his stomach and he felt something rise. He raised a fist to his mouth, coughing. A thick wad of acid and ashes entered his mouth and he hacked up a bundle of singed orange fur. He spat the wad out of his mouth, groaning at the stray hairs on his tongue.

Ugh! What was—?

The memory of his teeth around a fox’s neck flashed to the forefront of his mind and he paled.

He had really—He had really turned into a monster.

He gave one remorseful look at the manor before turning to the village, swallowing thickly.

Vanessa’s magic had always been fueled by her emotions. The frost scars on his shivering body were consequences of it. But… he usually was the one who comforted her and helped her tame the ice. He had never been the source of her fear. And now, there was so much ice because of how he had frightened her.

Concerned for the villagers, he trudged carefully across the ice. The pads of his already-tired feet ached with each step and being naked in a frozen village was less than ideal but despite his chattering teeth, he was somehow okay.

When he got close enough to the road, he ducked behind a bush and snuck behind objects as he adjusted the placement of the frozen bush in his hands, looking for anyone also confused by or investigating the ice. But the village was coated in an eerie silence.

“Excuse me?” Lukas called, getting more and more worried. Finally, he spotted someone in the street, arm outstretched. The person’s back was to Lukas. Lukas ducked closer, realizing he was by the bookstore. He hid modestly behind an ice-encased fence.

After all, it wouldn’t do for a prince to appear indecent!

“Hello? My sincerest apologies, but I—hello?” Lukas’ heartbeat quickened when the person remained unmoving.

Modesty be darned, Lukas hurried forward.

“Sir—” he reached out a hand but paused when he realized a layer of blue ice coated the person before him. Lukas darted around the frozen statue and found himself looking at Tucker, who had been waving at one of the village children—also frozen—with a book in their hands.

The petrified scene before him nearly tore his heart in two. No. No. He whipped his head around, his bangs tumbling into his eyes. He brushed back his hair and noted a couple more statues.

Had everyone been frozen?

Why was he okay?

A tightness squeezed his chest as a lump formed in his throat. He shivered in the cold and he realized whatever kept him from becoming an ice statue himself would probably not last much longer.

Since he couldn’t get into the manor, he would have to scavenge for clothes and—he added with a rumbling stomach—food. He glanced at Tucker. Having spent long hours discussing literature or studies with the shopkeeper, Lukas determined Tucker wouldn’t mind him borrowing some clothes.

It took a couple yanks, but Lukas finally managed to pry open the frozen door to the bookstore and he slipped inside, relieved to be out of the cold. He quickly found Tucker’s bedroom and got dressed in a simple tunic and pair of pants. Lukas found Tucker’s old cloak, no doubt from his days as a traveler. Lukas paused, rubbing a trembling thumb over the cloak as he remembered the tales of the world Tucker had often shared with him.

“Forgive me, Tucker,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

He tied the cloak around himself and set to work. He felt awful for essentially raiding Tucker’s shop, even grabbing a book about curses and a book by an author he had been eying for awhile and adding them to the pack he had filled with food and a handful of coins. Promising he would compensate Tucker if a few miracles occurred, he snagged a few more articles of clothing and even some parchment and a quill with a small vial of ink.

“Apologies,” he offered sheepishly to Tucker’s frozen statue as he left the bookstore with a hefty pack on his aching back. The sky above him darkened with storm clouds and he glanced back at the manor, where the clouds seemed to be thick with snow. Lukas bit his lip and yelped at the sharp pain that accompanied it.

Lifting a wary hand to his mouth, he tapped his canines, which had sharpened considerably since the last time he had checked. He frowned, his heart pounding.

Vanessa—Vanessa should be okay in the manor. The ice wouldn’t freeze her. And while he ached to go and make sure she was okay, the memory of how she had looked at him in his monstrous form gave him pause. He couldn’t face her now, not when he was so confused and… well… scared himself.

With a new wave of ice magic threatening to further bury the village in snow, Lukas fled.

He fled the frozen villagers and his princess, promising he would return as soon as he figured out what had happened to him and how to fix it. He anxiously scratched at his neck as Subcon disappeared behind him.

#a hat in time #weresnoodle au #fedoraspooky #lovelycoris #ahit weresnoodle #ahit prince #ahit vanessa #i very much love this au #i hope i did an okay job!#full disclosure i was originally going to make Tucker Tim but then i remembered that tim is probs the fae that gave Hattie her hat #and thus tuck was born #i uh wrote this all today so sorry its a little rushed #i was just so excited to write this #my writing

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magicalforcesau · 3 years

Text

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 21 - Year 2: May

(ao3 link)

Palpatine would never expect his morning to start with something as pathetic as tripping over a potted plant upon entering his office. He managed not to fall, and bit back a sneer as he kicked the damned thing over. Someone had been in here… He could tell even if it wasn’t explicitly obvious. Not a single thing seemed out of place, but as he studied his desk it seemed to have been moved. Now that he mentioned it, everything in the room had been moved ever so slightly to the left, just enough to cause suspicion and clearly just enough to cause him to stumble like a newborn deer.

“Maul,” He growled, waving his wand in search of any hidden surprises, but had the madman tried to set any curses, his alarms would surely have been set off. Yes, he’d known he was close and had his suspicions that he was in the building.

A few days ago, the leeches had been let out of the potion storage. The Slytherin students hadn’t been very thrilled when several of them were found in their beds. Palpatine had dealt with it, regardless of how he’d prefer his house learn to deal with such trivial matters themselves.

The Slytherins he went to school with were much braver than the cowards of today.

Such an event he could chalk up to an accident, or a student lurking where they shouldn’t be. Yet even still, he found it unlikely that the leeches found their way into the common room on their own.

Of course he was the only one with such suspicions. The braindead ministry dogs stationed outside of the school had nary a clue to where Maul was at any given time. Maul would have to do nothing short of waltzing up to them in handcuffs before they’d realize what was right in front of them. With the sloppy way Maul was presenting himself, it was even more damning.

Even more useless were the pitiful dementors that couldn’t seem to find him even if he’d announced himself front and center. Though truthfully, Palpatine had some theories on that.

Maul had gotten soft in his time away it seemed, reduced to petty pranks and trickery like the student he’d never fully been. His former apprentice had never been particularly focused, becoming the killing machine of his namesake easily and with little prompting. Now, after many years to stew in the place where most lost their minds if not their souls, he refused to move his sights off of Skywalker.

Palpatine waved his wand again, righting his office to its proper position. He would not fall prey to such a mundane task as moving furniture, not when he had much bigger fish to fry. He walked around his desk staring a hole through the daily prophet left sitting there, Maul’s wanted poster still front and center.

If his former apprentice wanted to waste his time riling him up, he could do as he so pleased. Palpatine had worked too hard and too long to bring his plans into fruition. When he finally got his hands on him, Maul would learn to regret even the slightest action against him.

***

“Did that exam feel…” Satine paused, still in shock as they put greater distance between themselves and the courtyard.

“Short?” Obi-Wan finished for her, clearly still reeling from the same level of unease over the whole matter. They’d all passed- even Hondo- but that hadn’t exactly been hard since despite all of the drills and practices they needed to run, the exam somehow only consisted of a simple apparition across the lawn and back. Such practices were normally not possible at Hogwarts, with the sole exception being when a class was being taught.

“Yeah,” She nodded, confusion still pouring off her in waves.

“Even I thought it was a little too easy,” Cody admitted, which felt like a true testament that Obi-Wan and Satine weren’t simply disappointed that they hadn’t been challenged, “Normally, you’d never hear me say that, but…”

“And this isn’t our typical Charms or History of Magic exam,” Obi-Wan said.

“This is something akin to a driver’s license.” Satine turned to both of them, “And I promise you that while not rocket science by any measure, the driver’s test at least tries to prove that you can do the basics.”

“Hondo fell on his bum when he landed and he still passed.” Obi-Wan added, concern knitting his brow. “Makes me a bit worried what sort of people they’re allowing to apparate.”

“That’s just it, my brothers told me about the apparition exam and they always said they made you run drills like they did in class.”

“I remember Qui-Gon saying something similar,” Satine bit her lip, “Do you think they did this because of everything going on?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Obi-Wan said and they continued walking, “Think about it, we were all out in the open, with a murderer on the loose. I bet they wanted to get it over with and usher us inside as fast as they could.”

“Then delay the test,” Satine shrugged, “I don’t get what the rush was to approve all of us.”

“Maybe it’s a means of escape,” Cody said darkly. “I just hope it doesn’t result in any other consequences. I don’t know if either of you have ever been splinched, but-”

“-It’s not comfortable,” Obi-Wan filled in a bit too quickly for either of his friend’s satisfaction. Particularly Satine looked concerned at how immediate his reaction had been. She’d heard of it, of course, but as a muggle-born, it never happened to her. Most of the time, according to Windu, it was clothes or hair lost to splinching, but there were instances when flesh was wounded.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat before either could comment, “I suppose the bright side is, we passed.”

Neither were so sure how bright it was.

***

Ventress has truly anticipated expulsion or at the very least, suspension, and maybe this would have been the case under Headmaster Yoda’s rule, but whether she deemed it lucky or not, she was receiving no such punishment with Palpatine.

“I hope you understand where you belong, Ventress and see that I have afforded you mercy because of your family.” Palpatine said in that smooth, light voice. His eyes spoke of a different story. Something haunted him or perhaps he was the one who'd done the haunting. He was lauded as the kindly old potions’ professor, but she knew from experience that one didn’t climb so high up the social ladder without breaking backs on one’s way.

Dooku was that way and she’d been one of the backs he’d broken. She wasn’t even a high peg on a ladder to him, just a meager foot stool.

“Did you write them?” She asked, because it was always good to know when she’d be expecting a howler in the mail.

“Not yet,” He tsked, walking around his desk, “Though I suspect I won’t need to. Word travels fast enough.”

Yes, this cursed world did appreciate a show more than anything else. She had never expected hers to be deemed a pitiful tragedy- a failed villainous uprising. She’d hoped that when her story broke that she’d have the support and care of her sisters at either side. Instead, as always, Ventress was alone.

“What are you going to do with me, Headmaster?” She asked, looking up into his eyes. She didn’t feel remorse for her actions, per say, just that they were evidently in vain. Like any true Slytherin, she was willing to do whatever it took to achieve the means to an end.

Part of her wanted expulsion or to be thrown away without the key. Anything, at the moment, seemed better than going back home and groveling and pretending that she was an abused victim. She wanted, with everything in her heavy bones, for this to be her narrative rather than the reality that she was nothing more than a bookend to Dooku’s and his master’s. She loathed the concept of being used, of being the victim, even if she knew her survival would depend on playing that role.

Palpatine watched her with almost serene calmness, like he could sense the way her thoughts bled. Nobody knew Palpatine’s story, because he kept that close to the chest. Ventress wondered if they ever would, even after death.

Everyone had their secrets.

And Ventress missed hers.

“Well, I’m stripping you of all authority, for starters,” He said, walking around his desk to sit behind it again, “Seeing as you are still a minor, I’ve managed to convince the Ministry to not toss you into Azkaban. If and only if-”

If there was one thing Ventress hated more than pretending, it was negotiating, which was a large facet of the pureblood world. People negotiated the terms of courting rituals, business deals, even social events and how they would proceed. It was all one big set of terms and conditions.

Even if she quite possibly still stood solely for her pure hatred for Dooku, she still couldn’t help but agree with some of those ideals. Would she abandon them in an effort to sabotage him? Yes, without hesitance. It was but another means to an end. She’d abandoned so much of what she knew already. It was only icing on the cake.

“What?” She asked, keeping her hands cross in her lap to prevent herself from clawing at the desk between them.

“You must tell the aurors everything you know about Dooku,” He said sagely, but it was clearly rehearsed, quite possibly just before she came in, “And my dear, they will know if you’re lying.”

***

Despite the waning student population and the heightened anxieties surrounding Maul sightings in the area, they were still allowing the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It seemed like a desperate grasping for normalcy from the staff members still trying to keep up morale. It didn’t feel very normal, however, when all four houses fit neatly within the bounds of the Gryffindor section of the field. The professors didn’t want everyone spread out and those with friends in other houses welcomed the opportunity to chat outside of class. Satine had positioned herself between Obi-Wan and Cody, they were sitting closest to the exit. She felt almost like she was being watched and kept glancing behind her, but there was no one there. Paranoia certainly.

“I hope Hufflepuff beats Slytherin,” Cody grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, “It’s the only way to get Gryffindor back in the running.”

“I think that’s fairly unlikely,” Ben nodded towards the field, a soft glare on his face, “Ventress looks angry.”

“When doesn’t she,” Satine muttered, ignoring Ben as he turned his concerned eyes onto her.

She was willing to put the experience behind her. Though she doubted she’d ever forget what it felt like to be slowly turned to stone. The girl in question had lost her title as Quidditch captain, but had remained on the team. It seemed though, they hadn’t gotten around to choosing a new captain because Ventress still approached Breha to shake hands. So it was simply the matter of losing a title and not really a position. If in fact Headmaster Palpatine didn’t bother to enforce such things.

Then again, she always knew he favored purebloods.

“Shouldn’t even be allowed to play,” Cody crossed his arms, “She shouldn’t even be allowed to be here at all.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t haul her off to Azkaban.”

“Do you really think a child belongs on that foul island?” Because that’s what they were, children. Satine didn’t think that such a horrible punishment would be worth it for someone who likely only recently turned 17. For something so horrible to be done on her account as well? She couldn’t stand for it. She wanted Ventress to find peace and she certainly wouldn’t be able to move past being a pawn for Dooku behind bars.

“It’s starting!” Cody grinned and leaned forward. At least this time since they were stuck in the back she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping him from falling over the ledge.

***

“Hey, Professor! You coming to see the match?” Anakin asked.

Kit Fisto flashed them a bright smile, which came easily for him even with the rumors that it would be cancelled due to Maul’s lingering presence. Anakin found that he was having a more difficult time offering legitimate smiles these days. Never did he ever consider that Maul was capable of drawing so close to the school.

“Just making sure there aren’t any stragglers, Anakin.” He said, “We’ve all got to stick together, after all.”

“Yeah, okay, but make sure you come watch! Gryffindor might not win the cup this year, but it would be pretty cool to see Ventress get beat by Hufflepuff.

“There’s got to be some punishment for what she did to us,” Rex growled with a clenched fist.

“And what’s better than getting demolished by the worst team in Quidditch?” Anakin said cheerily, although Rex didn’t seem so sure that was appropriate. Neither did the few Hufflepuffs that shot him dirty looks as they passed.

In spite of this, Kit Fisto laughed, his long green tentacles wiggling as he did, “Yes, well, I’m sure Headmaster Palpatine won’t let her off completely scot free.”

“I think he just let her play because she’s a good player,” Anakin grumbled.

“Now, now, there’s a lot more that goes on behind the scenes than either you or I are privy to,” Fisto said placatingly, “We’re all doing what we can to keep you guys safe.”

“I know.” Both Anakin and Rex said in unison.

“Even if I do feel like this might be testing fate a bit,” He gestured to the large crowd of people, “I suppose it is nice to see everyone so happy for a change.”

It was, but even Anakin, who had made some bold and sometimes foolish decisions in the name of fun, thought it was a little soon. He’d heard rumors that Palpatine was being pushed by the Ministry to hold the Quidditch matches anyway. Apparently, there was a decent gambling pool that relied on which team would come out on top.

“It would make me happier if Slytherin loses.” Rex said.

He leaned down to their level and winked, “Between you and me? Same.”

“We’ll see you in there?” Anakin laughed.

“I’m right behind you,” Fisto nodded.

***

Breha was never one to underestimate her opponents. Slytherin team may have been without a captain, but she still knew they would be looking to Ventress for plays. They’d been working with her all year after all. It was, however, still something they could take advantage of. A few of the Slytherin players would certainly be willing to try and usurp the queen in order to gain the position next year and that would make their play style much more chaotic than it would otherwise be.

That was excellent for a team like Hufflepuff, who thrived in their teamwork. None of them had the same level of ambition as many of the Slytherin’s she knew. Ambition wasn’t always a bad thing, Breha would be hard pressed to say she didn’t possess some level of it herself, but in a situation like this, she knew her team would flow like a stream whereas their opposition would butt heads like a rockslide.

She knocked away the Quaffle from the golden hoops as she kept a careful eye on the bludgers that were being knocked her way. Her chasers were quick to grab it out from the competitive hands of two Slytherin chasers. Hufflepuff was steadily racking up points and although they were nowhere near to beating them without the snitch, it certainly was quite an embarrassment for the house of green and silver. Normally Hufflepuff would be hard pressed to get the ball through a ring at all.

“Get it together, you useless swine,” Ventress hollered at her team as she skirted dangerously close to their heads. If she likely wasn’t in the mood to get into more trouble, Breha wondered if she might hit them with her bat.

“Good job!” Breha cheered with a smile as her own team scored a point. The cheers erupting from the audience were quieter than they usually were, but loud enough to hear over the wind. Breha frowned, taking her eyes off the game for only a moment to search her surroundings. She almost thought she’d heard a scream.

She turned, around and narrowly managed to catch the Quaffle with her hands rather than her face before tossing it down field. The audience cheered again, but something didn’t feel right. Breha’s hands twitched on the handle of her broom. She could call a timeout, but she would hate to waste something over a feeling.

She glanced around again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

She raised her hands to make the call when a loud whistle jolted the game to a halt. Breha dodged a bludger as they both went sailing for their holding crate. Professor Tiin was holding up his hands in a desperate T. She descended quickly on her broom and the rest of the students in the sky followed.

“What’s going on?”

***

“They’ve stopped,” Satine was surprised. She’d watched a lot of Quidditch despite her distaste for it and she certainly hadn’t seen anything like this happen before, “A time out?”

“Somethings up,” Cody was the one to respond. He was watching the field with interest, but there was a layer of worry that he normally didn’t have when watching even the most dangerous of crashes, “Ref called for their grounding; there wasn’t anything wrong with the game.”

“No penalties,” Ben nodded. He too looked concerned, eyes flicking around the stadium. Satine found herself looking behind her again. She no longer felt eyes on her, but she certainly felt like the hairs on the back of her neck were beginning to raise. Before either of them could comment further though, Headmaster Palpatine’s voice, amplified, filled the stadium. His tone was less than pleased.

“Students and Faculty,” He started solemnly, “We must immediately return to the castle.”

Chatter filled the stands at once, not just the children either, but Satine caught Professor Plo turning to whisper to Professor Windu. Neither of them looked like they knew anything.

“What about the game?” A fourth year Gryffindor yelled, “It’s against the rules to stop!”

“What’s going on?” A Ravenclaw third year added from a few seats in front of her. Satine felt like her limbs were full of lead as she reached out to clutch the sleeve of Ben’s robe. She had a bad feeling.

“The game is not important,” There was a soft sigh that was barely audible past a few outcries from the student body, “It brings me a terrible sadness to inform you of the passing of Professor Kit Fisto-”

Cries of outrage and of sadness expelled themselves from the student body. The Professors, while schooled better on their emotions, looked just as surprised as they stood, immediately gathering students and shuffling them towards the exits. On the field, Professor Tiin was doing the same with the Quidditch teams.

“It has to be Maul,” Ben hissed at them, “He’s getting bolder.”

Neither she nor Cody could make much of a response though, being swept amongst other panicked students out of the stands and onto the sprawling grounds. Satine only realized she still had a grip on Ben’s sleeve when he tripped and fell, and she narrowly avoided the same fate by letting go.

“Ben-” She started reaching out a hand for him when she noticed he’d tripped over a first year who looked rather shell shocked, wide horrified eyes filling up with tears. He must have fallen first and narrowly avoided being trampled on.

“Oh, hey there, it’s alright,” Ben had noticed too, taking the time to help the boy up off the ground, despite the shouts of professors for them to get back in line, “Come on, we just have to get into the castle, alright? We’ll be safe there.” Satine felt like she was intruding, but refused to leave them there alone. Luckily, the boy took Ben’s hand quickly and the three of them shuffled back into the crowd quickly.

As soon as the last student was through the doors to the castle they slammed shut, latching forcefully behind them. The doors to the Great Hall did similarly.

“Bloody hell, I thought you two had disappeared,” Cody ran up to them, looking relieved. His own brothers fell at ease the second he turned away from them, clearly he’d rounded them up first thing.

“Is Anakin-?” Ben whipped his head around to look and Cody pointed towards where Anakin and Rex were looking pale and shaken, but alive.

All were accounted for it seemed, all but Professor Kit Fisto, who had died at the hands of a mad man while guarding the far side of the pitch, alone.

***

A funeral for Kit Fisto had been held off grounds- somewhere in the middle of the ocean for all of his aquatic friends and family members to properly mourn him in accordance with their traditions. His ashes were sprinkled over the Mariana Trench, where he’d done some of his biggest work.

His absence left the school caught in a limbo of uncertainty. Professors were in a mode of practicality only and it was hardly blameable. Maul had not only gotten within their barrier, but had committed a gruesome act of violence that some students had the horrors of bearing witness to the aftermath of.

Kit Fisto had been treated not like a person, but a sign to be waved on a stick, to show just what Maul intended to do to each of them if they didn’t give him Anakin Skywalker. Classes were taught within the confines of the common rooms to keep students from traveling elsewhere. With the blocked off tunnels, it seemed like the only safe space to keep Maul out.

No longer were even prefects allowed to walk the halls. Patrols were cancelled, and professors and aurors walked every space and brought food to students as well as taught their classes. It was a mess, really, and students were definitely affected by the change. Less and less faces were present, many removed from the castle altogether at the insistence of their parents.

However, those who remained were downcast and gray just like the sky outside their windows. A greedy part of Obi-Wan was thankful that his friends were still here, even if the current circumstances didn’t allow him to see Cody or Anakin. He was surprised Satine’s mother didn’t bring her home, though he had his suspicions of the extent at which she knew. It was hard to tell with the muggle families. They didn’t get the same news as wizards did, but it seemed awfully callous for there to be no warning from the school.

Then again, professors were quite busy working alongside the aurors to track Maul down. Part of him wondered where he could possibly be hiding, but really, there were endless corridors at Hogwarts that he’d never known of- not until the existence of the map, anyway. Even then, the fabled Room of Requirement was still out there untouched. Pure intentions were supposed to unlock it and he had severe doubts that Maul’s qualified.

This castle that they’d once been free to roam had shrunk significantly for all of them. He couldn’t even imagine being in Slytherin house and segmented only to the lightless space near the dungeons.

The news of Kit Fisto’s tragic demise took a while to reach outside outlets, for it wasn’t until an entire week later, shortly after his reported funeral, that they’d received a very dramatic and incoherent Floo call from Aayla. Even in the charcoal embers taking form into her face, he could tell she was blubbering like a baby.

“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?” She wailed and the other students in the common room, who were a bit piled on top of one another, turned their bodies to try and allow privacy to the fireplace. It wasn’t like Aayla seemed to mind much.

“Er, I know this must be difficult for you,” Obi-Wan tried awkwardly as he searched his eyes through the room. Where was Satine when he needed her? There weren’t too many places to go, after all.

“DIFFICULT? TRY IRREVOCABLY HEARTBROKEN TO THE LARGEST DEGREE? HE WAS SO YOUNG SO KIND SO BEAUTIFUL.” She shook with tears, “Too good for this world, honestly. I don’t… I don’t know how I’ll go on.”

Obi-Wan didn’t think himself a callous person, but he sure as hell didn’t know how to navigate this conversation without further setting her off, “He will be dearly missed as he was a favorite teacher for most.”

“He’s more than that!” She bellowed, but it wasn’t intimidating due to the hiccups she’d recently caught, “He was the kindest soul placed on this earth like an orb of light- and I but a moth drawn to him…”

“Yes, of course!” Obi-Wan panicked, “I didn’t mean to reduce your care for him, I only meant-”

“Aayla?” Satine was suddenly knelt beside him, looking over his shoulder and into the fire.

“Yes, Satine, Aayla heard the unfortunate news regarding Professor Fisto-”

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME IT’S TOO SOON!” She sobbed.

Satine flashed him a scathing look and he shrugged helplessly. Aayla did have a point about there being many extremely crestfallen students over the professor’s death. Beyond simply grieving a good professor and person too. Many of the remaining members of Fisto’s fan club were inconsolably upset, like they’d just lost the love of their young lives. It seemed he’d made a big impression in his short time as a professor, even if not necessarily the way he’d intended to.

Even on that scale, he’d be missed. Although reserved by bureaucratic restrictions, Fisto tried to teach them to fight, to protect themselves. In many ways, Obi-Wan preferred him as a professor to Dooku (even removing the sinister Sith stuff), because of how approachable and charismatic he’d been. Obi-Wan was in a bit of disbelief even still that he was gone.

“Did you see him?” She sniffled.

Satine tensed, but shook her head, “No, and I don’t envy those who did.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aayla said, “You know what my last words were to him?”

“What’s that?” Obi-Wan asked.

She breathed deeply to stabilize herself, “That I’d perfect resistance to the Imperius curse while at home. What kind of goodbye is that?”

“Well, you couldn’t have possibly known, Aayla.” Satine said soothingly and Obi-Wan wondered how she maintained the careful line of logic and empathetic. It would be beautiful to bear witness to under different circumstances that weren’t this depressing.

“Maybe not, but I haven’t even been able to do him justice by practicing my resistance!”

“Everyone’s having a hard time studying in this climate,” Satine said and looked around, “We’re all on top of one another in here.”

“Plus, rumor has it, someone’s fixed up a shrine for Professor Fisto in the girl’s bathroom,” Obi-Wan said.

“I should be there to pay tribute,” She said. “If it weren’t for my parents, I would be.”

“It’s better that you’re not,” Satine assured, “You can properly mourn him when you come back, when everything is safe again.”

If it was safe again. She hadn’t said it that way, but he could tell by her demeanor that she was thinking of it. It had only been a week since they were confined to their common room, but it was starting to feel very much like they were trapped. His only means of asking how Anakin was aside from the fireplace was through Qui-Gon and his daily visits.

“I’LL NEVER LOVE AGAIN!” She cried.

“Erm,” he bit his lip, “There there, he wouldn’t want you to be-”

“-He would never know what I want, because I, like many others, kept my feelings locked within my heart instead of on display. It’s the stupid logical side of me.”

“Well, he was your professor.” This was not the correct thing to say. “You couldn’t possibly pursue a relationship-”

“-Ben, why don’t you referee the first and second year’s game of gobstones, since you like it so,” The edge to her voice queued him into realizing that thankfully, it was not a suggestion.

“You still play that?” Aayla wrinkled her nose, briefly distracted from her woe, “That’s for children!”

“It’s a very tactical game, thank you!” Obi-Wan huffed.

“Kit liked darts.” Aayla remembered that she was supposed to be heartbroken.

Obi-Wan took his opportunity to exit before it was lost on him, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Satine with that mess to clean. As it were, sticking around was only making it worse. He just hoped that the other houses were faring better than they were locked up.

***

If it weren’t for the blanket of loss that stained everything, Anakin probably would have called their mandatory lockdown some sort of break from school. The concept of a “staycation” was lost on Rex and his brothers, but it was even less pleasant given the circumstances. The first day hadn’t been bad, since they all basically hung out and tried to distract themselves with snacks and jokes. Seven days in, however, it was getting tedious and it was even worse by the professors attempting to teach the entire common room at once, which meant that half of it was far too confusing and ahead of the game for even Anakin to grasp.

Plus, he didn’t have Obi-Wan to edit his stuff, which made a big difference. Qui-Gon did offer to deliver any parcels or letters back and forth, but that felt silly when he could always theoretically use the fireplace. Acknowledging that they might be in here for a while was starting to get to him.

“I’d give anything for a game of Quidditch,” Cody sighed as he flipped through a magazine on the very subject, wistfully running a hand on the glossy pictures that depicted summer fun in the most recent digest.

“Quidditch? I’d give anything to do a lap running around the castle,” Rex added with a stretch of his leg, “I’m going stir crazy.”

“Need I remind you all that you lot rejected our suggestion for indoor Aingingein.” Fives piped up from his spot on the floor beside his twin.

“Yeah, and I’ll never be desperate enough to try that inside!” Cody said, “We haven’t even got any barrels to light on fire anyway.”

“We could improvise!” Echo complained. “It doesn’t have to be on fire.”

“With you lot, it’s always on fire.” He said pointedly, “Even if it’s not supposed to be.”

“I have always excelled with pyrotechnic spells,” Echo said smugly, “Definitely a strong suit of mine.”

“Of ours, thank you,” Fives corrected.

“Never thought I’d hear the day where you’re the voice of reason,” Anakin said to Cody, who turned his head lazily with a crooked smile.

“Process of elimination, kid.” He said, though Anakin viewed Cody as more responsible than he gave himself credit for.

He felt guilty for allowing himself to feel monotony. Someone had died, after all, and the only reason they were all stuck here was because Maul wanted to eliminate the Chosen One- a title he couldn’t believe he’d once been proud of. They were all lucky to be safe within their common room and that Maul hadn’t incited anymore violence the day he got Fisto. Even that small consolation felt immediately hollow as Anakin thought of it.

It didn’t stop the darkest crevices of his mind from generating possibilities of Maul picking off each standing professor and auror, leaving them trapped and with no real way of knowing what was happening. It was horrifying. Judging by The Daily Prophet, reports weren’t being as authentic as they could be about the sheer amount of danger they were in.

“What’s the first thing you’re doing when we get out of here?” Rex asked him.

“Oh,” Anakin hadn’t really thought of it, “Probably never complain about having to wake up early for class ever again.”

“I hear that.” Fives said, “Getting up and moving to a different room sounds like a dream. Anything has to be better than sitting here wasting time.”

Anakin glanced over towards the other end of the room, where Padmé was perched near the window, allowing the natural light of the sun to provide an angelic glow on her face as she read the book in her lap. Even though they didn’t have to, she still dressed in Gryffindor robes and had her hair pulled back in two buns that were fanned out at the base of her neck and shimmering with a silver glitter.

In the pocket of his robes was the necklace he’d decorated for her. There were so many moments where he wanted to give it to her, to tell her that he painted it with his hands and that he knew life was short and that meant seizing it while you had it, not isolating him.

He considered standing and approaching her, sitting opposite and inquiring about what she was reading, telling her she looked lovely, and making this anything but wasted time for him.

The thought washed away faster than it appeared and an announcement chimed through the entire room, silencing everyone from the idle chatter that kept them sane thus far.

Anakin didn’t need to hear it before to know who it belonged to.

“Professors and students of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry,” Maul addressed them all like a king addressing his loyal subjects, “Despite how the Daily Prophet might paint me, I am capable of being reasonable. You see I am not as young as I used to be, so I see no issue in leaving the castle and its occupants unscathed. There is but one thing that I desire.”

Anakin’s heart was pounding in his chest and he felt Rex’s hand on his shoulder immediately. It should have been stabilizing and comforting, but all it really did was serve as a reminder as to why Maul was even here.

“Give me your precious Chosen One, and I will see to it that there is no more bloodshed,” Maul continued, “For it was not long ago that I was in your midst and though I was treated like a feral animal not worthy of teaching, I do have some sentimental nostalgia to this place. After all, every hero requires an origin story.”

“We do not bargain with murderers, Maul.” This time, Anakin truly did know the voice to be Mace Windu’s firm tone.

“A pity, Professor Windu, a pity indeed,” Maul remained completely calm and neutral, which Anakin hadn’t expected. They all watched the ceiling as though they waited with bated breath for him to sink through it. “Because until you submit to my conditions, I will cut through every single person in this school until I get what I want.”

“You will not succeed, Maul.” Palpatine, this time, echoed through the room, even if not physically present.

A long pause, and then, “I’ll be the judge of that, Headmaster.”

And then, a laugh so sinister and cold that Anakin swore his blood was frozen solid. Everyone was watching him as the voices faded and they were only left to the crackling of the fire. He stared straight ahead, burning with an anger and fear so bright that he felt he might physically glow.

“We aren’t going to let him get you, mate.” Rex insisted severely, “You hear me?”

He didn’t doubt that they would do everything in their power to save him, but Anakin already had the guilt of his mother’s disappearance weighing on his conscience. He wasn’t sure he could bear another.

At the thought of his mother, he practically saw stars. This monster had been the reason his family, his home, his protector was gone. He took her and did who knows what with her. And while he knew from deep within him, from the small little voice that told him so in his most horrible dreams, he wasn’t ready for such a threat.

But he also wasn’t ready to lose his mother and he certainly wasn’t ready to allow his friends to take any heroic falls for him. Maul was here for a reason and perhaps, that’s what he needed, to have it handed straight over to him.

“Anakin.” Rex said again and shook his shoulder, “I don’t like that look you’ve got on your face.”

He stared at his friend, memorizing the kindness on his face. He didn’t deserve him. “I’m sorry, Rex.”

“It’s not your fault!” He insisted, scoffing at the idea of it. “He’s a lunatic! He’s gone and murdered a professor because of a stupid poem that was written centuries ago! So what if you’re the Chosen One according to that! Isn’t Qui-Gon always saying the future is always changing?”

He was, but right now was the present, which Anakin could only control his own actions in.

“I am sorry for that… And for this,” He nodded, but then blasted his friend backwards with a swift stupefy spell, and raced out of the room before anyone could grab him. One of the Fett’s nearly succeeded and ripped a piece of his robe, but the door slammed behind him before he could be fully pulled back.

He was going to face Maul.

***

Satine, like every other student in the school, was horrified at the conversation they’d all heard booming in their ears. It felt like an immense invasion of privacy and had intended to have that effect, considering the initial source. They were lucky enough to have Qui-Gon present when it occurred for class, but any comfort that his presence might have offered was swept away when he immediately made for the exit with his wand ready.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan was paler than she’d ever seen him and watching his mentor with a fear they never should have known, “Don’t.”

“I will do what I must, Obi-Wan,” He nodded, “As will you, I’m sure.”

There was a passing secret language between them of which Satine did not understand and was not intended to. Whatever it meant, it caused Obi-Wan to look ready to snap in two right before her eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, not knowing what to say at all under such circumstances. They were under siege by one man, who couldn’t be stopped by aurors or Dementors or even their notable DADA professor. She felt her heart plunge into the pit of her stomach as the severity of this dawned on all of them. For a moment, it felt like there was no one else in the room but the three of them.

“Yes, Professor.” He said instead of what he’d meant to and just like that, Qui-Gon Jinn was gone and the door behind him locked.

Obi-Wan stared at where he’d left for a long moment, fists balled and whether it was the angle of the sun or otherwise, his eyes looked glassy. His lip didn’t tremble and his breathing didn’t change. Instead, he looked rigid beyond repair.

“I’m sure he’s just going to Gryffindor’s common room to check on Anakin.” Satine said as she cautiously approached him to rest a hand on his shoulder blade. He didn’t flinch or jump at her touch, but it did feel like he had transported off to another plane of existence.

“That’s exactly what he’s doing.” He said heavily and finally turned to meet her eyes, “Maul went to this school. Surely, he knows it well enough to know where the Gryffindors sleep.”

That had also occurred to her, but right now, standing in front of him, where they were both so desperately trying to grasp onto some semblance of hope, she didn’t want to voice it. She feared their time for seeking solace was well passed.

“Maul doesn’t know the codes to get in.” She said firmly, “He won’t be able to get in and get Anakin. The Fat Lady wouldn’t allow for it.

He did nod at that, “Yes, it was a security measure from-”

“-The war, I presume.” She raised an eyebrow, “As everything is?”

“Actually from the amount of teen pregnancies occurring from inter-house relations.” He said frankly and it nearly made her laugh if it didn’t sound like such a believably ludicrous solution only thought of by wizards.

Any light quip she was thinking of making disappeared into nothing as the fireplace burst into a hasty shout of, “Kenobi? Are you there? Satine? Anyone?”

They rushed to the fire again, recognizing their best friend’s voice in mind-numbing alarm. Any younger students dove out of the way immediately on instinct to avoid being knocked into the flames.

“Cody, I-” Obi-Wan hadn’t even gotten a word in edgewise before he was promptly cut off by Cody’s furious shout, which was no doubt trying to compete with the noisy background surrounding him.

“ANAKIN’S ESCAPED!”

“What?” It was Obi-Wan who interrupted this time. “What do you mean he escaped?”

“He’s going for Maul!” Rex cried, shoving his brother out of the way, “I tried to stop him, but-”

Anything else Rex said faded to the background, though she suspected it was mostly nonsense judging by how upset he clearly was.

No, that couldn’t be. Her heart was thundering in her ears at the implication. Anakin was giving himself up for slaughter, but she knew in her heart that despite his claims, Maul would not stop there. Violence only begets more violence, especially when from the hand of a bloodthirsty animal.

“Stay put,” Obi-Wan’s voice was almost unrecognizable. It was deeper, commanding, and completely unlike the gentle witticism she’d grown used to (and fond of) over the years. Had she not watched him speak, she might not have believed it at all.

“Kenobi, don’t you even think-” Cody shoved back in.

Obi-Wan didn’t allow him to finish the sentiment, ending the connection and shoving himself off the ground with nearly as much speed as he’d gotten to it, aggressively shoving through a surrounding crowd, knocking Fenn Rau onto his arse when he tried to block him from the exit with tremendous ease. Satine followed through the space he’d left in his wake, desperately trying to reach him with a pounding dread that washed her into a blinding panic.

She caught his hand just before he could leave, in a vice grip that under different circumstances she would not use, but it drew his attention back to her, his eyes blazing with purpose and certainty.

“Let go of me.” He said with strange calm.

“No.” She said, “I won’t let you do this.”

“That’s not up to you!”

“Like hell it isn’t!” She argued, “I won’t have you knocking on death’s door yet again out of some infuriating sense of nobility.”

“Satine,” His eyes softened as he focused on her and looked a little more like the boy who effortlessly stole her breath away, “It’s Anakin.”

She knew that. Her stomach curled and coiled at the vile revelation and what it meant for Obi-Wan, who despite not being the main character of this prophetic narrative, was a true hero despite his own self-doubts. And really, she wouldn’t care for him the way she did if he weren’t the type to run into the fire against his better logic for a boy who had always been chosen to him- prophecy be damned.

There was no one else in the room as she contemplated just how dire this moment was and how pitiful it was.

“Please be careful.” She found herself saying in a voice only he could hear.

“I always try to be.” It wasn’t a promise and she noticed that. He would never make a promise he couldn’t keep. Not to her.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity and her mind raced with a flush of memories and regrets- that in this moment the cold reality was drenching them with how little time they likely had left. It seemed he was processing a similar line of thinking, because his eyes scanned her face as though memorizing every detail. Thousands of unsaid words passed between them, though even then she yearned to hear the real thing.

It was now or never, it seemed.

“At Christmas, I-” His breath hitched, “I- Well, I’ve never…”

He seemed quite infuriated with himself. A crash in the distance caused them both to break their spell and Obi-Wan turned back to her, regret swimming in his eyes as well as a fondness that could no longer be debated.

They didn’t have time.

“I’m sorry,” He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a single firm kiss to her knuckles, “Another time, I hope.”

And she watched him go, memorizing with painstaking clarity the feeling of his hand slipping from hers and out of reach as his perfect silhouette danced down the stairs hurriedly, never looking back. Perhaps, because doing so would make him run back to her. That’s what she told herself again.

Her hand burned as she clutched it tightly. She had a duty to uphold too.

***

Anakin ran, assuming logically that the grand staircases would be where Maul awaited. He seemed to be somewhat interested in being dramatic and Anakin could think of no better place to stage an assault. He’d expected to hear someone following behind him, a professor trying to catch him before he did something so stupid or a friend come to his aid, but neither seemed as crazy as he was to face a threat so great.

The closer to the staircase he grew, the more aurors were laid about, Anakin felt his steps falter as he purposely turned his eyes away. They were fine, they had to be, they were just… taking a nap.

Although even his own heart didn’t take the gentle suggestion at face value.

He saw green light reflecting off the wall up ahead. It gave off an eerie strobe effect that made Anakin hesitate. His wand was still gripped in his hand and he did know a fair few spells he was quite good at, but what did he know about going against someone so powerful? Countless aurors were lying about, clearly not able to take him themselves and it certainly didn’t seem like Maul was in the mood to play with his victims.

The thoughts of his own home kept his feet moving forward. His mother’s bedroom, covered with feathers and his mother, missing, possibly worse and it had to be at the hands of Maul. Who else would be trying to draw him out, but the man who was very clear at wanting him dead this entire year? He repeated over and over and over again the stunning spell in his head as he stepped out into the open area of the staircases.

An auror had just caught the end of a green beam and was falling down. Maul looked almost bored as he watched and didn’t flinch as Anakin did as they hit the ground with a thud. Maul had put forth no effort in his spree, but the thought didn’t deter Anakin from hurtling his own spell while he had the element of surprise.

“Stupify,” He tried to be quiet about it, but his spell still missed the man by a few centimeters. Maul had noticed him much sooner, by the way he just stood there, watching him like a predator would its prey.

“So you have the dignity to fight your own battles,” He flicked his wand and Anakin dodged, jumping onto a staircase as it pivoted past him. Maul stepped casually onto his own and they both spun around each other before their stairs clicked into place. Anakin held his ground, aiming to stay as far away as he could from the man. There were things he wanted answered and he surely didn’t come here to lay down and die.

“I want to know what you did to my mum!” Anakin yelled before sending out another stunning spell and missing narrowly. Maul was still unperturbed by this and stepped onto another staircase.

“What would I care about your mother?” Maul asked with a sneer.

Anakin’s heart leapt, he must be lying, “Y-you took her! I know you did!” He shouted, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He sent off a quick chain-cast, aiming to disarm Maul, at least then there wasn’t much damage he could do. Maul reflected it like it was a particularly pesky fly and Anakin’s spell slammed into the wall, showering debris all around them.

“I didn’t take your mother, boy,” Maul sent a spell knocking Anakin’s wand out of his hand and causing it to tumble down the steps. He shrunk back as Maul took each step down to him incredibly slowly, “But once you’ve been erased from this earth,” He grinned, sharp teeth grinding together in a hideous display, “I’ll send her to find you.”

Maul’s wand was moving and in a last-ditch attempt at living, Anakin rushed forward, jumping at Maul and trying to rip his wand out of his hand. Maul growled, a low dangerous sound before shoving Anakin off. Anakin stumbled, but managed not to fall just in time for Maul’s foot to come crashing into his chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

He landed hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, but in the dust kicked up he managed to locate his wand before Maul could aim again and he sent out another desperate spell.

His heart sank as Maul simply stepped aside to dodge such a thing. This wasn’t how he wanted his life to end. He’d thought he’d be avenging his mother, locating her, being a hero. He was the Chosen One, he thought he could live through anything.

Maul raised his wand.

Anakin thought of his friends who he’d come to love like family. He thought of magic and all he had yet to learn. He thought of his mother, out there somewhere waiting for him.

***

There were bodies upon bodies lining the walls, all aurors, and all dead by Maul, presumably. Obi-Wan didn’t look as he went, not needing the horrifying distraction at the moment. These men and women gave themselves over to protect them and were treated like dominos to be knocked over in a chain reaction, all leading to-

-He came to an abrupt halt from his sprint, brain whirring as it tried to catch up to what his eyes saw to the left on the grand staircase. It was a body, and not just any body, but Anakin, small and limp at the bottom, completely unmoving. And just three flights up, completely shrouded in black save for his fiery face, was Maul.

“Stay away from him!” Obi-Wan shouted, drawing his attention immediately. Time only continued when he noticed Anakin’s chest moving up and down where he lay. All hope was not lost yet.

That was not to say that they were anywhere near out of the woods. The dementors had entered the space, but even this offered Obi-Wan no false hope. In fact, by the way they hovered beside him with a slight green glow surrounding their usual complete blackness, it was like they obeyed Maul somehow, serving the very opposite purpose than what was programmed of them.

Maul’s wand was sleek and smooth and undoubtedly did not belong to him originally. Obi-Wan knew enough about the clearances distributed by the Ministry that it belonged to an officer of some kind. He didn’t want to picture what happened to its original owner. Obi-Wan always struggled with conjuring patronuses, but if there was ever a time to learn, there was nothing like the present. He had to force his hand not to shake as he outstretched it, hoping he didn’t look as young as he felt.

He tried to channel happiness and positivity in a moment like this, in order to create the bright light needed to banish these dementors away, but every time a spark felt as though it might kindle, the gravity of their situation snuffed it out.

Maul said nothing, just as he hadn’t in Hogsmeade, but he did bear a full mouthful of yellow-stained teeth that matched the glowing eyes that appeared hollowed out in his skull. There was only hate and suffering behind those eyes, never a day of love or care. If Anakin’s life weren’t on the line, Obi-Wan might have felt sorry for him.

He knew the moment he made a move for the boy, Maul would only charge, but they couldn’t remain in this uneven standoff forever. Literally, they could not, because the stairs would not hold still for anyone, not even for the theatrics of a bloody lunatic. So, while it felt like a longshot, it also seemed like his only shot.

Obi-Wan took the leap, dashing to the end of the stairs, tumbling and grabbing Anakin on the way, just as the stairs moved and swiftly knocked them at an alarming velocity towards another shifting staircase. As predicted, when he moved, Maul moved, but not fast enough and stumbled as the stairs shifted, toppling over a railing in the process.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin sat up and rubbed his head.

He quickly inspected the boy, satisfied that there was no blood, but there would definitely be a large bump on his head from whatever fall he’d taken. They didn’t have time to dilly dally. They had to go. He grabbed Anakin by the hand and pulled him the rest of the way down the stairs to the ground level, flickering his eyes up to notice the dementors closing in on them like nightfall.

For a brief moment, as the dementor positioned itself ready, Obi-Wan saw the future of Hogwarts as it was to be should Maul truly claim the school. He saw destruction, fire, betrayal, hate. He saw so much hate in the form of enraged yellow eyes. He couldn’t seem to feel his hands or his feet as the tunnel of darkness closed in on him. There was no life, there was no hope, there was no purpose.

All he wanted was for it to be over… Just put him out of his misery.

Why hadn’t Maul claimed them yet?

He saw his friends suffering at his failure. He saw the school itself burning to the ground. Cody was on the ground of the castle, a fiery hole in his chest that hadn’t cooled, unmoving and unblinking. Satine was surely next as she sobbed alongside him. Everything was painted in gray.

In the reflection of the green aura that tainted the dementors’ ragged cloaks, he met Anakin’s equally disillusioned gaze. That spark that refused to ignite earlier dragged like flint on steel and rubbed rapidly, starting to warm him up and remind him not of the bright spots of life, but of what he’d come here to do.

Positioning himself in front of Anakin, Obi-Wan yelled, “Expecto Patronum!”

Only an azure burst of light did not come from the tip of his wand, but somewhere above the dementors, taking the form of a beautiful blue and florid owl before circling and encompassing the dark phantoms with a blinding light. In the process, it knocked Maul backwards up a staircase and bolting forwards towards the person responsible.

He knew that patronus.

“Qui-Gon!” Anakin pointed up even further, where Obi-Wan’s mentor had thoroughly derailed Maul’s plans of following them by engaging in a violent trade of green and red bouts of magic back and forth, dancing along the stairs rhythmically, away from them, as though they were partners in an arranged production. Glass windows shattered and more dementors joined the game, never once standing a chance for Qui-Gon Jinn, though Maul proved himself quite the martial artist.

“We’ve got to help him!” Anakin began to move, which stalled Obi-Wan from his shocked reverie and he grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“No, you’ve got to get to safety!” Obi-Wan said and held him close to his face, “You are in no shape to be fighting a Sith lord.”

“Neither is he!” Anakin pointed out the obvious, which was that Maul’s aggressively acrobatic fighting style was only going to wear Qui-Gon out should they continue to edge towards a dead end. Qui-Gon would have very little room to maneuver and parry should they corner themselves in a tower or a narrow walkway. “And neither are you.”

“I have to help him.” Obi-Wan said, “It’s the only way.”

He couldn’t explain it too, because it just felt like he needed to push forward. The logical thing to do would be to run back to Ravenclaw tower with Anakin in tow and reunite with his friends in safety, but he was drawn to the fight and not for any sense of bloodlust, but refined purpose.

“I won’t let you!” Anakin cried, “It’s my fault!”

“Like hell it is!” Obi-Wan chastised and shoved him forward, “You are in control of your own actions, not Maul’s. The only action you should be doing is getting the hell out of here.”

“But-”

“No but’s, Anakin! If you never listen to me again, listen to me now: run. Hide. Get help, whatever, but you stay as far away as your little legs can carry you, alright? You are the future of tomorrow. This is only today.”

It wasn’t what he promised Qui-Gon, but if Anakin was away from Maul, he was safe, so if Obi-Wan could help delay that, he would.

“Where?”

“Exactly where you need to be,” He said.

“I can never get those stupid riddles!”

“Trust me, you will.” Obi-Wan said. “Just run.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m right behind you,” Though as they stared at each other, they both knew it was a lie. With tears staining his cheeks, Anakin nodded and ran in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan watched him until he was far enough away before turning and racing back up the steps again. Just as he did, they began moving, knocking Obi-Wan around rather roughly and almost backwards again, but he kept running and even dove forward to catch the next staircase by the hand.

For a moment, he was suspended above by only one hand, forcing himself to use all the strength in his body to lift himself and keep climbing.

Qui-Gon and Maul kept moving, the sound of glass shattering in their wake.

***

Against every fiber of his being that told him to stay and fight, Anakin ran. He aggressively swiped tears from his eyes with his arm as he did so, trying to keep his vision as clear as possible. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. Gryffindor’s common room was the other way and he would never understand the Ravenclaw riddle to get in.

Obi-Wan had only told him to go, but not where, though he’d looked at him with conviction as though he had given him a clue. Anakin was far too distressed to think of any clues. Fear swelled in him, as he considered what his two mentors were sacrificing in order to protect him, to protect the future. They believed in him, but he didn’t quite believe in himself at the moment. Maul was going to tear through this entire school and if there was one thing that was proven, it was just how inescapable that was.

He was supposed to be a hero, but he was trying to escape. It had always been the plan, but he’d never expected to have to do so alone. He was supposed to save them all, but he’d learned the hard way that he was no match for Maul.

His feet rapidly hit the ground, never once breaking stride as he tred onward. There was only so far he could go before he ended up right back where they were. He needed a place where no one would find him. He needed a safe haven.

But between the Zillo Beast, Dooku, and now Maul, he’d learned that there was no real sense of security in this wizarding world. It was fantastic in both the best and worst ways possible, with no room for the mundane quiet of peace. Anakin never typically cared when it didn’t involve a sadist breaking in and trying to murder him.

As he rounded a particularly sharp corner and briefly considered hiding in an empty classroom under a desk or in a chest, his eyes went round as he noticed not one, not two, but three dementors lingering near the dungeons. Slytherin’s common room was nearby, but they’d never let him in.

“Skywalker, what the hell are you doing?” Windu dropped in from seemingly nowhere, banishing the now mob of dementors that were swirling around them like a tornado.

“They’re everywhere!” He yelled.

“How did this happen?” Windu asked.

“Maul turned them against everyone! I don’t know how!”

Windu grimaced as they closed in on them and kept Anakin close as he flipped his cape to the side and valiantly pointed his wand with the lethal confidence of someone who had done it many times before. From Windu’s wand, a glowing blue ram burst through the wall of spinning black to create a pocket just big enough for Anakin.

“Run!” He shouted and once again, Anakin obeyed.

He needed to make sure he paid attention if he got to live to see the day patronuses were taught in school. Clearly, it was going to be an important lesson and one that Obi-Wan didn’t quite grasp yet.

Other professors were on the front lines of this massive fight against dementors whether inside or outside. Anakin leapt around one that was trying to suck the face off of Professor Ki-Adi Mundi, but was immediately banished by the vigilant Professor Shaak Ti. He never received more encouragement to keep pushing forward and away than he did in that moment.

Who would help Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan? Who would save them if all of the other professors were trying to handle the immediate threat of the dementors turning on them? His heart started to rattle as he kept going, approaching a dead end and slinking against the wall. The dementors came quicker than he anticipated even possible. Their long and bony fingers reached for him, ready to pull him into his own worst nightmares imaginable and to make them living realities. He’d snuck many horror movies in his time, but he’d never seen anything worse than them.

Where was it written that the Chosen One would need a soul to save the universe? Nowhere, it would seem, because this didn’t qualify as death, but a fate worse than. He pointed his wand out, hoping he could also learn the patronus charm on the fly, but felt the immediate disconnect between his words and his wand. They were just words in the end.

He pressed himself against the door, never wishing more than to be anywhere but here. He wished he could have found where Obi-Wan was referring. He needed it. He needed that refuge if he was going to be brave and if he was going to fight back one day.

He needed- To open his eyes?

Because once he did so, he realized that he was in a completely different room that he’d never seen before. It wasn’t empty, exactly. There were old books stacked on some rickety tables. Cobwebs lined the portraits on the walls that chatted amongst themselves. They stopped dead in the middle of conversation when they spotted Anakin.

“Er- Sorry for interrupting.” He said with a wave.

“Who the blazes are you?” The dusty portrait of a man with dark hair and light brown skin frowned deeply at Anakin.

“Don’t be rude, Master Ketu.” The hooded man in the portrait opposite to him nodded at Anakin, “Congratulations.”

“Do you even know what’s going on out there? There’s nothing to be congratulated for,” He said.

“Boy, have you no concept of what you have uncovered?” The man called Ketu pressed, his arms crossed over the numerous medals of honor that hung from his neck.

Anakin looked around him, “Uh… A dirty old classroom?”

He pinched his nose, “I swear, these children grow more ungrateful by the years.”

“To be fair, we haven’t seen a new child in over a century.” The other man said placatingly, “And there’s no way he can be worse than him. I am Ters Sendon, archivist and historian and this is Master Ketu, former leader of the old Je’daii order.”

“Je’Daii?”

“He hasn’t even heard of us.” Scoffed Ketu.

“An old group of warrior wizards who used to combat the ancient Sith during the old wars.” Ters said and Anakin gasped when he lifted off his hood to reveal horns protruding from his head just as Maul’s did. “What is it?”

“You’re… You’re like him!” Anakin backed away, nearly stumbling over a stray chair as he did, “You’re like the Sith lord that’s currently taking over our school!”

“I’m no Sith!” He protested.

“You look like him?”

“So? Sith is not a race, it’s a religion.” Ters said, “There are good people that look like me and plenty of bad people that look like you.”

Anakin considered that and realized as he looked at Ters Sendon that he didn’t bear any of the malicious traits that Maul had. There was no hate radiating off of his gaze, no yellow or orange to his eyes, no hostility in his voice. He didn’t even really look like Maul aside from the horns. As opposed to a stark red and black patterned face, Ters was more the color of leather, with beige swirls around his eyes and nose.

Ketu, not nearly as bored as he was before, stroked his black goatee, “You mean, the Sith have returned?”

“I’m supposed to defeat them someday.” Anakin said, “I’m the Chosen One. Or at least… I’m supposed to be, but I’m hiding…”

“Well, you’re much too young to fight a Sith, my boy.” Ketu said.

“Everyone’s been saying that and I know that, but how can I let other people take the fall for me?”

“Take it from someone who has seen plenty of golden haired heroes that were supposed to be chosen for greatness, you must accept that they are not fighting for you.”

“Ketu! How is that helpful?” Ters asked.

“Because it removes the pressure that comes with the position. Everyone has their place in this war, but you… You must survive. You must survive so that many others can live.” He fixed Anakin with a stern look, “That is why the Room summoned you.”

“The room?” Anakin looked around, “This place is special?”

“The Room of Requirement manifests itself only to students who truly need it.” Ters explained, “In your case, it’s to hide from this dastardly foe that breached your school.”

“If only I were alive… I’d bring this Sith to his knees.” Ketu sighed wistfully.

“I can’t just sit in here and wait!” Anakin yelped, his voice echoing around the room.

“Clearly, whatever you were running from had outnumbered you. You were whiter than a ghost.” Ters said, “And I’ve seen many ghosts.”

“Ghosts can come in here?”

“Not here, no.” Ketu shook his head, “We are the only portraits in the school that cannot move, but in our time, there were ghosts too.”

“Why can’t you move?”

“We must protect the integrity of the room,” Ters explained, “And a good thing too, because the last boy would have destroyed the place to prevent anyone else from finding it.”

“The magical enchantments were too powerful for him then, thankfully,” Ketu whistled, “I wonder where he got off to…”

“We need to get more people in here, to protect them!” Anakin said. “How can I let others follow me?”

“I think they may be safer where they are.”

Anakin wasn’t so sure.

***

Qui-Gon had but one clear goal when parrying and deflecting the onslaught of fast green bolts that erupted from Maul’s wand: get him out of the castle. Hopefully, from there, other professors stronger than he could prevent him from entering again. Qui-Gon was no fighter by nature. It took a great deal of strength and focus and connectivity with his inner peace to remain in line with Maul’s attacks. He was definitely no one’s first choice in fighting off a man who murdered countless aurors in his wake.

However, the moment he saw Maul and his possessed dementors hovering over Obi-Wan and Anakin, he knew that this would be his fight after all.

He’d never faced anything like this in his life- growing up in a time of peace was like the beautiful summer and late fall that preambled a harsh winter. Well, the ruthless attempts at his head led by the tenacious Sith was more of enough proof that winter had arrived with the full impact of a blizzard at their heels.

Qui-Gon tried to analyze and predict the Zabrak’s next attack, hoping that his strategic capabilities would balance him against the superior fighting style that was the combination of martial artistry and power. There was much hate that spewed from every fiber of Maul’s being, so personal that Qui-Gon almost took it as such. It was like every person who stood in his way somehow became Maul’s target enemy and it was obvious he wasn’t used to anyone lasting this long.

Well, Qui-Gon did have the high ground when he snuck up on Maul and took him off guard, effectively clipping the wings that the dementors brought him. He wouldn’t even begin to question how he’d did it, save for that it was obviously an ancient magic known to the Sith. As they crossed the archway to the empty Great Hall, veering away from the direction of the student dormitories to Qui-Gon’s relief, and Maul was allotted true space to spew knives and broken shards of glassware towards him at once, Qui-Gon realized why this man hid all year.

He did not hide to feel out their positioning or to even tease them. Any of that had only been a cherry on top for the malignant evil before him. No, Maul waited it out to grow, to improve his strengths, to ready himself for this fight, because regardless of the ease at which he slipped through their clenched fists, he still expected a grave one.

“Protego!” Qui-Gon shouted numerous times in numerous directions, shielding himself from every blow Maul flung at him, but dodging an incoming killing curse as well.

That was going to leave a mark on the walls.

The candles came crashing down, bathing the entire room in a gray hollowness that he wasn’t used to, but didn’t ponder. It was only fitting that a Sith was trying to take everything good about this place with him. Well, he wouldn’t have it, not on his watch, anyway.

Their beams collided, his disarming and Maul’s for the kill, creating the collaboration of blinding green and red at the middle. It resembled a golden snitch at the heart of the contact, but despite having dueled Dooku just last year, Qui-Gon felt his arm, and eventually his whole body by extension, growing weak. Dooku had been going easy on him and he knew it. Maul would do no such thing.

Maul tapped further into his heat, bearing a tight grin as he pushed harder, showing just what the dark side could do, but Qui-Gon did not and would not envy his pain or his suffering that led him to such darkness.

“You were just a child, did you even get to choose?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to possibly tap into any shred of humanity left within the empty cavern that took place of Maul’s soul. That included, bringing up a history Maul did not want to remember.

“You don’t know me.” It only emboldened his opponent’s attack, making the push and pull of their tug of war look a great deal more green than red.

“Perhaps, I do. We were students here once, right? At the same time even.”

Maul remained silent and focused. He would not monologue for Qui-Gon. It seemed he was the sort of foe not worth quarreling with.

“Give me the boy.” Was all he said.

“I cannot do that.” Qui-Gon shook his head.

“Then you will die.” He smiled.

Sweat gathered at his temples as he pushed harder, channeling the peace that existed in harmony at his core, willing the spark to burn brighter than it ever had. If not ever again, now would be the moment.

It was not looking good.

Until, an unprecedented blast of blue sent Maul skidding across the table, sliding into every stray glass and plate that had been left in shambles on the way. He was up and charging within a matter of seconds, which was remarkable on its own right, but this also meant that Qui-Gon didn’t have much of a second to breathe or consider that the wizard that entered the room was not a colleague or auror, but Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan!” He shouted and moved to jump in front of him to be a last standing shield from Maul, as if that would do anything, but the boy was quick and immediately took to pursuing Maul with his own attacks.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said.

“But I am, and we can talk about this later, no?” Obi-Wan gritted as Maul whipped out a second wand from his utility belt and let his robe drift to the ground. It seemed he came prepared for this very situation. It was a very unfortunate way to learn Maul was ambidextrous as he was just as proficient with his left hand as he was his right and was able to perform the same spell from two wands.

“We definitely will.” Qui-Gon fired back, but had to concede that the very last thing they needed to be doing to get out of here was arguing with each other. Not to mention, a very small part of him couldn’t help but be proud of Obi-Wan’s prowess for being so young.

He’d never seen him like this before- so sure of himself and so determined, as well as so underdressed. His robe and jumper were completely discarded somewhere along his way here and the sleeves of his collared shirt had been pushed up. While still wearing the tie that symbolized his house with pride, he suddenly looked much older than the boy he knew.

Even more than that, he successfully and quickly reflected Maul’s own curse back on him, sending the Sith dizzily stumbling around, though never once losing speed.

With Obi-Wan at his side, he was able to take Maul on at a more even level, even with the two wands. He and his mentee practiced in sync together. They’d never formally fought alongside each other, but where Qui-Gon moved, Obi-Wan moved, and the two took to dejecting each and every distant move displayed by Maul.

That was not to say it was easy, of course. Between the physicality and ferocity of Maul’s magical and non-magical aggression, it was still throwing the both of them through the ringer. Obi-Wan’s face was red, but laser focused and never relieved with pride if he managed to land some sort of attack.

They left out the doorway they came and through the third floor corridor, only further exhausting themselves the smaller the quarters became. Maul began to literally bounce off the walls, running up them and doing backflips to dodge and alternatively, to gain traction. As his history showed, he wasn’t purely invested in the magical portion of a fight, but the physical combat as well.

Up the stairs they went to the very top, a difficult task when Maul decided to turn the steps into slippery goo in his wake and fire on the railings. Qui-Gon had learned the latter of that sequence on his own the hard way. Obi-Wan charged ahead, more athletic than he gave himself credit for, and twice as brave. It was a lethal combination, though not one Qui-Gon would fool himself into believing would be enough to seizing Maul completely. They needed to distract him until Windu found them.

They needed help.

Maul was quite pressed when Obi-Wan managed a leg-locker spell on him, though it was only one leg by his aim. It wasn’t his fault, since Qui-Gon had to shove him aside to avoid wand arrows that came straight for his head.

Even still, there was no doubt that they were fighting better together.

The ceiling of the pointed tower crumbled, specs of dust and later actual pieces of infrastructure raining down on them and hurrying their pace. When reaching the small bridge that connected the two towers, Maul blasted the center as he ran ahead.

“Where’s he going?”

“The classrooms, it seems.” Qui-Gon answered as he tried to catch his breath. “Anakin-”

“-Is safe.” He said with resounding certainty, his blue eyes sharper than glass as he regarded him with shoulders back and his jaw squared. He was still shorter than Qui-Gon, but it was evident now more than ever that he was a child no longer. Yes, Obi-Wan was ready. Or was it that he had no choice but to be ready?

It pained Qui-Gon’s very soul, because children fighting the battles of adults never soothed him. They leapt over the chasm and through the already crumbling tower that dwindled all the way down, catching Maul at his heels after a few flights of rapidly following suit. He was either leading them to the belly of his trap or he was trying to shake them. Qui-Gon didn’t know how that spoke for their success as his opponents, but was willing to take any wins offered to them.

They were far from finished in their pursuit, as the tower began to physically shake back and forth. Taking this battle to heart, or whatever stood in place of it, Maul turned, charging up the stairs with a sword at hand pointed straight at them.

On instinct rather than through thought, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan hard against the side of the wall, narrowly preventing him from meeting the tip of the blade.

“Stupefy!” He yelled, but missed and Maul went for the younger man again, a tight smile on his lips as he flipped forwards against the current of gravity and spun the sword straight towards them. Obi-Wan, who was stronger than he looked, caught Maul’s wrist before the finality of the attack could be completed. Using his entire body weight, he flung them down, doing his own half-assed little stunt to avoid being stabbed.

Qui-Gon seized his moment to attack, turning the coat of arms by the doorway onto Maul, giving them three fighters on their side. This didn’t stop Maul, who only seemed delighted by the challenge and swung at the ground to encourage it.

Obi-Wan scrambled off the ground in time and trotted alongside Qui-Gon as the knight moved forward and Maul backed himself up to the wall of the rounded tower, clashing his sword with the knight’s, meeting every swing with one of his own caliber. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, meanwhile, tried to use this brief moment of distraction to their advantage and fired whatever spells could come to their mind.

Obi-Wan had gotten even more creative and used a tongue fattening spell, likely trying to limit his airway.

It didn’t seem he even minded the limited mobility, though it only seemed to anger him that he was wasting his time. Maul had the advantage, being alive, but the knight had nothing to lose. Sometimes, that wasn’t a strength.

In a fit of unbridled rage, which was the only way either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan could describe what transpired next, lightning rang through the sword and Maul leapt into the air, bringing the blade straight through the empty head of the knight and using the momentum of this force to fling the still sparking helmet towards them, hitting Obi-Wan directly in the stomach and sending him flipping over the railing with the added help of Maul diving forward to punch him square in the face.

“Immobulus!” Qui-Gon hollered, pointing his wand at Obi-Wan’s collapsing body just before he could hit the bottom stone at full-force. He was knocked out, nothing more, or maybe that’s what Qui-Gon needed to convince himself to continue edging through this battle.

The sword came down, achieving not a speck of flesh, but slicing Qui-Gon’s wand clean in two against the marble railing to their right. It was the closest he’d ever been to Maul and he understood why few wanted to approach him. He could feel the turmoil within this shell of a man, who was only driven by his own hate. He was like a walking timebomb who was expected to walk the earth like a person.

“When I’m done with you, I’ll kill the kid too,” Only he wasn’t referring to Anakin, but Obi-Wan.

“You won’t have the chance,” Qui-Gon said and kicked up his foot to toss the former knight’s sword into own hand. He was taught to wield by Count Dooku long ago, adopting many different tactics. It had always been in a gentlemanly fashion before, but Maul knew no such artistry or decency in this field. He was a predator and while he may have been playing with his food, he would still want nothing more than to collect the prize.

They backed out of the exit, Qui-Gon pursuing Maul as their blades clinked and clanked at rapid speed, each performing offensively without any pauses or breaks. Qui-Gon took his first success as they approached the classrooms and he managed to knock one of Maul’s wands free and clattering onto the ground. The Sith swordsman paid no mind, flipping backwards and inviting Qui-Gon to chase him into yet another trapped space.

He knew he was better where he could be afforded more breathing room, but at the moment, this was not a battle where Qui-Gon dictated the rules. Rarely, did the heroes get to do much of that in history. It was all about adaptivity and believing in oneself and the magic that lay within them.

“I am one with magic and the magic is within me.” He chanted on a harmonic loop inside his head, ignoring every fiber of his being that broke apart as they crashed through Professor Palpatine’s office of all places.

Perhaps, he was trying to pay a visit to his favorite professor. He looked disappointed even through the mask of focused disdain that he wasn’t present. He would never have known that Anakin might have been hiding here, after all. He lingered around the castle for a little while, but not long enough to see the students interact.

Thinking a bit like his enemy, Qui-Gon seized the weakness, going in for an elongated stalemate of the inner strengths, bringing them up close and personal.

“Who do you work for?” He asked calmly.

He knew that nothing splintered more than serenity or moreover, when their dastardly deeds took no effect on their desired target. Predictably, Maul clenched his yellow teeth to bare.

“I work for no one.” He scowled and shoved them apart, spinning and beginning a new onslaught of attacks that Qui-Gon met and dodged. The dodged shots ended up as holes that would need to be patched later and each designated attack seemed to chip away at him more and more.

Maul might have possessed an eternal source of energy from the cruelty at his very core, but he did not envy him for it.

They shuffled onto the external viaduct, which stretched back to the courtyard outside the Great Hall again, back towards the common rooms. He couldn’t let that happen. Qui-Gon knew that this was it. This long stretch of smooth stone that expanded over the chasm beneath them, was where this needed to end.

As if reading his mind, Maul closed in on him, making Qui-Gon overshoot a swing and nearly set himself off balance. Maul’s sword came down hard on the stone balustrade to their side, cracking it with the power and magical tenacity it contained, before retracting and kicking Qui-Gon in the sternum.

He rolled, backwards, and landed on his feet just in time to collide blades harshly, feeling like the swords might break if they strike again. This didn’t stop either of them and Qui-Gon desperately tried to seek out a window to take the advantage. And then, he found it. Maul’s gloved finger twitched just as he was reaching for his other wand- a dirty trick in a match of the blades, but Dooku might have done the same in his modern state.

Luckily, Qui-Gon didn’t necessarily need a wand.

He snatched the wand from midair by the sheer willpower of doing so.

“Petrificus Totalus!” And while Maul leapt to the ground, his frame stilled in the air as he caught the end of the charm, hitting the ground hard with his sword stuck frozen in hand.

He let out a heavy breath of relief. He pointed the wand at Maul and tossed the blade to the side and knelt over him. Only the man’s face could move, so he didn’t grow too close at risk of literally being bitten, but Qui-Gon looked at him sternly.

“What business do you have with the boy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Maul chuckled lightly, “To destroy him.”

“But for what? Because he’s a threat to you?”

“No,” He would have shaken his head if he could, “Because he’s a threat to all of us.”

Qui-Gon frowned, “That- No, he will bring about an end to monsters like yourself and whatever master you refuse to name.”

“Don’t you see?” Maul said, “He is the monster.”

The words trickled through Qui-Gon’s ears like rain hitting the hard sidewalk. That couldn’t be true. He was to bring balance. Though, it was never exactly said how. It couldn’t be. The prophecy spoke of a united world and for the hero, which was Anakin, to prevail at great sacrifice.

Or at least, that’s how he interpreted it after much studying.

“That cannot be.”

“It has been written in fate. I have seen it,” And by the legitimate fear that plagued Maul’s gaze, he could tell the Sith was not lying about having been exposed to a plethora of horror, “He is but the pawn in a greater plan. Just like you and just like me.”

“He’s so much more than either of us,” Qui-Gon shook his head, keeping the wand steady at his throat, poking the skin ever so slightly. “Especially you.”

“I am merely trying to save us all,” Maul begged, “Just as you think you are. We are not that different. Skywalker isn’t either.”

“Anakin is the hero of this story, not you.” Qui-Gon said, determined now, “I will see to that.”

“No,” And just as quick as he fell, he moved too fast for Qui-Gon to even blink and the sword that had seemed frozen in time was thrust right into the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach. Immeasurable pain soaked through him as he felt blood from all over rush through him and a varying list of parables cross his mind.

Maul brought him so close that their noses touched, “You won’t.”

He unsheathed the sword from the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach and let him fall backwards, hitting the stone unceremoniously as sound seemed to fall behind in slow, deep motions. The blood rushed from his body and breathing suddenly became labored beyond measure. He was faced with warm sunlight, though he found himself only growing colder by the second. Slowly, the bright blue around the high sun was becoming a tunnel and getting fuzzier. The pain in his stomach was less aching as it was dull and detached from him. He saw stars and galaxies and far more than the human eyes could see.

He saw blackness that occluded the stars and realized strangely that it was a man in a dark cape. This was Vader, he knew somehow, but he couldn’t quite explain why. But there was more and as he looked into the stars that gathered in the eyes of his helmet, he saw the fates for what they were. There was so much loss in this montage of multiple realities that spawned in front of him. There was agony, hate, betrayal, death. So so much death beyond his own.

It was strange, to realize that he was dying and to not really care about the logistics of that. Instead, he cared for what he saw next: happiness, love, family, weddings, babies, revolution against an unjust cause, rebirth.

He saw the back of a man with white hair and a beard to match and while his heart initially spoke to him of his mentor, he found that the eyes that turned to meet him matched another that would grow to be wiser than them all.

He saw the good in the blond boy that everyone else feared. He saw the duality of the young brunette who was capable of far more than her small stature dictated. He saw friends he did and didn’t know. He saw them all come together and he saw them win. It was an imperfect future, full of not one, but many heroes.

Some that were chosen ones merely by their own volition. That fact settled hard and heavy. There was still much obscurity to meet the hope. Nothing, even at these far reaches of the universe, was written in stone. If there was one thing that was clear: Anakin was the key.

And in a flash he was back for a moment, given one last breath of life and to meet the tear stained eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He failed. But there was still hope.

***

“NO!” His cry was anguished and angry, his vision red like the blood dripping off the blade. He had already been running, hurrying to catch up with his mentor, not willing to leave him alone with that monster for more than a second longer than necessary.

He clearly hadn’t been fast enough.

He sprinted, faster still, wand automatically raised and flourished. A crack was heard as red light burst from his own wand and slammed into Maul, knocking him back a few feet and causing his sword to fly from his hand and over the bridge. He hadn’t even uttered the words, but his wand seemed to read his mind, connect with him and in this brief moment of connection, he hurtled as many spells as he could think of.

It was a dance of light. Maul had managed to pull his own wand out and was doing a fair job at blocking each colorful strike, but had yet to get an opening to counter. Obi-Wan tossed another stupify at Maul and it hit his protective spell so hard sparks flew.

“You’re too late,” Maul kicked a loose stone towards him, managing to distract him long enough that Maul could send a killing curse his way. He just managed to block it, the green spell falling apart just inches from his face. He staggered backwards nearly falling over the edge before launching another volley of attacks.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Obi-Wan growled, although the pang in his chest reminded him of what he’d seen, what he hadn’t been fast enough to stop. He cast a smoke spell causing them both to be hidden within a dark cloud. Obi-Wan crept silently to the side, the only real chance he had was to catch Maul off guard. Just a few more steps-

A gust of wind kicked up from the center of the cloud blowing away the smoke screen and revealing an almost smug looking Maul. He grinned wildly, his yellow eyes gleaming like a tiger going for the kill.

Obi-Wan just managed to dodge as the spell Maul hurled blew a hole through the already crumbling parapet. He returned the favor with another stunning charm that did little more than knock Maul off balance.

Obi-Wan, however, took the opportunity rushing forwards a curse on the tip of his tongue before Maul fell backwards slamming a foot into Obi-Wan and kicking him back.

He stumbled to regain balance, but his foot slipped and time slowed as he desperately clawed for the edge of the bridge with his free hand. He swung there precariously, heart beating a mile a minute as he tried to think of something, anything. Maul grunted, he could only assume he was standing up again, making his way slowly towards what was surely Obi-Wan’s doom.

He looked to his wand, he couldn’t risk a spell, if he missed and hit the viaduct, he would surely be falling to his death. If he didn’t… Well he didn’t want to think of the terrible fate that would bring him. He swung his arm up, hand still gripping his wand, but allowing for him to pull himself up just high enough to see. Maul was approaching, wand twitching as he surely thought through every nasty spell he had at his disposal.

The dying sun came out from behind the clouds, reflecting its light off of something silver on the edge. A sudden burst of hope filled him as he whispered a series of spells that he hoped Maul took as nothing more than him praying for salvation.

Maul didn’t pause.

Obi-Wan dropped hold of the ledge flicking his wand upwards in order to soar up through the air landing behind Maul, just steady enough he was able to catch the silver sword, sapphires glittered across the bottom, a sight to behold if he weren’t busy lunging with it.

Maul had turned just in time to watch as Obi-Wan used every bit of strength, every bit of magic left in his body to bring the sword clear through his middle. The sadist had the decency to look surprised, shocked that he could be foiled by a scrawny 17 year old when so many had tried and failed before. Obi-Wan brought up his foot and kicked, returning the favor of pushing the Zabrak off the viaduct, he didn’t bother watching him fall.

The clatter of the sword falling out of Obi-Wan’s hand and onto the stone brought him out of his adrenaline induced daze and he turned his head almost robotically to where Qui-Gon still lay. He was breathing, but barely, each breath looked laborious even from afar.

“Qui-Gon!” One moment he was standing over where he committed a high wizarding crime and another he was on his knees next to his mentor. He ripped off his top layer and pressed over the wound desperately trying to stop the bleeding even though he could feel that his trousers were already being soaked through.

“No, no,” Qui-Gon batted his hands away, but it only gave Obi-Wan the determination to press harder.

“It’ll be alright, you’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan repeated to himself as he focused on the task at hand. A shaky hand caught his wrist and he tore his eyes away from the gore and met Qui-Gon’s deep blue eyes. Eyes normally filled with mystery and whimsy were focused just enough to quelm his fast-racing thoughts.

“Obi-Wan,” He pleaded, “Anakin-”

“Anakin’s fine!” Obi-Wan shook his head angrily, “I already told you he’s-”

“I need you to see that Anakin gets his training,” Qui-Gon grasped for his attention again and he gave it though he struggled too, “Anakin must become a wizard, he is the chosen one,” Qui-Gon spoke the words with a strong conviction as if he had been born with this knowledge and hadn’t found out along with the rest of them last year.

“Yes, sure, but Qui-Gon-” Obi-Wan tried, but froze when Qui-Gon struggled for a breath.

“Promise me Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon managed to pant, “Promise me you’ll see to it.”

“I promise,” He answered, they looked into each other’s eyes for a beat more before Obi-Wan returned to his task, wishing quite desperately that he’d gone with Satine to those first aid classes instead of the dueling club, “But don’t worry about that now, I-”

Qui-Gon’s breathing ceased.

There were no other sounds. He couldn’t hear the birds in the sky or the breeze through the trees; it was only silence. He felt his mouth form words, but couldn’t hear them. He moved his hands from Qui-Gon’s middle towards his shoulders shaking him once, twice, three times. He felt tears trailing down his face and he tried to wipe them away, likely just smearing his own face with the blood of both that murderer and of Qui-Gon. Merging the two of their beings together like they were twisted up into some horrifying cycle of fate. He pressed his head, body trembling, to Qui-Gon’s chest, praying to hear even an unsteady heartbeat.

All he could hear was silence.

He stayed there, unable to move and hardly unable to breathe at Qui-Gon’s side, sitting vigil for his mentor, his most trusted ally, the wisest man he knew. Eventually the bubble was bound to break and if it wasn’t Qui-Gon growing cold under him it was the hand that fell on his shoulder.

He flinched, whipping to the side prepared to fight another enemy, but his hands fell at the guarded look of Windu’s eyes. The professor tried to pull him away, but he broke out of his grasp with more strength than he’d thought he had left.

“Where’s Maul?” Windu crouched beside him, gently pressing Qui-Gon’s eyes shut. Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in himself to speak and he shook his head to try and convey that, but Windu just grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, “I need to know if he’s still around.”

“I ki-” He tried, voice croaky and ruined in his silence, “He’s gone. Dead.”

Professor Windu said nothing, just placed a hand on his back for a moment more before standing. He swished his wand, brilliant red and gold sparks bursting out and filling the night sky, announcing to all that they were finally safe. However, after the display of colors he did not lower his wand and instead kept it raised, the tip glowing softly in the night’s sky.

Professor Plo Koon was the next to join them, his eyes sad and mournful under the light of their two wands. Then one by one the professors arrived, each taking in the scene and lighting their wands in silence. Obi-Wan felt much too numb sitting there on his own, magic exhausted from the fight, to locate his own wand much less light it in honor. Qui-Gon had never been much for ceremonies anyways, but the thought brought him no comfort.

The unspoken vigil ended as Headmaster Palpatine lowered his own wand, followed by Professor Windu. Obi-Wan was stood up by the latter, this time he found no fight left in him, and escorted towards the castle. He kept an eye on Qui-Gon’s body for as long as he could, but surrounded by the Headmaster and various professors it was impossible to see long before he crossed the threshold into the school.

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obitine #anidala #the clone wars #tcw #star wars #magical forces au #hpau

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sortasirius · 3 years

Text

Shadow in the Mirror

AN: *SPOILERS FOR 1X02 OF FATWS*, Ah so the Stucky emotions really punched me in the gut after episode 2. Curse Seb Stan and his incredible acting

Words: 1180

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

On AO3 here

“You didn’t have to walk me here, Buck, I don’t need a chaperone,” Steve sounds testy as they make their way to the move theater in Park Slope, hands in their pockets and leaning against the brutal January wind.

“Come on, someone has to make sure you look presentable for this girl,” Bucky slaps Steve genially on the back, placing his most trusted smile firmly in place, trying to look convincing enough that it won’t alert Steve’s suspicions, “Where’d you meet her anyway?”

“The library,” Steve rubs the back of his neck in that way that lets Bucky know he’s embarrassed, “Her name is Elizabeth. She’s going to school at NYU, was researching a paper. She’s nice, she doesn’t look at me the way some of your setups have.”

That makes Bucky’s throat tighten.

“It’ll go great, she’ll love you,” Bucky brushes past his comment easily, as though it wasn’t said at all, “You got enough to pay for her ticket? I can spot you if-”

“I got it,” Steve shifts uncomfortably as they wait to cross the street, staring at the glittering lights of the theater down the block, “I hope we don’t run out of things to talk about.”

“If she’s a bookworm like you, you probably won’t,” Bucky grins at him, “Just ask her about that new one you gave me, the Hemingway one.”

“For Whom the Bell Tolls? That came out three months ago.”

“So? That’s new.”

Steve sighs heavily, looking for all the world like he was eighty years old, hunched against the cold. Bucky shouldn’t have let him go out tonight, he was bound to get an asthma flareup and be stuck in bed with pneumonia for weeks again. Bucky shuddered at the memory of having to carry him to the hospital when they were fifteen when he started coughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Bucky had been sure he had caught consumption, it made his blood run cold just thinking about it. Steve had insisted he was fine for tonight, but Bucky was not about to let him trek halfway across Brooklyn in the bitter cold by himself.

As they approach the bright lights of the marquee, Bucky finds himself with a pit in his stomach. He didn’t know who was more nervous for this date: him or Steve.

“That’s her,” Steve whispers, the relief palpable in his voice, pointing surreptitiously at a pretty girl in a deep red coat, waiting at the ticket booth, “Thanks for walking with me, Buck, I’ll see you at home.”

“I may see something myself,” Bucky was not about to let Steve walk home alone either. Steve, evidently, picks up on his plan and rolls his eyes.

“Please Buck, I really don’t need a chaperone, I’ll be fine.”

“You act like you don’t want me around.”

Steve laughs at that, touching his shoulder lightly.

“I always want you around, just maybe not while I’m on a date. I’ll take a taxi home, would that make you feel better?”

“It would, yeah.”

Steve laughs again, waving at Bucky as he heads towards Elizabeth under the bright lights of the movie theater, leaving Bucky in what felt like a shadow.

“I’ll see you, Buck.”

“Steve-”

Bucky jerks awake, hand outstretched in the darkness of his apartment, reaching out for a Steve that was eighty years in the past. He sits up, looking around his living room, shifting to lean against the side of his couch. Just a dream, he reminds himself, trying to do those breathing exercises he had found online a couple of weeks back.

Unbidden, the images of that guy, that stranger wearing a bastardized version of Steve’s uniform, holding Steve’s shield, calling him Bucky with too much biting familiarity comes back into his brain, and Bucky clenches his fists, trying his best not to put a hole through the wall.

He hoped, with every fiber of his being, that Steve hadn’t been wrong about him. He looked in the mirror and desperately tried to find the man that Steve saw, the man that Steve said was his best friend, the man who Steve had risked everything in his life for. Nine times out of ten, he couldn’t find him, he would just stare and stare and stare at the face of the Winter Soldier until he couldn’t look into the eyes of a killer anymore. But sometimes, on the rarest nights, he would look in the mirror and see the slightest shadow of the kid from Brooklyn, the kid who would do anything for his scrawny, brave, selfless best friend.

He decides to test the waters tonight, and walks to the bathroom without turning on any lights, so the sting of their brightness in the bathroom make his eyes water.

He looks at himself in the mirror. he studies the lines of his face, the scars that have healed and healed over again, the blue of his eyes, the shape of his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth, his jaw. At first, he sees the Winter Solider, with deadened eyes and a hardened face, but there’s something else there, something behind that mask.

He looks harder.

There he is. Bucky Barnes, the Bucky Barnes that HYDRA had tried to scrub from existence, the Bucky Barnes that fell off that train car and into the ice below, the Bucky Barnes that cared for people, the Bucky Barnes that cared, above almost everything else, for Steve Rogers.

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, closing his eyes against the bright light of his bathroom fixture, remembering the night from his dream, remembering Steve coming home that night, chilled to the bone, with two cups of coffee for them that he couldn’t afford. He remembers Steve’s smile when he saw Bucky lighting up their whole apartment, he remembers the way it made him feel like he was being hit with a warm, roaring fire.

“It was okay, not much of a connection there,” he had said, eyes reflecting the lamplight as he stared out the window, clutching his paper cup of bad bodega coffee in his hands.

“You don’t seem too down about it, I’m surprised,” Bucky watched him as he sipped his own bad coffee.

“I don’t know, it’s stupid,” Steve shook his head.

“Probably, but tell me anyway.”

Steve stole a glance at Bucky, almost like he was afraid to say what was on his mind.

“Every girl I go out with...I’m just looking for what I already have with you.”

Bucky swore his heart stopped beating at that moment. He and Steve had stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

“Me too,” Bucky had whispered, and he was pretty sure the look on Steve’s face could have lit up the entire Eastern seaboard.

“Bucky...”

He opens his eyes, wrenching himself out of the memory and back into the present, with a new Captain America, without Steve.

He stares again at the mirror, the stranger is back.

“I miss you, Steve,” he whispers to the stranger in the mirror, “I hope you weren’t wrong about me.”

#stucky #my writing #not spn #marvel #mcu #fatws #spoilers #i dont think ive ever published a stucky piece this is kinda exciting

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danganronpa-oneshots-headcannons · 4 years

Note

Hellllllo! I found your blog recently and I love the way you write! Could you possibly write a scenario with Gundham where his fem! S/O is the blackened? Just a ton of angst? Thank you so much, love ya!

☁︎︎~Thank you so much for the request! Gundham is literally a bean! This took a bit so I hope you like it! Much love💕//

☁︎︎~Gundham with a fem! S/O who is the blackened!

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~

You didn’t have a choice. It was either you or her.

Sonia had attacked you out of madness at the funhouse. The pain of starvation had gotten to her.

Leading you out of your room and down to the elevator, she planned to kill you. However, her plan turned back onto her.

Using her own weapon to slaughter her, you now stood at the trial with fear secretly hidden in your eyes.

You stood across from Gundham’s podium, your eyes meeting his own the entire time. You had a feeling he knew what went down.

And you were right.

In fact you had totally sabotaged his scandalous idea. His own plan was to kill Nekomaru and sacrifice himself later on so everyone could eat. He’d never admit that he did it only for you though. He couldn’t bare the fact you were in pain due to this stupid motive. He was going to sacrifice himself if it meant ending your suffering.

“So let’s recap what we have so far,” Hajime spoke, his fingers lightly resting under his chin as he glared at the floor, “the victim should’ve been Nekomaru instead of Sonia right? This explains the clocks being tampered correct?”

“Yeah sounds about right! Like I’ve said before, my clock is never wrong!” Nekomaru chimed in, resting a hand on the back of his robotic neck.

“And you’re absolutely positive it can’t be tampered with Kaz?” The small Yakuza asked, looking over at the broken-hearted mechanic.

“Yeah… that’s right.” His voice sounded downhearted then his usual jumpy tone. Was it the fact you had killed the girl of his dreams? Probably so.

“Then the killing happened before Nekomaru’s alarm went off. Someone ended up killing Sonia before the other person had gotten a chance to kill Nekomaru..” Pulling her hood over her head, Chiaki looked over at Hajime with a questioning look. Even the gamer herself couldn’t figure this one out.

Hajime hesitantly nodded, “This immediately gives everyone at the strawberry house an alibi being the fact Sonia’s killer came from grape house… I think.”

Crossing his arms and huffing a sigh, Nagito causally nodded, “I’m afraid so. Well then, clearing that out of the way, all we need to know now is who had an alibi and who didn’t at the grape house.”

A sheer cause of panic ran through your body as you realized you didn’t have an alibi… the only alibi you had was now dead.

“We were all in our rooms. No one has an alibi. Hell! I didn’t even see Sonia walk down to the elevator!” Without a care for the world, Akane had stepped in to speak.

It was true. The only people in the grape house were Hajime, Akane, Sonia, Chaki, and you. Even then, it was so early in the morning everyone was either asleep or doing their own thing in their rooms.

“Wait, shouldn’t you have seen her Y/N? I mean, you were sleeping in the lounge correct?” Hearing your name, you turned to look at Fuyuhiko.

Your mouth opened to say something but Hajime had beat you to it.

“Actually… she slept in the standard room.” Blush forming at his cheeks, Hajime looked over at Chiaki.

“But wait… aren't you sleeping in the standard room Hajime?” Looking at Chiaki, Kazuichi took a moment to figure it out, “A-Are you saying you two?...” Kazuichi cocked a brow as he looked at the love birds.

Puffing out her cheeks, Chiaki shook her head, “No it wasn’t anything like that. Hajime had given his room up so Y/N had somewhere to sleep. He simply slept on the other side of my bed.”

“So then that gives the two of you a solid alibi.” Gundham’s raspy voice overpowered the gamers soft tone as he went straight to the point, “Then it was obvious who did it. Behold! The beast who brought hatred down on Sonia!” He paused to look her in the eye, “... Akane.” Even if you were the culprit, there was no way in hell he’d let you die. He was going to bring down everyone and let you live before that happened.

“H-Huh?! What?! Why me! Hey! Don’t forget about Y/N! She doesn’t have an alibi either!” She shouted in defense.

“You were staying in the crumby room am I wrong? You could hear everything that was going on around you! Who says you didn’t hear Sonia walk by your cave?! You just waited to attack!” Once again, your boyfriend's voice raged out. You knew he was lying for you. You knew he figured what had happened.

“H-He has a point! Were you the one who killed Ms.Sonia?!” Interrogating the gymnast, Kazuichi held nothing back. He loved Sonia, that was clear as day, and he was going to find out who killed her.

“Hey wait up! You can’t just jump to conclusions! For all we know, Akane is innocent!” Low and behold, Nekomaru shouted his objection.

“Innocent? Fuhaha! Let us vote now! Take down this untamable beast!” With yet another laugh, Gundham pointed at Akane.

“Hold on,” Just when you thought you had gotten away with murder, Chiaki broke the argument, “Akane has an alibi.”

“Huh? She does?” Fuyuhiko’s expression said everything. Even the proud Yakuza he was, was in fact confused.

“She does. Akane ended up waking up during the night and decided to take a walk. She was the only one who didn’t know Hajime and Y/N changed their sleeping spot so when she found out Y/N wasn’t in the lounge, she panicked and came to get me and Hajime.”

Her frown changed to a smile as she nodded, “Oh right! You two were all cuddled up! I headed back to my room after and…” her eyes suddenly shot open, “And I heard one pair of footsteps walking back to their room!” Those brown orbs shot over to you.

Biting your lip for a moment, you finally said something, “B-But you would’ve heard footsteps exiting their rooms to go the elevator… r-right?!”

“No that's impossible! Chiaki and Hajime shared the deluxe room meaning they couldn’t have heard anything! If Akane was with them... the three of them wouldn’t have been able to hear anything! They were in a soundproof room!” A sigh of relief came from Nekomaru as he knew Akane was safe.

In a cold tone, Nagito just chuckled, “Ah… it looks like Y/N has been backed into a corner. Is it true? That Y/N L/N, the ultimate (???) killed Sonia?”

Finally you let that panic show, “It wasn’t me! I… I-I-I wouldn’t-” You took a shaky breath, “I just went to the bathroom! I came back to my room by the time you returned to yours Akane!” With fear in your eyes you looked over at Gundham. For the first time ever, he looked pissed.

“YOU FOOLS! HOW DARE YOU CONDEMN THIS FALSE ACCUSATION ONTO Y/N!” Roaring with anger, everyone jumped back including yourself.

“Gundham? Why are you…?” Hajime took a step back, trying to register all of this. Suddenly it clicked into his head, “Your covering for Y/N… aren’t you.”

Gundham’s eyes pierced through Hajime’s as he continued to ramble, “Cover?! Fuhaha! I’m simply stating facts that Akane was the one to commit the crime! Lying about footsteps! She was the only one who could hear! She could be lying for all we know! Like a wolf in sheep's clothing!”

“No that’s wrong!” It was like Hajime had figured everything out, “No… your covering for her. All the evidence points to Y/N, not Akane. In fact, you were the first one to find out she was the culprit. You were the one who was going to kill Nekomaru. Isn’t that right?”

Gundham fell silent. He didn’t dare to break the contact with Hajime. He had never hated someone more than he did now.

Before Gundham could speak another word, you broke into tears, “H-He’s right… I killed Sonia…”

“HOW DARE YOU Y/N!” Kazuichi, as well, flew into tears.

“I HAD NO CHOICE!” With your sudden eruption, everyone’s attention was on you, “S-She led me out w-when Akane was with H-Hajime and C-Chiaki. She told me s-she had found food. I WAS DESPERATE! She cornered me and t-tried to kill me with the weapon she collected f-from… from the final dead room! I HAD NO CHOICE!”

Gripping your podium, you couldn’t look anyone in the eye, “I’m sorry… I can’t sacrifice everyone here just so I can get out of this hellhole.”

Everyone fell silent. The only sound in the room was your sobs and cries. Gundham was astonished. Feeling guilt pile onto his shoulders, he let out a frustrated scream, once again sending everyone back on the edge.

Finally, Fuyuhiko interpreted your breakdown with Gundham, “S-So... then we’re done? Y/N is the blackened?” He even seemed to be breaking.

“Y-Yeah.. yeah I am. J-Just vote.” Your words barely above a whisper, everyone pulled their levers and voted for you. Everyone except Gundham. Instead, he voted for himself. He would never forgive himself if he voted for you.

“Phuhuhu! Right again! Y/N L/N is the one who killed Sonia Nevermind!” Monokuma peeped, “You’re all so smart!”

Looking over at Gundham, you let out a soft laugh, “I’m so… so sorry. I really am.”

Even the breeder looked like he was about to break into tears. He was losing the person he loved dearly. No one understood him like you did. No one. You were the one who helped him open up and now? Now you were heading straight to your execution.

With heavy steps, he walked over to you and pulled you into a tight embrace, only this time, he let a small sob slip from his lips. No one had ever seen Gundham cry, not even his hamsters. No one was going to interrupt him either.

Whispering apologies and soft, ‘I love you’s’ he finally pulled away, “I will see you in the dark realm my ice queen.” With red puffy eyes he looked away from you, “That, I shall promise.”

“Then I’ll be waiting for you. Monokuma…I’m ready.”

Hearing your request, Monokuma took no time to press the button. He was rather bored with all of this sweet talk and decided to get to the point.

Taking a few steps back, you forced a smile for your sweet breeder, “Thank you.”

That was the last thing he heard and saw before the metal claw took you by the throat and dragged you down the hall.

☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~☁︎︎~

#danganronpa x reader #headcanons #oneshots #danganronpa #gundham tanaka x reader #gundham tanaka #danganronpa gundham #danganronpa requests

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five-hxrgreeves · 3 years

Text

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,467

Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not You live for the fight when it's all that you've got Woah, we're half way there Woah, livin' on a prayer Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Pt. 5- The Road to Hell...

Five Hargreeves has never claimed to be a people person. Even growing up surrounded by six other kids, he preferred to lock himself in his room and work on equations than actually interact with them aside from what was mandatory. That didn’t mean he didn’t care for them- because he did, at least where Six and Seven were concerned- he just liked his space and it was in this space that he discovered his potential for time travel.

When he’d first broached the subject with his father he’d been promptly shut down leading to one of their many quarrels and another punishment. That was not enough- never enough- to deter him from pursuing something on his own, though. He was smart enough to figure it out without help. The boy also made sure word of it never got out to his siblings; most wouldn’t care and think that he was just rubbing it in like the cocky way he usually did but Six would give him worried, warning glances and Seven would try to talk him out of it in her own shy, quiet way.

It was best to keep this to himself.

He’d been practicing his special jumps for years now and had advanced in leaps and bounds- literally. While he was still limited to short distances he could do more at once than he ever had before and they were pin-point accurate (he could actually land on the head of a pin if he felt like doing something so ridiculous. He didn’t.) Time travel was just another aspect of his powers, as linear as his jumps were and as straight forward as any equation usually was for him. He’d done the math and it was ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent possible that he would be successful; the point-oh-one was an unnecessary margin of error that he allowed himself just in case. Every mathematician had their occasional inaccuracies.

Five had made sure to repeat the equations over and over, too, to double and triple check his work. Now, he felt ready to present the subject again and have evidence that it could be done. Distantly, he heard the robotic woman they called mother ring the bell, a tradition that signaled their meal was ready. Setting down his chalk, the boy left the room and met his siblings at the stairs, completely silent apart from their footsteps approaching the table. The recording their father liked to listen to, Herr Carlson, was already playing as they stood by their seats waiting for the man himself to arrive.

They sat in number order beginning with Reginald’s seat, with Number One being on the left, Two on the right and so on until the last three; Five was on the left, Six was across from him and Seven at the head.

“Sit!” their father barked and the children followed the command without delay, pulling out their chairs almost in sync as they sat down.

Now that the speaking part of the meal was over, they turned their attention to the various tasks that they did at the table while eating, the recording continuously playing over the sounds of their activities. Five clenched his teeth slightly at the irritating repetitiveness of it all and stared down the table at the man he called his father, watching him take a drink from his cup.

Knowing he wouldn’t get the man’s attention if he tried talking, the boy gripped the handle of his knife and stabbed it directly into the table.

“Number Five?”

“I have a question,” he said coolly.

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No talking during meal times,” Reginald answered, not even sparing a glance up from his plate, “you are interrupting Herr Carlson.”

Irritation prickled along his spine and the boy dropped the utensil roughly against his plate, “I want to time travel.”

“No.”

“But I’m ready,” he responded flatly, “I’ve been practicing my special jumps, just like you said,” he stood and demonstrated, feeling a flicker of pride when he landed right by the man’s elbow.

“See?”

“A special jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel,” he answered, not deigning to look at him, “one is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.”

Five forced himself not to snarl at his father’s terrible explanation. He really hated riddles. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, “well, I don’t get it.”

“Hence the reason you’re not ready,” the man said, as if that was all the answer that was needed. He took another sip from his glass.

Five accidentally looked down the table to where Six and Seven sat, knowing that this would be a surprise to them. He rolled his eyes internally at Seven’s predictable reaction as she shook her head at him, looking slightly fearful. He turned back to his father, “I’m not afraid.”

“Fear isn’t the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even on your mind are far too unpredictable,” he threw his own utensils down and finally looked at the boy, “now, I forbid you to talk about this anymore.”

The boy’s lips curled into a sneer at the thought of someone trying to control his powers when who knew them better than him? Reginald may be their mentor but what did he know about the extent of their abilities? He turned on his heel and stalked away, ignoring his father’s shouts. He picked up speed as he left the dining room, running, running, running out the door, on to the street.

The fresh air hit his face, spurring him on after the drafty, stale air of the place he called home. Preparing himself for the first jump, he mentally checked his calculations and tore a hole through time.

Around him, the scene changed. The darkness of the evening was replaced by bright sunlight showing a warm, sunny spring. He scoffed, “not ready my ass.”

Fueled by his success, he jumped again, his heart leaping as the scene changed to winter, the previously open buildings changing as they lost business. Adrenaline pumped through him and he wondered exactly how far into the future he could go. What would he see? Predictions from Six’s science fiction books were unlikely but he could still come back and tell his brother all about the future.

He leapt again, blue light shining around him as he created his third portal. The boy suddenly stilled, watching as the familiar sights around him turned to ash and dust, rubble and burning fires stretching as far as the eye could see.

Something akin to terror rose within him. This wasn’t right. How could it be when the world had been so vibrant around him seconds before?

He forced his legs to move, running along the dirt path that stretched on for miles. The sky was a dark, ashy gray that gave away neither time nor date and the falling particles burned his lungs when he breathed causing his breath to shorten rapidly and gasp in his chest.

Five froze outside the familiar building, all grandeur now rubble and fire as he stared up at what was once his home. No. What about his siblings? His family?

“Vanya!” he cried out, forcing himself to be heard over the crackling fire, “Ben! Dad! Anyone!”

No answer came in the nearly silent world despite him looking around wildly for someone, anyone living. He could go back. The answer came to him suddenly on its own accord and hope surged in his chest as he forced his hands into fists, blue shining around them. He pushed against the fabric of time, trying to calculate a way out. Nothing.

“Come on!” he pleaded, he didn’t want to be stuck in this burning hell.

“Shit,” was his next word as his powers failed, sucking away the sudden hope.

His hands dropped and he stared around at the landscape, as desolate as he felt. How was he going to get back? He dropped to his knees in front of the remains of his home- a home that had been whole and filled with life minutes before.

Five wasn’t sure how long it had been when he forced himself to pull away. Night would be coming soon and there were other survival things that needed to be done. How had their father known how to prepare them for this?

The thought crossed his mind as he stood, eyes catching sight of a still-standing newspaper holder. He ran over to it and opened the broken glass front, pulling out one of the papers. April 1, 2019 read the date, the headline was one that would be burned into his memory even after years of living in the apocalypse.

Then, he saw the first bodies lying in the rubble. The hand of a man was sticking out of a pile, clearly clutching at something. Five ran over to it and pried the glass orb out of the stiff, cold fingers. He wiped off the red, wet residue on the face of it, revealing a dark brown iris. It was a glass eye.

Still holding it, he followed the arm to a blonde-haired man with a cut next to his eye. Something niggled at the back of his head but he pushed it away. No, it couldn’t be. His siblings were still alive. Of course they were.

He ran to the next pile where a dark-haired man and dark-skinned woman were covered in rubble- both with their eyes closed and covered thickly in the falling ash. His feet skittered in the loose blocks but he made his way towards them, placing his hands on their shoulders and shaking them roughly. Please, he thought desperately, please be alive. Just be asleep.

It was a foolish, naïve thought but he couldn’t push it away.

Farther on, another man with a fur-trimmed coat was lying facedown in the rubble, eyes closed just like the others. Five’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the damning tattoo on the man’s arm: an umbrella inscribed in a circle. The same one all of the Hargreeves children had, except Seven.

There was too much evidence to deny the terrible conclusion that formed in his mind.

Five forced the prickling tears at the back of his eyes away. He’d never been a crier; Reginald had beat that out of them at an early age. Still, he hadn’t even recognized his siblings until he’d seen the tattoos that bound them together. Then, he’d added rocks on top of their partially-buried bodies as a makeshift grave. That had been when he’d almost cried, when the last possible sighting of his siblings’ faces had finally been covered. They weren’t really his siblings, though, because he didn’t know them in this timeline. He knew their fifteen-year-old versions, back in 2004. This shouldn’t matter to him.

(It did.)

The boy tilted his head up and stared into the dark sky until his eyes burned for a different reason. Water was going to become a precious commodity; he shouldn’t waste what hydration he had on crying.

Again, he pulled himself away, telling himself it was useless to linger over the dead. He couldn’t help those siblings. (But oh, how he wanted to.) They were somebody else’s family. His were still alive in 2004, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. There was still something he could do about that.

Five turned and walked away, steeling himself to face this strange, new hell.

He wasn’t sure what was worse. The dusty, dark days or darker nights. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. There was no sound except for howling wind, the crackling of fire and the creak of the wagon which was piled with necessary items like food cans and a supply of water that he’d found, his best prize.

By now, he’d covered himself entirely to keep the ash from burning his skin, a mask over his face to help his breathing and goggles to protect his eyes. These items were all found by scavenging around the city. He’d left the familiar block of the Academy behind and had begun searching in other buildings. These were more family-styled homes and he occasionally came across the bodies of little kids or parents which caused him to quickly turn away before the little food he’d eaten made its reappearance.

There was still no one who seemed to have escaped whatever disaster had ended the world. He’d been on his own for seemingly days now, not another living soul in sight, just stinking, dead bodies partially or fully covered by rubble. The boy tried not to think about them too much. It wasn’t that they disgusted him- well, the adults didn’t- but living in the world of the dead while he was still living was not a thought that sat comfortably in his mind.

Rubble shifted haphazardly under his hands as he searched for food, the cleared space revealing the short, dark hair of a woman. He moved to another spot immediately, continuing his search. Then, he froze.

Unless his ears were tricking him, there was a tinny bang, bang, bang coming from somewhere. The hits were too evenly spaced to be anything but purposeful. The hope that he’d thought had died suddenly resurged full force and he scrabbled over to the sound, “hello?”

His voice was hoarse and uncomfortably loud. The banging continued, “hello? Is anyone there?” he tried again.

There was no answer except for the continuous hitting sound. He shifted the rubble around on top of where he thought it was coming from until a dark crack appeared between the broken pieces, “hello? Can you hear me?”

The sound was definitely louder now and he made an effort to make the hole bigger, muscles tensing as he prepared for a maybe not-so-friendly encounter. Then, it was large enough to see inside. The pale, dirty face of a girl looked up at him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the apparent brightness. How long had she been trapped under there? Days? Weeks? It was clearly awhile from how thin her face looked.

Five wasn’t even sure if she was real and he was just imagining the whole thing. He couldn’t help the disbelief that entered his tone as he asked, “what the hell?”

That wasn’t the best response to seeing the first human- alive- that he’d seen in however much time it had been, but like he’d said, he wasn’t a people-person. The girl didn’t respond, eyes still screwed up in a way that made her face look scrunched.

“Here, grab my hand, I’ll help you up,” that was better, he decided, and extended said hand to the girl.

After realizing she couldn’t see it, he grasped her hand himself and startled at how small and bony it seemed. He pulled her out easily and wasn’t surprised to see that the rest of her matched the gaunt face and frail hand.

“Open your eyes,” he tried, “slowly. How long have you been down there?”

The girl shook her head, most likely answering both questions. He sighed and turned, “hold on a second, I’ll get something to help.”

Five returned to his wagon before she could protest and shifted around in his items, pleased when he found another pair of goggles. Stumbling slightly back to her, he placed them in her hand, “here, they’re not sunglasses but they should be better than nothing.”

He watched as she put them on, struggling slightly with the strap until it was secure. Her face relaxed and her eyes opened cautiously. Five tried not to suck in a startled breath. Her pupils were so large only a thin, blue line could be seen around them. It was kind of creepy if he was being honest. Immediately, she shut her eyes again. He didn’t blame her.

“What’s your name?” the boy tried, never one for small talk but knowing it was important.

The girl opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out. She shook her head.

He let out an irritated huff, “fine, then is this your house?”

She nodded, confirming that yes, it was.

“Are there any supplies in your basement?”

Another nod.

“Is there anything I need to know before going down there?”

Again, she nodded, then paused, seemingly trying to get her words to work. When they didn’t, she made an open-close motion.

“Now isn’t the time for charades.” He wanted to tack on moron or some similar insult but he forced himself not to. She wasn’t one of his siblings.

The girl did the motion again and held her cupped hands up to her face, as if she were reading.

“A book, you want me to get a book,” the disbelief was back.

When she nodded vigorously, he sighed, “fine. Where is it?”

The question made her still, uncertain of how to act out the location. Then, she drew a flat, rectangular shape in the air and two smaller ones on top of it. He really hated riddles.

“I don’t get it,” he grumbled, frustrated, “just tell me they’re easy to find.”

The girl nodded again, “fine,” the boy decided, “I’ll get your stupid books. Wait here.”

The darkness didn’t bother him as he descended into the basement. Reginald would never let his adoptive experiments be afraid of something so silly as pitch-blackness. Then, Five’s foot hit something on the bottom step that almost made him loose his balance, “shit!” he cursed, righting himself.

The boy bent down and felt for the obstacle, startling at the waxy feel of a candle. Well, maybe she’s not a complete moron, he allowed. He felt around for matches and soon a small, golden glow lit up the dark space. He was surprised to find the basement completely intact. Then he immediately wrinkled his nose. It stank like hell.

After several minutes of searching, he found the partitioned food in the back storeroom, the paint cans with broken lids and the tools, which he rooted through to find the most useful ones. He was especially pleased when he found a rope. Then, he turned to make his way back to the surface only to pause at the bottom of the staircase. Her stupid books.

Five remembered seeing a desk at the edge of the circle of light so that’s what he went to find. On the surface sat three books: a used notebook and two published authors. He added those to the steadily-growing pile and clambered out messily, fighting to keep his balance as things spilled out of his hands.

Irritation pricked at him when he saw the girl was still standing, unmoving and eyes closed, right where he’d left her. Scratch that earlier thought, he grumbled, she is a complete moron.

After placing the things in the wagon, he made his way back over to her.

“Here,” he said, stuffing the requested items into her arms.

Her facial muscles twitched into what was probably her first smile in days, a sign of gratitude, he knew. He brushed it off, “you better open your eyes, we’re moving.”

She shook her head and his annoyance grew, “well, I’m not guiding you the whole way. There’s too much searching to be done and night will be here soon. You either open your eyes or I’m leaving you here.”

He wouldn’t, he knew. If she was the last human left alive he didn’t want to lose his only source of humanity.

Luckily, that caused her to open her eyes even as her face screwed up in pain. He pursed his lips in displeasure and studied her outfit, “the mask will help but you have to cover up. The ash burns and I don’t have any way of healing you if you get hurt.”

She seemed to be understanding about that and after some difficult maneuvering- and several close calls where he’d had to catch her- they made it to the wagon where he began handing her the extra clothing he’d found.

Once she was set up appropriately, he picked up the handle of the almost-full wagon. The girl tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked shortly.

She handed him the spiral-bound notebook, opened to the first page. On it, in slightly loopy, readable handwriting was the opening sentence: My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004.

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #five #five hargreeves #5 #hargreeves #tua five #five hargreeves x dolores #five hargreeves x oc #five hargreeves x reader #Five x oc #five x dolores #five x reader #human dolores #dolores isn't a mannequin #pre-tua #apocalypse

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