#anyway all that 2 say i am drained but i am victorious | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eclairfromleclerc · 5 months

Text

Hello people! It’s been a while since my last chapter but the writer’s block was humongous and I kept pushing myself to write the next chapter. It is another long one, almost 25K words. Please excuse me for my long ass absence and stay with me for the rest of the story! I hope you’ll enjoy the newest part and I can’t wait to see your opinion and comments on it. Take care. Until the next one <3 xx

All’s Fair

(Toto Wolff x Reader!Horner) Chapter 9

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7 chapter 8

Monaco has the best sunny days in the whole world. You’ve loved going out under the Mediterranean sun every time your family visited Monaco when you were young. Now laying on the couch that you’ve spent almost all of your summers on, you see the light entering the apartment. Music plays in the background as your friend Sara is making coffee in the kitchen and you are laying in her living room as you’ve always done.

After the victory celebrations on Sunday you left the track and flew straight back to Nice. Your childhood friend Sara picked you up and you’ve been staying in her family’s house in Monaco for the past 2 days. Those days passed by with your usual activities. Having coffee in the casino square, going out clubbing, cooking, gossiping and in general doing girly things. As soon as you arrived in Monaco you visited the apartment that Sara proposed and booked it right away as you had already asked for your belongings to be moved to Monte Carlo. The only thing left for you to do is to move all of those things to the apartment. The thing about being in Monaco is that now you are able to show the world where you are. During the past weekend there was just speculation about where you actually were. You had managed to place yourself in Monaco with some instagram posts but no one knew (well except for Toto and Lewis) that you still were in Jeddah.

“Sweetheart coffee is ready.” Sara yells from the kitchen

“Bitch I don’t drink coffee” you answer “You haven’t seen me in a month and you already forgot?”

“Shut up, I made you your Earl Grey just how you like to drink it” she says and you’ve already made your way to the kitchen

“Thank you idiot” you tell her

“You’re welcome, your majesty,” she says, mocking you for your tea preferences. You sit down opposite to her and start drinking your tea. “So” she interrupts the silence “Do you remember Marc?” she asks

“Marc who?” you ask

“Marc Taylor.”

“S, are you serious? Are you asking me if I remember the guy I had a crush on for ages?” you ask her

“Well you’ve met a lot of people since you started working in F1 and I genuinely thought you forgot him” she says “Anyways, he saw the story I reposted from yesterday night at Jimmy’z and replied to it. He asked me if we wanted to join him today.”

“Join him where?” you ask intrigued

“He will be having a brunch party at his yacht.” she says trying to hype it up

“Ugh, I’m not sure I want to see so many people.” you say

“Come on Horner, it’s going to be so great. We haven’t had a brunch party at a yacht in ages, the last time we did was when you graduated.” she pauses “Plus he told me not to hype it up, the only people there will be his friend group.”

“Marc’s friend group is 15 people. I am only willing to see 5.”

“Why are you acting like a 65 year old with depression, come onnn.”

“Because my job drains me to the point that I just want to stay at home with a cup of tea and read a good book. I am with people every day and during the weekend I am chased by cameras and fans.” you tell her as she looks at you mockingly “I know, I know. I chose this life and to be frank I love the whole fame,chase and clout that comes with it. But during my non-race weekends, I need to have a detox.”

“You had your whole week off, enough paddock detox, enough people detox. What were you doing in Jeddah? Meditating, visiting the four seasons’ spa, drinking coffee, eating expensive meals. That’s enough, now we get to party.”

Little does she know that you weren’t actually meditating, not visiting spas, not even staying at a four seasons’ but at a Ritz. You take a look at your best friend as she puts on her puppy eyes.

“Pretty please.” she says and she crosses her hands as if she’s begging “Do it for me Horner, it’s going to be fun. It’s part of your new life after all. People here in Monaco have brunch yacht parties really often, so you better get your ass ready. We are going.” she says.

You shrug in response, but actually get up from the chair and go to the guest room where all of your belongings currently are. You open your suitcase and take out the sundress you wore the day you and Toto went for coffee together and match it with a pair of Hermes sandals. The weather is now sunny in Monaco and you actually love how it is a great mix of sun, breeze and heat. You put on some makeup and style your hair as loosely as you can, you’re going to be in the sea after all. Later both you and Sara leave the house and go to the location that Marc dropped a pin on. You can hear people talking from the other side of the yacht, the one that faces the Mediterranean. You quickly jump on the platform on the back of the yacht and walk up to the place where everyone’s sitting.

“Hello everyone.” you say and you see Marc standing up approaching you. Sara is just behind and she waves everyone but doesn’t get any closer to you. Marc comes to your side and hugs you.

“Miss Horner.” he says in awe “It’s been a long long time hasn’t it?” he asks

“It has. Thank you for the invitation.” you say “We brought a little something.” you say and you hand him the bottle of Dom that you’ve been holding.

“It’s really no big deal, I wanted to see you and Sara so I just texted. Thanks for the Champagne.”

By the time both of you stop interacting, Sara is already sitting on the table and speaking to everyone. You take a seat, far from her in the only two empty chairs and Marc emerges shortly after to take the seat next to you. Without asking he starts filling your plate.

“You should definitely try the Croque Madame, it’s a miracle.” he says and you smile at him

“I will, thanks.” you reply as you register his existence next to you. He’s the most charming guy you’ve met, well less than Toto but to be frank, you can see why you were heads over heels with him. At that moment you decide to snap a photo and text Toto.

You

[Photo]

Much earned gift for my last week’s performance

Wolff

You better recharge, I want you on your A level in Baku.

[Photo]

The weather here is freaking awful, I miss Monaco.

You

Wait, you actually know how to send pictures? Monaco is amazing today. You should have been here.

Wolff

Replying: Remember who gives you access to the paddock.

If I were there you wouldn’t be in that yacht right now.

You

Toto behave, you’re at work.

Wolff

I’m at a business meeting and I hate those so why not distract myself with some other thought.

You

Because I’m so hot you’re going to embarrass yourself. Gotta go now, I've got a whole yacht waiting for me

Wolff

I don't blame them. Have fun, just not too much ;)

You laugh at Toto’s texts as Marc watches you at the same time

"Are you bored of us" he asks

"No, I just have to text someone" you reply

"Red Bull keeps getting you busy I see?" he asks

"Actually, I am not in Red Bull for the time being, I am just enjoying myself and I am actually moving here next week"

"Great decision to be honest. Monaco could use a distraction." He says

"So I've been told" you tell him

"By whom?" he asks and you realize you cannot possibly talk about Toto with him

"Just a good friend" you laugh

“ah one of those best friends, I get it" he says and you nod not showing any emotion at all over what it meant

“Are you enjoying yourself in F1?” he asks trying to start conversation with you

“I am. It is a space I’ve grown up in and I already knew everyone as well as everyone knew me. There’s nothing different as to what I’ve lived up to now except for the fact that I have a little bit more screen time than I used to have 5 years ago.”

“Well 5 years ago I used to see you almost every week and now I have to watch F1 to see you.” he says

“You watch F1 now?”

“I always watched F1.” he says

“I’m pretty sure you’ve only watched the Monaco Grand Prix.”

“Until this year.” he replies “Plus I have a really good reason.”

“What’s the reason? Max’s racecraft?”

“Nah, you are” he says and you freeze temporarily

“I’m flattered.”

“I meant it as a compliment so you should be.” he tells you and he looks at you with a flirty look and you turn to look at Sara who is already too invested in her conversation with Marc’s friend, Tristan.

The rest of the brunch party goes on in a pretty similar way. Marc keeps flirting with you and Sara is way too busy to come to your rescue. At some point the yacht leaves Monaco and sails in the Mediterranean for two or three hours while all of you party on the deck. Now the sun is setting down the horizon and you return back to the harbor of Monaco and the party has already winded down so you find yourself sitting on a chair sipping your last glass of champagne. Sara is nowhere to be seen, probably too busy making out with Tristan on the inside of Marc’s yacht since they’ve been missing for the last 45 minutes or so. The chair opposite to you is empty but not for long. As soon as Marc spots you he leaves his friends and comes to your company.

“Did you enjoy the party?” he asks

“It’s been a while since I partied like this but I loved it. Now relaxing with a glass of champagne is the must thing to do.”

“There’s plenty of space inside if you want to lay down for a while.” he tells you

“I think the space might be occupied by our friends and as close as I am with Sara today isn’t the day that I want to listen to her having sex with your best friend.” you laugh

“The yacht has 6 cabins. I very much doubt all 6 of them are taken.”

“6 cabins huh? The Taylors really have given it some thought before spending money on this yacht.”

“Yeah, my mom insisted. But hey, that’s why we’re working our asses off every day. To spend on things like this.”

“So you are working?” you ask him

“Yeah, I’ve taken over some of my dad’s companies and I’ve been living between Monaco and Switzerland for a while.”

“And how is it?”

“You know how it is. We’ve learnt to live in this world. I love the job but really that’s all I focus on. Thank god all these fuckers are around and remind me that I need to have a work life balance.”

“Oh my god. Marc Taylor is a workaholic?” you say surprised “You need people to remind you to live for a while instead of working?”

“My mom is so afraid that I won’t even have a wife that she’s trying to get me to meet eligible bachelorettes.”

“Lisa is actually doing this?” you ask shocked

“Lisa has been asking me to ask you on a date for months” he tells you and you laugh hysterically.

“Well tell Lisa that I am twice the workaholic that you are. I am not working and living, I am living my life at work. I am constantly working.”

“How does it feel?”

“It does get a little lonely at times. But as you’ve said I’ve learnt to live like this ever since I was a baby. Sometimes I just wish I had someone to support me.” you tell him and what he does next surprises you.

He leans closer and puts a hand on your cheek and kisses you. You don’t react. Partly because you were caught completely off guard and partly because your 19 year old self would die for this kiss but the only thing in your head that played over and over again is “You can’t do this to Toto” . He pulls away from the kiss and you smile but he’s looking for something more and you know it.

“Marc, look I am so flattered that you actually like me. My 19 year old self would be dead right now. But as much as I used to like you then, I cannot do it now.”

“You’re not into it huh?” he asks partly heartbroken partly surprised

“It’s not that. It’s that there’s someone else in my life right now and the things with me and him aren’t that simple so I wouldn’t want to further complicate it.”

“I understand.” he says “Although Lisa would be thrilled to have you as her daughter in law, I have to destroy her dreams.” he laughs

“I am so sad. Tell her I love her regardless and if I end up alone you’ll be the first one I will flirt with.”

“Bold way to tell me I am the second option.”

“Oh god no that’s not how I meant it. It’s just that you never know how life will play out. We might end up married managing the Taylor Group and Red Bull Racing, but we might just end up as two workaholic friends who push each other out of their working space.”

“That’s true.” he says

For the next 10 minutes you discuss and when the yacht finally arrives at the harbor you leave the yacht before thanking everyone. You and Sara walk back home and she keeps talking about her and Tristan during the whole way to her house. You keep quiet about the whole thing with Marc and let her vent about what happened for the rest of the day. Late at night just when you’re ready to go to sleep, her in her bed and you on an inflatable mattress Sara is still talking about Tristan.

“He actually texted me like 5 minutes ago, I can’t believe it.” she says “We are plann-”

“Marc kissed me.” you say interrupting her mid sentence

“WHAT?” she screams and jumps on her bed

“Yeah, you were too busy screwing Tristan on those cabins but when we arrived at the harbor, he sat down next to me and kissed me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asks completely shocked

“Because you were venting about Tristan and I knew you would react this way.” you answer

“Well why aren’t you reacting in this way? You’ve had a crush on him since forever.” she asks

“Had. Past tense.”

“Well, do you have someone better than Marc to hook up with? His father is a freaking billionaire and he’s about to inherit all this. He’s handsome and kind and he’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Yeah, now he’s not the one I am dreaming of. Plus, believe it or not, it’s not always about the money.”

“Are you out of your mind? Who is possibly a better option than Marc for you right now? Well, to be frank Charles Leclerc is. You’re not sleeping with Charles Leclerc are you?” she asks and you laugh

“If you actually knew who the guy who is the better option you’d definitely think I’m out of my mind. And no, I am not sleeping with Charles Leclerc, sadly.” you tell her

“If you don’t spill, I will kick you out.”

“I most definitely cannot tell you.”

“Come on, we’ve known each other since we were in the womb, your family is my family, what tells you that I could possibly say anything to anyone?”

“Okay, I will tell you, just because you actually are my best friend. But don’t you dare say anything to anyone or I will be destroyed. Oh, tell me your wildest prediction.”

“Just so that I have a clear target group, he is from F1 right?” she asks and you nod “Omg, is it Max? Because if it is Max it will be the most iconic friends to lovers boo-” she starts ranting and you interrupt to shock her once again

“It’s Toto Wolff”

“WHO?” she looks at you like you are a lunatic.

“It’s freaking Toto Wolff, Team Principal of Mercedes AMG Petronas F1” you tell her and she looks absolutely shocked

“You are definitely out of your freaking mind. Since when are you into older guys and how the hell did that happen?”

“I always thought he was attractive but was blindsided by Christian’s hate for him. But long story short, I got drunk once and we hooked up and it’s only been going downhill from there. I’ll have to explain it to you when I get to my new apartment.”

“I am absolutely shocked.” she says “Is he at least treating you right?” she asks

“We are just hanging out but he’s been decent I’d say.”

“Now that I am thinking about it, he kind of is the better option.” she says and she visibly loses herself in thought

“Just so you know, the only people who know about all this are you and Lewis.”

“I have a common secret with Lewis Hamilton?” she asks, showing her clear preference for him.

Your answer is to just laugh and then say goodnight to her.

The next day you are being woken up by the light entering the room from the window that you forgot to close. It’s the day that you will finally move to your new apartment in Monaco. You grab your phone first thing and you see millions of notifications, more than usual. Your first thought? Something bad happened. And indeed something had happened, not exactly bad, but the headlines from the news, tweets and tags are somewhere in between the tone of

“Red Bull Racing’s newest management addition shows her love with a billionaire’s son in Monaco.”

The first article wrote: Miss Horner and Mr. Marc Taylor were spotted getting cozy at the latter’s yacht party in Monaco harbor yesterday. The pair shared a kiss and they seemed to exchange some fond words. We are excited about this new romance blooming in the streets and seas of Monaco. Are we going to see the Taylor Group entering F1 alongside Miss Horner’s Red Bull Racing? It’s only a matter of time to see.

“Shit, shit, shit” you keep saying and Sara who has only woken up looks at you like you’re crazy

“What?” she asks

“It’s all over the freaking internet.”

“You and Wolff?” she asks nervously

“No, god, it’s me and Marc”

“Wait, how did that happen?”

“Someone must have snapped a picture of us while we were kissing when the yacht was in the harbor. God this is a disaster.”

“Why is it a disaster?” she asks. Well sometimes you really doubt about her having a brain

“If Toto sees this he’s going to be feral.” you say “Oh god, I should text him right now to let him know that the whole thing is a lie.” You open the iMessage app

Wolff

[Photo]

Flying to Nice from the UK, I’ll be in Monaco for the rest of the week.

You check the time that this was sent. Yesterday afternoon. You were probably at the party then and you accidentally deleted the notification so you didn’t see the message afterwards but now you decide to reply.

You

I hope that you have arrived in Monaco safely. I am sure I will see you somewhere here before we get the chance to meet all alone. Sorry I didn’t reply earlier but I must have accidentally deleted the notification while I was at that yacht party yesterday. Speaking of which, I need to talk to you about the whole thing going around on the internet.

You see that your messages are being instantly read but you get no reply.

“The moving truck will be arriving at the apartment in 20 minutes, we must get going. Come on, get ready.” Sara says

“S, Toto is leaving me on read, do you think he’s mad at me?”

“No, he’s probably too busy in those company meetings back at Brackley.” she tries to reassure you

“Toto flew to Monaco yesterday afternoon, he’s not at Brackley.” you tell her

“Well, he’s still working from Monaco so he might reply to you later. Girl, we really don’t have time for this. It’s moving dayyy.” she says trying to hype you up. “Up, up, up” she says trying to grab you “The moving guys will be at the apartment and you will be lying here all day? Let’s get ready to move in. You’ll worry about Wolff later. And at the end you told me that you’re just hanging out, it's not anything serious so you’re free to do whatever you want. And if he’s sure that you want him he won’t even believe those things.”

You stand up before replying and put on a pair of sweats and a Red Bull t-shirt to be comfortable while moving in. “I know that we’re just hanging out at the moment. It’s just that the things are confusing as it is now, I don’t want Marc Taylor confusing them more than that.”

“He won’t. But you’ll have to worry about it from your new bedroom so, shoes on, grab your bag and let’s go to the apartment.

You do as she says and 20 minutes later you are outside your newest home getting the keys from the owner while the guys are removing boxes and furniture from the truck.

“Well, you are here.” Sara says. “I have to confess it looks really pretty and modern.”

“Sara, it’s just the outside of the building.”

“But still it’s pretty. The actual apartment is prettier though” she says and she instructs all of the boxes with your belongings and furniture to be moved to the 6th floor. For the first time in your life you will be living at the top of a building. You and Sara take the elevator to the apartment. You unlock the door while the guys are waiting for you and you enter using your right foot first.

“It’s for good luck.” you say to Sara and she smiles doing the same

For the next 5 hours you and Sara assemble your furniture and unpack the boxes with all of your stuff. You show her your ideas on how to put everything into place as you’ve imagined it and as you’ve seen it on your pinterest moodboards. At some point both of you try to settle the bed in your master bedroom. A new queen sized bed that you bought after seeing how big the room is. The one side of the loft is covered in full length glass windows that have a great view to the mediterranean with a huge balcony just in front of them that you will probably enjoy your morning tea in, during the non race weeks. The light enters every room, giving them a great coziness and openness. While you two are trying to move the bed just in the right place you remember that now you happen to have neighbors.

“Shit S, are we making too much noise?” you ask

“Well, if you know another way that we can move this monster bed and not make a sound, let me know.”

“What if the neighbors are annoyed?”

“They can fuck themselves, it’s not even quiet hours yet.” she says and you help her do the job.

After the bed gets in the right place you lay there for a second

“Horner, come on, what are you doing?”

“I am too overwhelmed by this, we’ve been working for 5 hours nonstop and this thing isn’t anywhere close to a living apartment.” you tell her

“Oh and wait till I leave you to go to the gym.” she says

“Come on Sara, you are working out here can’t you just skip the gym today and help me a little with those boxes?”

“I’ve been doing it for the past 5 hours if that says something to you. I will be leaving in half an hour though. And don’t worry. You can take it one step at a time and after some time you will manage to unpack your whole stuff.” she says smiling

“I hate you.” you tell her and you go back to work.

You set your new office in the living room, just in front of the large window so that you get enough light and inspiration from the views outside. You also set the couch and the coffee table in front, as well as your new TV. Half an hour later Sara leaves indeed for the gym, leaving you all alone for the first time in your newest apartment. That’s when it hits you and you grab your phone. The messages you sent to Toto, still unanswered and it’s been a long time since he’s read them. You decide to give him a call. You press his phone number and wait for him to pick up. You hear one, then two, then three rings and then it goes straight to voicemail. You hear his voice that you haven’t heard since Sunday. The phone rang but it went to voicemail which means that he’s declining your call. You try once again, the same thing. You get it, he’s probably angry with the whole thing but if he doesn’t want to talk to you nor do you. Instead of overthinking it you throw yourself back at moving. You blast some Taylor Swift on the speakers that you connected first thing as you entered the loft, and drop a huge box of books in front of you which you put on the built-in shelves in the living room. You use your ladder to fill the upper shelves that you cannot reach by yourself. You keep dancing, moving things, chairs, couches and tables. At some point you hear the door knocking. You turn the music off and run to the door.

“Who is it?” you ask and you hear a voice from the outside of the door

“I live downstairs and I wanted to let you know that it’s quiet time now, you are annoying us with all that music and moving things.” the voice says. You feel very embarrassed about what you did and the last thing you want is to piss your neighbor off so you decide to open the door and apologize. But when you do you freeze.

“Toto?” you say and he looks at you, his eyes wide as if he just saw something unbelievable

“What are you doing here ?” he asks

“This is my new apartment in Monaco, I was just moving in.”

“You’re joking.” he says

“Do you actually live downstairs?” you ask thrilled

“I do yeah, I live on the fifth floor loft.” he says

“How was England?” you ask and he looks at you.

“Fine.” he replies, obviously bothered.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, I texted you this morning but you didn’t reply.” you say “I also tried calling but it went to voicemail.”

“Talk to me about what?” he asks acting like he doesn’t know

“About Marc Taylor. Toto, I know you’ve seen it, it’s all over the internet.”

“I mean what would you possibly have to say about Marc Taylor? It’s a shared secret that you’ve been wanting him since high school, everyone in Monaco knows it. You must be over the moon though. Handsome, rich, young and charming. Everything you’re looking for.”

“You have to believe me Toto.”

“Believe you about what? You clearly wanted the guy since forever so why not give in?”

“You fucking know that the whole thing is fake.”

“There are pictures,” he says, keeping calm.

“You know how it fucking is Toto, those reporters only take whatever they think will make people engage more with their stories. They only caught the kiss but after that I told him that there is someone else in my life.”

“I wouldn’t know. I am not the one going around boat parties in Monaco and kissing strangers.”

“Just admit you are jealous.” you say

“Now you know what? I find it really pretentious that you get to be angry with the whole Cynthia thing and I am suddenly overreacting to seeing you kiss other guys.”

“It is not the same.”

“No, it is exactly the same and your position is way worse than mine because me and Cynthia haven’t seen each other since this thing started.” he says

“Well, it’s not like this “thing” is something exclusive so I can see and kiss whomever I want.” you say

Toto turns and looks at you and this is the first time you see a kind of hurt in his eyes

“Do you ever shut up Horner?” he asks

“I’ve told you before, only if I am made.” you say and look at him

Hearing these words probably makes a bell in Toto’s head ring because the next thing he does is to grab you by both hands and pin you against the wall like he did the first time he kissed you. He looks down at you as you look up at him and he leans in to kiss you but you push him just a little and grab his hand. You put it against your neck and once he gets the memo he applies a little pressure that makes you go crazy. He kisses you slowly and you kiss him back in enjoyment. A few seconds later he grabs you and runs into the hallway searching for your bedroom. Once he finds the bedroom with the queen size bed he rushes and pushes you to the bed. You lie on your back looking at him. The power that this man holds, you think. You slowly begin to undress him, freeing him of his gray sweatpants and leaving him only with his boxers on seeing him growing hard as he looks at you.

“Is the bed new?” he asks and you nod

“What a way to use it for the first time huh?” you say and he laughs

“Let me tell you something Horner, I don’t want you anywhere near me with a red bull shirt ever again” he says and he strips you off of the red bull shirt “It’s the biggest turn off.”

“I can see it” you tease him. At first he seems pissed off but then he takes your sweats off and then he does the same with his T-Shirt.

“Enough talking” he says and he leans in for a kiss which you deepen immediately. He leans in on you and you push him towards you from his neck as he stabilizes himself by putting one of his knees between your thighs. You feel the intrusive thought in your brain and you grind yourself on his knee

“Much needy I see ?" he asks and you do nothing but look at him

“Can’t resist mister Wolff” you say

“As you should miss Horner.” he replies and his hand moves to your chest while he starts kissing you on your neck. You feel him leaving hot trails of kisses on you as his hand cups your breast. Well he certainly has a way of doing things. His kisses leave you wanting more, needing more so to make yourself feel good you move your hips against him once again and you can feel him laugh against your skin as he moves his hand against your panties

“So wet already” he whispers to your ear sending shivers down your spine “Does he also do that to you?” he asks clearly, talking about Marc. You shake your head as the words were kind of hard to come off your mouth

“Use your words baby” he says

“No, he does not” you say while your breathing is getting heavier

“Is he better?” he asks and you shake your head once again.

“Toto please, I need you.” you say and he obeys to your plea.

He removes his briefs and pushes your panties to the side as he enters inside you. It feels good. Better than it had in Jeddah. You gasp at the move and you dig your nails on his back as he kisses you. He suddenly grabs your hands and removes them from his back while thrusting in and out in a slow but great way.

“No touching today.” he says and holds your hands over your head with his strong grip. He keeps moving as you let small moans escape and you feel like you’re in another word. You want to touch him as well and right the time that he loosens his grip on you you try to move your hands but his grip gets stronger and smashes your hands back to the place they first were. You complain for a while but he makes you feel so good that this is the last thing you care about.

“You’re so good love. Always feeling so good.” the pauses between his words are getting bigger, showing that he’s feeling as good as he does. “Good god.” he says once again and you laugh at him. He keeps going strong though, changing the tempo of his thrusts, hitting and touching all the correct places. You feel getting closer and closer to your climax but instead of laying calm you start leaving kisses on his chest.

“You make me feel so good.” you say “Fuck Toto, you’re so good. God no you’re perfect.”

“Are you close?” he asks

“Yeah” you say and you gasp “You?”

“Very” he says in between his grunts. Some minutes later you come first and he follows you shortly after while repeating your name.

Right after that both of you lay naked on your new bed. Toto is caressing your hair as you are laying on his chest listening to his heartbeat. He breaks the silence first

“Are we good?” he asks

“I am good” you reply

“I am talking about our fight.” he says

“Oh I thought that it was established when you were repeating my name while having sex with me.”

“You’re right.” he says and stares outside the window while the sun is setting. Both of you sit in silence for a minute or two until you break it

“He’s not better.” you say

“Huh?”

“Marc Taylor. He’s not better than you. It was nothing but a kiss, Toto.” you tell him “And yes, he might be a European billionaire’s son and he might as well be hot and charming but you are also all those things, which surprise, happen to be everything I seem to look for in a man. But I need you to know Toto, in my eyes you are more charming and hotter than him. I would give Marc Taylor up for you but I wouldn’t give up you for Marc Taylor.” you tell him and you look up at him while he’s staring at you, clearly paying attention to what you were telling him.

“Thank you.” he says

You keep laying there and by the time the sun sets you are already asleep. You wake up an hour later and you see Toto is also taking a nap. You nudge him and he wakes up.

“What is it ?” he says being somewhere between asleep and awake

“Nothing, we just fell asleep here.” you say

“You’ve got a nice bed. Good choice.” he says

“I know but I have to get up to finish the rest of the apartment.”

“No one is helping you?” he asks

“Sara was here until she abandoned me to go to her gym session. Now I have to do this all by myself.”

“You know you don’t have to do all of it today right? You are going to be exhausted. Plus I can also help you with unpacking.”

“No, you probably have work to do. I’ll do them by myself and tomorrow Sara will be here to help me”

“Who is Sara?”

“My best friend. She’s the one that found this apartment for me” you tell him

“So she’s the one that I have to thank?” he asks and you nod while laughing.

“You will meet her as soon as I get back to Red Bull.”

“Which is going to be when?” he asks

“I know you want to get rid of me but I don’t have any information yet. Beth usually sends me my schedule the week before each grand prix and judging by the fact that she didn’t send it until now, I think this won’t be the weekend you are looking forward to.”

“Maybe you should start packing your things for Baku.” he says

“I don’t have anything to do there.”

“Come on, I told people Mindy Rosevelt will hang with us for a while longer.”

“Second race at Mercedes?” you ask excitedly

“The Ritz in Baku has already been informed that we would like an extra suite.”

“Toto, a suite? Again?”

“You always need a suite, love.”

“Do you have plans for Baku?” you ask

“How about we go to the paddock together, you sleep in my suite and you help us during the race?”

“So you only want me to be there to tell you about Red Bull’s strategies so you can win?” you say playing offended

“I only want you to be there because you make it easier for me to focus when you are next to me rather than in the garage next to ours. And because I want you in general.” he says

“That’s a good excuse.” you tell him

“After all, even if it was only for the strategy part, you should remember that all’s fair in war.”

“And love.” you say

“That also” he replies

“When are we leaving?”

“Wednesday night, with my jet from Nice airport.”

“Good.” you say

“Put some clothes on, we are going to unpack the rest of the boxes.” he says

“Yes sir.” you say

“Sir huh? Remind me of that the next time I am laying in bed with you” he tells you and you laugh as you stand up to put some clothes on. For the rest of the evening you and Toto unpack the boxes that you and Sara left. Both of you laugh as he makes fun of your music taste. He even dared to make fun of Taylor Swift, which you did not take lightly but still forgave him when he danced with you in the living room of your new apartment and when you both watched the harbor from the balcony. It is almost midnight when he decides he has to go.

“Why do you have to go now?” you ask

“The apartment is almost ready, Sara can help you set up the last box and I have to work tomorrow, unlike you.”

“You are literally working from home and your home is downstairs, why can’t you stay for the night and leave tomorrow night?” you complain

“Because this is your apartment, your space. You have to spend the night alone to get used to the feeling.”

“I’ve lived alone before, I know how it is.”

“Yes but now it’s different, you'll see.”

“Can’t it be different with you here?”

“It can, but I am positive you will be better off alone for this night.” he says “We won’t be lost after all, I will be downstairs, you can call me any time.”

“Okay” you tell him “Can I kiss you goodnight?” you ask

“What happened to you? You are too expressive!” he says

“I know, you are not used to it.”

“No, I am used to you being expressive, just not very emotional.”

“Changed state of mind” you say

“I like it.” he says “And to answer your question” he leans in and kisses you deeply “I was going to do it anyways.”

You smile at the gesture “Goodnight Toto.” you say

“Goodnight love.” he replies and he leaves.

You close the door and walk straight to bed where you immediately fall asleep.

The next day you text Sara and she drops by for a morning coffee in your new balcony. As soon as she enters the loft she looks around.

“Wow Horner, did you get any sleep?” she asks

“I actually did.”

“How did you unpack all of those boxes by yourself?”

“I didn’t do it by myself” you tell her

“Omg, who did you invite?”

“No one, a neighbor helped me.”

“Oh, you’ve already met your neighbors? That’s crazy. Are any of them hot?”

“Yeah I met one of them because he wanted to complain about the noise. And yeah, he was hot. In fact for me he is one of the hottest.”

“What happened to Miss Toto Wolff is the hottest man on earth? Did she disappear?”

“No she didn’t, because actually Toto Wolff IS the freaking neighbor.”

“What the hell?” she asks “Girl I need coffee and Monte Carlo air STAT.”

You make her coffee and your tea and go to the balcony where you sit on a big white table.

“Turns out Wolff is my freaking neighbor. He’s living downstairs and he heard the noise during quiet hours so he decided to give me a notice.”

“But when he saw you he forgot what he noticed” she says

“No actually he did make the notice and then we pretty much fought for Marc, ended up having sex, had a nap and then unpacked all of my boxes. We danced together in the living room and then he left because he had to work today.”

“You used the bed for the first time to have make up sex with Wolff?” she asks

“I pretty much did yeah” you tell her

“You are crazier than I thought you were.” she says

“I am crazier than I thought I were” you say

You tell her everything that happened yesterday night as both of you drink your beverages watching the view from your balcony. Later on Sara helps you unpack the last box and your apartment is finally set. The next few days you pass your time by hanging out with Sara and your other best friends who happen to be in Monaco. Toto drops by some days and you two hang out for some hours until one day you finally ask him for a Mercedes project to work on so you can spend your time by being more productive. Days pass and it’s finally Wednesday morning when you are actually packing your clothes for Baku. You take mostly summer clothes even though you won’t be able to wear any of the to the paddock. You also take your extra Mercedes shirts and pants as well as Toto’s Mercedes shirt. You make sure everything is there. After that you call Sara to drop by so that you can say goodbye to her and spend the rest of the day alone at the apartment until Toto knocks the door to let you know that your driver has arrived and is ready to take you to Nice to finally fly to Baku. A car ride and a flight later you and Toto land in Azerbaijan. Both of you wait in the jet until the car is ready to take you from the plane to the hotel. At that time the cockpit door opens and you take a look inside. The pilot who goes out of the cockpit is not Mike. You raise your eyebrow at this and you look at the door more intensely for Toto to notice.

“What are you looking at?” he asks looking up from his phone

“Our pilot.” you say

“What about him, are you not satisfied?” he asks

“No, I am. But the question is, where is Mike?”

“He’s on leave, why?”

“Just wondering”

“Why would you care about him?”

“Because I like him”

“Noted” he says and turns back to his phone without speaking

“Are you jealous Wolff?” you ask

“No”

“Are you sure?”

“End of discussion” he says and you laugh

“Okay sir.” you tell him

After that the crew opens the door and you get off the plane. You already made sure that you have your mask on you so people won’t recognize you. Back to the same old ways. You take a ride to the hotel and you walk straight to your suite in which some other Mercedes employee checked you in before you arrived. Toto goes back to his own suite even though he asked you to hang out with him instead. You settle down in your suite and check Toto's schedule for the weekend

13:30-14:00: Press conference

14:10-14:50: F1 Team Principal Meeting

14:50-16:00: Coffee Break

16:00-17:00: Team Meeting

18:00-20:00: Business meeting

20:30: Dinner

You open your phone and text Toto

You

I’ve been taking a look at your schedule, is everything to your agreement?

Wolff

Yes, all is checked and approved

You

Good to know. By what I'm seeing, it’s going to be a full day. I mean press, team meetings and business meetings

Wolff

Oh is it actually on my schedule?

You

The business meeting? Yeah it’s tabbed in from 18:00 to 20:00. Should I remove it, is it wrong?

Wolff

No, let them believe that I’m busy during that time.I have already planned something. It’s not a business meeting, it is supposed to be a meeting for us two but I told Brad that I will be busy so I guess he thought it was business related

You

Oh, so I am busy from 18:00 to 20:00 too? What are we going to do ?

Wolff

I would let you be curious but we are supposed to go to a boat trip in the Caspian. I’ve chartered a boat for a couple of hours and then we will be having dinner too, so please do not wear high heels.

You

Oh I love boat trips so no high heels

It’s not like I could put heels on though, I will be dressed in the Merc gear all day long

Wolff

Well pack another outfit but still no high heels

You

Okay then. I guess I’ll see you later?

Wolff

Tomorrow

You switch your phone off and fall asleep for a few hours. It’s already early in the morning since you left Nice at night and the flight lasted a long time but thank god you didn’t have to be at the paddock until noon. You wake up at 11 and order some breakfast. You get ready and phone Toto to let him know you are ready. 10 minutes later you are on your way there in his black AMG SUV and you see the fans taking photos of the car. Well it’s Toto they’re taking pictures of since they have no idea about who you actually are. You get out of the car and go to Merc’s hospitality. You wave Toto goodbye and you go to your office while he’s off to his. Later on you hear a knock at your door.

“Who is this?” you ask

“Mindy, it’s Lewis.” you hear a voice

You stand up and put your mask on before opening the door. Better safe than sorry. When you open the door you see that it’s indeed Lewis so you welcome him in. You take off your mask and sit on the little couch

“How is it going?” he asks

“Everything’s good, thank you. How are you?”

“Good. You know how it is. Just running around, trying to keep up with everything.”

“Lewis Hamilton trying to keep up? I am pretty sure everyone is trying to keep up with you, not you with them.”

“Well yeah, when it comes to F1 it’s pretty much how you say it is. But in real life I have so many things to keep up with.”

“I bet you do. Like I am pretty sure you are flying to New York as soon as the race ends.”

“I am. Met Gala.” he says and you laugh

“So you won’t be here for post race celebrations if you win. I guess I should hand the win to George this time, or maybe let Red Bull win.”

“Don’t you dare”

“I won’t Lew, you know you’re my fav. But if you want to secure the win, I need to get in the Met next year.” “Deal.” he says

“Oh god Lewis, I was only joking.”

“I know, but I am pretty sure that I can land you an invitation.”

“We’ll see until next year.” you tell him “Is Roscoes coming to the gala?”

“No, I am actually sending him back to Monaco for the week and then he’ll be with me in Miami.”

“Where is he going to stay in Monaco?”

“At the pet hotel.”

“Why don’t you leave him with me ?”

“In Monaco?” he asks

“I live there now”

“You do? I can leave him with you, of course.”

“If you don’t fully trust me I can ask Toto for his help. We live in the same building.” “I have so many questions about this but I have to go. It’s gym time.” he says

“We can figure out the logistics about Roscoe later. Have a good session Lewis.” you tell him before he leaves the office

For the next hour or so you hang out in your office all alone and when it is time you leave the hospitality center to accompany him to the press conference. Just when you are outside the press conference center you see Christian and by his side a really familiar face that you cannot remember. You take another look at her while Toto stops dead in his tracks.

“What?” you ask him and he looks confused. You take a look for a third time. You see a familiar girl dressed in Red Bull gear talking to Christian. It’s then when it clicks. The girl is Cynthia. Cynthia Jones dressed in Red Bull speaking to Christian. What the heck is this about? You can feel the anger rising to your chest

“Breathe” you hear him say

“That’s too far” you tell him

“It’s crazy.” he says “Go talk to her, find out what this is all about.”

“I will" you say

“Just be careful not to reveal too many things"

“Of course"

Toto glances at his watch. 12:55

“I should get going, press is starting in 5"

“Okay, I'll see you later" you tell him and he nods “Do you wanna meet here?"

“I’ll be straight off to the TP meeting. I will see you during the coffee break, okay?”

“Okay”

“Try to find out what Cynthia is doing here.” he says

“I will” you tell him and you smile

“And if you are too angry about what you find out, I have some files you can take a look at while you’re waiting.”

“Okay” you say and you leave him. You spot Cynthia hanging out outside the press center and you decide to approach her

“Hello.” you tell her

“Hi” she replies and smiles “Oh, you’re Mindy right? The girl who gave us the Mercedes tour in Jeddah?”

“Yup, that’s me.” maybe not “What are you doing here?” you ask her

“I landed a job in Red Bull Racing. Isn’t it crazy?” she says

“Oh definitely. You went from visiting the paddock to actually working here, congrats!” you try to play excited when you are actually fuming

“It was meant to be. I landed the job when I was visiting the paddock in Jeddah.”

“How come?”

“Christian Horner met us at the paddock club and he asked what we were doing. Once I told him about my studies in management he asked to see me in person and then he proposed this job.”

“What’s your position?”

“For what I’ve understood, I am currently sort of replacing Christian’s daughter while I am also acting like his PA.”

“Oh so management?”

“It’s still too early for that title and I definitely don’t have that much freedom as an executive does. I am thinking it more like an internship in management while also being a personal assistant to Christian.”

“Oh Christian” you say and you roll your eyes

“He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is.” she says “He might actually be better than Toto”

“Yeah, nah” you tell her “Toto is actually definitely more human-ish than Christian.”

“And how would you know? Have you ever worked with Christian?” she asks jokingly. If only she knew

“No but judging from the paddock rumors he seems to be a tough one to handle.”

“Absolutely not. He is really kind and funny. Really chill type. He made me call him by his name since day 1. It’s really like we’re friends.”

“That’s really good for you.” you say

“What about Toto?” she asks. As if she would let it go

“Mr. Wolff is really nice.”

“You’re not calling him Toto?”

“No, he prefers to keep things professional. He’s more into being formal and things.”

“Must be boring” she says

“It’s pretty good for now and I’m always guessing, familiarity might be a little too much at some point.”

“Christian has been saying this about his daughter.”

“He has?” you ask slightly nervously

“Yeah, he said that working with family might be a little too overwhelming at some point.”

“Well he’s kinda right. Did he say why she left?”

“From what I’ve taken they decided that she should take a break and she’s currently hanging out in Monaco in her new apartment. He’s thinking of taking her back by the Monaco Grand Prix but he’s not sure yet.” she tells you

“Oh, well. Whatever suits them best.”

“Yeah, we are not the ones to judge.”

“Definitely not.”

“It was really fun talking to you again Mindy. We should hang out sometime.”

“Yeah definitely.” It’s not like you slept with the man I am sleeping with. you think

You wave at her and leave the press center to wait until Toto finishes his morning tasks. You open the F1TV stream and watch his interview. When Will starts asking a question to Franz Tost you decide to text Toto about your findings.

You

Turns out Cynthia Jones is staying in my life for good cause apparently Christian hired her in my position during the Saudi GP. And I wasn’t even out of the team for a week

You see him holding his phone and taking a glance at it while Franz is speaking. He rolls his eyes and puts the phone back in his pocket. You stay once again in your office, going through Toto’s schedule for the weekend and looking at your socials. Some time later your phone rings

Wolff

She’s going to make our lives hard but it's very typical of Christian to hire someone from the first day that you left

You

She even proposed that we should hang out

Wolff

If only she knew

You

That’s what I said

Wolff

She was waiting outside the press center for Christian and now they’re both in front of me walking to the TP meeting. She’s talking and Christian is laughing like he’s having the time of his life

You

I figured she’s that type of assistant cause according to her she and Christian are practically besties now. It’s going to be a good one when I get back to rb

Wolff

Remind me to mount a secret mic and camera on you when that happens cause I want to see the Horner-Jones fight.

You

I bet you she’s going to regret the day she agreed to that position

Wolff

Whoa, too aggressive. How about checking some data before the coffee break cause rumor has it that you love reading data and commenting on them

You

Anything to get her off my mind and anything for you Mr. Wolff

Wolff

I’m flattered. There’s a file in your email waiting for your comments and questions. Bet Bono is going to be thrilled. I am off to the meeting, see you soon.

After Toto’s messages you check your email to take a look at the file he sent you. It’s full of data and details about this year’s rocketship. It is then when it hits you. The data are from the simulator and the track they’ve been using is Barcelona. In Red Bull you always used to run simulations in Barcelona so you have the exact same data from your ex team. You open them and start comparing them and finding where Mercedes lacks compared to Red Bull. You also open Adrian’s and GP’s essays on car performances and start noting any questions or things you’ve noticed. You really hope Toto will actually use them in his meeting with Bono and James. However, you keep all of the comparisons to yourself. You are not sure Toto is in favor of cheating so you will probably announce it to him later during the coffee break. You make a new file and email it to his account. Later on you hear a knock on your door.

“It’s Toto” you can hear him say and you unlock the door for him to enter.

“Hey.” you say

“Hi, how are you feeling?” he asks

“I am good. I read all the data and I relaxed so much.”

“Well, I, on the other hand, almost had a fight with Christian.”

“Why?” you ask

“Because he was being a douchebag.”

“Nah, he was just being Christian” you tell him and he laughs

“Was the data any good?”

“Yeah, I also emailed you my questions and stuff.”

“Oh, I will be forwarding them to James and Bono.”

“Speaking of the data, I saw they were sim data from Barcelona.”

“We use Barcelona almost every time for our simulations.”

“Well, it turns out, Red Bull does too.” you tell him and he looks at you, suggests to keep talking “I have the comparisons fully made here. There’s also an excel file with all the lacks and the sections Red Bull might present an advantage.”

“This is interesting.”

“I know Toto. But the thing is, I didn’t email those to you because I didn’t know if you wanted to have access to all that information.”

“I totally get it.”

“You should understand that this is confidential, but if you decide you want it, it will be in your inbox right away.”

“This file can affect the whole development path for us.” he says

“I know, that’s why I kept it.”

“You should keep it for yourself.”

“I swear I won’t give this to Red Bull.”

“I trust that you won’t” he says

“I will always have it at hand if you want to use it though. Anything for Mr. Wolff” you say and both of you laugh

“Thank you.” he says “Do you want some coffee and a snack? It’s coffee break after all.”

“No, thank you. You can leave this tiny office and enjoy your coffee in your office. I feel bad for keeping you here.”

“I am only hanging out here because I want to.” he says “But I’ll leave you alone. We’ll have enough time tonight.”

“Of course.” you smile at him

“Meet you after the team meeting ?”

“I will be waiting.”

Once Toto leaves for his coffee break and the team meeting later you decide to go out and see the track. There are some bikes available at the hospitality center so you grab one and ride at the track of Baku. You see other people doing the same thing, some of the drivers are also doing their track walks. At some point you spot Max. It’s been a while since you talked considering the fact that you didn’t even see him in Jeddah but you kept texting during that time. When you spot him it is in your impulse that you almost yell at him to go and talk to him. When you remember that you are actually supposed to be an unbothered Mercedes employee you change your mind, and as you are caught up in your thoughts you almost lose your balance. Thankfully you save it before you find yourself in the ground or the barriers and you keep your direction and finish your lap. 6 km later you are back in your office, thankfully not sweaty since you took your time to circle the track, and you also have a cup of tea and a chocolate bun as a snack. You take a bite as you see today’s headlines from the Media day and you also take a look at some market news. After a while Toto texts again

Wolff

Just finished asking all of your questions to the mechanics and they were impressed to say the least because they managed to assess some really important things for the race

You

Next time I should be present in those meetings

Wolff

I will personally make sure of it. We will be done in 25, I’ll pick you up. Don’t be late

Those 25 minutes pass by quite fast and you don't realize until Toto is knocking at your door. Thankfully you packed your stuff earlier so Toto cannot complain about you being late.

“I am impressed.”

“I didn’t actually understand how fast the time passed. Thank god I had my things packed.”

“That’s why I texted you earlier.” he says

“Yeah but you cannot complain now.” you reply

“No, the truth is I cannot.”

“Are we going straight to the boat?” you ask

“Yes, that’s why I told you to pack another outfit. Tell me you didn’t forget”

“I did not”

“Good. Now get your stuff, we are leaving.” After that both of you leave the track and go to the boat Toto has chartered for a couple of hours. He helps you hop on the boat and he does the same

“Are you going to drive this?” you ask

“Are you scared?”

“It depends on whether you are driving this thing or not”

“I am driving”

“Are you allowed to do this?”

“You are shitting yourself” he laughs

“Yeah because if we drown, imagine the headlines people will write.”

“We’ll be the next Rose and Jack.” he says

“Yeah, almost.”

“Just so you know, I am fully capable of navigating the boat.”

“For real?”

“I have a sailing license.”

“Is there anything you can’t do ?”

“Think straight when you’re with me.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true.” he says and you take a look around and see people walking up and down the harbor “What about finally leaving? We’re going to miss the sunset if we take any longer.”

“Let’s go” he sails and he undocks the boat.

The two of you sail in the Caspian leaving the Baku port behind you. Toto is making sure that everything he does is safe, occasionally checking on the radar to see whether there are other boats in close proximity. You sit by his side and snap a couple of pictures of him while he’s driving the boat. He looks absolutely stunning. It’s already late afternoon, 19:00-ish and the sky is starting to get sweeter, indicative of the sunset later on. When you are finally out of the waters in a space that is far enough from the shore but close enough so you can distinguish the structures of the city, Toto drops the anchor and stops the boat there. “That’s quite a nice view.” you say

“I figured you would like it” he says and comes to your side

“You can actually see the whole city from here.”

“I figured that since we are not able to see the city together on foot, maybe this is the second best option.”

“It is. Although I would have loved a nice walk and a tour of the old city.”

“I would have loved that too.” he says as you keep looking at the city behind you and puts his hand on your lower back.

“This right here, is the Maiden Tower," Toto points at a tower and your gaze follows his finger

“Legend has it that a young princess jumped from the top and ended her life because her father wouldn’t accept the man she loved."

“Hope I won’t end up this way.”

“God, I hope not.” he laughs and you shift your gaze to the two largest towers in the scenery

“The flame towers.”

“I know them Toto, I’ve been coming to Baku for a while.”

“Let me give you a tour, Horner. Don’t be shit.” he says and you smile

“Go on then.”

“The flame towers were finished in 2012. The building is a little less than 200 meters and it has a double purpose. In the first tower there are a lot of offices and apartments and in the second tower there’s a hotel.”

“What are they supposed to mean?”

“They are meant to symbolize the eternal spirit of Azerbaijan and the country's enduring strength and resilience. Plus the whole flame design idea came from an Ancient Azerbaijani tradition of fire worshiping.”

“I love them, they look so pretty.”

“And right beside there’s the crystal hall.”

“Never heard of it” you say

“Eurovision was hosted there in 2012.”

“Wait, how do you know, are you a fan ?” you ask him

“No, I hate Eurovision.”

“What?!” you say surprised. “You’re European, you cannot hate eurovision.”

“I can, and I do.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s kitsch”

“It’s not kitsch, it’s camp, everyone loves camp.”

“It’s kitsch and I hate it, move on.” he says

“I cannot wait for the day that I will make you watch it.”

“I’d rather Christian find out about us.”

“That’s a bold one” you tell him

“Last but not least, the fortress.” he says ignoring you and points to it

“I’ve seen the fortress, I took a ride at the track today.”

“How did you like it?”

“It’s so pretty, but it’s prettier from the sea. And much more interesting when you talk to me about it.”

“Hm” he says and he puts an arm around you

“How did you learn all those things?” you ask

“I read a lot, even if I don’t have time to see the sights, I like to read about them, get to know the story of the city that I am in.”

“That’s fair. I was wondering because I’ve been here like five times and I’ve never gotten past the name of each sight here.”

“That’s good because you can for once, not talk and let me show you around.”

“You’re the best tour guide I’ve ever had.” you smile at him and you leave a kiss on his cheek.

During the next hour you stay on the boat in the Caspian and see the sun set on the horizon. You take a look at the flame towers which reflect the orange and pink lights of the sunset. You snap some pictures of the scenery as well as Toto who is sitting carelessly in the boat with his white linen shirt and his sunglasses on. He also snaps some pictures of you from both yours and his phone and you also take some selfies. You immediately set the best picture of him as his contact picture and once you are done with the whole photo thing you get back to where Toto is currently sitting and relax with him for a little while longer. You two soak in the views without talking much. As it starts to get darker Toto drives the boat back to the harbor where you dock and leave to get to the hotel. Both you and Toto enter the elevator to get to your suites

“You’re coming over for dinner right?” he asks

“Well, I was thinking of getting some sleep for tomorrow.”

“Come on, I’ve already asked roomservice to have our table set.”

“Now I can’t say no.” you tell him and smile at him. When the elevator gets to your floor you walk out and follow him to the door of his suite. You enter first and he follows and the smell of food hits your senses.

“It smells fantastic.” you say

“It’s traditional Azerbaijani cuisine.”

“I love it. We should have tried the Saudi Arabian foods as well.”

“Well, nothing can go wrong with Italian.” he says

“Then why didn’t we order Italian” you tease him

“Because I wanted to immerse myself in the Azerbaijani culture today.”

“Is it a part of the guided tour?”

“Well, couldn’t it be?” he says “Since I’ve already given you a sight tour, I am ready to give you a culinary tour as well” he tells you as he pulls the chair off the table so that you can take your seat

“Thank you.” you tell him and you sit down as he walks back to his side of the table and sits down

“This is called Dolma.” he says as he leaves one of them on your plate “It is grape leaves with a filling of minced lamb with rice and some herbs.”

“Interesting” you say as you take a look at the plates on the table “Oh god, is this kebab?”

“You know kebab?” he asks

“Literally everyone knows what kebab is Toto, it’s not a secret. It’s actually one of my favorite street foods.”

“It is really good.” he tells you as he grabs a bite of it “You should also try out the pilaf”

You take a look at it “What is this?”

“It’s something like a risotto I guess”

“I thought you knew the exact recipe of every single plate” you tease him

“Apparently I don’t, I just took a look at the menu and chose what I thought was best.”

“Everything looks delicious though.” you tell him

“Wait until Miami. We’re going to eat some great burgers there.”

“Speaking of which, I am not sure that I will be in Miami”

“Why ?”

“Because it was cringe enough last year, I won’t submit myself to that whole cringe fest again.”

“You will be coming.”

“Says who?”

“Me” he replies and you sit there taking another bite of your amazing food, slightly annoyed . When he realizes that what he said made you angry he talks again. “Look, it is really important that you should be there. It is supposed to be your home race, we’ve told everyone that you are American, if you are only staying for a few more races it will be weird if you are not present for the only time you will get to go to a race in your country with the team.”

“No one will remember Toto.”

“People will remember. We have a list of each race in which we note whose home race it is. And by what I’ve seen you are already on the list.”

“I didn’t write my name anywhere.��

“I am pretty sure Bradley did. He probably remembers that you are American and just added you in.”

“And what about the home race list?”

“We are kind of celebrating it by giving them less time to work during the weekend, or allowing them to bring their families in.”

“That’s so sweet though.” you say

“I mean, people are important to us, they are not just workers, they are our companions.”

“I hate this team” you say and you see Toto lifting one eyebrow at you “I mean, I hate how much I already love it. How am I supposed to go back to Red Bull?”

“You can just stay in Mercedes.”

“And say what to Christian?”

“Tell him that his team is shit, his management is also shit and that you cannot grow in that shitty environment.”

“He’ll find out that you told me to say that and then you will find yourself on the cover of Corriere dello Sport.”

“Won’t be the first time.” he laughs “ Jokes aside, would you ever consider leaving Red Bull?”

“Now I certainly do. I mean, I hadn’t seen anything aside from how Red Bull worked as a team and the race weekend at Saudi was eye opening.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I am already considering it, yes.”

“Will be nice to have you here one day, without hiding I mean.”

“I wasn’t talking about Mercedes. I am considering an offer at Ferrari.” you tell him jokingly and he almost chokes at his wine

“Where?”

“Ferrari. It’s a really great team with a great legacy.”

“Ask them for a paddock pass for tomorrow then.” he says and you burst out laughing

“I am only joking.” you tell him “I would consider it if I had an offer from another team though.”

“We will always have a position available for you if you ever decide to leave that shithole.”

“I’ll tell you when this happens.”

“There’s a when, not an if, that’s good.”

“I know what’s best for me and I am slowly convincing myself it’s not Red Bull”

“Good.” he says and you two keep eating until you hear someone knocking on his door .

“I’ll be right back” Toto tells you and answers the door. You can hear him talking with someone, his voice is quite familiar.

“Shov?What are you doing here?”

“Do you have some time to see tomorrow’s practice program?” you can hear him say

“Um, I am actually a little busy.”

“It will only take a second, you should only check and approve it.”

“I fully trust you Andrew, I approve of it.”

“Good.” he says and he almost leaves “Are you having dinner with someone?”

“Yes, with Lewis, we are discussing contract extensions.”

“Has he been here a long time?”

“An hour or so.” Toto tells him

“That’s funny, because 20 minutes earlier I was at the gym with Lewis.”

“Um…”

“It’s okay Wolff, I hope you are having a good time with whomever you are hanging out with right now” he says and laughs “Hello unknown person who is having dinner with Toto.” You hold your laugh until Toto says goodnight to him and he leaves the room. When you see Toto entering the room with his ‘I fucked up’ face, you burst out laughing and he joins you seconds later. “I hope he was not angry” you tell him

“No he wasn’t angry, I am pretty sure he was thrilled about the whole thing. He’s been trying to get me someone to hang out with for ages.”

“You are good mates huh?”

“He’s one of my closest friends, yes.”

“And he still asks for your approval for the program he wants the team to follow tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ve told him millions of times that it’s not necessary but he insists.”

“That’s so sweet of him.”

“I am only taking a look at it before approving it, it’s not like I pay that much attention, I fully trust him.” he tells you and you keep eating

“When are we leaving for Miami?” you ask

“We? I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I am, I also have to bring Roscoe with me, I promised Lewis that I will take care of him from Sunday till we get to Miami so that he doesn’t have to while he’s in New York for the Met.”

“You promised Lewis that you will carry Roscoe all the way from Monaco to Miami?”

“That we will carry him, yes.”

“How did I get involved in this? I don’t remember having any conversation about a dog.”

“I told him that I would take care of him and then I promised that you will help me since you’re now my neighbor. I figured you would know him a little better than I do. I mean Lewis brings him to the paddock almost every week.”

“And have you ever seen me with a dog in the paddock?” he asks

“No, but I thought you had a good relationship with him.”

“Me and Roscoe’s relationship is nonexistent, Horner.”

“Oh god, tell me you are afraid of Roscoes” you make fun of him

“I am thinking of leaving Nice on Thursday morning.” he says

“You are changing the subject.”

“I am not, you asked me when I plan on leaving for Miami and I answered.”

“Thursday huh? What about Media day?”

“I’ll have Shov or either one of the two James to do it and we will be present for the Free practice.”

“Cool.” you tell him

For the rest of the night you hang out together until you decide to leave.

“Will we be going to the paddock together?”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“What’s the schedule for tomorrow? Hold up, let me check.” you tell him and grab your phone out of your pocket to take a look. “Oh you have a business meeting after FP1 which is supposed to last almost until the start of FP2. James is set to do the press.”

“I don’t remember having any business meetings. Who is it with?”

You take a look at your phone reading the name which catches you completely off guard. You blink twice and take another look at it, still the same name. “Who planned this?” you ask

“I don’t know, I don’t remember planning anything for Saturday. Maybe Bradley did.”

“This cannot be real.”

“It better not be Cynthia again.”

“Who cares about her right now?”

“Will you tell me who I am meeting tomorrow for whatever reason or am I going to this meeting unprepared?”

“The guy you hated last week, Marc Taylor?”

“Seriously?”

“I am dead serious Toto, his name is here.” you tell him and show him the name on the schedule. “You are supposed to discuss sponsorship. Apparently the Taylor Group is interested in investing in F1”

“This is going to be a hell of a meeting.”

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“Funny that both of the people from our past keep appearing in our ways.”

“It’s not funny, it’s shit. Toto, promise me you will handle it gracefully.”

“Dear, I have nothing to be afraid of. You’ve proven to me who you’re always thinking of. It’s pure business. If he wants to invest and it favors the team then we shall cooperate.”

You take a deep breath “That’s too much information and it’s already getting late. I am guessing I should get going.”

“Won’t you stay for the night?”

“Nah, it’s quite early in the race weekend and I want you to focus tomorrow. Both for the testing sessions and the Marc thing.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow?”

“I am actually thinking that maybe I should skip FP1 since Marc will be around, I don’t want him finding out who I am.”

“Smart idea.”

“I am going to drive myself to the track and meet you for FP2”

“Brunch at the track?” he asks

“Oh definitely.” you tell him and you kiss him goodbye as you go back to your suite. You don’t have anything to do so you decide to check your emails before going to sleep. You see a new message popping up the list From: Netflix, DTS

Miss Horner, we would like to schedule our next shooting with you for the newest season. Please let us know if and when you are available to be present at the track where the interviews take place.Kind Regards, The DTS Producers

You shrug and decide to answer From: Ms. Horner

Hello and thank you for contacting me, I am currently taking some time off the team and I am not aware of which race weekend I will be back in the paddock. I will however be happy to inform you as soon as I find out about my whereabouts within Red Bull. Regards, Miss Horner

You set your alarm at the same time Toto’s and Marc’s meeting is supposed to take place and then switch off your mobile and fall asleep. The next morning you wake up just in time to actually take a shower and get ready to go back to the track. You arrive there just in time for FP2. Everyone’s already in the garage so you decide to go there directly. As always, you see Toto sitting at the top of the fantasy island watching over the two garages. “Hello Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, you’re here!” he says

“How did your meeting with Marco Barco go ?” you say and as soon as the words get out of your mouth you see Marc Taylor himself walking next to Toto with his headset on “How did you just call me?” he asks and you freeze, mainly because no one calls him like this except from you, the Horner you, not the Mindy Rosevelt you. “How did I call you?”

“Did you call me Marco Barco?” he says and Toto looks at the both of you slightly confused

“I called you Marc. Just Marc.” you tell him

“Alright.” “Mindy, this is Marc Taylor, he’s the owner of our newest sponsor. We closed the deal earlier during our meeting.”

“Mr. Taylor, I am so glad that we will have you around more from now on.”

“So am I, I am glad that I actually decided to go for my instinct and invest something in F1.”

“Absolutely.”

A short minute after he asks

“Why are you still wearing a mask? Isn’t it bothering you?”

“Oh no no, it does not. I am actually wearing it because I don’t want to catch any colds and lose my internship days.”

“I see. And where are you from? Mindy right?” By the questions he asks you are already sure that he is suspecting something

“Yes, I am from Boston, US and I ended up here as an intern from Daimler US.” you say and he answers “That’s really cool.” For the rest of the time you don’t interact, Toto isn’t involving in any of your talks and you know it’s because he fears that he’ll fuck this up more if he does. However, he still speaks to you and Marc separately and when he’s talking to Marc he shows off a little more confidence and certainty. It’s like he knows that he’s better than him, which he actually is and you’ve made it clear both that night in Monaco and yesterday after your dinner. The session finishes with the two red bulls on top, followed by the two Mercedes. “P3 and 4 isn’t bad but it’s not P1 and P2 either. I know we’re running similar engine mappings and we still need to be on top.” Toto says in his message to the mechanics.“I am sure we will be there by tomorrow.” you tell him “I should go grab some food because I haven’t eaten yet. I am sure I will see you around Mr. Taylor.”

“I believe so.”

“Marc and I are going to talk a little more and he’ll be off in a while. Talk to you later?” Toto says and winks on you while Marc is on his phone “Of course Mr Wolff. See you later.” you tell him and get back at the hospitality center where you get some food which you take to Toto’s office. You unlock the door with the set of keys he has given you and you set your tray at the table beside his office. You lock the door as you stay inside in order to surprise him. After some time you can hear footsteps approaching and the door handle moves but the door doesn’t open“Oh it is locked.” you can hear Toto say and the next thing you can hear is his keys on the lock. He opens the door and just as he enters the office you speak “I thought we should have brunch together.” The man who enters the room stops dead in his tracks. Of fucking course it’s Marc, followed by Toto who is gesturing something to someone in the hallway. Toto stops and looks at you. Marc speaks first “Horner, what are you doing there?” he asks “Shush Taylor, they’re going to hear you.”

“Why are you sitting in Toto’s office dressed in Merc gear?”

“Ummm” you say and you pause to think “F1 made us have team principal meetings like this in order to boost our relationship” you tell him, not a good excuse. In fact it’s a terrible excuse. “What kind of bullshit do you think you’re selling to me?” Marc asks. Toto is just behind him shaking his head “There’s no point in trying to lie to him.”

“Isn’t there?” you ask and at the same time Marc is taking a look at you. “You’re Mindy? I figured something was wrong here.”

“Look, I need you to shut your mouth about this. No one can know.”

“Why are you here in the first place?” he asks “Christian shut her out of the team for an unknown period of time and she wanted to have access to the paddock without paying herself.” Toto says. “Why didn’t you ask Franz to take you in his team for a while?”

“Because I didn’t want Christian involved in anything.”

“So you two guys had a fight? And what about Mercedes Toto, how is the team going to be safe with all of this.”

Toto tries to explain the situation to Marc “She has already signed NDAs about the team, and I wouldn’t even take her in if i didn’t trust her.” You take a deep breath and Toto understands the position you are in so he decides to leave you and Marc alone for a second “Should I go fetch us something to drink?”

“Yes please.” you tell him

“Why did you end up out of the team in the first place?”

“I was late to a business meeting. You know how Christian is with them.”

“And he threw you out. How long has this been going on ?”

“Not long ago, the GP in Jeddah was my first one with Merc.” you say. Marc stays quiet for a while and his eyes spark with realization a minute or two later. “Oh god, it’s him, isn’t he?”

“What?” you ask him. “The guy you’re heads over heels with? The situationship man! That’s why he’s the one you turned to for the paddock access and that’s why he gave it to you. You two are dating right?”

“Well yeah, it is him but I told you before, no one can know okay?”

“Of course. How long have you been together?”

“We are not together yet, we are just spending time.”

“Yeah right and he took you in his team because he’s just spending time with you.” he tells you and you laugh “I might not know him for a long time but I can tell who I am making deals with. He’s a very direct guy.”

“I know he is.”

“If it’s not me, he’s the next best option.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying since this has been happening.”

“I am happy for you, really.”

“Thank you Marc.” you tell him. Later on Toto comes back with your drinks and the three of you discuss for sometime. Later on and only after you’ve completed your duties for the day you wave Toto and Marc goodbye and go back to your hotel. You sit in your room, have an extra long video call with Sara in which you tell her everything about today and all the days you’ve been missing from Monaco and she texts you a photo from her balcony in Monaco which you post in your official instagram story in order to make everyone believe that you are actually there and not in Azerbaijan. You watch a bunch of drive to survive episodes to prepare for your upcoming interviews and then take a long relaxing shower. Before you even realize it is time for dinner and just as you were thinking of it you get a text

Wolff

Are you coming over for dinner?

You

Nah, I am actually thinking that maybe I should get some rest before tomorrow. I will be ordering something here instead

Wolff

Okay. I hope you are alright

You

Yes, all good but I would like to be excluded from tomorrow’s practice session. Only if I am not needed that is

Wolff

You are always needed but you are always working hard and think you deserve to have the session off

You

Thank you Toto, I won’t forget that ;)

Wolff

I hope you won’t

After your chat with Toto you decide to order some dinner in your room and after that you spend some time on your socials before going to bed. The next day you wake up early as you hear someone knocking at your door. Well, it’s not just someone, in fact, it is Lewis who is at your door and right by his side is his best friend, Roscoe. You were expecting them since Lewis told you he would bring Roscoe over to your suite before hitting the track for FP3 and now you are supposed to take care of him and bring him back to the paddock just before qualifying, when Angela will take over from you. “Good Morning. Were you sleeping?”

“I was yeah but I was planning to wake up either way.”

“This is my good boy Roscoe” he says and he kneels and pats his back “Good boy” he says. “He is adorable.” you tell him and you also kneel to pet him. “He might be a little shy at first, he just wants a lot of cuddling and playing. I am sure he will love you though.”

“I hope he will, we will have to spend some time together before Miami.”

“Toto mentioned that you didn’t want to come, did you decide otherwise?”

“I did yeah, we are planning to come on Friday so Roscoe will be there by then. When are you flying from New York?”

“Thursday morning, I have media duties, I am not like you.” he laughs

“Well, I am not going to the Met either so I guess we are even.”

“Yeah right. Am I going to see you at qualifying?”

“Of course, I plan on coming, I will bring Roscoe to you later.”

“Good, see you then I guess.”

“Bye Lewis.” you say as you wave him goodbye. Roscoe and you enter your suite and you can see him running in his tiny feet trying to take in the space around him. You decide to take a shower but you leave the door open and as soon as you come out of the tub you find Roscoe sitting there waiting for you. For the rest of the time you play with his favorite toy that Lewis left you and he lies on your side as you take a look at the morning news. When the time comes, you get ready and hit the track once again but this time with Roscoe Hamilton on your side. You can see photographers taking pictures of you but you remain completely calm as your face mask and your hair hide your real identity and enter the Mercedes hospitality. You drop Roscoe off to Lewis’ suite where Angela takes over, and text Toto who you can clearly see from the garage that you’re currently sitting in. Toto is just outside making statements to broadcasting channels and companies ahead of qualifying and you are sitting there on the right side of his chair waiting for him to come back as soon as the broadcast of qualifying begins. The session is pretty good for the team, meaning Mercedes and the drivers manage to get P2 and P3. Max is sitting in P1 for tomorrow’s start, a brilliant lap from him you think. “2nd and 3rd are pretty good positions.” Toto says. “The only thing that scares me is Max in P1.”

“We’ve got him, the setup for the race will be even better, Mick has been running the data from the analysis the engineers made based on your comments on the simulator and we’ve seen impressive lap times. We’ll get this for sure.”

“I never doubted their skills, I am sure they can even make the Williams work.”

“They are not doing miracles, they are just engineers.” Toto says and you laugh “They had some good guidance, we wouldn’t have found the exact setup if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s just Saturday though. We will see tomorrow.”

“You’re right.” he tells you “About tonight, you don’t have any plans right?”

“Except for laying in bed as soon as I get back and ordering dinner I don’t plan on doing anything else.”

“Dinner and movie then?” he asks and you nod “Hitting the track together ?” you ask and he blinks a couple of times. “How come?”

“Well, won’t I be sleeping in your suite tonight?”

“I am surprised that you’re even proposing that.”

“Well if you don’t want to, I have plenty of space in my suite, I will be sleeping all alone again.”

“Okay, dinner and sleepover in my suite for tonight.”

“Will you be doing press?” you ask.“Only for an hour or so, after that I need you with me in the post qualifying meeting with the mechanics.” he tells you. “Where?” you ask surprised. “I need someone to write some notes down for me during that meeting so I figured you would want to join.”

“But-” you hesitate and he interrupts you before you can finish up your sentence “I don’t have any issue with you, I fully trust you.”

“I know, you’ve been quite vocal about it.”

“Well, best believe it. Also, you won’t be there just for note taking, you can partake to the whole meeting with your points or ideas”

“You cannot be serious.” you tell him. “I am as serious as it gets Horner. Wait for me outside your office in an hour.” Toto says as he waves at you and disappears from your sight. After an hour you find him outside your office. Both of you attend the post-quali meeting where you participate with a lot of questions about the performance of the car. At some point you also hear praise from Bono about the setup that you proposed. Well, he didn’t exactly give credit to you, since for him it’s nowhere near your job to give mechanical input about a car set up but he did say that whoever came up with the insights on the setup was a great help. The car was flying compared to the free practice yesterday. It turns out that you actually helped them and you now, more than ever, feel a part of a team that embraces you even if it isn’t directly said to your face. As soon as the meeting is done you and Toto go back to the hotel, wasting no time in the paddock. You get directly back to Toto’s suite where food is already served. The both of you eat and then you relax for a while on the couch

“I am so exhausted from today.” you tell him

“Do you want to sleep?” he asks

“How about we watch a movie?”

“You are going to sleep in the first 5 minutes”

“I promise you I won’t” you tell him “Not if the movie is good anyways”

“How about La La Land?” he asks and you look at him and burst into laughter. “You want to watch La La Land? Are you serious?”

“I just happen to know that you love it.”

“Yeah but do you actually like it?” you ask. Toto clears his voice“Um, I haven’t watched it.” and you answer surprised “You cannot be serious.”

“I am. Whether you believe it or not, I don't watch such movies. Or any movies at all.”

“You are traveling 300 days out of 365 and you don’t watch movies? What do you do on the plane?”

“Read the news, sleep. It’s not that I don’t watch movies, it’s just that it is not on a regular basis.”

“I will make you a cinema fan, I swear. La La Land was game changing for me. That’s what we are going to watch. I don’t care if you don’t like musicals.” you say and you navigate in the TV menu to find the movie stream “Oh and by the way, if you haven’t watched Mamma Mia yet, I will get my ass off this suite and not talk to you until you watch it.”

“I have watched it and I can say that I actually liked it.”

“Aren’t you ashamed to say it Mr. Perfect Image?” you ask him. “Not to you. You clearly watch that kitsch fest that is Eurovision and love musicals so I am not the one to be ashamed here.” he says. “Hey!” you yell at him.“Just press play Horner.” he says and you follow his instructions. During the whole movie you can see he watches with pure interest, even during the songs which he doesn’t know he seems like he’s having fun. You are doing your part to keep him entertained, singing all the songs since this is probably your 50th rewatch. You make all the fun and smart remarks that you’ve seen on socials from other fans of the movie to keep him engaged. When the movie ends, during the epilogue scene and towards the end you can see him tensing, kind of trying to cover his emotions up. As the credits roll you turn to him. “So? What do we think about one of the most amazing musicals made to this day?”

“The ending” he says and pauses. “The ending what?” you ask him. “The ending was weird. Like it really made you believe that this could work but it actually was the ‘What could have been’ moment. It was kind of brutal.”

“Well, that was the intention. To show that two people had to let go of each other to achieve their dreams. It’s because they loved each other that they decided to do this. Now that I am thinking of it, it kind of is brutal, but it’s realistic. Life is brutal sometimes.”

“Do you analyze every movie that you see like this?”

“Well, yeah? That’s the point of watching a movie, it’s not looking at beautiful pictures for three hours straight and then going to sleep.”

“So you’re really passionate about it then.”

“I am yeah.”

“It’s kind of nice that you find things that you really like and are so passionate about them”

“You can also do it, you know. Being that one guy who’s obsessed with managing a team, finance and racing isn’t all you can ever be. You can have hobbies and other interests. I just think you are scared to break that flawless facade, which is funny because I genuinely believe that you are a man that is full of passion and you want to show it to people. You are afraid that if anyone outside of your safety bubble finds that you are human and not a well programmed robot that performs at its peak day in day out, your life will end. I know you try to be open about things that concern you and people around you, like how you’ve been speaking out about your mental health, but showing your real self can be hard for you but you should really try.” you tell him and he sits there just listening “How about we make this a thing? Movie night, once a week. Or more if you have more recommendations.”

“Am I about to turn you into a cinema noob?”

“Shut up.” he says and checks his watch that is resting on the arm of the couch you are currently sitting on. “How about going to sleep? We have to be at the paddock tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah sure.” you say and both of you walk off to the bedroom where you sleep until Toto’s alarm goes off. “Good Morning.” he says, his voice deeper than usual, with that sleep raspiness standing out “Hello.” you tell him and you can feel him shifting next to you“It’s race day”

“I am aware. I have a really good feeling about today.”

“Hm” he says “Do you sense a win?” he asks and he plants a kiss on your cheek. You could get used to it. “I actually do. I feel like we are going to do well.” and you can almost hear him laughing “Who’s we?” he asks you. “Mercedes?” you tell him and he laughs, content that you actually consider his team yours by now.You lay still on the bed for a few more minutes, sitting in complete silence but you can feel the two of you debating whether or not you should get off the bed. You and Toto are too lazy to do anything but like always he’s the one who takes the initiative and moves. “Come on, get yourself ready. We have to be down at the paddock in 45 minutes.”

“I don’t need 45 minutes.”

“Oh you’re sure about that?” he asks. “Positive. You can time me if you want.” you reply.“Yes?” he asks. “Yea. But I am not going to race myself to get ready without breakfast first.”

“I thought you were smart enough to figure out that we are always having breakfast at the track.” You don’t reply, you just sit and stare outside the window while Toto is using his phone. With his serious voice he says “Hey Siri, call Jasmine.” and then his phone starts dialing. It’s not after a minute that a female voice answers the phone. “Hello Jasmine, this is Toto, can I have my full breakfast order done and served in 45 minutes in my office?” he asks and waits for a few seconds. “I also want two servings of the same order, that in my office too, same time.” he says and you smile at the chat he’s having with his employee. “Also, it is really important that you find Mr Lord and let him know that I will not be available for the next 2 hours and I don’t want any distraction while I am in my office. Yes. Yes. Thank you Jasmine.” he says and he ends the call. “Now that you know breakfast is waiting, go get ready. Now.”

“Is this an order?”

“I am already counting.” he says and you run to get ready.You start running around his suite grabbing all of the things you need for race day as Toto sits on the couch scrolling on his phone while he gives you some glances. 15 minutes later you are ready to go, bag on your shoulder, shoes on. “I’m ready” you say standing and looking at him. “You are quick.” he says, still scrolling. “I am. We could go now, although you are not ready.”

“It won't take more than 5 minutes.”

“Really?” you ask “Yes. I just put my clothes on, get my iPad and my computer in my bag and I’m ready to go.”

“Oh I thought you needed time to get your face ready for cameras.”

“Nope, I’m all natural, the one who needs to get her face ready is you.”

“I didn’t do anything on my face except from washing it and applying some sunscreen. I am 100% natural today.”

“I see. Although you cannot convince me that when you were at Red Bull you took less than 35 minutes to get ready.”

“Well yeah I needed like half an hour to get my hair and make up done. I have to get camera ready every day. I was always late and Christian yelled at me so many times. Now no one sees me so it really doesn’t matter if I look like shit.”

“You don’t look like shit, you are great.” he tells you “Aw thanks.” you say and you drop your bag on the floor and sit next to Toto on the couch and give him a peck on his cheek. He turns and looks at you and kisses you right on the lips, instantly deepening the kiss laying you on the couch. You smile in that kiss and keep going, tangling your fingers on his hair, pulling him closer. He puts his hand under your waist and pulls you closer and you can already feel a burning desire. “How about we get back to bed?” he asks. “We have to go Toto” you manage to say between kisses.“I don’t want to leave.” he says. “We can miss the race to be honest.” you tell him. “Yes we can.” he tells you “But we won’t. Plus you’ve already ordered us your breakfast”

“You’re better.” he says and you scoff when you hear his words. “Oh god, behave Wolff” you tell him and you push him away teasingly. You walk away from him and he sits there, resting his head on the back of the couch trying to calm himself. “You got to get ready now”

“Okay.” he says unwillingly and stands up and starts getting ready. Half an hour later you take the walk from the hotel to the paddock which has already begun getting flooded with people. Both you and Toto take your breakfast at his office and then you follow him around in his pre race routine, from fan zones to debriefs, to interviews and finally to the grid. You spot Christian and Max many times during your time there but Toto doesn’t say anything more than a Hello to both of them. You watch Max get ready to hop in the car in front of both Lewis and George and can’t help but feel a bit of anger that he is sitting on pole. You know Mercedes’ car is fast, it’s more deserving to be in P1 than Max. You know you have to work hard to bring them in P1 and P2, because the Red Bull is not slow either, you know the car from inside out, and you know it’s capable of winning. It’s only a race’s time. When it is time you manage to greet Lewis in a flurry of cameras, fans and engineers at the grid and head back to the Mercedes garage. As you head towards the entrance of the garage you hear your (fake) name being called and you turn to see Cynthia outside the Red Bull garage as she shouts good luck to you and you yell back at her, wishing her good luck. You take your place at the fantasy island and watch the race start. Max launches off perfectly, at the right time and Lewis and George get a little left behind. As the race goes on, Max is still in front of the two Mercedes drivers, who are actually closely following him. You keep watching fully focused on the telemetry screens in front of you, and listening to the talks between team members about pace and strategy. Not long after the race start, you see both cars overtaking the Red Bull and launching off into the distance. The cars are quite quick but Max keeps following them, in DRS range. The rest of the field stays back as the two black and the one blue car fight to get the first place. As soon as it is time for strategy calls you can hear the team agreeing on a double stack for the pit stops, and so it happens, but as it is normal, double stacks can’t always be flawless. George’s stop is perfectly timed and great in duration so that the undercut will be strong enough but on the other hand, Lewis who has been really unlucky with some shitty stops has it again. The front right tire doesn’t come off as quick and the stop lasts a whooping 5.6 seconds, which makes Lewis lose a track position to Max and a whole 2 seconds to him as well. Toto gets so frustrated with the stop that he smashes the desk like he always does and the race continues. Toto is all the time on the radio with the strategists and the mechanics and as a result he has no time to talk to you. Lewis is chasing Max but failing. Max is much quicker than he is and when he does reach him he is not able to make a move on him. The race finishes with George in 1st place, Max in 2nd and Lewis in 3rd. As always Toto reaches and presses the button to congratulate George and you can see the message being broadcasted on TV. George happily replies and celebrates, thanking Toto and the team. And then Toto moves on to congratulate Lewis. Lewis is much less excited than George was. He just thanks Toto and the team and switches his radio off. You realize from the first minute of the broadcast that Lewis is kinda pissed off and disappointed.

“We won” Toto turns and tells you with a smile on his face. “Lewis is disappointed I’m sure. But yeah at least George won.” you tell him. “I know Lewis will be disappointed. We let him down today, he’s not going to be glad. He did everything he could but still the car just couldn’t work to get past Max.”. “I am really hoping he will be alright.”

“It’s Lewis, he’s always bigger than this. A title got stolen from him and he kept on going. I am sure he’s going to come out of this car, go to press and celebrate with us even though he might feel bitter about the third position.”

“Yeah, you probably know him better than I do.” you say and then Toto leaves you in the garage while he’s walking around the paddock talking to journalists, Sky Sports, F1 TV. Later on there’s indeed a celebration with the team for George’s win and Lewis’ podium and everyone gathers there. There’s the usual team picture and then the champagne celebrations which everyone tries to avoid but gets caught up to. After the whole thing winds down you find Lewis sitting outside the garage and you sit with him “Congrats for today!” you tell him trying to cheer him up “Uhh, I don’t know man, this isn’t my best result, but thanks either way.”

“Come on Lewis, you know you did the best you could, and it’s okay, I was in the garage next to Toto and right after that mistake he kept on trying and asking on how you could get past Max and even George but I guess the stars didn’t align for you today but for George.”

“I guess you’re right. I feel like I am overreacting but you know I have to keep my head up, nothing comes out of complaining.” Lewis says. “You just somehow became your own therapist and you overcame the whole thing in like 5 minutes. I hate you.” you tell him laughing. “I’ll teach you how to do it, it seems like you will need it when you leave us.” he says reminding you of your situation in Red Bull. “Definitely” you tell him and you sit there in silence for a while until Toto comes by you. “We’ve got to get going, we only got one and a half hour before the jet leaves”.

“You’re leaving now?” Lewis asks and Toto nods but some mechanic comes to talk to him

“Will Roscoe be joining us?” you ask. “About that, I will be flying with Valtteri and will drop him to Nice before flying to NYC. I was thinking about spending a little more time with Roscoe before dropping him off to you. Is it okay if Valtteri drops him by your place later on?”

“Oh no problem, give him my number so that he can text me once you are in Nice.”

“Great!”

“Lewis I really gotta get going, I have to pack my things back at the hotel before leaving.”

“Of course. I’ll see you in Miami. Take good care of Roscoe.”

“I will” you tell him and you wave him goodbye. After that you leave the track alone since Toto is still busy at the track. You go back to your suite and pack your things and with 45 minutes still left you take your phone and ring Toto. “Are you in your room?” you ask. “No, still at the track.” he says and you reply slightly surprised “Wait, what are you still doing on track?”

“I am having a discussion with Stefano about technical directives and he can’t stop talking.”

“Are you sure you’re going to make it? Are your stuff packed?”

“No they are not, I thought I would have enough time to do it now but he thinks we are having a meeting.”

“Why don’t you tell him that you have to catch your flight?”

“Because he will propose that we fly together” he answers “I keep checking my watch but he doesn’t get the message”

“Oh then try to get out of this discussion asap.”

“Will do. See you in a while” he says and he hangs up. You check your bag and you find Toto’s suite card so you decide to go to his suite and pack his suitcase. You take everything off the closet and start folding them and placing them in his carry on, take his shoes as well as his stuff from the bathroom and place them in the suitcase. Lastly you take all of the chargers and laptops and stuff them into his bag. You take a seat on his couch now both of your suitcases fully packed and ready to go but he’s nowhere to be found. 20 minutes before the time that you have to be in the airport your phone rings and his name pops up on the screen. You accept the call. “Hey” you say. You “We are not going to make it on time. I only just got to the hotel.” he says and you hear footsteps outside his door. “And? We still have 20 minutes.”

“Everything is unpacked. We are going to be late.” he replies and the door opens. He sees you sitting on the couch and ends the call. He walks in the hallway with a confused expression“What are you doing here?” he says and you point at the suitcase and bag left in the middle of the living room area. “I packed.” you tell him and you smile. At this very moment you see a very anxious but happy Toto walking towards you and placing a kiss on your head. “Thank you” he says. “I had time to kill, a spare key card and I figured you might be late so I thought why not. I hope that I packed them in the right way. Oh and make sure that I got everything.”

“It’s perfect, thanks.” he says and he takes a look around the suite, looking for things he might have forgotten. Five minutes later you are ready to go, you leave the hotel, you drive to the airport and get there 10 minutes late but still the jet is ready to go. You board, take the seat opposite to Toto and get as comfortable as you can, he takes a book out of his bag and places it on the table in front of you. You take off from Baku and you start feeling slightly worn out. “Sleepy?” he asks. “Is that so obvious?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just that races wear me out so much. In Red Bull it was easier but now I literally spent twice as much energy because of the whole hiding thing.”

“I get what you mean, I can’t get through it without a cup or two of coffee”

“It is funny because the race is during the afternoon but it still drains me”

“You should sleep.” he tells you. “I won’t.” you tell him and he hums “So, tell me about the technical directives you were discussing with Stefano.” Toto starts explaining what he and Domenicalli were discussing along with some other team principals and you try really hard to follow what he was telling you. You were asking him questions but you felt your eyes burning “I will just close my eyes because they hurt but I will keep listening.” you tell him. “Sure” he says and he laughs. “Hey, I won’t sleep.” and he teases you “I bet you won’t.”. You close your eyes and you follow Toto’s voice, keep asking him questions and discussing until you are less and less conscious and fall completely asleep. Almost 4 hours after, you wake up, feeling the plane descending into lower altitudes. You feel surprisingly warm and open your eyes only to see Toto’s jacket all over you. You slept through the whole flight. You move slightly and Toto, who is sitting just opposite to you reading his book lifts his eyes from the book to you.“Glad to see you didn’t sleep.” he tells you “Hey, don’t make fun of me!”

“I love it when you know you are not right and still try to convince others that you are.” You roll your eyes at his comment and take a look outside the window. “Where are we?”

“Almost in Nice, we will be landing in 20”

“Cool. I can’t wait to sleep in my bed.”

“You’re not coming over?”

“No, I’ve had enough of you during the past days.”

“Right.”

“How’s your book?” you ask. “It is good.” Toto says

“I’ll read it after you.”

“I’ll be happy to lend it to you.”

“Oh and if I like it I will need access to that Wolff Reading List.”

“I don’t have a reading list.”

“Oh god what?”

“It is not a competition Horner, I read for my pleasure.”

“So do I but I have a reading list. I read reviews and I sometimes write them anonymously.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit about reviews, I read the synopsis and if I find it interesting I read it. I am sure some of my favorite books have the shittiest reviews but I don’t care.” he says. “Wow, you are stronger than I am. If a review isn’t good I won’t even start the book.”

“That’s some of the shit people of your generation do”

“Oh yes I keep forgetting that you are a boomer.” you joke “We are not going to discuss this again.” he says in a strict tone “Okay sir.” you mock him. “Fuck off, go back to sleep.” he says and he turns back to his book. “Thanks for the blanket by the way.” you say but he gives you no answer and you laugh. “Are you going to drive me back to Monaco?” you ask. “No you should call Marc” he says. “I hate you Wolff.” you tell him. “I hate you too.” he laughs. A short time after you land in Nice and contrary to what he said earlier, Toto orders for all of your baggage to be loaded to his car. You take the drive back to Monaco while discussing paddock gossip which Toto repeats isn’t a thing he does but he happily participates in the whole discourse. Half an hour later you arrive at home, Toto parks the car in the garage and you get your bags out of the car and take the lift to your apartment. You hug him goodbye and go to your apartment where you instantly unpack and get comfortable and sit in your bedroom where you binge watch gossip girl until it is late enough and Valtteri is calling you to drop Roscoe off. You text him your details and 5 minutes later he’s knocking your door. “Hi Valtteri.” you greet him. “Hi” he says shyly, holding Roscoe’s leash on his one hand and a bag with Roscoe’s food and toys

“Lewis told me to drop those off. Including Roscoe.”

“I will be taking care of him while Lewis is in New York For the Met Gala.”

“Oh yeah, I would take care of him but Tif and I have to go to a bike competition in France”

“Don’t worry, I will take care of him instead. Good to see you, did you have a nice flight?”

“Yes, it was pretty decent, you know how it is when traveling in private.”

“Yeah definitely.” you tell him. “We missed you in F1, when are you coming back?” he says and for a moment you freeze before you register that you supposingly weren’t in Baku this weekend. “I missed you guys too. I don’t know when I am coming back yet, I am still adapting to my new life here in Monaco.”

“You are right, we will be happy to see you back.”

“Thank you for dropping Roscoe off for me”

“You’re welcome.”

“Good luck for your competition.”

“Thanks, goodnight!” Valtteri says and leaves you with Roscoe.

Roscoe gets in and moves around the apartment trying to get used to it. You play a bit with him but at some point you are too tired and get to bed where Roscoe joins you and curls next to your feet and falls asleep. You do the same for the night. The next day you wake up in your new home, register the fact that now you have to take care of Roscoe. You take him out for his morning walk and you go back home where you decide to text Sara once again.

You

I am back in Monaco. Are you up for some coffee?

Sara

Oh welcome back! Of course I am up for coffee. Your place or mine?

You

Cafe de Paris in an hour?

Sara

Omg sounds perfect. Gotta go get ready.

You

I will be bringing Roscoe over too

Sara

God I love this dog. Of course bring him over, the dog is a socialite

You shut your phone and start getting ready, dressing up appropriately for the Cafe de Paris. You feed Roscoe and get him ready and after an hour you are sitting in Cafe de Paris with Sara. You both enjoy your drinks while the bulldog is sitting by your side and you keep gossiping about people you know. Sara spills her work gossip and you keep discussing different bullshit. Time goes by and both of you get hungry so you propose cooking dinner at your place. You and Sara get back home and you start cooking a risotto while she drinks wine and you tell her all the paddock gossip. “So turns out Christian hired that bitch who was hooking up with Toto.”

“He did what?”

“Yeah, he hired her during my first week off the team.”

“Oh my gosh. I might sound a bit harsh but don’t you think that your dad is a bit problematic?” Sara asks “I’ve been thinking that since I officially joined the team, S. I just don’t understand his logic” you say and you hear your phone ringing. When you check you see Christian’s face popping up.“Speak of the devil”.

“Hey dad” you say

“What are you doing?”

“I’m good you?”

“No, I mean, what are you doing outside with Hamilton’s dog?”

“Oh Roscoe? Lewis is flying to the Met Gala and he wants someone to take care of his dog.”

“And you suddenly became best friends with Hamilton that he trusts you with his dog? You have the audacity to walk him in Monaco’s most crowded places? There are pictures all over the internet.”

“I think you are overreacting.” you tell him

“How did the dog end up in your hands? Were you in Baku yesterday?”

“What the fuck dad? I was in Monaco, I had Valtteri drop him off.”

“Are you teaming up with them? Do you think it’s going to make me change my mind and take you back?”

“Look, I have a risotto cooking up on my stove and I do not plan on burning this place down, so let me get it straight for you. I am just taking care of a dog that for some reason triggers you in a way that nothing ever has. I am doing a favor to a friend. Nothing to piss you off. I don’t know why you think everyone is constantly plotting against you but the reality is that we are not. Take a chill pill and get used to seeing pictures of me with Roscoe until Lewis takes him back. And for fuck’s shake, let me live my life.” you say and you turn off the call. “What was that about?” Sara asks. “There are pictures of us and Roscoe from today and Christian was pissed because of a freaking dog.”

“Oh then you were right to speak to him like that”

“Thanks” you say. As soon as the food is ready you and Sara enjoy your lunch at your balcony with a sea view and after a couple of hours she leaves you alone. You clean up the kitchen, do the dishes and get changed to a tracksuit and a pair of sneakers for Roscoe’s night walk. You enjoy a walk along the coast of Monte Carlo and later on you come back to your building. To your surprise you see Toto just outside, dressed in a suit while waiting for his car. “Hi” you tell him. “Hello. Out for a walk I see?” he asks. “Yes, Roscoe needed his night walk.” you say as Roscoe approaches him. Toto instantly takes two steps backwards looking at the bulldog “Where are you off to?” you ask. “I’m going to a business meeting.” you are interested about his day “With a sponsor ?” and he replies giving you all the information you ask for “No, it’s for one of my finance jobs.”

“I see.” you say and you spot someone with a phone pointing to you two “We are being videotaped”

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen you in the paddock miss Horner” he says “Oh yeah, I’ve been having some time off that’s why.”

“I’ve heard the rumors, met your substitute as well. When do you think you’re coming back ?”

“I haven’t decided yet, I am still recharging to be honest.”

“Good thing to do. Take your time”

“Thank you Mr. Wolff, take care.” you tell him and leave him to go back to your apartment. You take Roscoe off his leash and he slowly walks to his bed where he falls asleep. You lay on your couch and check your socials. It’s the first Monday of May and your timelines have already been flooded with Met Gala content, from the setting of the red carpet to some of the celebrities and acquaintances getting ready for the event. You promised Lewis that you will stay awake to see him on the red carpet and for this reason you decide to take a nap. It’s not that late but since you have to wait for Lewis until later that night you chose to kill some time this way so you drift off to a sweet nap. In the middle of your sleep you hear the doorbell ringing and you walk half asleep to the door where you check through the peephole to see who it is and you see the one tall austrian outside your door dressed with the same clothes as earlier. You open the door and you let him in.“What are you doing here?” you tell him, voice sounding a bit hoarse so Toto gets the hint. “Have you been sleeping? Did I wake you up?” he asks a little worried, “Ummm, you kinda did” you tell him, “Oh sorry, I should go then, let you rest.”

“I was going to wake up anyway. I promised Lewis I will watch him on the red carpet today.” you tell him and he asks “What is it today?”. You laugh with his ignorance “Oh god we are never going to get an invite if you keep asking those questions.”

“Why do we need an invitation for this?”

“It’s one of the most exciting nights of the year Toto, the Met Gala, every relatable celebrity dresses up in custom designer pieces that match to a theme and they have a dinner or something.”

“Prom for rich people?”

“Kinda. I am surprised you aren’t aware of it, since Lewis has been going during the past 3-4 years if I’m not mistaken.”

“Pop culture isn’t my thing.” he says while he takes off his jacket and hangs it on a chair nearby. “I can see it” you reply. Toto joins you on the couch, he sits on the side, takes off his shoes and unbuttons the top button of his shirt. You grab your computer and sit close to him. You open the TV and you play the Vogue Livestream of the event while Toto sits bored next to you switching his gaze from the television to the ceiling, to your laptop, to you and then back to the television. As you are watching the event, Toto stands up and takes a look at your bookshelf and he picks a book which he starts reading while you are too busy waiting for Lewis. Toto speed reads the book as you text Lewis asking him to let you know when he will be joining the red carpet. At some point you distinctively hear Roscoe’s paws on the floor as he runs to the living room. He sits just below your feet which you have laid on the coffee table while Toto is laying on the long side of the couch. Roscoe takes a look at you and then at Toto, both of you too far absorbed to be paying attention to him and for this reason the poor dog decides to make you pay attention to him. Roscoe starts barking and in a fraction of a second, Toto slams his book close and starts backing up and climbing on the back of the couch. When you notice him you burst out laughing. You should have been aware that Toto is afraid of Roscoe, that’s why he was skeptical about having the dog in the same place as him during a transatlantic flight. It seems so hilarious to you that a grown ass man such as Toto is afraid of an old bulldog, mainly because Toto is who he is. The intimidating boss, the scary rival. You immediately grab your phone and start recording. “Lewis, I know you’re in line for the red carpet and you probably won’t see this until tomorrow but you have to see this.” you say as you record yourself and then turn the rear camera on. “I don’t know if you are aware of it but it seems like Mr. Wolff here is afraid of your dog.” you say as you see Toto on the back of the couch and Roscoe staring at him. “Hey! It’s not funny, please get him to leave!” he says and just as he completes his sentence Roscoe continues barking at him, Toto’s expression is essentially pure panic at this point but you continue laughing. You know Roscoe just wants to play with him but he is not very much aware of it. “Please just stop recording and get him out of here” he says again, you are still recording. “He’s not going to hurt you” you tell him, “You don’t know it” Toto replies. “Okay Lew, I have to take care of this, we are still waiting for you here” you say and you show the Vogue Livestream on your TV “Have fun!” you say and you stop recording, sending the video to Lewis. After that you leave your phone down, you grab Roscoe and bring him by your side, far from Toto, who seems like he lost 5 years of his life. The dog lays on the couch as you rub his belly and he seems happy. “See, that’s what he wanted. Just a bit of attention and love.” you tell him “Well, if he wanted that he shouldn't have barked at me. I was scared to death”

“Toto Wolff is afraid of dogs.” you say “I am. You cannot imagine how many times I’ve managed to avoid any interaction with this dog during the past 8 years.”

“I was just wondering how Lewis didn’t have any idea of this.”

“Oh, did you send the video? Did I make a fool of myself on Lewis as well?”

“No, that’s not making a fool of yourself, that’s adorable”

“Until Lewis posts it on his socials”

“He won’t” you say

“You don’t know Lewis, he loves making fun of me every chance he gets”

“I mean sometimes you’re hilarious so he’s right, you shouldn’t be angry.” you tell him

“Most of the time I’m not actually angry, I am just acting like I am to make him feel bad”

“You are crazy” you tell him and you turn to catch a glimpse of the screen when you see Lewis coming up the red carpet. “Oh there he goes!” you say and Toto turns his attention to the screen and so does Roscoe once he realizes that his dad is on the tv. “That’s a daring outfit.” Toto comments as he watches Lewis posing on the red carpet. “Oh you suddenly have an opinion on fashion?”

“Why shouldn’t I? You think you’re the only one with a fashion sense?”

“Darling, at least I have more than 3 outfits in my wardrobe” you tell him and he rolls his eyes. He knows you’re right but he still focuses on the television. You see Roscoe staring at the screen and you snap a photo which you post on your instagram stories right after lewis leaves the red carpet. “Did we just sit here to watch Lewis pose on the red carpet for 3 minutes?”

“No, I am hoping he will be back for an interview shortly after.” you say and he nods, going back to the last page of the book he was reading and 5 minutes later Lewis comes on the screen again and both of you watch the interview ss

“You’re an expert on this aren’t you?” he asks “I have been watching for the past 10 years, Toto. Plus, they do love Lewis a lot, it was almost certain that they would give him the interview.”

“They do seem to have a preference for Lewis though.” he says

“The truth is, as much as Max is supposedly my friend, he’s not that relevant out of our little world.”

“How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Hang out with him”

“Look, he isn’t as much of a dick as he seems, he’s actually a pretty decent company and he’s a kind soul but only if you are close to him and that’s why he comes off as an asshole to everyone else.” you say and you yawn. “Sleepy?” he asks

“Yeah, I am starting to get tired. Are you going to stay?”

“I would but Roscoe will be here.”

“He can sleep in the guest room, please stay?”

“I will, although I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll just wake up early.”

“Okay” you tell him and you stand up taking Roscoe in your arms “Wanna pet him?” you ask. “Only because you’re holding him” he says as he pets Roscoe who’s now sleepy. You leave your living room and head towards the guest room where you leave the dog, closing the door behind you. By the time you are out the door you see that the living room is already empty and you head to your room where Toto is already laying in your bed. You change into your pajamas and climb in your bed where you fall asleep. The next day you wake up and as Toto said, he has already left for his meeting. You check your phone and you see several texts, the first one from Toto reads a simple Text me when you wake up. The second one is from Marc, saying Parties ahead of the Cannes film festival are just starting, thought it would be nice for us to be seen together, to silence people about our whereabouts. Only as friends though. Accommodation in my yacht. Tristan will be here, bring Sara as well. RSVP. You give it a thought, thinking about how Christian made a scene about Roscoe, and how he asked you where you were. You text Toto first, to make sure it won’t be a problem.

Woke up just fine although i would have liked you to be here and not in that stupid meeting of yours. Also, Marc just sent me an invitation about a party tomorrow and I think maybe I should go, do some pr job, give people something to talk about

Toto

You should go just don’t get too wild

You

I won’t,besides Sara will be probably coming as well.But the thing is it will be in Cannes, but I’ll make sure to be back to Nice on time for the flight

Toto

No problem

You leave your phone on dnd and continue your tasks for the day, doing some light cleaning on your apartment when the doorbell rings. You open the door and you find a donut and a cup left on your doormat, the cup has a note on "Sorry for not being here for breakfast, consider this as my not so homemade breakfast." You smile and shut the door, immediately texting Sara, inviting her over for coffee and gossip. Once she comes over you share the news on the party for which she agrees immediately and she proposes a shopping spree for the party. You agree with her and shortly after you are off to the shops where you try on different outfits, occasionally texting Toto for his opinion on some of the outfits. At the end of the day, Sara ends up with 4 or 5 bags from the shops and you buy one simple black dress from Sandro to wear for the event. You grab a drink at the Blue Gin and you head back home where you pack your bags both for the party at Cannes and for the trip to Miami. Before you get back to bed you receive a text from Marc.

Marc Taylor

I will be waiting for you tomorrow morning for our trip to Cannes

You

Where will we find you?

Marc Taylor

At the marina, we will be using my yacht obviously

You

We will be there @ 10:30. Should we bring coffee?

Marc Taylor

We have a barista on board. Just get your bags.

The next day you wake up, dressing up with a maxi sundress suitable for the yacht trip. You later meet Sara and her driver drops you off at the Monaco marina, right outside Marc’s yacht. You get on board as members of Marc’s staff get your bags on the yacht and into your rooms. You follow Marc straight ahead and join him and Tristan on the deck. You can see people with cameras taking pictures of you from the marina and you play along. You do want paparazzi to see where you are and who you are with, you are confident that they will be running the story before the party today. You greet Tristan and walk the deck, taking the sun in and gazing into the mediterranean. Sara snaps some pictures of you and then the yacht leaves Monaco and sails to Cannes. “What time does the party start?” you ask,"At 8 I believe.” Tristan replies, “We have to start getting ready as soon as we arrive there” Sara tells you

“We will arrive in Cannes in an hour, you will be needing 6 hours to get ready?”

“Haven’t you met Horner? She takes at least two hours to get ready for a day at the paddock, you think she will be getting ready in sooner than 5 hours for a party in Cannes?” Sara answers and you laugh. As you sail to Cannes, the four of you sit on the deck sipping champagne and gossiping about old acquaintances of yours until one hour later you arrive and you dock at the marina. Tristan and Marc go out for a walk and you and Sara stay on board to relax and get settled to your rooms. You leave Sara in her cabin and you relax outside on the deck. You snap a photo and post it on your stories and then start reading your book until you start getting ready, while listening to music. Tristan and Marc come an hour later and Tristan waves at you. You take your headphones off. “There’s someone that has a package for you outside”

“What package?”

“It’s an order from a fashion brand I think. They said you made the order from Monaco and sent it here”

“Oh yeah that” you say “Marc can you please get this for me?”

“Of course” Marc replies and leaves you behind with Tristan. “What are you reading?” he asks, “The Goldfinch” you tell him.

“Oh I heard it’s nice.”

“It is really good, I’ll give it to you when I finish it”

“Great! Um, by the way, have you seen Sara?”

“She’s in her cabin, probably planning today’s look. She doesn’t wake up looking as good as you see her.”

“Bet she looks even better when she wakes up” Tristan says and you burst out laughing.“You really like her don’t you?” you ask

“I do. Not as much as Marc likes you though.”

“Tristan, Marc and I have already discussed this.”

“You know he’s still trying though” he tells you but he stops talking as he sees Marc coming up to the yacht. “This is your package Miss.” says Marc and kneels in front of you showing you the box.“Thank you mr. Taylor” you tell him “I gotta go try it on and plan my look for today, see ya later losers.”. You walk away from Marc and Tristan and into your cabin where you untie the black bow on top of the box and open it to reveal a green silk dress and in the box, a black handwritten card, a handwriting you recognize."Yesterday night I was watching Succession, saw this dress on Shiv and thought it would look nice on you. Bis Bald.". You smile in disbelief and try the dress on and you manage to fish out your emerald Manolo shoes which perfectly fit the color of the dress. You decide to wear this to the party instead of your new bought Sandro dress and you undress since lunch is about to be served. After your meal you return to your room, and start getting ready. You take a shower, use a face mask and then fix your hair in a low bun chignon. You apply some light makeup and some jewelry for the party. When you get out of your cabin you see Marc and Tristan in their party suits. “Wow Horner” says Tristan but Marc just sits there staring at you. “We should try to snap some pictures until Sara is ready” he says again and pushes both you and Marc at the front of the yacht where he takes pictures of you both with your phone and your polaroid camera but his phone rings so Marc becomes your photographer for the moment. “You look stunning, the color is amazing.”

“Thanks” you say and you keep posing.

When the whole photoshoot is done you check your pictures and decide to post one of them on your story but first you want to check that everything is okay from Toto’s side

You

[Sent 2 photos]

Your wish is my command. The dress is perfect. Tristan and Marc were stunned

Wolff

I knew as soon as I saw it that it would be a perfect fit. Glad they liked it. Hope Marc keeps his hands to himself though

You

He will! About that, is it okay if I post the picture of me and him ?

Wolff

Everyone is going to talk about you two being a couple so why not feed the story to them? It’s okay by me after all ,at the end of the day only I know that you will be sleeping in my bed for the weekend

20 minutes later Tristan is already yelling at Sara to hurry up and when she does show up at the deck she sees you and stares at you. “Horner!????? What are you wearing?” she asks “You look stunning but bestie this wasn’t the plan was it?” You approach her and you whisper to her ear “It was a surprise gift I couldn’t say no to”. She scoffs. “And he won’t even bring me flowers” she says as she points at Tristan. A couple of photos later the four of you are off to the party. At the party there are a lot more photos, dancing, drinking, mingling and socializing. Everyone is enjoying the wonderful night including Sara, Marc and Tristan. You get lost in a discussion with some movie producer who happens to be at the party and at some point you see Marc approaching you along with a blonde woman, which you happen to know. “Horner!” Marc says as you greet the producer “Marc, I lost you an hour ago, where were you?”

“With this badass. I am not sure you’ve two met but, this is Francesca Scorcese”

“Taylor, I’ve met Horner before. You always forget nepo babies always know each other”

“Absolutely” you say “What have you been up to since I last saw you?” you ask. The three of you start discussing and later on partying. Late at night the party starts drifting off and your quartet returns happily to the yacht. You gather all the pictures from today, making sure there’s enough you and Marc on them so that people will start believing that you are in a relationship. You post them on your instagram captioning them as “What were your favorite nepo babies up to ?” and you shut your phone before falling asleep. The next morning you wake up and make sure everything is packed. Sara’s sister who happens to have a job in Nice and was taking care of Roscoe in the meantime comes and picks you up from Cannes and drives you to the airport where you finally meet Toto. “Morning!” you tell him and give him a little hug. You are already in incognito mode so you’re making sure no one is watching you. “Hello. How was your party night?”

“We had a lot of fun actually. You know how our events are? Not even close to that”

“At least on those events we get to be at the same place.”

“But as long as I can remember the only thing we’ve managed to do was fight” you tell him “Thanks for the dress again. Everyone was impressed”

“That is for you telling me that I don’t have any fashion sense.” he teases you “Mr Wolff, it is time to board.” the lady at the gate says. You take your stuff, carrying Roscoe in his cage as well and you board the jet. You get comfortable and get Roscoe out of his cage but you hold him on your lap, making sure that he won’t get close to Toto. The plane takes off and you drift off to sleep as the lack of sleep from your party night becomes apparent. After 3 hours you open your eyes and look out the window as you are flying mid Atlantic. It takes a minute before you realize that Roscoe isn’t on your lap anymore and you take a glance around you and you see the bulldog sleeping on Toto’s lap. You laugh at the sight, thinking how some days before Toto was afraid to death and how now he peacefully sleeps with him. You snap two or three photos and send one of them to Lewis.

You

[Photo]

Character growth! We are on our way to Miami. See you there

Lewis Hamilton

That is insane. Ah man, can’t wait to tease Toto for all of this. Thanks for the content, Horner. See you at the track!

Shortly after you drift back to sleep and you only wake up when you feel the ground below you shaking. You open your eyes and look out of the window again to see the airport of Miami. You don’t register that you have finally arrived until you hear “Miss Horner, Mister Wolff, Welcome to Miami”. Toto looks around and tells you “Let’s see what this race week brings us” and you nod, mentally preparing yourself for another week at the F1 circus.

#f1 #toto wolff #formula 1 #all's fair fic #toto wolff x reader

111 notes · View notes

inner-viper · 1 year

Text

What are their kinks? Their sexual intimacy? An overview of their sex life FS (18+ ONLY) PILE 3! (PART1)

ORIGINAL POST HERE

Hello, my name is Viper and I am an intutive seer/oralce tarot reader. I am well versed in finding information through divination and using my intuition~ Today I wanted to do a spicy topic because its so fun. I haven't started explaining some piles and I already feel the heat. Damn, a lot of passion and fiery enegy in this reading.. Its making me horny LMFAO. THIS TOOK ME 2 DAYS AND I WAS NOT EXPECTING FOR IT TO TAKE THIS LONG. All three of these piles wanted me to do MORE DETAILS. My channeling DRAINED ME. That’s why I took so long because afterwards THEY SUCKED MY ENERGY. (Do not worry, I just received loads of messages. It gets overwhelming). Anyways, remember nothing is set in stone. This is for entertainment purposes only. NO MINORS. 18+ ONLY.

TW: MENTIONS OF KNIFE PLAY, and CHOKING. SEXUAL CONTENT!!

CHECK OUT MY SHOP AT: https://innerviper.etsy.com

I’ll be adding cheaper options in the future. I will be updating descriptions too, so SHOP WILL HAVE A NEW LOOK🔥.

Classical Tarot Deck: Three of Cups, King of Pentacles, Page of Cups, Page of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, Justice (in reverse), Ten of Pentacles (in reverse), The Tower

Oracle Deck: The Thinking Woman, Deceit, Yin/Yang, Goddess of The Moon, Community, Victory (in reverse), Envy, Man Holding a Coin, Archangel Micheal/Root Chakra (THIS EXTRA CARD WENT FLYING).

Ok, GUYS, THIS PERSON IS A SWITCH. THEY CRAZY ASF. They definitely are into threesomes, that’s a fantasy of theirs. They probably want to be surrendered by multiple people. Specifically 2 girls, for some 2 men. I also see that they can BOTH DOM AND SUB. This person knows exactly how to switch. They are fucking experienced well. They can please anyone. They will take it as a challenge if you say you never came before. (They going crazy, this person is a master at sex🫣). They firmly believe that sex is about letting loose and it’s a part of being human. They say fuck the taboos, they definitely don’t care about conservative views. They might have grown up with conservative views and this caused their sex life to manifest that way. I’m seeing that you, the one reading this, might have grown up with extremely conservative views as well. I think you guys might have issues with being intimate and vulnerable with another person. This person will make you open up to a heart-to-heart connection. During the act of making love, they will want you to give them their heart. To pour your honest feelings out, to lay there naked and bare in front of them. Honestly, it would be very sweet and passionate. I’m seeing that they will kiss you deeply and passionately. It will be very romantic, expect to feel loved by them. This will be a very intense experience honestly. They will probably either appear to be innocent and shy on the streets but in the sheets, they are nasty asf. (LITERALLY, THEIR APPEARANCE WILL BE THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THEY ACTUALLY ARE LIKE LOLLL). You MIGHT be that way too. They will like how you will challenge them.

I think if you guys are innocent looking but freak on the sheets, then they will love that you bring this other side of them out. The dominant side of them will want to push you to extreme highs. They will love to chase after you. In bed, they are into changing positions constantly too. WORSHIPPING HERE IS BIG. They will worship you as a god/goddess. They will trail kisses all over you. They may like your feet because they think it’s beautiful. (I’m seeing an image of a dark skin woman with beautiful feet being kissed on their feet by their FS). I also see that once you guys are more comfortable, they will like your dominant side. I’m seeing that you definitely have a dominant side. They will think it’s so fucking hot when you command them to do something. I think people get confused about dominant and being submissive VS giving and receiving. Being dominant doesn’t necessarily mean you are the giver. (For some people who might read this and be like “What! no way!” LMFAO).

CLICK HERE FOR PT 2

(yes, i tried to fit it in one post with no intro and still couldn't upload.....)

Thank you for reading! Send suggestions and questions in the ask box!~

#pac

162 notes · View notes

chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

The Soul Truth

Day 2, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: The Soul Truth

Author: honouraryweasley12

Pairing: Ron x Hermione

Prompt: Soulmates

Rating: K+

TW: none

The ornate doors slid open and Hermione stepped out of the lift, her shoes clacking on the stone floor as she walked forward, head held high but movements stiff. She quickly found that it was best to give off a strong, confident air as she met with various ministries in her new capacity.

She hadn't been in this part of the Ministry often and it was quite unfamiliar to her. All the more reason to keep her guard up.

"Greetings, Minister Granger-Weasley. Congratulations on your victory."

A wizened old man in heavy, dark robes welcomed her, limping forward and holding out a shaky gnarled hand. She took it and met his eyes, which were still sharp—despite his advanced age. A playful twinkle shone out from them, reminding her immediately of Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

He gave her a smile. "Welcome to Archive floor of the Department of Mysteries."

She looked around the cavernous space, taking everything in. She could practically feel the hum of ancient magic reverberating around the walls.

"And you are?"

"I am the Archivist."

"Oh, I meant your name."

He chuckled. "We don't use our given names in this department, just our titles. There is great power in names, as you no doubt know, and we don't want that to interfere with the work we are doing here."

"What should I call you?"

He thought for a moment, before looking up at her. "For today, you can call me… Dave."

She immediately relaxed and shook her head, her face incredulous. "Why Dave?"

"Ah, you see, the power of names. By picking something so simple and informal, your posture and tone changed completely. Had I picked something more formal, you would have responded in kind."

She smiled, immediately taking a liking to the mysterious old man. "Lead the way, Dave. I was told I would be receiving the grand tour."

The two walked slowly through the vast archives, the various rooms and chambers full of different experiments, mystical objects, and parchments.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione stopped to ask, noticing that they hadn't seen a single person, Unspeakable or otherwise, as she was shown around.

"Some of our greatest breakthroughs happen in the early morning or late evening. We encourage our members to work when it best suits them." He squinted at a battered gold watch that seemed to weigh heavily on his wrist. "Yes, 3:00 PM is usually the quietest time of the day down here."

"I see. I do some of my best work at odd times as well."

He nodded sagely. "The quiet mind is often the clearest."

They continued touring through, until they came to a small door tucked behind several suits of armour. It was so old and dark that Hermione wouldn't have even noticed it, had Dave not mentioned it.

"Most Ministers of Magic I've worked with seem to be worried about other objects down here that might help them, but I have something interesting which I think you'll appreciate."

He fished out a small key from within the folds in his robes and turned it in the lock. The heavy door creaked open to reveal a closet-sized space with a single pedestal. On top of it sat a thin, aged book.

"It's my understanding that you are an avid reader, Minister."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"It's my job to know," he added gravely, watching her eyes narrow. He waved his hand dismissively, grinning again. "No, no, I'm only joking. I happened to share a lift with Auror Weasley one Monday morning, and while I didn't mean to eavesdrop, he was complaining quite loudly to Auror Potter that he missed you, because you had your nose stuck in a book all weekend. I mean no offense, of course."

She blushed and rolled her eyes affectionately. "That sounds like Ron alright."

"That's why I thought this might be of interest to you," he continued, gesturing to the pedestal.

She couldn't help but be intrigued as she stared down at the frail old book, her voice dipping down to a whisper of reverence. "What is it?"

"It's called The Book of Souls—though it's just a single parchment. Yet, it's the most dangerous object down here."

Hermione stared at it, her face a mask of awe. "How so?"

"Legend has it that the parchment was created by a powerful young witch, who was being courted by a prince. She wasn't sure if he was her soulmate, for she sensed a darkness in him, so she invoked some very ancient magic to help reveal the truth."

"It worked?"

"Indeed, it did. The parchment was charmed to reveal a small note, riddle, and sometimes even a name to the reader, one that would help them understand who their soulmate was. Unfortunately for that witch, her soulmate was most decidedly not the prince. She rejected his proposal, and as was the case back then, disappeared under mysterious circumstances soon after."

"That's terrible. Then what happened?"

"As the story goes, rumour spread about the witch's parchment, and as with most powerful objects, the lure of it drew out many seekers. Though the object was made with good intentions, it soon led to a trail of darkness and bloodshed. Broken families, obsessions, blackmail, jealousy, and even death. Knowing that kind of unshakeable truth proved to be a valuable commodity, or a lifetime of heartbreak for those unable to meet their soulmate."

Hermione nodded. It sounded very much like the Elder Wand, but more subtle and insidious. One thing was puzzling her though. "I've never heard of this before, and I've studied many books about souls, both ancient and dark."

"Once the Ministry recovered it, they deemed it was too dangerous for this information to be out there, so they've removed all known references to it. Those who had known of it died off, and it was forgotten from memory."

"When was this?"

"Centuries ago. However, as Minister, you are privileged to learn certain pieces of information that the general population is not privy to."

"Fascinating," Hermione replied. She watched as he slowly reached a hand toward the weathered book. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"Every so often I check to make sure it's still under the cover, and since we're already in here, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Does… does that mean you've looked at it?"

"Oh no, never. I always look away, as should you."

He lifted the corner for a second, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but open her eyes to see a word of blazing red ink, before he shut the cover again. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, unable to comprehend the word she saw so very briefly.

"No, it couldn't be."

"What was that Minister? Did you say something?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Everything seems to be in order here. Shall we continue?"

Hermione nodded mutely, the word still burned in her thoughts.

~*~

She cancelled the rest of her meetings and went straight home after finishing with Dave, or whatever his real name was, needing time to collect her thoughts. How could she tell Ron, the love of her life, what she had seen?

She sat at their dining table, absentmindedly stirring a soothing cup of tea when he walked in.

"Hermione, I'm home."

He came bounding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment in each hand and a wide smile on his face. "Look, the kids wrote. Hugo promises he's already started studying for O.W.L.s, and Rosie is nervous, but excited, to captain her first match against Ravenclaw next week."

"That's great," she replied, her voice a dull monotone.

"They even said their classmates think it's cool that you were elected as the youngest Minister of Magic in history."

"Hmm."

Ron looked at her and frowned. "What's wrong? Tough day?"

Hermione pulled out the chair next to her and patted it. "Come sit down."

Ron scrutinized her again. "The last time you did that, it was to tell me you were pregnant with Hugo. Are you pregnant?"

She sighed. "No, please just come here, I need to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it."

He sat down, unsure of what was coming. She quickly told him about the Archivist, the tour, and the Book of Souls, before swearing him to secrecy.

"You saw something when he lifted the cover, didn't you?"

She nodded sadly. "I saw a word."

"What did it say?"

"I-I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true. Whatever it says, it's not true."

"C'mon Hermione, please tell me."

"It said… Krum."

Ron let out a laugh. "Oh, is that all?"

"What do you mean? Viktor Krum is my soulmate, and that's all you have to say!?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're upset, that you care that I was destined to be with Viktor."

"Destined? We have two beautiful kids, an amazing family, and great careers. I don't care what some ruddy old book says, the charms are probably wonky anyway." He pointed to his chest. "I know that I love you with all of my heart, and you feel the same."

She slid into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "I do, you know I do… but…but…"

"What?"

She suddenly burst into tears, burying her head in his neck as she sobbed. "I-I always had this idea in my head that we were real soulmates, if such a thing existed. We met when we were so young, and I've only truly ever loved you. I know it's silly, but I hate that it's not true. I didn't even like Viktor that much."

Ron ran his fingers through her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Maybe it was a mistake or something. You said yourself you only saw one word."

Her breathing started calming down. "I-I suppose that's true."

"We know what happens when a charm or prophecy is misinterpreted."

She sniffled. "It would be nice to know."

Ron gave her a squeeze. "Maybe we should sneak in there tomorrow and take a look."

"We can't just sneak in there! I'm the Minister of Magic! Besides, there was a key to get into the room. I don't know how we're going to get it from the Archivist."

"You're the Minister of Magic. I'm sure you could come up with some reason to be there."

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm not abusing my position like that."

"I don't mind abusing my position, as you put it. Maybe I can say I'm researching something for a case."

"No, Ron. What if you get in trouble?"

"Who am I going to get in trouble with? Harry? You?"

"That's not the point. We swore we'd never take advantage of our roles for our own gain."

He sighed. "Fine, you're right. Sneaking in it is, then. It'll be like the good old days! A secret mission, breaking into places we have no business being in. An ill-formed plan. It'll be fun."

She smacked him on the arm. "Those days were terrible."

"Aren't you curious though, to find out the truth?"

"Of course I want to know the truth! I don't want to go through the rest of my life thinking Viktor was my soulmate, when it's clearly you."

"As sweet as that is, we clearly only have one choice."

Hermione shook her head. "Fine."

"Good, things like this are much easier when you're agreeable to them," he smirked, nudging her playfully. "You said 3:00 PM was when it was empty, right? Meet me in my office tomorrow at 2:55 PM, and we'll head down there. I'll just tell Harry we're going to a broom closet or something."

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "You'll do no such thing."

"It's perfectly plausible. It's not like we haven't done that before."

She blushed, unable to count the number of times they'd had fun at the Ministry. "Alright, fine. 2:55PM at your office."

"Good. Now, I'm starving. I'll whip up one of your favourites. I bet I'm a better cook than ol' Vicky. What do Bulgarians even eat?"

"Not funny, Ron."

~*~

The next afternoon, Hermione was found pacing in front of Ron and Harry's office, much to the fear of the recruits who were stationed outside the door. It wasn't often the Minister of Magic would show up unannounced, muttering under their breath.

The door swung open and Ron sauntered out, his lips upturned in a smug smile. Harry's face had gone a shade of green from what he'd just heard from his best mate.

"Hi, er, Hermione," Harry greeted her awkwardly. "You two… um… have fun."

Mortified, Hermione could only return a quick wave before grabbing Ron's arm, hauling him toward the lifts before she was forced into any further interactions with Harry.

"I honestly can't believe you told him we were going to go shag."

"I literally told you I was going to say that."

"I didn't think you actually meant it." She let out an exasperated snort and pinched the bridge of her nose as they entered the lift. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You are the Head Strategist of the Auror department. Surely you must have thought of something!"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "We'll make it up as we go. Seems to work best for us."

"I don't like this one bit."

The ding of the bell signalled they had arrived.

Ron clasped her hand, their fingers entwining. "Let's do this."

The doors opened and they were greeted with utter silence. It was as if the entire floor was abandoned, which it likely was.

They crept forward, trying to make as little noise as possible before finally reaching the same spot she had been the previous day.

Hermione turned the handle of the door, and to her surprise, it was unlocked.

"Hey, look at that!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Ron," she hissed. "Keep on the lookout."

He nodded and stood in front of the armour blocking the door, ensuring that Hermione couldn't be seen, in case they were interrupted.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart pounding. Whatever it said under the cover wouldn't change anything between herself and Ron, but she needed to know for sure.

Her fingers paused for a second, lightly gripping the frail corner, her body tense. She delicately opened the book, the bright red ink bursting into view, almost glowing in the small, dark chamber.

Her greedy eyes flew over the words that were revealed.

"I knew it," she whispered.

Ron suddenly poked his head in. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect. Everything's perfect and wonderful!" Her giddiness couldn't be contained as she closed the ancient text.

"I guess this means you aren't going to chuck me?"

"Never."

"What's it say?"

Her pink cheeks were starting to hurt from her wide grin. "Your soulmate will first love, then hate, a Mr. Viktor Krum."

"That confirms it. See, nothing to worry about."

"Oh Ron, I'm so relieved. I knew it couldn't be true. This whole thing is ridiculous, but I'm still glad to know it's always been you."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

"We should leave before we get caught."

"Not so fast, it's my turn now."

"What?" Hermione asked sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Might as well take a look while I'm here."

Hermione stepped back, biting at her bottom lip—a sure sign of anxiety. "But… but… what if—"

Ron cupped her cheeks in his large hands and gently kissed her. "It doesn't matter what it says, I love you and only you. Trust me."

She nodded, before resuming his place as the lookout.

After a moment, she heard him chuckle and close the door behind him.

Hermione whispered urgently. "What did it say?"

"It said my soulmate will be a nightmare."

Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Thank goodness. I don't think I would've been able to handle it if it wasn't me."

"It's always been you. I thought you'd have learned by now."

"I know, I never should have doubted it."

"Can you imagine if we'd learned this information when we were younger? We might have been able to get together much sooner," Ron remarked.

"Or we'd have made an even bigger mess of things."

"True. It doesn't matter in the end though, does it? We figured it out and we've done pretty damn well for ourselves."

"We have, Ron. I love you."

"Love you, too. We'd better get out of here before someone sees us."

The two quickly retreated to the lift, having successfully completed their mission. A minute after the doors had shut on the snogging couple, an old man slowly made his way toward the chamber and pulled a small key out of his robes, locking the heavy door.

As it's appointed guardian, he had vowed to never look in the book, and he had kept that oath. That didn't mean he couldn't use it's power in other ways. Past Ministers, those inquisitive few who had the intelligence to understand the book's worth, often revealed something in that moment when he checked the parchment, for good or ill. Usually it mattered little to him, but not in this case.

He paused for a moment, before extracting a small glass sphere from the same pocket as the key. A sphere he'd kept with him for many years, since he was a young man working with prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. Knowing Minister Granger-Weasley was coming to take a tour was the perfect opportunity to solve a mystery he'd been researching for the better part of seven decades.

He held it up to the light, the familiar swirls of mist dancing in the globe. He had long since memorized the prophecy, which had been made by a seer almost a hundred years earlier. His colleagues at the time had dismissed it, because like many visions, it was almost impossible to determine what the seer was referring to.

He had kept this one, for it always gave him hope. He never thought he'd actually solve it. Yet here he was, still alive and able to record this last surviving prophecy in the annals of history.

He turned it over in his hands, the glass still unblemished.

"Magic," he whispered, "such a wonderful tool."

He stared at it again, reciting for the last time the fates encompassed within.

"Two soulmates, brown and orange, will form a triangle with black to defeat evil. Through many trials the two will forge a love so strong it will be unbreakable, and their strength will reshape the world."

He let out a final chuckle, his long-held desire now confirmed by the soulmates themselves. He lifted the glass to his lips, his breath fogging up the shiny surface.

"Prophecy fulfilled."

The sphere melted away into nothing, the outcome recorded somewhere else in the archives. He shuffled away back to his office, his eyes sparkling, and his heart lifted with hope.

#chudley canon fest #chudleycanonficfest #hp canon pairings #hp canon pairings romantic #romione #ron x hermione

141 notes · View notes

blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

Just Right (2)

Part 1

Characters: Angel Reyes x black!plussized!reader

Chapter Summary: As he gets trained Angel starts feeling feelings.

Chapter Warning: Fluff, smut

A/N: Again shoutout to @starrynite7114 for being a wonderful friend, sounding board, and muse. Thank you girlie 😘

A/N (2): Since I got a chapter left, I’m gonna post one chapter a day.

If you want to check out more of my work here’s my masterlist and if you want to be notified here’s my taglist.

Divider Cred: @firefly-graphics

Photo Cred: @blessedboo

Angel was wrong and you were right. He hated you. While he was dying from the suicides you made him do you were standing there eating a taco and drinking water.

“Ain’t that enough?” Angel looked up at you during his break. “Nah, you’re gonna keep running until I feel skinny.” You took another bite of the taco.

“You’re fucking evil.” He lifted himself up for the next round torture. “I mean you could always use the safe word.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Angel glared at you for your suggestion. He promised himself he would never speak Adelita’s name again and that’s why he decided to use it as his safe word during training. That way he wouldn’t give up. “Fuck no!” He shivered and started running again.

That’s exactly how training went for weeks. You push Angel until he voiced his hatred for you and then you pushed him some more. But in the evenings, you were each other’s company except for the occasional appearance by his brother and dad.

During this time Angel got to appreciate you more. You were attractive, funny, smart, and kind. How in the hell did he not see that before?

He was down in his garage working on his bike when you entered. “I always wanted to know what was in here.”

Angel shifted his gaze from his bike to you. He had to hold back a groan. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt of his team and shorts, a messy bun and your glasses with a plate of cookies in your hand you looked delectable. Again, he questioned himself on how Adelita was the one to capture his attention when you were right there all along.

“Ummmmm…cars.”

“Okay, smartass.” You chuckled as you rounded the corner. There you found Angel crouched on the ground working on a motorcycle. You weren’t able to see it earlier due to one of his cars blocking it. “Oh my god,” your fingers caressed the vehicle. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

This wasn’t something Angel was used to. None of the women he dealt with including Adelita shared an interest in it. “Yeah, she’s my pride and joy.”

Finally standing up you got to enjoy Angel’s shirtless body. Yeah, he’s worked out shirtless before and you had to keep your composure then, but this, this was different. Maybe it had to do with him working with his hands or maybe it was because of his low-slung jeans that hugged his hips. Either way you were a mess.

Taking a deep breath, you purged your mind of any dirty thoughts of Angel Reyes. “Dude, you gotta take me for a ride.”

“Yeah?” Angel smiled at you, while wiping the grease off his hands. No matter how hard he asked, Adelita never agreed to ride with him, but here comes you and you’re practically begging him.

“Hell yeah! I mean I do have a fear of wiping out so I’m gonna be clutching hella hard.” Having your own bike was too nerve-wracking for you, so you settled for riding with someone, but the fear was still there.

“Don’t worry,” Angel lifted your chin and then stole a cookie from the plate. “I wouldn’t mind your arms wrapped around me.”

Your cheeks heated up. Every now and then Angel would make these types of comments, leaving you in a ditzy state. You have to convince yourself that that’s just how he is. From his interviews you could tell Angel was naturally flirtatious and charismatic.

Clearing your throat, you decided to change the subject. “So, what are you doing up this late? Don’t you have a game to rest for?”

Angel scratched the back of his head and knelt down to start working on his bike again. “Yeah, it’s just,” Angel threw his head back and let out a deep exhale. “What if I’m not ready? What if my knee gives out?”

Your heart cried out for Angel. Setting down the plate, you crouched down next to Angel and lifted his chin. “It won’t. I cleared you, the team doctor cleared you, and Coach Losa cleared you. You gotta trust the process, you gotta trust yourself.”

Angel tucked some stray hair behind your ear. “You’re amazing you know that, right? Practically a saint. Saint Y/N.”

“Oh no no no. I’m far from a saint.”

“Oh, so you’re one of them girls?” Angel arched his eyebrows suggestively.

You swatted Angel’s hands away. “No, I am not! I’m a good girl.”

Angel’s chocolate eyes darkened as his voice got deeper. “I know you’re a good girl.”

Your thighs clenched at his words. Now all you could think about is Angel on top of you calling you a good girl while he’s giving you that pipe.

“Anyway, why are you over here so late? Don’t you have a roster of men to be hitting up and making to take you out?” Angel knew you were single or at least he hoped you were. Every weekend you were here or with your parents and unlike everyone else your nose wasn’t stuck in your phone.

“Boy, I am single as Pringle.”

“Why?” Angel just had to know. You were too perfect not to be worshipped.

“Umm,” your phone buzzed, and you pulled it out to see a text from Rio. Smiling you texted him back and put your phone away. “I guess I just haven’t found the one, as corny as it sounds.”

He shouldn’t pry. It’s none of his damn business, but it was eating up at him as soon as he saw you smiling into your phone. “Who was that?”

“Oh, just Rio.” You threw out like nothing.

Of all the names, Angel didn’t expect that one. Turning away from you, Angel continued working on his bike, giving you the cold shoulder. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed and talk to Rio.”

The switch up was dizzying. One moment Angel was warm and soft and the next he was cold and hard. You just knew that it was best to leave him to sort out his feelings alone. “Well, I leave the cookies there if you want some more. Good night,” you said softly, feeling hurt.

When Angel heard the door closed, he kicked his toolbox across the room. Leave it to him to hurt the one person whose been by his side the whole time. “Way to go, Reyes.” Angel palmed his forehead, already thinking of a way to apologize.

Angel’s first game back was nerve wracking. He was playing safe, not trusting his knee fully. If he didn’t get it together right now his team would lose and be out the playoffs. “Hermosa, you gotta talk to him.” Bishop pleaded with you.

Hopping down from the stands you sat next to Angel on the bench. Feeling you next to him, Angel slid down to get away from you, but you just followed him to the end of the bench. “You go any further and you’re gonna end up on your ass.”

“Can’t you take a hint and go away?”

“Aww, someone’s cranky.” You pinched Angel’s cheek and he slapped your hands away. “Don’t be doing that shit on national tv.” Flicking his ear, you whispered in it. “Then stop acting like a fucking baby and do what needs to be done.”

Angel storms off from the bench and goes to the water cooler hoping to shake you, but you followed him anyway. “God, you’re like a fucking fly. So damn annoying.” Coco, Angel’s teammate and best friend was drinking his water when he heard Angel. He was about to defend you, but you held up your hand letting him know you got it.

Slapping the cup of water out of Angel’s hand you got in his space. “I’m not here to fucking coddle you, Reyes. I’m here to push you. You’re not a loser and I’m damn sure not a loser. So, what are you gonna do? Prove everyone else right and let your career go down in the drain or make the biggest comeback ever?”

The whistle blew signaling it was time for Angel to get back on the field. Angel kissed your cheek and snapped his helmet back on, running backwards to the field. “You know if the physical therapy thing doesn’t work out, you should ask coach about joining the coaching staff.” Rolling your eyes you flipped him the bird and he just laughed.

Bishop came up to you and put a headset on you. “Not the pep talk I was expecting, but it got the job done.” You nudge his shoulder and watched the team get a down. “What can I say? My mama ain’t raise no bitch.”

Bishop chuckled as the two of you watch Angel get the most yards he has in the entire game, making victory that much closer. He turned around and hugged you. “And maybe Angel is right. I might need you on my coaching staff.”

“Let’s get this W first and then we can talk about my salary.” You nudged Bishop’s shoulder.

There were 30 yards and one down left. They really needed a Hail Mary.

The whistle blew and for a moment you thought that Coco was about to get sacked, but the ball left his hands before they got to him. It was over. Coco overthrew the ball, there was no way Angel could catch it. You couldn’t watch this, it was making you too anxious. But then you heard the screams and you removed your fingers from your face. Angel caught the ball! He caught the freaking ball and was almost at the endzone with no one behind.

“AND THAT’S GAME LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The announcer informed over the intercom. “ANGEL REYES MAKES THE COMEBACK OF THE YEAR AND LEADS HIS TEAM TO THE GAME WINNING TOUCHDOWN AND TO THE PLAYOFFFS!”

Caught up in the commotion you were jumping around with the team on the sidelines, but suddenly you were lifted off the ground. “Oh my god, we did it!” Angel spun you around. “Don’t you mean you did it?” You giggled as Angel set you down on your feet. “Nah, mi dulce, we did it. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” Angel kissed you on the cheek, but then he was pulled away for a post-game interview.

Gilly came up to you and wrapped his sweaty arm around your shoulder. “Get ready?”

“For what?” You arched an eyebrow at him. “To become the hottest commodity in sports history.” Then he left to join his teammates, leaving you to contemplate the next step of your career.

After the game, Angel made you go out and celebrate with the team. He claimed you were just as important to their success, even though you insisted you had nothing to do with it.

Man, these dudes can drink. “Slow down, Angel. Its not off-season.” You took his beer and finished it for him. Angel just sat back and smiled at you. “You’re right, let’s go.”

“Let me go to the restroom real quick.” You hopped up and ran to the ladies’ room. His friends gave him knowing smirks. “Cut it out.” He pointed to them.

“Nah, its not like that. We’re proud of you ‘mano. She’s a good one.” Coco smiled as you came back up to the VIP section.

Angel couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you came up the stairs. The heels made your legs seem longer, the shorts made your ass look extra delectable, and the crop top bralette made it hard for him to keep his eyes off your cleavage. “Ready?”

“Yeah, lets go querida.” Angel took your hand and led you down the stairs to the rideshare pickup spot.

“You ordered the Uber yet?”

“Nah, I got something better.” He led you a couple of feet down to his motorcycle. “For real?” You squealed. “Yeah, I thought we go get some ice cream and then I’ll take you for a ride.”

Jumping up and down, you hugged Angel and kissed his cheek. “Oh my god, thank you! You’re the best!” Angel snapped the extra helmet on your head. “It’s the least you deserve. C’mon, hop on.”

Giddily you got on behind Angel, but you were tentative about wrapping your arms around him tightly. Already being pressed up against him was tantalizing enough. “You’re really gonna fall off if you hold onto me like that. Hold on tighter.” At his insistence, you followed his directions. “Good girl.” He said as he revved up his bike.

It was everything you wanted and more. The wind wiping through your hair, the zipping in and out of lanes, and the vibration of the bike underneath you.

Once, Angel got the ice cream, he took you to his favorite spot in the city. It was the biggest hill overlooking the city and also a well-known makeout spot for kids.

“Cloud 9, huh?” You lifted your eyebrow to him as you went to sit on the big rock out there. “Don’t think you’re gonna get lucky mister.” Angel chuckled and lifted his hands in surrender. “Never. My attentions are pure. Its all in my name.”

Kissing your teeth, you lightly shoved him. “Boy, you are far from an Angel according to the blogs.”

“What do the blogs say?” He asked lowly, taking his ice cream cup from you. “According to them you are exceptionally blessed and your tongue isn’t just used for talking.” Angel had a shit-eating grin, but you just had to wipe it off his face. “But I think its all bullshit.” You smiled at his dropped jaw and wiggled in your seat to celebrate for catching him off-guard.

Angel invaded your space and whispered against your skin. “You could always find out for yourself.” Nervously, you began laughing and mushed Angel in his face. He had to be joking.

Sensing your uneasiness, Angel changed the topic. “So, all this time together and I’ve never asked you how you got into physical therapy.”

“Oh, easy! My dad was a war vet and on his last tour he got seriously injured. Man, when I found out I buried my head in books looking for a treatment plan. His PT asked me more than once if I wanted his job. And the rest was history and now I’m working at the VA.”

“Wow, you sure you’re not the angel?” Could you get any better, he thought. Opposite of Adelita, your kindness didn’t come with stipulations. You gave with expecting nothing in return.

“Mmm, maybe,” you stretched out your body and yawned. “Sleepy, cariño?” He brushed back some of your hair. “Noooo,” you yawned out.

Angel took your ice cream cup and threw it in the trash. “Yes, you are, sleepyhead. Let’s go home.” You allowed Angel to move your body however he pleased. The tiredness was already seeping throughout your body. “Hold on tight. I’ll have us home in no time.”

Racing down the street Angel got you home quickly, though you weren’t as tired as you were earlier. The wind whipping you in the face woke you up some more.

“Thank you for tonight, Angel. Everything was perfect.” You didn’t know if it was the sleepiness, the alcohol, or just the heat of the moment, but whatever it was it led you to kiss Angel. It only lasted for a couple of seconds but as soon as you tried to back away he pulled you back in for a much longer, much more passionate kiss. “Come to bed with me,” he sorta asked, sorta ordered you once he let you up for air.

You nodded at him and he picked you up. “Angel, put me down! You’re gonna hurt yourself going up these stairs while carrying me.” Angel stopped mid-stride and tilted your chin to get a good look at you. “I don’t know what type of dudes you messed with before, but I ain’t them. I can handle of this,” he smacked your backside making you yelp. “Entiendes?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, nuzzling your face in his neck. Angel finished his trek to his room and laid you on his bed. Leaning back on you elbows, you appreciated Angel’s look for the night. He wore a simple black tee with ripped black jeans, but the pièce de resistance was his chain. There was something about it that made you hungrier for him. “Keep the chain on,” you meekly ordered him while he was taking off his clothes.

The corner of his mouth quirked up as he crawled over your body. “Yeah? You like it?” You nodded your head and bent down to kiss you while his hands slithered to your shorts to undo them. His fingers slid down your panties and right into your weeping core. “Shit, this all for me baby?”

“Yesss,” you mewled, your legs already thrashing against the bed. “How long has it been, querida? It’s a struggle to get two fingers in.”

You shook your head no, too embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Tell me.” He nipped at your chin. “Or you don’t get to cum and I wanna make you cum, pretty baby.” Angel stopped his fingers, even though he desperately wanted to continue.

“Please Angel,” you ran your fingers up and down his back. “Nah, baby. You gotta tell me first,” he kissed your pulse point. “Alright, you huffed, “three years.”

“See it wasn’t that hard.” Angel began his ministrations again. “We got three years to make up for.” The rough pad of his thumb found your clit and he began rubbing little circles.

“Angel.” You cried out and held onto his wrist. “God, you’re beautiful. You think you can handle another finger?”

It slipped out before you noticed. “Yes daddy.” Angel eyes darkened and he crashed his lips into yours, swallowing your cries. “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight. Daddy’s gonna fuck this little pussy up.”

The delicious stretch from his fingers and the never ending assault on your clit had you on cloud nine. “Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, circling your hips. “Cum then.” Angel pressed all three fingers against your walls, triggering a white hit explosion you never felt in your entire life.

“Suck ‘em.” Angel tapped his fingers against your lips. Opening them up, you took them in your mouth catching a hint of metal due to his rings. You swore you tasted better on his fingers than on yours.

“Take off your top.” As you did what Angel said, he slid your shorts and panties off. While he took off your heels, he kissed the inside of your ankle. “I can’t wait to have this dangling in the air.” He fingered your anklet.

Pushing your knees to your chest, Angel slid down your body. He took a deep inhale of your pussy, committing your scent to memory.

The first lick was a little tentative, like he was sampling the goods first . But after a couple more swipes, he had your whole clit in his mouth making you go crazy. “Mi dulce, you just became my favorite meal.”

The combination of Angel’s tongue on your bundle of nerves and his fingers sliding in and out of you was maddening. “Oh no, not another one.” You said to no one in particular. Angel chuckled with your clit still in his mouth. “Oh yes, another one.”

Grabbing onto his raven locks, you tried to pull him up, but he hunkered down instead, Angel wrapped his hands around your hips and pinned you down, diving deeper into your folds. “Fuck Angel! I’m I’m I’m,” it felt like a dam broke as your orgasm overcame you.

Then the damn demon wouldn’t let you go. Angel continued to eat you out even though you already came and was beating down on his back.

Finally Angel came back up for some air and the sight before you was beautiful. His beard was glistening all because of you. Your essence was dripping all over his beard.

“Give me a taste, daddy.” You ordered Angel, crooking your finger. “As you wish.” Angel came up and kissed you. Your tongue swiped at the seam of his mouth. Angel complied with your silent order and opened his mouth, where you and him fought for dominance.

Keeping Angel focused, your hands traveled to his boxers, setting his dick free. “Oh my!” Just from the feel of it, you could tell Angel was hung. Guess those blogs were right. “Are you gonna fit, daddy?”

Angel laughed and reached out for a condom. Slipping on the condom, Angel tapped his dick against your clique. “Ohh, he’s gonna fit.”

Feeling confident that he gathered enough lubrication to slide in. “Fuck, mami, you’re tight.” Angel bent down to swallow your whimpers. As hard as it was for him not to cum, the pain had to be worse for you.

“I’m not hurting you, am I baby?” Angel didn’t dare to begin to move once he was fully seated. “No. I need you to give it to me, Angel.”

Angel pecked your lips and sat up on his arms with his hands on your hips. “This pussy is mines now! You ain’t going nowhere after this.”

He began brutally snapping his hips into yours while singing your praises. ‘Cum on my cock, pretty baby.’ ‘You make the cutest sounds while I’m beating this pretty pussy up.’ ‘You look so beautiful coming on my dick.’

Angel intertwined his fingers with yours and nipped at your lips. “Angel please let me cum.” He took your bottom lip and dragged it it in between his teeth. “Not until you tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Mines,” you gasped as he hit a new spot. “I knew there was a little brat in there.” Angel wrapped his free hand around your throat. His cool rings starkly contrasted the heat emitting from your body. “You like that shit, huh?” Angel commented when he felt you clench around him after he put his hand on your neck.

“Whose. Pussy. Is. This?” Angel growled, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust. “Damn it, yours Angel! It’s all yours!” You scratched down his back.

“Damn right it is,” he bit on your shoulder. “Cum on daddy’s dick, pretty girl.”

Throwing your head back, arching your back you let the orgasm wash over you. “Angel,” you screamed clutching onto him. “I’m right here, baby.” He kissed you all over face, letting you know he was right there with you.

“Shit,” Angel groaned, his strokes began to get sloppy. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.” You just had to get a taste of him, especially since he already knew what you tasted like.

Quickly both of you got off the bed. You on your knees and Angel hovering over you. Throwing the condom off, he began stroking his veiny masterpiece he called a dick. “You’re gonna look so pretty with my cum all over your face.” Angel stroked your cheek lovingly like he wasn’t just about to paint your face with his load.

Out of nowhere, you got jealous of Angel’s hand and instead of letting him jerk himself off to completion, you wrapped your mouth around his dick. “Oh shit,” Angel moaned, throwing his head back. “Keep sucking Daddy’s dick like that.” He buried his hands in your hair as he tried his hardest not to fuck your face.

“Aww fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna, shit!” Angel exploded in your mouth, making you take every drop. But you didn’t stop after that, you kept sucking and swiping across his tip. Angel had to push your head back to get you to stop. “Think that’s funny?”

Wiping the corners of your mouth you smiled up at him. “Yeah.”

“Nasty bitch,” Angel pulled you up by the hair and kissed you, loving the taste of himself on your tongue. “So, did I live up to the blogs?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I need to conduct further research.” Angel pushed you back onto the bed. “That can be arranged.” He smiled as he climbed back on top of you to ensure he blew past your expectations.

Tagging: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @otomefromtheheart @miss-nori85 @xsweetdellzx @cherryblossomgirl20 @ljstraightnochaser @my-rosegold-soul @angrythingstarlight @brattyfics @lovebennycolon @langiinspirations @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @spookys-girl @sesamepancakes @brownsugarcoffy @thesandbeneathmytoes @fvckthisbxtchup @theartisticqueen @vsfavs @woahitslucyylu @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @marvelmaree @ifoundmyhappythought

#black!reader #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x black!plussized!reader #angel reyes #mayans mc #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #frizzlewrites

373 notes · View notes

thenickelportrust · 3 years

Text

Scene Practice 2

The second of my scene practices! This one is experimenting a bit more with Ricky as he starts to question his sexuality with a non-female MC.

Specifically, in the space between a friendship and a relationship, where everything is in a bit of a grey area already!

This one is less of a specific scene-that-will-appear-in-game and is more of my practicing the idea and vibes of that time in the MC and his relationship!

Enjoy!

_______

“Okay, so I’m here.” You fold your arms across your chest, staring across the dark wooden desk to the man who, despite being the one who asked you here, keeps his blue eyes trained on the paper in front of him.

Ricky Dempsey doesn’t move to talk at first, which is the whole reason you spoke up first, but fine. With a sigh, you pull out one of the chairs from across his desk and plop yourself down into it.

Well, if you’re going to be bored…

“Guess you asked me here just to stare at your pretty face then?”

… You might as well try to find a way to entertain yourself. And entertained you are. It’s taken quite a while to figure out what makes the stiff-upper-lipped politician tick, and to be entirely frank you’re still not entirely sure what it is that gets a reaction from him… But you’ve gotten better at it. At least, you’ve gotten better at eliciting more than a sharp glare and the whip-like snap of his silver tongue, so quick on the trigger to insult. Sometimes, although this is a rare sometimes, but still, sometimes, you’ve even gotten him to blush.

Small triumphs.

Small triumphs that you’re not privy to now, as despite your not-quite-best efforts Ricky Dempsey turns away from his papers to pass you his usual narrow-eyed glare. “Are you truly that incapable of sitting there patiently for a mere moment?”

“Yeah, I am.” You grin in the face of his minor irritation. It’s more than a shit-eating grin, and it’s one that Ricky meets with a sigh and, miracle of miracles, places his pen to the side. Victory achieved!

“So,” You drawl, rubbing your hands together as you sit forward on your chair, “What’s up? Why’d you ask me here anyway?”

He remains silent-- victory substantially less achieved-- but he’s still looking at you, not the papers. Victory partially achieved?

Ricky stares at you for a long while, long enough that it even starts to make you uncomfortable. You can’t read his expression, and you’re not even sure he’s trying to read yours. Hell, you’re not sure he’s even really looking at you. He’s more just… looking in your direction. But he’s not spaced out, his gaze is as sharp and attentive as ever. He’s just… thinking. “You, uh, okay…?”

He blinks, and Ricky reaches for his pen for a moment, before his hand pauses, halfway between himself and the pen, and slowly falls back to his side. “Yes. I am fine.”

“You sure? You seem a bit… unusual.”

“Unusual?” He repeats, his chair turning slightly to the side as his head swivels with it, looking out the back window to his view. The corporate heart of Nickelport. You see smoke in the distance, a small stream of it, and something in the back of your mind-- the Rust instinct drilled into you over your four years of working for them-- thinks that there must be a fight going on. One just starting. It thinks that maybe you should be there to see it.

Living in Nickelport, and working for the Rust, it must have worn down your survival instinct.

“Yeah.” You force your gaze back to the politician’s profile. His jaw is set tight, his eyes locked somewhere unspecific on the horizon, maybe he’s looking at the smoke too. What’s his instinctual reaction to it? It’s probably different from yours. Probably. “Unusual.”

“I wasn’t aware unusual was a state of being. Perhaps unsure, or unlike myself, but unusual is more of a personality descriptor, or perhaps a physical description, I’m not so sure one could go from usual to unusual. You could also say I am unusually something, but you didn’t,” He turns his chair back around to you now, “At least, you would most likely have to say unlike my usual self, which I’m sure is what you meant to imply, but it is not what you said.”

“Yeah well then you’re being unusually deflective, and an ass at the same time, but that’s usual for you.” Still grinning.

Ricky doesn’t smile. “I have a request for you.”

Ah, and there was the meat of the meeting. “Oh? What’s up?”

“I…” He trails off, his gaze breaking, looking down, looking away and-- the tips of his ears seem red? Is he… blushing? But you haven’t said or done anything to make him flush and…

You lean forward, concerned, and reach for his hand, “Hey, Ricky, what’s wrong?”

His hand, which snaps back the moment your fingers make contact, “Nothing is wrong, do not assume.”

“I’m inferring, cause like we’ve established, this really isn’t like you.” Your voice is gentle now, sincere, and sincerely concerned.

Ricky Dempsey holds his hand as if it had been burned, unable to look you in the eyes. “I…” he swallows heavily, “I have a request.”

“Right,” You nod along slowly, “What do you need?”

“I need nothing,” He corrects, ever so specific.

“Fine, then what do you want?”

Somehow, that word seems worse to him, and again Ricky falls to one of his prolonged silences. It’s only broken by a small curse leaving his lips as he drags a hand up and through his hair. “I’d… my request is that, should you be willing, that you… kiss me.”

Now it’s your turn to blink, “What?”

The red on his ears begins to creep slowly towards his cheeks, “Is that such an unreasonable request?”

You don’t respond, your brain is still processing what Ricky “I reject any offer of friendship even if it's so much as implied” Dempsey has just asked you to kiss him. “What?”

The red has claimed his nose now, too, and is starting it’s charge down his neck, too. He grabs his pen with the violence of a knight drawing a sword to go into battle. “Nevermind.”

Your hand instinctively snaps out, grabbing his wrist before he can drown his mind in the distraction of his work. “I--” Your brain starts to catch up to the present again, slowly resetting, “I’m sorry-- but-- really-- what? Why?”

He doesn’t pull away this time, but his skin is burning under your palm, and he still won’t look you in the eyes. “Do I need a reason?”

“I mean it’d help, yeah.”

Ricky clears his throat again, squeezing the pen. “I… have been… having… thoughts… or-- no-- that doesn’t sound…” He takes a deep breath, his chest rising, stopping, and falling slowly as he exhales in a measured count. “Recently, I have been questioning some… assumptions I have made about myself. I have also been questioning… assumptions I’ve made about our… interactions. And my… interpretations of them. So, I thought, perhaps, when it comes to a hypothesis as… otherwise unfounded as the one I’ve been coming to-- to see, well, perhaps, a bit of experimentation was not-- is not… unwarranted.”

You try to translate from his work-around words to something more logical. “Ricky, do you have feelings for me?”

He jolts in his chair, finally pulling his hand away. “My entire life--” He answers lamely, softly, “My entire life I have believed myself to be one thing. I have not-- every person I have been with has been-- I have not ever questioned whether or not certain truths of myself were not so true after all. It is not an… easy revelation to come to. Please do not ask me anything else. If you are incapable or unwilling of fulfilling my request then that is fine. I apologize for taking up your time.”

He’s apologizing. For Ricky, that is never a good sign.

“Hey,” You try to keep your voice gentle again, “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize, and-- I mean-- I can’t say I’d be unwilling,”

He looks up, a small spark in the back of his blue eyes. But you hold up a hand,

“But,” You add on, “You don’t seem like you’re wholly on board with it yourself, yeah? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem very comfortable right now.”

His lips press tightly together, a small, hesitant nod bobbing his chin.

You smile, not your shit-eating grin but something small, “Hey, that’s okay. And it’s okay to be questioning, too, it’s not a bad thing.” You reach out, but stop halfway. Ricky seems to pull his hand back, so you pull yours back, too, and let it lie in your lap instead. “Take some time, okay? If you wanna ask me again, when you’re really comfortable with the idea, I’ll be here. Until then, no rush, yeah?”

Another silent nod, some of the red has drained from his face. Strands of his hair have fallen unnoticed onto his forehead, Normally, he would never have let even a single thing out of place-- not even a wrinkle on his suit or a hair from his head. But now the put-together Ricky Dempsey seems to be… shaken. And you lean back in your chair, “Do you wanna grab something to eat, instead?”

He looks up at you, meeting your gaze once again, finally, and that lets you see just how unsteady in his own skin he is right now. “Eat…?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m here, I haven’t had lunch, I’d put money on the idea that you haven’t, either,” And you don’t want to push the subject right now. “I’ve been trying to try this cool-lookin’ Thai place around the corner but it’s way out of my budget. But lucky for me I have this rich politician friend who, yknow, could out of the kindness buried deep, deep, deep--”

He sighs, settling back into himself as he brushes his hair back into place and rolls his eyes, “Of course. I should have expected you to have an ulterior motive.”

“You know me.” Back to your grin, back to normalcy as he finds his feet and stands once again.

“Very well,” Dempsey straightens his tie, “But you owe me.”

You hop up as well, clapping your hands together. “Sounds great! Let’s get going then, I dunno about you but I’m starved.”

#shorts #model citizens unmasked #model citizens: unmasked #ricky dempsey

87 notes · View notes

spidersmiceandeverythingnice · 3 years

Text

OISIN - 4* CASTER - PROFILE

Under the read more!

Summon: “My name is Oisin. I am a poet – and now, I am your Caster-class Servant. Though our time together won’t last forever, I’m glad to meet you, Master."

Initial Information:

A beautiful poet, blessed with eternal youth and wisdom. Though he is a great knight, he is most famous for his silver tongue, which has preserved the legends of many heroes in what is now called the "Fenian" or "Ossianic" Cycle of Irish mythology.

Passive Skills

Territory Creation A

Item Construction C

Divinity C

Active Skills

Heroic Legacy A – Increase defense for three turns and clear own debuffs, increase attack and star generation for all allies for three turns.

Blessings of Youth A – Apply invincibility for 3 turns, apply Arts, Quick, and Buster up for 3 turns. Costs 9 critical stars.

Storyteller B – Drain all enemy NP charge, increase own NP charge, increase party NP gain for 3 turns.

NOBLE PHANTSAM: Dord Fianna – the War Cry to Defend Humanity (QUICK)

Area of effect Noble Phantasm that deals damage to all enemies, special bonus damage to any Threat to Humanity trait enemies. Applies defense down, critical strength down, and slight chance to inflict Terror status to all enemies. Applies attack up, critical strength up, and NP damage up to all allies for 3 turns.

Lines - Room

Idle: “Master, are you doing anything right now? If you’re bored, I can show you the song I’m working on now. No? You’d rather go outside? Well, that’s alright, too. I’ll tag along.”

Master-Servant Relationship: “I’m used to working, living, and fighting alongside others, so this situation is fine for me. Honestly, it brings back pleasant memories.”

Opinion of Master: “I could write a thousand songs about your adventures. I really do consider it to be a privilege to fight at your side!”

Scheherazade: “I think she and I could have a lot in common. And so beautiful too… hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m happily married, you know!”

Author Servants: “There are a lot of very talented people here. I consider myself a formidable opponent, but I think I’ll work a little harder, regardless of that. [laugh]”

Saints: “It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I can’t really understand them. I have my reasons, but that may be the one story I’m not interested in telling.”

Irish Servants: “There are so many famous heroes here from ages past. Of course, I already know the tales by heart but I wonder if there would be any differences in the first-hand accounts…”

Diarmuid: “Diarmuid! It’s been too long since I’ve seen your face! Master, this is the only person in the world who is smarter than my father. He always used to beat us at chess, and that’s just the start of it. I’m sure you already know. What? Oh, don’t be modest! And here – look! I brought you some letters from your relatives. They say you hardly ever visit anymore and – hey, where are you going?!”

Fionn: “Ahh… It’s good to see him in his prime like this. He seems to be very at ease here. Seeing that he’s able to smile and relax like this… honestly, he looks just as Mother always described him. Ah, wait a moment. Please don’t ever tell him I said that.”

Lines – Battle

DECK: QQ/AA/B

Start 1: “Just because I am an artist doesn’t mean that I can’t do battle when I need to.”

Start 2: “That look on your face… I have to wonder if you’re not taking me seriously. Well, it can’t be helped. Best of luck to you!”

Skill 1: “This is the blessing I was given.”

Skill 2: “Hmm… still a bit out of tune.”

Skill 3: “With the strength of my own limbs.”

Skill 4: “With actions that will match my speech.”

Attack: [IDK SOME NOISE]

Extra Attack 1: “With purity in our hearts!”

Extra Attack 2: “You won’t underestimate me a second time!”

Noble Phantasm Activation: “If the time has come to defend humanity – then I will serve with all the power I have.”

Noble Phantasm 1: “For the things we have forgotten, and for all that we have to gain – there is something that I, too, must protect. I swear that I shall defeat all evil in the world. With the purity of our hearts – Dord Fianna!”

Noble Phantasm 2: “This is a story of those who stood should to shoulder to defend humanity's destiny, from all that would covet and destroy it. No matter when, or where, we will always rise to meet this challenge. This is our sacred duty – Dord Fianna."

Noble Phantasm 3: “This hunting horn is not for making music – if you’re skittish, you might want to cover your ears. Listen – to our sacred battle cry!”

Injured 1: “Rude!”

Injured 2: “At least make sure to avoid my face!”

Incapacitated 1: “It seems that… once again… I can’t stay beside you until the end… I’m… sorry…”

Incapacitated 2: “It’s always like this, huh… Strange… this time, it doesn’t hurt…”

Victory 1: “I told you from the start. Before I am an artist, I am also a knight!”

Victory 2: “You know, I think I could make a song about this victory. Someone give me a tune! Hey… wait a minute… why are you all walking away?”

Bond 1: “You know, Master, I spent a long time out of human society. So, I need you to tell me to my face if I ever say something strange. Seriously. I’m not joking. I really don’t know what people talk about these days. I’m counting on your guidance.”

Profile 1: Oisin, the son of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhail. Because his father had already eaten the Fish of All Knowledge, he was gifted from birth with wisdom and a quick wit. His name literally means "little deer" or "fawn."

Bond 2: “What was it like, growing up with such a famous father? Well, that’s a difficult question. Father has always been good to me. I’ve always felt that the Fianna were my family. Even the most loving and tight knit families sometimes fight… and even so… hm. I wonder… …Um, sorry. [slightly nervous laugh] What was I saying again?”

Profile 2: The story of Oisin's birth is a tragedy. His mother, Sadhbh, was Fionn's second wife. Though they were madly in love, his mother had another suitor, who was a cruel and wicked mage. One day, when Fionn was out hunting, the mage lured the pregnant Sadhbh out of their home by impersonating her husband, and transformed her into a deer before loosing her in the forest.

When Fionn returned to their home and found it empty, he immediately marshaled his knights and began to search for them, leaving no stone under-turned.

Eventually, the toddler Oisin was recovered - but his mother was never seen again.

Bond 3: “Yes, yes. My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. Every man says that about his wife, but in my case, it’s actually true! She’s a wonderful, wonderful woman, and her family always treated me so kindly. I simply lost track of time, that’s all. Yes, I always meant to go back and visit, but the opportunity always… Eh? I trailed off again? I’m not sure why I keep getting lost in thought. Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

Profile 3: Fionn was never the same after Sadhbh's disappearance. Plunged into a deep mourning, it was said that his entire personality shifted, until he was nearly a shadow of his former, magnanimous self. It was Oisin who volunteered to seek a new bride for his father, perhaps desperate to see his father smile again. It was these events that eventually lead to the Pursuit, another tale that is narrated in the Fenian Cycle.

Bond 4: “Was it hard? Yes, I suppose it was. All the places that I had loved, and all the people I had loved were gone. Even my own father. Even my first son. And then, I was even stupid enough to fall off my horse. Hah. Sorry, Master, I’ll go now. No, no. It’s alright. It’s just that I would never want you to see me like that. That’s all.”

Profile 4: Like the other Knights of Fianna, Oisin lived a long life full of adventures too numerous to recount in full. He married a fairy woman and went to live in Tir na Nog, the land of eternal youth. Eventually, he decided to return to the mortal world to visit his family. His wife gifted him a magical horse, and told him that he would not be able to dismount, or the blessings of eternal youth that he had been granted would disappear.

When Oisin emerged from the Land of Youth, he discovered that 300 years had passed, and the Fianna had all but completely disappeared.

Bond 5: “I will make sure that they remember you. I’ll fight beside you until the end – and then, I’ll make sure that the world remembers you. Really, it’s the least that I can do. But let’s not talk about depressing things. For some reason, I’ve been wanting to write a love song lately. What do you think? ‘Too early…’ It’s never too early for beautiful music! [laughing] Really, you ought to enjoy life a little more, Master.”

Profile 5: DORD FIANNA - The War Cry to Defend Humanity. A war cry to strike fear in the hearts of humanity's enemies, a power that can wake sleeping kings.

This Noble Phantasm would not normally belong to Oisin. It is said, in Ireland, that their great hero Fionn is not dead, but slumbers beneath a mountain, surrounded by his loyal knights, and that the one who blows upon his hunting horn will rise him from his sleep. When he rises, he will resume his duties, to protect humanity.

But the stories of the Fianna exist in the modern age because, after emerging from Tir na Nog, Oisin wrote them all down. Using his talents for word and song, he told the tales of valor and heroism and adventure, the stories of his friends and family to anyone who would listen. After an accident caused him to fall from the horse that should have carried him back to his beloved wife, Oisin lay dying, feeling each of those 300 years seep back into him, even as he desperately tried to finish the story he was telling.

So in this form, the Dord Fianna is not a war cry, but more like a song.

Bonus Profile, Post Interlude: In one version of the story of Oisin, he encounters a certain saint while traveling around Ireland. The saint listens to the knight's tales, but even so, because Oisin is still a pagan and an immortal himself, he and the saint don't get along very well and part on bad terms. Even though Oisin claims that it wasn't like that, and even so, he never holds grudges, he still can't help but make a face whenever the saint's name comes up in conversation.

#fate grand order #fgo #servant oc #fate servant #fgo oc #servant profile #lemme know what yall think about my Boy

20 notes · View notes

hockeysweetheart · 4 years

Photo

Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire

3 In Mockingjay ( and Some)

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES. ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek)

Here is a sort form of the Kisses.

The Hunger Games

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games)

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here)

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one)

5. Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return.

7. Katniss just wants the Games to End and they Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more.

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss.

12. They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food.

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do what you want

14. So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone

15. This one is when they Both said listen if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss.

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the rewatch of the games

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras. and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden. She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured. And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie.

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies

7. The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one)

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t have as many kisses).

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two

Now Bonus ones

1. Catching Fire After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.

so grand total is 30 kisses on all platforms the books and the movies.

So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too

1. The surprise Kiss From Gale That snow knew about

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses Katniss on the Cheek

Bonus ones

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena,

So their grand total is 6...

In the Hunger Games ( Book)

Chapter 5 But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Chapter 19,

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20.

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand, “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit)

And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss)

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Chapter 22 ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in)

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast - fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.

Chapter 23

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.

Chapter 26.

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27.

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but This part honestly Just says so much)

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire

Chapter 3

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It’ll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but I still don’t want to hear it. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. “I’ll try to keep it brief.” Peeta takes a seat beside me. “I thought you were Haymitch,” I say. “No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. “Bad day, huh?” “It’s nothing,” I say. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don’t hold that against him. In the arena, I’d played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn’t honestly know how I felt about him. I still don’t, really. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. I’m not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there’s a real chance I’m about to destroy him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don’t want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there’s a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends,” he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn’t keep him safe. “Okay,” I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. “So what’s wrong?” he asks. I can’t tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. “Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine … but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like … sunset.” Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. “You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say. “Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.” It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home.

Chapter 9 I am being petty yes for this Part...

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says.

Chaper 11 Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I’ll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man’s face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. “Hello,” I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. “Here she is, just in time for dinner,” she says a little too brightly. I’m very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. “Can I help you with something?” I ask the Peacekeepers. “Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you,” says the woman. “They’ve been waiting for hours,” my mother adds. They’ve been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. “Must be an important message,” I say. “May we ask where you’ve been, Miss Everdeen?” the woman asks. “Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or “invited” by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I’m glad to see them. “So where haven’t you been?” says Haymitch in a bored voice. “Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim’s goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives,” I say to Prim emphatically. “No, I didn’t,” says Prim. “I told you exactly.” “You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine,” I say. “The east entrance,” Prim corrects me. “You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?’ and you said, 'Yeah,’” I say. “The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently. “No. When did you say that?” I demand. “Last night,” Haymitch chimes in. “It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been saying. You don’t listen when people talk to you.” “Bet people told you he didn’t live there today and you didn’t listen again,” says Haymitch. “Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he’s right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. “Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they’ve made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man’s smiling but the woman is unconvinced. “What’s in the bag?” she asks sharply.

I know she’s hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. “See for yourself.”

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. “We’re running low on bandages.”

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. “Ooh, peppermints,” he says, popping one in his mouth.

“They’re mine.” I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. “None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I’m suddenly remembering they’re there. “You have a message for me?”

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” says the woman. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin,” says the woman.

“Thank you. I’ll tell him. I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse.” I’m pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman’s jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11 They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

I’m further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It’s a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It’s an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother’s side of the family started it ages ago. The book’s composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I’ve wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn’t because I’m no artist and it’s so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That’s where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I’m satisfied they’re right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It’s quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I’ve seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers’ guns away from me in District 11. I don’t know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever done anything normal together.” “Yeah,” I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. “Nice for a change.” Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it’s mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol’s power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I’m looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it’s probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

“Thanks,” I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don’t want to. My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers. “No,” I say. I’m having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale’s jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s not too late,” he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I’ve got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. “Yeah, it is.” My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn’t asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Not for long,” I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven’t even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. “I brought an extra cup,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice,” he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. “What’s with him?” I say. “I think he feels bad for us,” says Peeta. “Right,” I say, pouring the milk. “I mean it. I don’t think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in,” says Peeta. “Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions.” “I’m guessing they’ll get over it once the blood starts flowing,” I say flatly. Really, if there’s one thing I don’t have time for, it’s worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. “So, you’re watching all the tapes again?”

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I’m sorry if I made things worse,” I say. “No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says. “I don’t know. To show them that I’m more than just a piece in their Games?” I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do. “Me, too,” he tells me. “And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it …” “If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say. “It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta. It’s crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I’ll never leave that arena alive, I’m still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn’t pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta’s defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. “But even if that happens, everyone will know we’ve gone out fighting, right?” Peeta asks. “Everyone will,” I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow’s dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I’m still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me … but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.

“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

“Really?” says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. “Do you know what this means? We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

We don’t go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

“I’m glad. I’m tired of making everyone around me so miserable,” says Peeta. “Everybody crying. Or Haymitch …” He doesn’t need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon

Chapter 19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20 Cpr is a kind of kissing

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales Kisses will be added below

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

95 notes · View notes

suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

41 notes · View notes

linssikeittomies · 3 years

Text

The Place Between Here And There - Chapter 10: ...And Happiness In Private Life(cont'd)

Masterpost AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont'd)

I've finally updated the status of the fic to ABANDONED, I was going to do that way earlier but I didn't want to admit defeat, and then I just kind of forgot... Time really starts flying by as you get older, it totally doesn't feel like 2 years passed by^^' I'm still writing scenes for later on in the fic, and I've had the general outline of the story planned for a long time, but I haven't been able to write complete chapters for any of my projects for over a year now, it's very annoying. Anyway, this is the rest of chapter 9, not my best work but at least I like the part with Toris. He's noticed Ivan's small efforts of being nicer and wants to encourage them. Thanks for everyone who read this story and sorry for not being able to bring it to conclusion for all of you who were invested!

Ivan sent Fredya home until Wednesday – claiming it was so he could concentrate on work, but he was sure Fredya could tell he was just fretting about the upcoming meeting. Ivan was terrified Katyushka would get carried away, and that was closer to certainty rather than possibility, and then Fredya would walk out of his life. He had known from the start that the time would come sooner or later, but he had much hoped it would fall on the later end of the spectrum. This was a wholly different case from that of his first girlfriend - the one he had been with all of three days before Katyusha started talking about weddings. She had left him the next day, not surprisingly, and he hadn’t really cared one way or the other - she had been far too practical to occupy his thoughts when she wasn’t in sight. But if Fredya left as suddenly, and he was certainly impulsive enough to do so on the spot, then... Obviously it still wouldn’t be the end of the world,of course it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, losing a home for example would be far worse than losing a companion, it really wasn’t that big of an issue when you thought about it – there was no reason to lose what little will to live Ivan had left over something that insignificant. No reason.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in. When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You’re walking home, asshole.”

Tasha + Katyushka = affectionate nicknames for Nataliya and Yekaterina. Tashenka + Katyusya = one level more intimate. Ivan is being drunk and sentimental so at the end of the evening, the way he feels about his sisters is something like most people do when seeing tiny kittens. Thanks again for reading! Maybe in like 10 years so I'll add a final "chapter" describing the rest of the plot, but I know myself and won't make any promises. I have some more snippets on the masterpost if anyone wants to frustrate themselves with a story that will never be finished.

#hereandthere #fan fiction #hetalia #RusAme #AmeRus #russiaxamerica #linssifanfiction #WIPtale

4 notes · View notes

letsperaltiago · 4 years

Text

i don’t wanna miss you like the other girls do

#12: I can't stop thinking about you, #22: Sometimes I just can't control myself when around you and #28: I have never felt this way about anyone

Jealous! Amy and brand new relationship-Peraltiago

Also: Do I need to make a statement saying that Amy obviously isn't the kind of person to think she owns anyone, but means it well and in an endearing way? There you go.

Enjoy!

Read here or on AO3

It had all gone down in a spur of the moment-kind of moment that no one, even less Amy, had seen coming and honestly would’ve preferred to be without. It wasn’t really her place to say or do what she did, nor even as much as react upon it, alas… she did; she was in so deep with Jake Peralta and so she did it anyways.

Said moment had gone down during a weekend spent in Hartford, Connecticut, where the squad had attended a two day-seminar hosted by their brothers and sisters in the HPD.

Since the drive to Hartford was one of two hours, plus the seminar took place Saturday through Sunday, the squad had huddled together in two cars and were spending the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday, north of their respective homes in Brooklyn.

Immediately from the moment they arrived at the the hotel slash conference venue where the seminar was to be held everything seemed to set the scene for a pretty smooth, perhaps even fun, weekend where the squad would get to be entertained by other things that the wondering of why they weren’t at home on a weekend.

No one on the squad had any kind of expectations for the unknown city, except Holt who mentioned The Mark Twain House and Museum as a highly ranked point on his to be done-list, which meant their collective surprise upon exploring the city after checking into their rooms Friday afternoon was indeed positive enough for them to not hate the fact they were spending their weekend away from home doing work-related activities.

The very second the clock obnoxiously signalled 7 AM the following day, because not being home wasn’t an excuse, Amy Santiago was up and out of bed leaving Jake to regret, just for a tiny second, that he shared a room with his brand new paramour. It’d only been two weeks since coming to terms about “screw light and breezy”, and so far everything was smooth sailing although that morning was clearly an example of the two still figuring out this new dynamic of theirs.

“Ugh, can you stop being a decent person and get back in bed,” Jake groaned in pain when Amy without hesitance pulled aside the curtain to let in the bleak east coast-sun. If they’d been away on vacation in Mexico, even just as far as California, then maybe Jake would’ve accepted this. But there sure as hell was nothing less motivating than a sad barely there-sun hiding behind puffy clouds but still shining brightly enough to rip him out of his comfortable sleep. Especially when all there was to “look forward to”, quote Amy, was seminars; learning and powerpoint presentations that would haunt him in his next sleep.

“Stop whining and get up! The seminar starts at 8!” Amy hurried carelessly at him used to his many complaints of this childish nature. She didn’t let it take up too much of her time and had already moved on to grab clean clothes from her duffle bag to put on after her routine shower.

From where he had indeed not moved an inch Jake could hear the shower being turned on, door to the bathroom still open, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was exhausted from staying up just a bit too late watching stupid videos on his phone then he would’ve attempted to sneak into the steaming water with Amy because he could do that now… Insane.

On the other side of the shower curtain Amy had expected the same. There was very good reason why she’d added the little detail of leaving the door open and hoped would lure him out of bed. To her disappointment she quickly noticed her so-called sneaky plan was in vain leaving but one last attempt up her sleeve.

“Jake, the breakfast buffet closes at 7.30!” she called out momentarily turning off the shower to allow her to pick up on potential sounds which could indicate her victory.

Indeed the last attempt was the right one: seconds later she heard the sound of quick footsteps and the ruffling of what she guessed was clothing items before a messy-haired, baggy-eyed Jake stumbled into the bathroom stark naked and on the edge of out of breath. The way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, Amy though to herself amused.

“Mind if I join in real quick?” he smiled sheepishly trying his best to hide exhaustion.

All complaints and opposing to her morning ritual went down the drain with shower water the moment Amy turned it back on and smiled through biting down on her bottom lip.

Santiago: 1 - Peralta: 0

—

Perhaps Amy had twisted the truth just a tiny bit to get him out of bed so early. Jake figured this out when they 20 minutes later walked downstairs and saw a sign announcing that the first part of the seminar wasn’t scheduled for 8, like Amy had said, but rather 9 and buffet as well only closed an hour later than Amy’s information had told him. Lucky for her he was so infatuated that he let her off the hook with a playful jab to her sides and a comment about how she probably didn’t even want to date him but was simply a double-agent sent to improve his habits and lifestyle. This in return earned him a very familiar by now laugh, roll of this eyes and smile-combo: a combo he’d never get tired of and already felt like getting an eternal subscription to.

The seminar was okay, he guessed; either that or watching Amy furiously yet impressively neatly take notes with the speed of light beside him was enough to make it feel so. He was convinced of the latter when she afterwards with the brightest smile on her face showed him all the knowledge she’d managed to boil down to a few neatly organised pages in her notebook. It felt dangerous so early on in whatever they would turn out to be, yet also so very natural that in his world nothing was greater than the sight of Amy Santiago smiling at him. A sight he’d quickly grown addicted to already years back although without coming to terms with it until some months prior.

“Are you sticking around for the Q & A?” Amy interrupted his wandering thoughts whilst getting a new page in her notebook ready as a few people started leaving their seats and the conference room.

“Nah,” Jake shook his head honestly knowing that it would be lying to both himself and her if he tried to act like he genuinely cared about sticking around for an additional 30 minutes of re-explaining what he’d already spent 2 hours zoning in and out of. “I think I’ll head to the lounge. I’m feeling snacky.”

“Of course,” Amy smiled shaking her head in an evident manner. “See you at lunch then?”

“Yup,” he got out of his seat before adding a “see you at lunch, nerd,” accompanied by one last teasing smile before joining Rosa on her walk towards the exit. The comment combined with his soft brown eyes and warm smile was enough to have Amy feeling like a puddle of mush in her seat. To know that said brown eyes and warm smile were… hers? It felt weird to say or even just think it since they hadn’t officially declared themselves boyfriend/girlfriend but definitely were something; something not light and breezy; perhaps solid was the appropriate antithesis to use?

No matter what - light, breezy, solid or whatever they could be defined as - when her eyes trained after Jake walking off for just tiny bit longer than intended, Amy definitely noticed how a group of four women, colleagues, she assumed, sitting on the other side of the middle isle between her and them where Jake was walking chatted and giggled as their eyes switched back and forth between each other and Amy’s favorite partner. In spite of the fact that she was en excellent lipreader Amy, to her curiosity’s dismay, couldn’t exactly tell what these women were saying or giggling about however two things were certain: one was that they were in one way or another very interested in Jake, even after he’d left the room, and two was that Amy didn’t like it. An uneasy tightness formed in her stomach telling her so and she for the following 30 minutes of a Q & A she had looked forward to couldn’t focus enough to take any actual notes. All she was left with post Q & A were mindless doodles on an otherwise blank page which was both a waste of paper and but even worse of no good use for her knowledge.

The second the seminar was officially completely over which was everyone’s cue to leave for lunch, Amy did her best, notebook and pencil case held tightly to her chest, in an attempt to get as close to the giggly group of women from before as the room’s population walked out of the room in one big stream. Completely forgetting that she was supposed to meet up with the Jake and the others for lunch she automatically followed the four women to the hotel bar where they settled down - and so of course so did Amy simply opting for a few seats further down in conjunction with ordering herself a soda as to not attract herself any suspicion or attention.

“Oh my gosh, Sydney, you have to figure out who that guy from the seminar was!”

This definitely caught Amy’s attention, both to her pleasing and bitterness: pleasing because she’d been right about her gut-feeling and bitterness because that guy was her guy. Not whoever this Sydney was.

“Yeah, he was pretty cute right?” Who Amy guessed was Sydney, a tall, beautiful blonde clad in a nice pantsuit, Amy had to admit, answered just as enthusiastically.

“Totally! And since he’s here, probably, also a cop,” the same friend who had started the conversation chimed in and Amy wished to God she’d just shut up rather than stuff her friend’s head with bad ideas like hitting on Amy’s own guy.

“I smell work place-romance, ladies,” a third friend giggled riling the other’s up along with her. To them it was all a joke, fun, some kind of competition of cat and mouse but Amy, at her respective end of the bar, was feeling herself starting to boil, more than she’d like to admit, at the thought of someone else taking away from her what she’d just struggled for so long to obtain. It was her cute cop-guy from the seminar; her work-place romance; her… whatever! And also what kind of dumb name was Sydney even? Jake and Sydney? So dumb.

“I mean we are here for another entire day so I’ll have to make sure to run into him at some point. Tonight…” the tone of Sydney’s voice took on a sultry undertone that had Amy shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “… wouldn’t be a bad time to run into him.” The smug smile on the blonde’s face had Amy feeling like punching it right off of her.

As if on cue, like timing couldn’t have been any worse, friend number four made her presence be known and squealed with excitement while pointing which of course immediately earned herself the three other’s full attention. “Girls! There he comes! Right there!”

Within seconds all four girls heads snapped to the side with wide hungry eyes reminding Amy of what a flock of vultures looked like prior to ripping apart an animal cadaver in a documentary she’d watched a few days ago.

Vulture-like or not, Amy’s head was included in this collective redirecting of focus and followed the direction in which the friend had pointed to.

And there he was indeed: Jake Peralta, clad in his navy blue long-sleeved NYPD-shirt and freshly cut hair with the tiniest hint at a beginning forehead curl, was walking into the lounge that very moment seemingly looking around for someone and also completely unaware of the people watching him as his entrance seems to unfold in slow-motion. Amy almost couldn’t blame the girls for drooling because the cocky detective looked really good walking into the room completely oblivious to the attention he’d brought upon himself.

“Damn… He looks even cuter than what I remembered. I have to give it a try, don’t I?” Sydney questioned, obviously rhetorically already knowing what she wanted as she almost drooled like an agitated Doberman.

“I mean if you won’t, Sydney, then I will!” the friend who’d noticed Jake enter the room playfully challenged, and even though it was all fun and games to them, Amy felt like her seat was on fire making it almost impossible to stay passive and seated for much longer.

“Oh, hell no. Stay away from him. This one’s mine, Jasmin!”

There was no telling if the line had already been crossed multiple inappropriate remarks ago and she’d managed by the grace of God to stay seated or if this last comment was the one to exceed what Amy considered her very flexible limits. Either way, no matter what, the first one option or the other, this time Amy failed to bite her tongue. She threw a comment out into the open without thoroughly considering its consequences out in the open fora first thus letting the group, especially Sydney, know what was weighing on her mind.

“You've got a lot of nerve to call a complete stranger ‘yours’,” the borderline growl of a tone in which the words came out in had Amy feeling like another person: not one she specially liked. This person, or perhaps even primitive beast was a better way of describing this persona, rooted deep down in her apparently found it very necessary to protect what she already within two weeks had come to mark as her territory. Never before had she felt so green-eyed, so absolutely reckless. This being said her instincts were more vigilant than ever before and it virtually felt out of her hands.

In the meantime, while Amy was looking at her decision in retrospect yet not at all since she wasn’t doing anything to prevent any further complications, the women had turned in their seats to collectively shoot quizzical, annoyed looks resembling daggers with their eyes at Amy.

“Excuse me?” The blue-eyed blonde challenged Amy to take her statement back which roughly said only goaded her raven-haired opponent further down the warpath.

“I said: You've got a lot of nerve to call a complete stranger ‘yours’.”

Feeling herself so ice-cold, so sure about something partially dumb and actually really petty would normally have Amy back down right away but something deep inside of her, like a raging fire, had her stand her ground. Apparently that’s what Jake Peralta could bring out in certain people, both Amy and Sydney included, because the blonde was not backing down just, rather instead coolly took another shot at Amy in the hopes to have her back off.

“Why shouldn't I? It’s not like he’s everyone, right? I’m for sure not letting any of these girls run off with him,” she pointed to the her friends behind her, the switch from threatening Amy to mindlessly joking and giggling with her little girl-squad having Amy metaphorically slack-jawed. Luckily not physically: there was no way she was showing this bimbo any sign of weakness.

“Okay, well…” Amy had had it for good and all consideration of rationality was out the window. Crowded police seminar or not there was no way in hell this light haired pest with her greedy crystal blue eyes and three flippant followers were getting the last word.“…let me explain to you why how you shouldn't assume and make people your property. Especially when you don’t even know them.”

Yes, she was being a hypocrite saying this but she was actually Jake’s special someone and not just some stranger: she did have a say in this.

For a brief second Sydney seemed shocked and like she actually considered Amy’s bold statement, but it didn’t last and before long blondie was back in the game apparently not satisfied with the way things could be left off. They way things should be left off, if you asked Amy.

“Oh, so you’re his “girlfriend” or what?,” the tone of Sydney’s voice clearly implied she didn’t believe anything Amy said.

All the, not doubt per se since she knew she wanted to be with Jake and he with her, but perhaps the insecurities about what stage they were currently at melted and slipped away as water off a duck’s back. It didn’t matter what exactly they were when one thing, the most important fact, was sure: they liked each other and they were going… steady. They were each other’s, politically correct to say or not.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am,” Amy’s voice and eyes drilled into Sydney’s with a kind of confidence she’d never felt before, perhaps something Jake had brought into her life along with himself.

In return it earned her a mocking scoff.

“Easy for you to say. He might as well be a random guy you’ve spotted in the crowd,” one of Sydney’s friends stepped in to help her friend in what Amy knew was a lost cause on their part.

“He could be a stranger,” Amy paused very briefly biting her lip as to refocus, hopefully managing to not say anything that could potentially make the pointless, stupid conversation even worse. This but also she still did want to make very clear that the random, cute cop walking into the lounge (who even knew where exactly he was at this point?) was hers.

“But he’s not: he’s my boyfriend.”

It was as Amy allowed herself a small halt to provide her lungs with fresh air, just in case Sydney felt like dragging out the discussion, when cute cop-guy very suddenly made his exact position known. He was walking straight up to the bar and them displaying smiley lips and eyes plastered on Amy. All the women’s eyes - Amy, Sydney and friends - immediately forgot about their opponent to focus on newly reappeared target who obviously had no clue about the fact that he was walking into the belly of the beast when he made it to his destination next to Amy.

“Hey, Ames.”

He nonchalantly stretched out his right arm to place a hand on the bar behind her crating a point of support for him to lean his weight onto.

“You catching up with some old friends?”

Oh, sweet naive Jake, Amy thought but also lowkey melted as he very credulously sent Sydney and her friend’s a warm, welcoming smile wanting to make a good impression on who he believed were part of Amy’s social circle.

“Eh,” Amy smiled culpably knowing telling Jake the truth about the situation would be the epitome of an embarrassment so early on in this new relationship of theirs. “I was just making small-talk, I guess. You know… meeting new people - yay.”

She couldn’t have sounded any less awkward and enthusiastic, even if she tried. Jake, on his part, was either really openminded or had figured out there was a good reason as to why she acted like she did and didn’t want to dig deeper into it, settling for an understanding nod.

“Well, anyhow… I don’t mean to interrupt anything but you never showed up for lunch and so I just popped in to try and find you.”

Even head turned to look at Jake who was slightly behind her meaning she could only see Sydney out of the corner of her eye, Amy could tell her smug, confident look from before was faltering with every exchange of words between Jake and Amy though they were far from flirty or telling about their relationship in any way. And, yes, she could’ve left it at that, as undramatic at it had all managed to turn out but Amy, well aware of how petty it was, she knew, couldn’t help but want to conclusively knock in the nail of victory.

“Aw,” Amy spun a quarter of a round on her barstool to face Jake behind her before affectionally placing a hand on his chest - both for the sake of the show but also because, wow, she could actually do that as she pleased now. Something she was still getting used to.

“That’s very sweet of you, babe,” the word in focus was always said in an affectionate tone but this specific context definitely had it over-enhanced and laced with extra sweetness to make her message very clear.

Then breaking her own no making out at work-rule, the only rule to have survived “screw light and breezy”, she couldn’t help herself and gave into the enraged possessiveness inside of her. She leaned in to place a soft, just a bit longer than a peck, kiss to Jake who automatically lightly bent his neck to eliminate the remaining space between their current height difference. The kiss was good, they always were with him, but it definitely had to send a signal that hopefully Sydney would pick up on: do not touch.

Amy, not wanting to break her own rule too much and give in to straight up inappropriate PDA, then pulled back to throw the women-squad a smirk over her shoulder as her hand never left the safety of Jake’s blue shirt.

“Anyways… I think we’re done here? Right, girls?”

To her immense pleasure Amy was met by a mixture of bitterness and surprise which had to mean she’d proven her point. Finally. Jake Peralta, officially boyfriend or not, was not to be considered anyone but hers - apart from being very much his own person as well.

In the meantime, slightly shocked but also far from displeased by Amy’s very out of blue-kiss, Jake stood passive by waiting for his partner’s upcoming directions. He didn’t have to wait for long because whoever these other women were, Amy was done with them and hopped off of her stool promptly grabbing his hand to walk away with. It took him a few feet of walking in silence before Jake could fully assemble and give meaning to everything that had just happened. He turned to question a still smug, also a bit guilty-looking, Amy.

“Okay, so are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

They kept walking out of the lounge and down one of the many halls of the hotel.

“Nothing.”

Jake was perhaps naive at times as he saw a lot of good in everything, which Amy loved, but he knew a guilty lip bite when he saw it and it was currently on full display on the raven haired beauty.

“Hey,” he pulled her aside into one of the many small wall pockets leading to individual hotel rooms as he wished to seclude them in hopes of it easing her into telling him the truth. “What’s up with you?” he smiled knowingly taking some intensity out of the moment. It’s not like he was angry or anything, curious being a better word for it.

“Nothing,” she smiled sheepishly trying to hurry out of the secluded area but quickly realising she’d failed once she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm to gently pull her back in. Her back gently fell back against the wall before him forcing her to face him.

He lightly tilted his head to the side much like a puppy would when feeling peculiar which was hard to resist when his eyes, soft and brown, had so much resemblance with a sweet puppy’s as well. She could tell he was teasing her, aware of the fact that he knew something she didn’t and it drew her insane in both the worst and best way - Jake Peralta summed up for you.

“Now I don’t believe that… girlfriend.”

In contrast to the playfulness controlling her body seconds ago Amy Santiago suddenly felt much more put on the spot, it clearly showing by the way her blood all at once seemed to fire up her cheeks. He’d overheard her talking to Sydney and the others; he’d heard her declare herself as his girlfriend when they hadn’t even agreed on calling each other that yet. The nervousness tricked her into making a loud swallow; yet another tell.

“Oh… y-you heard that?” She stuttered.

Jake nodded firmly almost encapsulating her against the wall when he took a step forwards, but made sure to leave just enough space for her to not feel straight up trapped against her will. A small smug smile on display. Why was he enjoying this? Didn’t he see that he was torturing her?

“I’m sorry - I really didn’t mean to. I know we’ve just barely begun seeing each other as more than friends, it’s just these girls were saying things about you and sometimes I just can't control myself when around you and then it just kind of-“

He cut off her rambling by pressing his lips to hers, much needed, gently pressing her up against the wall although. Only because they were hidden from the majority of the hotel’s population, Amy allowed and excused this - or so she told herself. The feeling of his welcoming lips made her forget the mess for a few seconds, just giving into how good of a kisser Jake Peralta was, and even for a few seconds after their lips parted again she was speechless and dumbfounded by how she’d gotten herself a guy this great.

“Stop apologising,” he chuckled quickly using his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth which inevitably made him look that much hotter.

“I know we didn’t exactly “agree on it” and that it’s still all very new, like you said, but, Ames…” his eyes mellowed after looking just a tad too cocky and alluring before, during and right after the kiss. This was definitely a different shade of Jake looking into her eyes and talking: a very soft one. “… I don’t need a certain trial period or approval from anyone to know that I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.”

Upon hearing these words coming from the one and only Jake Peralta with recipient being herself, Amy Santiago she felt her heart shoot through the roof, take a trip around the moon and fly straight back into her chest where it had her feeling like crying, smiling, screaming and laughing all at once: a very maniac-like but also wonderful feeling. The most wonderful as far as she could recall.

“And I’m not going to force you to tell me exactly what happened, but just based on the way your fists were basically clenched when I walked up to you, am I wrong to assume that they were, let’s say, treading on your territory…”

If she’d been blushing before then now her face was definitely on fire and looking down at her feet apparently didn’t help cover it at all. The silence was enough of an answer, one which he chuckled in reaction to.

“It’s okay, Ames. At least I came around before you could Jimmy Brogan them.”

At this sympathetic joke reminding her of a time that seemed to be so long ago she had to look back up. She couldn’t hold back a chuckle and it warmed her heart to share it with him just like when he shared his with her. All the previous insecurities: had she gone too far? Let her tongue run away with her? Given too much of herself too fast to something as brand new as her relationship with Jake? It had all been answered by a few simple words, caring eyes and a kiss that told her everything she needed to know.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m this crazy-jealous, possessive type. I’m normally not like this, I promise. I guess I have never felt this way about anyone before and maybe that’s why I’m acting up. Amy I crazy?” a tingling feeling of vulnerability made an encore.

“No, you’re not because I’m right here freaking out, in the best kind of way, because of what you just said. This is the first time I feel like this too, like I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s scary and great all at once.” Jake was quick to wash away said vulnerability she was feeling and replaced it with a prickling affection and hope.

“So… no more feeling insecure about us?” he offered some kind of peace-offering, partly to her but mostly to their shared insecurities, trying to not come off as too gluttonous as he slid his hands onto her waist wanting to soak in a new feeling of belonging. A feeling he’d found in her.

“Deal,” Amy accepted the offering with a sheepish smile as her insides flipped upside down witch excitement. All she wanted was to be with this guy, fully and greatly, and this confrontation and mutual agreement would allow her to not give a damn about future external factors.

“Noice. Smart,” escaped him in optimistic relief but before she could roll her eyes at it he leaned in to softly kiss her again. Being held by him, hands gently tracing the front pockets of her pants while his lips took her to another world, was something she could never deny him or herself - screw the rules. Lips collided over and over again, one tug bringing on the next until they lost sense of anything and were full on making out like a pair of horny high schoolers in-between classes. This is what they brought out in each other: happiness, fire, want and so many more things they’d both spent the last two weeks wondering how they’d lived without before.

Unfortunately their movie-like moment had to be cut somewhat short as people coming back from lunch started flooding the hall passing by their little intimate pocket in the wall. Amy liked Jake but she also liked staying professional and this Jake respected. They jumped back, creating an exaggerated amount of space between them before sending passing strangers innocent smiles as if they hadn’t just spent the last few minutes declaring feelings and making out at an interstate police seminar.

“So, Detective Santiago…” his voice took on a brand new tone of gravity - a tone she also recognised as acting. “Shall we head over for lunch?”

“I’m sorry to come bearing such bad news, Detective Peralta, but people are flooding the hall as per consequence of the fact that lunch is over,” Amy played along taking on a serious tone and posture.

“Aw, man… Seriously?” he whined childishly, his recent serious persona from seconds before immediately forgotten.

“Sorry… boyfriend,” she smiled sheepishly in an attempt to cheer him up which she had to praise herself, as it obviously worked seeing his face instantly lit up.

“Whatever… It was worth losing lunch over, girlfriend.”

96 notes · View notes

alice-grace-and-ava · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2:Rage You Damn Nerd

Three American transfer students join your favorite characters at UA high. Come see as they face the challenges that come with training to be a hero while battling their demons from their past. It’s time for them to push past their boundaries and go plus ultra!!!!!(sorry I’m terrible at descriptions)

English Thoughts Japanese

HI! This is Alice, and I wanted to go ahead and post this! Grace wouldn't let me stop doing the tags until it maxed out.................I would rather drink unsweet tea than do that ever again. Anyway enjoy!

Alice

“ Listen Alice” I nod my head and my eyes lower back to his chiseled abs “ look here” Vlad king snapped his fingers in my face to bring my attention back to him.I'm currently sitting in his office, which is all of the teachers, and we are the only ones in the room. His cubicle is littered with fanart, a coffee cup, a mysterious bowl of some type of food, and a computer with a cat on the home screen.Why would a very well-behaved girl like me be in the teacher’s office? He wanted to make a deal with me but from how this is going so far I’m not sure I’m going to like it.“ If you behave, and I mean no hitting on me or other students- don't give me that look!” I feel myself deflate in the chair.“ You don't understand!” I flap my arms in defiance. “ And how do I not understand the fact that you won't stop calling me names, and quite frankly poor Shiozaki cant handle it any more” he challenges. I cross my arms and huff “ It's not my fault that everyone in the class is whiny babies” Vlad leans his head on his desk and is visibly exhausted.

“ Oh, Alice!” I jump from my seat as Present Mic appears, he holds a cup of jasmine tea in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

“ Mic!” I excitedly respond, he smiles then notices Vlad King's exhaustion.

“ Hey, Hey, Hey my guy what’s wrong?” The other loud blonde in the room questions.

I slap the dying man on the back trying to show that he's okay, but he completely collapses onto the desk with an oof

“ Oh, that's not good” I quickly retract my hand and jump back.

“ What happened Alice?” Present mic sets his stuff on the desk and crouches down closer to the nearly dead man. I look away shyly “ He wants me to make a deal with him” I complain, and with a look from Mic I whine out the rest “but he wants me to stop flirting and making inappropriate comments!”

“ Man Sekkijro you can't make Alice change her style like that, we try to help the students stay true to themselves and that's who she is so let her be herself”

What the hell Mic, I stand still and look away, I hate it when people try to act like this.

“ Listen Vlad king,” I say boredly, my morning now ruined by sympathetic people, and he jumps up to attention at my change. “ Let me come and go as I please, I'll do the bookwork, don't worry, and then I'll stop interrupting your lessons with my comments.” The look of relief on his face is laughable.

“ Yes! As long as you do your schoolwork you can skip class as much as you want!”

I smile widely “ Deal!” I step closer to him and pat his chest “ but that won't stop me from acting up outside of class hours'' His skin drained of all color, Present Mic doubled over laughing. I took this chance to snatch his tea and skip out of the class, yes I skipped out of the room.

I shut the door and stand in the hallway

It’s cold like always……….

*RUMBLE*

I feel a light shake and immediately felt around for the girls, relaxing more once their presence was stable. Grace seems to be in class while Ava on the other hand…

I smile, she’s by herself on the west wing- The wing known for its amazing vending machine- wanting my mood to lighten I reach out for her more.

I hone onto her sunflower energy and a twinge of power flows within myself

Grace

To say that the school day so far has been boring would be an understatement. The only interesting part of the day was when I got to repeatedly correct the present mic about slang terms in English class. I don't understand why I have to take that class anyway. It's an easy A, or it would be if the slang that Present Mic was trying to teach wasn't from the 80s.

After English with the present mic, it was time for lunch. The entire school seems like it’s on the same lunch schedule so the lunchroom was packed. I was having trouble finding a seat when I heard someone yell out my name. When I looked around to find the owner of the voice I saw a group of kids from my class looking in my direction. Kirishima was holding his hand in the air and waving it around excitedly.

I made my way over only to find that the only available seat was next to Bakuhoe. Reluctantly I placed my tray down and moved my chair as far away from his as possible before I sat down and began to eat my food. I could practically feel the entire group’s eyes staring into the side of my head. I glanced up from my food and was met with four curious faces looking at me. The first one to speak was the pink girl. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m-” “You’re Mina Ashido, the boy with the blond hair with the lightning bolt is Denki Kaminari, black hair is Sero Hanta, the redhead is Eijiro Kirishima, and the punk next to me is Katsuki Bakugou.” They all stare at me with various looks of surprise on their faces. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was supposed to put the last name first wasn’t I?” The one to speak up was Sero. “No- well yes, but I guess we weren’t expecting to know all of our names.” I glance around and see them all nodding in agreement except for Bakugou. “Let’s just say that where I’m from you learn names and faces pretty quickly for safety reasons.” Kaminari was the one to speak up next. “Why do you need to-” The sound of Into the Unknown resounds from the pocket of the shorts that were under my skirt. When I finally can get the phone out I see I have a text from Ava asking me to meet her in her classroom and to bring my backpack. “Sorry to cut this lunch short but I have to go meet my sister.” Mina excitedly jumps out of her seat and scurries or to me before stopping directly in front of me.”You have a sister that goes here?!” I place my hands on her shoulder and push her back slightly. “Yea I have two. Technically we’re not blood-related but in the words of Supernatural “family doesn’t end in blood.”

Alice

“Oh hello Alice, I just ate my last bag of cookies sorry. If I knew you were coming I would've given it to that cute kid…..”

I am sitting on the bench in front of a vending machine Ava is sitting cross-legged to my right surrounded by food.

“Cute kid?” I smirk and poke her shoulder, she grabs my shoulder and leans in close.

“You have no idea how adorable he is, fluffy hair! Big ground eyes! And freckles, he has freckles!!”

I burst out laughing and reach up to pat her head, glad that I chose to visit her because she can entertain me.

“Why are you laughing?” she wines out

“Because you’re amusing”

She huffs and opens up a honey bun to eat it, I stare at the cup of tea in my hand,

“Alice, what’s wrong?”

Ava leans her head on my shoulder.

I glance down at a snickers bar, and a certain pomeranian pops into my head.

“Alice?”

“It's nothing Ava, nothing at all, in fact, can you hold this cup please”

I smile innocently and watch as she takes the cup without hesitation

We stare at each other

I grab a snickers bar and get the fuck out of there.

“ALICCCCEEEE!!! THAT’S MINE”

I hear her scream, then a crash of the coffee cup smashing into the ground.

Sorry Mic

I start running through the halls, fear creeps into me as I hear her running up behind me.

I hear her footsteps quickly closing in on me.

Dang, it! I should’ve rethought this, I know how fast she is, and yet I thought this was a bright Idea. A CHILD!

I reach out and grab the small purple-haired kid by the collar and yeeted him over my shoulder.

“Oh hello there goddess”

Glancing over and see the purple kid stuck to Ava, she tries to pry him off but he only continues to stick on her.

I laugh at my victory, knowing whatever Ava will try to do to get back at me Grace will stop.

I keep my walk at a fast pace, noticing how I can hear the voices of students grow louder. I open silver double doors and look around the room. A very nice cafeteria is filled with students, they sit at nice comfortable booths and chat. Scanning the room looking for my next victim

“ WHAT DID YOU SAY YA NERD!”

I smile as I hear a dog bark out annoyingly, the students sitting in the booth close to me quickly got up sensing my intentions. I calmed myself and plastered a smile on my face, I turn to see the Pomeranian sitting with 4 other people ( even happier when one of those is my dear Pikachu). I sneak towards the group, closing in behind the cute static brain, Mid rant the mutt stops and looks at me confused causing the others to look. Denki of course doesn’t notice as he is concentrating on his food, I wink at the group.

“ Pikachu I choose you!”

I yell and throw my arms around his neck. He lets out a scream and then goes into a coughing fit.

Everyone starts laughing, I slap my fellow blonde harshly on the back to assist him in not dying.

“ So who’s your friend?” the redhead asks as he wipes his eyes.

I climb over the booth and slip in between Denki and the redhead, right across from the mutt, I throw him a smirk.

“ Ah, this is-”

“ Wait a damn minute you’re the annoying brat that-”

“ I’m Alice, I just transferred from America- Also I’m Pikachu’s friend!”

I interrupt the mutt and throw my arm around my now proclaimed friend.

“ What’s your last name?” the pink girl questioned.

I remove my arm and clap my hands together to rest my chin on them.

“ I don’t have one, and who are you Pinkie Pie?”

Sensing my tone the redhead jumped in.

“ Sorry, it’s just our friend said she has two sisters that go to school here, so we just wanted to know.”

The mutt aggressively set his juice box down on the table and they stared at him.

“ Didn’t you hear her, they’re not blood-related so of course the last name isn’t the same.”

Ahh he gets bonus points

I laugh trying to change the mood.

“ Well, I’ll introduce everyone-” I interrupt Denki

“The first name only, I’ll only remember it”

He grins and points at the kid with weird elbows

“ Sero”

“Flextape”

“Mina”

“Pinkie Pie”

“Eijiro”

“ Shark - and or Shark bait ooh ah ah”

They stared at me, the mutt chokes on his juice.

“Should I even try if you’re going to give us nicknames”

Denki lets a breath out as I continue to smile, he points at himself

“Pikachu?”

I nod my head, he hesitantly then points across from him

“Mutt”

I don’t miss a beat.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME!!”

“Mutt” I respond with a smile and seeing how he’s at the perfect level I slip the Snickers bar towards him on the table.

“It’s okay your not you when you’re hungry”

He turns to stone, then as if he was a newly awakened volcano he exploded. Everyone at the table jumps up as he starts to produce explosions.

“Welp gotta blast” I grin out and holding my hand out to give Pikachu a high-five, then leaping across the table and now on the run for the second time today.

I weave in between students standing in the cafeteria, standing in shock as they watch 3 people try to restrain a rabid dog.

I slip through the doors and a laugh escapes me as my daily entertainment has been fulfilled.

“ Oh it’s you”

I look to my left and my biggest smile of the day creeps on my face.

“Best Boi!” I jump to hug him, he stops me by placing a hand on my head, I let out a whine as I struggle to touch him.

“You’re very loud today” he states boredly.

“Yes of course I am! I was playing with the dog and also stole some candy, which I tried to give to the dog but he didn’t want it” I pout, Shinsou doesn't even look surprised at my confession.

“ Did you at least have lunch?”

I stop trying to hug him and stood up straight, dread fills me “ Grace is going to murder me”

I whisper to him, he chuckles and reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a slice of lemon bread.

“ Can’t have the problem child dying”

My eyes widen as I stare at his outstretched hand.

“You’re stalking me”

“what - You know what I’m not even going to try to argue with you, but why would you assume that”

I swipe the package from his hand and beam at him, “because it’s my favorite snack”

He stands there, head empty no brain,

“Oh, Alice there you are! I was wondering if I could have my cup back, its a limited edition DJ Khaled cup”

I look at shinshou with a guilty look, Present Mic appears down the hall strutting my way

“Gotta blast again! By best boi”

I salute him and put the bread in my mouth, like a true anime girl, and hop out the window escaping.

Grace

When I met up with Ava there was a weird purple ball stuck to her skirt and she needed to get her spare skirt out of her locker. As it turns out Ava needed my backpack because she accidentally put the slip of paper with her locker combination in one of my folders, but the one folder she needed was at home. We ended up spending a good 10-15 minutes looking for it before we finally went to her teacher. Who was nice enough to give me a pass to class because I was running late. I made it to class five minutes after the bell rang but luckily the teacher wasn’t there yet. Just as I placed my pencil pouch on my desk the door to the classroom slams open to reveal All Might, the number one hero standing on his toes with his hands on the door frame. He leans forward so that his weight is supported by his hands, and he’s standing in what seems to be a pose imitating flying. His cape flows into the classroom, and if I look closely I can see the fan positioned in the hallway behind him that he’s using to provide the breeze for his cape.

“I am here!”

The sound of excited murmuring begins to resonate around the classroom. All might does a weird march as he makes his way behind the teacher’s desk

Sir why are you walking like you have something stuck up your butt.

“Welcome to the most important class at U.A high! Think of it as heroing 101! Here you will learn the basics of being a pro and what it means to fight in the name of good!”

All might places one of his feet on the chair and turns so that his back is faced to us while he flexes to make his muscles even larger than they already are.

“Let’s get into it! Today’s lesson: pull no punches!” All might holds up a card that just says BATTLE. The class begins to talk in an uproar of excitement. “Hell yea finally some action!” Bakugou’s loud voice in my ear sends a sharp pain through my skull. I turn in my seat so that I am face to face with him. “Bitch! Do that again! Yell in my ear again and see what happens to you! I know how to hide a body. They’ll never find you.” Bakugou slams his hands on his desk and gets closer to my face “ Are you threatening me!” A small smirk works its way onto my face. “It's not a threat. It’s a promise. Now if you don’t get out of my face I promise that I will punch you in yours.”

Before he can say anything else several slots in the wall open and shelves of number cases slide out. “ Part of being a hero is looking good so in each case is a costume based on the information that each of you provided before school started” the class once again starts to murmur in excitement. “ Young Grace, your hero costume just arrived this morning from your old school, so it is not with the rest of the classes. You will have to stop by the office to grab yours, so you are excused to go and collect that.”

It didn’t take me long to get my costume and by the time I got back to the class the last person was grabbing their assigned case number and I was being ushered in the direction of the changing rooms.

After everyone was changed we made our way to the training ground beta. I couldn’t help but look around at everyone’s costumes. A green figure caught my attention. Is that midoriya? What the hell is he wearing? His costume was interesting, to say the least. It looked sort of like a mutant bunny. Wait a damn minute. Why does his costume look familiar? I try to figure out what or who his costume reminds me of until I feel a presence next to me when I look I see no one until I glance down to see Mineta standing way too close for comfort and staring at the exposed skin of my thigh. “Man, I love this school.” My face scrunches in disgust, but before I can do anything All Might begins talking again. All Might! My eyes dart back and forth between Midoriya’s costume and All Might. The more that I look the more the similarities stick out. Did he base his costume on All Might?

“Alright, newbies each of you will step up and choose a letter from this box. This will determine what team you will be on. Since we have an uneven number of students one team will have three people instead of two.” One by one my classmates found their teams until it was my turn. I reached in and felt around until I finally was able to grasp a sheet of paper. Please not the same team as that pomeranian.Please not the same team as that pomeranian. I opened the slip and low and behold I’m on the same team as Katsuki Bakugou. Begrudgingly I walked over to Bakugou and Iida to wait for the rest of the class to finish drawing for their teams.

Once everyone was paired up for teams, All Might reached into the two boxes that had been sitting to the side labeled hero and villain. He raises his hands into the air in an extravagant manner while holding two balls. One with the letter A and the other with the letter D. “Team A will be the heroes and Team D you three will be the villains. Now go to your starting positions. The rest of the class and I will be watching. If things go too far I will stop the fight.” I follow Iida to where we need to go, but we each stop at All Might to get an earpiece so that we can talk to each other.

Iida, Bakugou, and I were placed in a large room to guard a weapon. As we wait for All Might to announce the start I hear Bakugou grumbling to himself. “Yo hedgehog. What’s got your panties in a twist?” He doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Do you think that damn nerd has a quirk?” Iida speaks up before I have the opportunity to. “ Do you mean Midoriya? Of course, he has a quirk. How else would he have gotten into U.A. otherwise, and you saw him at the entrance exam.” Bakugou clenches his fist and the smell of caramel floods my nostrils. The static of the earpieces being activated sounds in our ears. “Let the battle begin!” Bakugou is the first to move, heading for the door right away. Iida starts to wave his hands around in a wild but robotic manner. “Bakugou where are you going? We need to stay-”“ You two just stay here and guard the weapon.” With that, he disappears into the hallway. “ Don’t worry Iida I’m still here.” He turns and looks down at me before his face turns a bright red color and he swiftly turns his head to look away from me. I glance down to try to figure out what has him so flustered, but I don't see the problem. When I look back at him he still refuses to look at me. “th-tha-. Let’s-um- let’s move everything out of the floor so that when Uraraka and Midoriya come Uraraka can’t use her quirk.” After he gives instructions he just begins to move things around, while still avoiding looking in my direction. “Iida?” He hums while still moving things around. “Are you okay?” I start to move things around and off the floor. “I am fine Jackson, but thank you for your concern.” “Are you sure? Because you were really red.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see his back stiffen. “I am fine, I assure you.” I don’t believe you but I’ll leave it alone.

It takes us about ten minutes or so to move everything out of the floor and put them where Uraraka can’t use them. As we wait Iida starts to mumble to himself about how to be a good pretend villain. Slowly he starts to get louder until he’s taking in a boisterous voice in a stiff or of tone. I can’t help but to chuckle at his antics, and he turns and looks at me wide-eyed as if he had forgotten that I was here. He goes to speak, but I raise my hand to silence him when I hear something. It’s quiet for a moment before the faint sound of shuffling can be heard. “Did you hear that?” Iida looks at me with confusion written all over his face. “No, I did not hear anything.” The shuffling sound happens again. “There it is again.” Iida looks around. “Maybe it was Bakugou.” I continue to look around to try to find the source of the noise when a faint scent hits my nose. “ It’s not Bakugou. It doesn’t smell like caramel. It’s like a softer smell like flowers.” Iida looks around smelling the air. “Are you sure I don’t smell anything” I continue to observe the area before I spot a pink shoe peeking out from behind a pillar. “Trust me Iida if there is anything I am confident with it’s my sense of smell. And I'm also confident that Uraraka is currently hiding behind that pillar over there by the door.” A small squeak comes from the girl.

As I go to take a step forward the building begins to shake and I end up on the floor. “Dammit, Bakugou! What the hell are you doing.” the earphone stays silent. “Bakugou I know that you can hear me!” A growl can be heard from his end of the line. “Shut the hell up. I’m handling my job. You handle yours.” The sound of static fills my ears, and I turn around to look at Iida. “Did-did he just turn his earpiece off?” All that he offers is a blank expression. The building shakes again this time a few pieces of the ceiling fall and we have to cover our heads. Once the building settles and debris no longer rains I wait a moment before I stand just to make sure that the building won’t start shaking again.

I start to dust off my pants when I notice movement out of the side of my eye. I look over to see Uraraka moving from her place behind the pillar and start running towards the weapon. “Iida!” The sound of his engines fills the room as I charge forward towards the brunette. “Got it!” I throw myself forward and tackle Uraraka before she can get any further. It becomes a mess of hands flying between the two of us. Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! You are not pennywise and we don’t all float here! The building shaking again distracts me for a moment, but it gives her an opening and she places a hand on my arm while activating her quirk. Slowly the floor starts to get further away, and I try to reach out to grab anything that can steady me without success. Instead of floating straight up like I had expected, I can feel myself start to float in the direction that Iida and I had been standing. Suddenly I feel my stomach sink and my body is no longer weightless as I slam down into the floor knocking all of the air out of me. I’m gonna remember that.

It takes a moment for me to regain my breath, but when I finally do Iida reaches his hand out to help me up. The sound of Urarka talking into her comm reaches my ears and I look over to see her grabbing onto a pillar. What are you- the building begins to shake again, but this time stronger than before. “Iida I would grab onto something if I were you.” Before either of us could move a giant explosion blasted up through the floor. To keep my balance I grabbed onto Iida. When the explosion stopped a cloud of dust remained. Something seemed to be moving within the dust and I squinted to try to make out what it was. The shape of rocks moving towards us became more apparent and the two of us ducked to cover our heads. From behind us, we heard the sound of Uraraka cheering as she came in contact with the weapon.

“The hero team wins!” It is what it is. The three of us walk down to the ground level where a medical bed is taking Midoriya away to Recovery Girl through the giant hole in the side of the building. All Might stands there amongst the rubble watching as the bed carries away one of his students. He turns to look at the remaining four of us and leads us in the direction of the observation room. The class is silent as we walk in. All Might walks to his chair and turns to look at the four of us. “While the heroes may have won this fight the true MVPs were Iida and Grace.” Mummers fill the room as our classmates talk amongst themselves. “Does anyone know why?” Momo steps forward. “The two of them discussed a plan to ensure that their opponent was at a disadvantage. They were aware of their opponent’s skill and prepared for it. They were aware of their surroundings, Grace especially. While it is okay to separate sometimes on a mission it is best to stay together, and that is what they did.” I glance over at Bakugou, but he’s looking down with his hands clenched into a fist and his teeth clenched. All Might called for the next group to go, but I didn’t pay attention to who was next, instead I chose to sit in the corner of the room and take a nap.

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

After everyone completed the training exercise All Might excused us to go change and head back to the class. I was the first back in the classroom. Rather than sit at my desk, I perched myself on the windowsill to watch the world outside. Slowly everyone began to trickle back into the classroom, all except Bakugou, and the classroom began to bustle with noise once again. The door to the classroom opens and I turn to see who it is. Midoriya stands in the doorway with his arm lightly wrapped up. Everybody crowds around Midoriya, but I remain where I am staring out the window.

A familiar head of blond hair emerges from the school. I move to grab my bag, but before I leave the window I notice a head of green hair that can only be midoriya chasing after Bakugou. The two of them seem to talk, well Midoriya seems to be talking, Bakugou seems to be yelling. Bakugou turns to walk away again, but All Might appears practically out of thin air. Bakugou keeps his back to the two of them as All Might talks to him. The interaction doesn’t last long before Bakugou starts to walk away again. All Might and Deku stand there for a moment before All Might places a hand on his shoulder and leads him back into the building. While Bakugou is still in sight I grab my backpack off of the ground and throw the window open. I jump out Alice style and a familiar tingling sensation radiates between my shoulder blades as a pair of blue and purple butterfly wings sprout. I flutter over just behind the angry blonde and will my wings away. I walk a little faster to stand beside him and then slow down so that I can walk beside him as he stomps away like a little gremlin. He doesn’t look over at me, but I can tell that he knows that it’s me. “What the hell do you want?” What do I want? Why am I even here? He's not my friend. He's not even an acquaintance. I step in front of him and stop causing him to stop as well. For the first time, I offer him a small smile. “Let’s go grab frozen yogurt. My treat.” I don’t give him time, I just grab his wrist and drag him to the shop that I saw on the walk to school this morning.

When we get there the young man at the front counter greets us in a bubbly tone as he hands us our cups to go fill up. I filled my cup with coconut froyo topped with strawberry boba, coconut shavings, and three cherries. when I walk to the register bakugou is already standing there with his cup half full of chocolate with some granola and a single cherry.” you sure that’s all you want? I don’t mind, Ava usually gets two full cups when I pay so if you're concerned about the price being too high don’t worry about it.” He scowls at me a growl bubbling up from the back of his throat.” Shut the hell up and weigh your cup.” I place my cup on the scale and raise my hands in mock surrender.” All alright, alright I was just being nice.” I reach behind me to grab my wallet out of my bag. When I finally find it and turn around to pay I see the clerk handing Bakugou money.” What are you doing? I was gonna pay for your stuff.”Bakugou shoves his money angrily back into his pocket and yanks his froyo off of the scale.” I don’t need some damn extra paying for my food when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself. Now grab you shit so we can go.” Bakugou doesn’t even wait for me before he walks out of the shop. I turn and thank the guy behind the counter before I grab my froyo and follow after Bakugou. We walk in silence as we eat until in the distance I spot a park and dash toward it.” Hey, where the hell are you going!” I spot a trashcan and as I dash past it I throw away my cup but continue my path to my destination. When I reach the object behind my excitement I throw down my backpack and practically throw myself into the seat of the swing. By the time Bakugou reaches me I've obtained a pretty good height.” What the hell was that!” I close my eyes as the wind whips past me.” I haven’t been on a swing since I was a kid! My mom used to bring my sisters and me to the park all the time before-.” A memory flashes behind my eyelids and I snap my eyes open. I stop kicking my legs and my swing slowly loses momentum until it just slightly sways. Bakugou looks at me with the same scowl on his face but a gleam of curiosity sparks in his eyes.” Why don’t you sit with me. Not on the same swing of course, but it’s a nice day out today. the fresh air will do you some good.” he looked down at me like I was stupid for a moment. To be honest, at this moment I feel stupid. In the end, he sits down on the swing.his swing slightly sways as he rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet.

A nice silence settles between the two of us that lasts for maybe ten to fifteen minutes before Bakugou breaks the silence.” Why did you invite me to get frozen yogurt with you?” I look over at him, but he’s looking straight ahead. “First of all, just say froyo dude. And I guess you just seemed like you needed a pick me up.” He looks over at me, his signature scowl plastered on his face. “So what is this out of pity or something! I don’t need pity from some damn extra! I don’t need pity from anyone!” In his tangent, he stood from his swing and moved in front to stand in front of me. “ Woah, Woah, Woah. who said anything about pity. Because I know damn well that word never left my mouth. Did you hear me say ‘oh poor Bakugou’? No cause those words never left my lips. I tried to be nice because even though I don't know what it is that made you mad, frustrated, or whatever emotion you're feeling I know what it’s like to be suffering by yourself. When you're so blinded by whatever you're feeling that it feels like you're drowning in it, but I also know what it’s like to have someone with you even if it’s just sitting in silence together. I was trying to be nice, but you wanted to be an bitch. Do me a favor and get your head out of your ass because it ain’t a hat. Now if you excuse me I’m going home.” I push past him and grab my bag as I begin the journey home.

2 notes · View notes

isitmadness · 4 years

Text

What Keeps Us Alive

summary: Obi-Wan, Cody, and the very few remnants of the 212th make their way back to Coruscant after Order 66. Beyond dealing with the emotional fallout, they need to find a way to locate the inhibitor chips and remove them before they're triggered again.

characters/relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, Longshot, Boil, Cross (original clone character); established Obi-Wan/Cody

words: 3.5k

a/n: This was written for day 1 of @codywanweek 2020 - the theme for which was hurt/comfort. It’s part two of ‘The War is Over.’ This is also chapter 1 of part 2 (sorry for the confusion lol)...so there will be 1 more chapter coming!

Read it on a03

It was a relief to be back on board the Vigilance even if it was still in orbit above Utapau. The planet where everything felt like it was finally starting to go right...and instead went horribly wrong. General Grievous had been defeated, after years of the chase. But the victory felt hollow, meaningless.

He ended up not only fighting Grievous, but Cody. Cody had tried to kill him, too, and if this truly was the entire Galactic Army of the Republic...if all the clones had faithfully carried out Order 66 throughout the galaxy, the Jedi were...gone. Obi-Wan was desperate to get home to Coruscant but afraid of what he’d find there.

His bond with Anakin was also gone - ripped from his mind like Qui-Gon’s once was. He couldn’t even comprehend the loss. How could his former padawan, friend, and brother have been taken from him, too?

Grief was an attachment, he knew this...and yet…

Focus on the here and now. He needed medical assistance. Cody definitely needed medical assistance, as did Boil and Longshot. The rest of the 212th Attack Battalion? Well, they were also gone. Another ache that sat like an anchor on Obi-Wan’s chest.

After making the jump to hyperspace, Obi-Wan strode from the command center to the medbay, afraid of what he would find. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and held it in his hand, ready. He had no real intention of using it, no matter what he promised Cody, but…

-----

In the medbay, Cody had stripped down to his blacks and sat on the edge of an exam table. His broken and dented armor was piled on the floor at his feet. The orange markings were a point of pride only a few hours ago: pride in his battalion, pride in their general, and if he was honest, a little pride in himself in what he had been able to accomplish. It was an honor to be sent on such an important mission.

He rather felt like his armor, a broken mess of a man. Every bone and muscle in his body ached, outdone only by the throbbing thunderstorm raging in his head. His eyes followed the medic, Cross, as he worked his way between Boil and Longshot, tending to their worst injuries.

Beyond the physical pain, the emotional and mental turmoil of losing so many of his brothers AND turning on his general was crushing. Not even to mention remembering that he hadn’t truly believed Fives about the inhibitor chips. Like everyone else, he accepted the report that he and Tup had succumbed to a virus picked up on Ringo Vinda. If he could go back and...no. He couldn’t change the past.

“Cody?” All their heads snapped towards the door where their general hovered, unsure. He looked tired, worn, and unusually small. Cody’s attention was drawn from Obi-Wan’s face when he noticed the movement of his hand near his waist. He was clipping his lightsaber to his belt. Good, Cody thought, he at least came prepared.

“General,” Cross looked away from where he was splinting Boil's wrist and nodded. The other men followed suit.

Obi-Wan cautiously walked in and stood in the middle of the room, assessing the situation. He took in the four remaining men's nearly-identical faces. "How are you all feeling? What’s the status on these...these inhibitor chips?”

Despite what he had just been through, Obi-Wan was back to General Kenobi. Something twisted in Cody’s gut.

“Well, we’ve all had a scan from the medical droid,” Cross started. “And...they show nothing.”

That was unexpected and incredibly concerning. Obi-Wan stroked his beard, deep in thought. Cody smiled to himself at the gesture. “That is some unfortunate news. But how do you all feel?"

“The inside of my head feels like there’s a herd of banthas stomping around,” Boil murmured in a gravelly voice. “Sir.”

Obi-Wan waved a hand through the air dismissively. “I think, Boil, that we don’t need to stand on ceremony. Call me Obi-Wan. I have a feeling I am no longer a general.”

Longshot scoffed and narrowed his eyes. “So, why do you trust us? How do you know we aren’t going to snap again any second and take you out? Which undoubtedly will be the last thing we do...”

Cody jumped off the table and came to stand next to Obi-Wan. “Longshot, that’s enough. We don’t need--”

“It’s quite alright, Commander,” Obi-Wan settled a hand on Cody’s shoulder, locking eyes with him. Cody flushed - sometimes Obi-Wan had such an intense way of looking at him, that Cody had to look away. “You seem like Longshot, Boil, Cross, and Cody, and that’s enough for me right now. How many times have you all been right beside me on the battlefield? How is this battle any different? And I...may be a Jedi, but I have no plans whatsoever to hurt any of you,” Obi-Wan said sternly.

He walked over to Boil’s bedside. “Are you in terrible pain, Boil?”

Boil shrugged, removed his arm and squinted at his general, “I mean...it’s a pretty bad headache, but nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

Obi-Wan looked up and around at all the troopers. They all nodded, indicating they felt the same way. “What can we do, Cross? For all of you.”

Cross shook his head slowly and exhaled. “I admit, I’m at a loss...I don’t know what to do. If I can't locate a chip on the scan, I don't know where to look...obviously. I can't just open up Longshot's head, for example, and dig around."

"He might deserve that though," Boil snarked.

Obi-Wan smiled softly, appreciative that the men had kept their sense of humor. “Well, I think this is going to take more thought and research. But, in the meantime, the least I could do is try to give you all some measure of relief? That is, if you trust me to accomplish such a thing.”

“Sir, you don’t have to--” Cody started.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cody. I'm no healer, but I would do it gladly, especially if it would help you.”

“All of us?” Longshot questioned, quietly.

Obi-Wan smiled gently. "Of course. So, who’s first?”

All four men hesitated and looked at each other. “Why not Cross? So he can go about his medic business for the rest of us without the pain?” Cody suggested.

Obi-Wan nodded, “I think that’s an excellent idea, Commander.”

Cross sat down on the end of the exam bed where Boil lay. “Well then, do your worst, General.”

Obi-Wan spent time with Cross, Longshot, and Boil, giving them all the Force healing he could, hoping it would stick around long enough to help them feel somewhat better. Now that his head was throbbing less, Cross sat at his desk and continued his research since he was able to focus again. Longshot and Boil left the medbay to return to their own quarters for some much-needed rest. It was finally Cody’s turn.

Obi-Wan walked over and stood in front of where Cody had sat back down on the exam table. “General, I can tell when you’re drained...please do not worry about me. We have painkillers and that will help cut through the worst of it for now.”

He put a warm hand on the top of Cody’s left thigh and moved closer to stand between his knees. “Commander, I feel like it’s my duty to tell you when you’re being ridiculous,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “This is one of those times.”

With the general this close, Cody could finally see how worn, bruised, and tired Obi-Wan was himself. There were holes and tears all over his clothes, and he was pretty sure they were even still damp. He also could see that the bruise on his right cheek was darker now. And knowing that he was the one who put it there, hurt Cody more than he could say. He desperately wished to wrap his arms around his Jedi and pull him close. Instead, he laid a hand over Obi-Wan’s and just shook his head. “Fine.”

Obi-Wan lifted his hands to either side of Cody’s face, wanting nothing more than to pull his face close and kiss him, but well, Cross was still around and that wouldn’t exactly be a good idea. Somehow Cody knew what Obi-Wan was thinking anyway and gave him a small smile. It was Obi-Wan’s turn to flush. He cleared his throat. “Well, let’s see what I can do.” Obi-Wan adjusted his hands, rubbing his thumbs across Cody’s cheekbones, and closed his eyes to slowly sink into the Force one more time.

With the Jedi's eyes closed, Cody took the opportunity to take in the face he loved so well. The bruise would fade in time, thankfully, but otherwise, he was still his Obi-Wan. Those crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the freckles that dusted his cheeks, that mole in the middle of this forehead, the grey in his beard and at both temples - they were all details that Cody had fallen in love with. But then beyond those features he loved, he noticed the twitching behind his eyelids, the furrowed brow, and even a drop of sweat that had suddenly formed at his hairline and was slowly rolling down his forehead. He was displaying signs of overtaxing himself and Cody wanted to stop him.

Why was he giving of his life-force for someone who had just tried to kill him?

Because I love you. His general’s lips didn’t move, but Cody heard the answer as clear as day. He sat up straighter wondering how it was possible.

Finally, Obi-Wan’s eyes slowly fluttered open, those stormy blue irises meeting warm, dark amber. “Well?” Obi-Wan’s warm smile nearly made Cody melt.

Cody blinked a few times. “I...it’s so much better. Thank you, sir.”

“Obi-Wan,” he reminded him as he caressed his cheek with his thumb once more then dropped his hands. Cody reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan’s fingers to give them two quick squeezes - their code for ‘I love you.’

“You need some rest, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, finally backing out of Cody’s personal space. “Why not go join the men and sleep?”

“I must admit the offer is very tempting. But what about the ship?” He leaned forward slightly and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s waist. “What about you? Who’s going to make sure you get rest and medical attention?”

Obi-Wan smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Well, Cross is busy, but I’m sure I can beg him for some medical attention. And I can keep the ship flying, don’t worry about me. You need the rest. No arguments.”

Cody slid off the table and stood, stretching. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

Obi-Wan put his hand on Cody’s cheek and smiled, “I know.”

They walked out of the medbay together then separated in the hall. Obi-Wan watched Cody’s back as he slowly walked away, hoping that he would still be Cody when he saw him again.

----

Cross patched up Obi-Wan the best he could then ordered him to go rest, too. And while he was deeply exhausted, and knew he could benefit from sleeping, he was unsure how he could knowing there were four clones on the ship who could snap at any time and try to kill him again. So instead, he stood at the viewport on the bridge looking out on the familiar rushing vortex of blue. They were approximately four days from Coruscant.

It seemed as if everything they had been told by the Kaminoans about the inhibitor chips was a lie. He no longer felt sure he knew anything about the chips or what had been done to the millions of clones during the cloning process. There was obviously a trigger, but he didn't know what it was. And could they be re-triggered? How did they malfunction in Cody, Boil, Cross, and Longshot? How would they locate them in their heads? Was there anything in Arc Trooper Fives' old file? If so, he hoped Cross was looking and would find it.

He tried to focus on the chip issue, but the reminder that they were heading back home only made his thoughts turn back to his people, to the temple and the younglings there, as well as his friends and family scattered throughout the galaxy. He searched his bond once again for Anakin but it was still silent. He worried, too, about Ahsoka, Rex, and the troopers they took to Mandalore. Did they capture Maul? But was she attacked by her men, too?

He had to refocus his mind or lose himself to his grief completely. He sat down in one of the command center chairs and attempted to meditate. However, he found quickly that the Force was empty and in mourning. The amount of grief he felt, in addition to the darkness, was suddenly overwhelming.

His eyes flew open and he was panting and gasping for air. He looked around the empty command center expecting to see at least one trooper or officer. He realized, too, that the emptiness he was feeling was not only the rift in the Force, but in the Vigilance itself. It was always bustling with life - he was used to feeling the bright Force signatures of every single one of his men. Now that was also gone. Even Cody, Longshot, Boil, and Cross felt dim and far away. It took every ounce of strength he had to not collapse on his knees.

“General,” a voice suddenly rang behind him. Obi-Wan whipped around quickly, pulling his lightsaber off his belt and igniting it.

Cross' hands flew up in defense, “Whoa! It’s just me...Cross!”

Obi-Wan turned off the blade once more and willed himself to calm his breathing. “I’m so sorry, Cross. I can’t...I’m…”

“General, I thought I told you to rest,” Cross said, walking closer, slowly dropping his hands. “I am wide awake and dedicated to this research, please go try to sleep. Doctor’s orders.” He smiled.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged and nodded his assent. “I guess there’s no point in arguing with you, is there?”

Cross chuckled, “No, sir. I know what you just went through for the four of us, and honestly, it’s a bit astounding that you’re still upright after what you went through on Utapau.”

“I...know you’re right,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Because I am having problems meditating right now. Are you sure you’re okay here on your own?”

“Of course, sir,” Cross nodded. “I will wake you all should the need arise.”

Obi-Wan walked closer and put his hand on Cross' shoulder. “Obi-Wan...please. You’re a good man, Cross. Thank you.”

“Then, Obi-Wan...after what you did for us? It’s truly the least I could do.”

Obi-Wan nodded and headed out of the command center.

----

Once in the common fresher, he stripped off his sweat and water-logged tunics and pants, and took a long shower. The warm water was soothing on his aching muscles. He finished and wrapped a towel around his waist to head back towards his quarters. It was a small comfort to finally feel clean. He wasn't worried that anyone would see him dressed so inappropriately - or not dressed, rather - there was no one else on board.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the door to his quarters was cracked and there was a light coming from inside. He didn’t remember turning one on, but perhaps he had and forgotten. Or else Cody had done it for him anticipating his returning and needing it.

He stood at the door and opened it the rest of the way. The sight was not at all what he expected. Cody was tucked under the blankets, sprawled on his stomach and snoring lightly. The small breathing noises brought a warmth to Obi-Wan’s chest - Cody needed the sleep and Obi-Wan was grateful he was able to.

Obi-Wan needed to get dressed but he hesitated, wondering what he should do beyond that. The thought of crawling into bed next to Cody was incredibly inviting. And on some level, Cody must have expected Obi-Wan to do this otherwise he wouldn’t have fallen asleep in his bed.

Or maybe Cody expected Obi-Wan to stay awake and took his bed knowing he wouldn’t be using it. In which case, maybe he should leave him alone.

Or maybe--

“I can hear you thinking,” a voice rough with sleep suddenly said. Obi-Wan hadn't even noticed the snoring had ceased. “Come to bed.” Cody rolled over to face Obi-Wan. "Oh."

Obi-Wan didn't miss the way Cody's eyes quickly raked over his body. He loved Cody the most when he looked like this - eyelids heavy with sleep and hair slightly mussed. And now there was a warm, almost seductive smile on his face. Yet he still hesitated, and that wasn’t lost on Cody.

“Unless you don’t trust me?” He furrowed his brow and propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at his general.

Obi-Wan dried off and slipped on a pair of comfortable sleep pants. Cody had seen Obi-Wan like this many times. He appreciated Obi-Wan’s lithe form, toned by years of training and discipline. But he also knew all of his scars and old wounds and appreciated those, too. They spoke of someone unafraid. A general he himself was not afraid to follow because he knew he put his life on the line for his men, his Jedi family, and the Republic time and time again.

Obi-Wan walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. A gentle hand rubbed his bare back. The touch pulled Obi-Wan out of his own reverie and he melted under Cody's hand. He finally looked over his shoulder, “I do trust you. I’m just...you can’t blame me for being slightly hesitant.” Cody looked down. “That hurts more than I can say.”

“I understand,” Cody sat up and made to get out of the bed, but a hand pushed against his shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave...unless you just want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then, stay.” Obi-Wan twisted slightly to watch Cody's face.

Cody laid back down and lifted up the corner of the blanket for Obi-Wan to crawl in beside him, which he did. Cody was just as warm as Obi-Wan thought he’d be, and the skin-to-skin contact sent a pulse of electricity through his entire body. The familiar comfort was as overwhelming as the earlier grief.

Obi-Wan tucked his head under Cody’s chin as two strong arms wrapped around his torso. Cody sighed. “This feels normal and right.”

Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to the hollow of Cody’s throat. “How are you always so warm?” Cody chuckled and Obi-Wan felt the low rumble in his chest.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan shifted and reached out towards the light to turn it off. Cody laughed again. “Don’t say it,” Obi-Wan warned with a smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“Okay, lights are out, it’s time to sleep,” Cody said, sounding like he was halfway to drifting off already. Obi-Wan nodded against his chest. They laid there basking in each other’s comfort, both thinking about what they had been through only hours before but trying to avoid the conversation. Cody ran a hand up and down Obi-Wan’s back.

“What happens when we get to Coruscant?” He finally asked. Obi-Wan was silent so long, Cody thought he had already drifted to sleep. In truth, Obi-Wan was silent because he had no idea. This situation was unprecedented. “I don’t...I wouldn't blame you for turning us all over to the Coruscant Guard as soon as we land."

"That's never happening. Don't be ridiculous,” he murmured against his chest.

Cody pushed him away to look at him. In the cabin's dim light he could just barely make out Obi-Wan's face. It was set and determined.

"But, sir, we attacked you. I attacked you. I tried to kill you."

"First of all, please do not call me sir while we're in bed." Cody huffed fondly. "And secondly, you were not yourselves. I cannot pretend to fully understand this situation and the destructive power in your head, but it wasn't you."

Cody pulled him close again, squeezing harder, wanting to never let go. "I'm so…sorry." The sob he had been desperately trying to hold in finally escaped.

Obi-Wan reached up and ran a soothing hand over Cody’s face and shoulders. "Shhh, dear one. No apologies."

Obi-Wan could feel Cody shaking silently. Seeing the man cry twice in one day was breaking Obi-Wan’s heart. He shifted upwards and tucked Cody under his chin, wrapping his arms around him instead. This wasn't something either of them were going to come back from easily, but they would do it together.

#codywanweek2020 #my writing #fanfic #codywan #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan x cody #the war is over #post-order 66

26 notes · View notes

moody-bloosh · 5 years

Note

I’ve been binge-reading ALL your yandere prompts and dare I say that you’re my favorite writer when it comes to that subject. I’m THIS close to just ranting in all caps about how much I love your writing bUT I gotta be civil :> The way you depict the struggle inside the reader’s mind, the hopelessness of their situation, and oh god- when they give in to their captor’s torture? That’s the best part of these relationships. Because of this, may I please request no. 20 with Risotto (1/2)

and their s/o, far too gone into his torture that they’d willingly become his perfect killing machine should someone ever threaten their “love”? I saw that idea in one of your fics, and having the reader turn into a murderous tool for their darling is just too good to ignore 😩 Thank you so much for writing these amazing stuff, with much love I send you these asks 🥰🥰🥰 (2/2)

AHH IM SO KLNSDKLANSLD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS I AM ON THE FLOOR SOBBING RIGHT NOW ;;;; anyways, omg this ask, this scenario its so yUM.

I hope I do justice to your big brain idea

content warning: yandere couple, manipulation, mind break, homicide, torture, kidnapping

all out of love (Risotto Nero)

Your Stand clinks noisily against the floor as you stand over Narancia. Though you were smiling, looking at him smugly as your victory lay within your grasp, he couldn’t help but think that there was some deep, unspoken loneliness in your eyes.

Narancia had been suspicious when he’d caught sight of you in the streets but he couldn’t help but reach out to you. Guilt had driven him to be reckless. For the sake of his teammate who they had been forced to abandon, he couldn’t bear to leave you be the second time around. Even when you’d claimed not to know him, even when you’d raised your hand against him, even though now you were nothing but a traitor, even though he should have tried his damnedest to kill you, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Why are you doing this?”

The unspoken memories of the easy laughter in the restaurant, of camaraderie shared between thieves, didn’t you remember all that? How could you come at him with such a palpable intent to kill?

He was hoping to jog your memory of kinder times, it was just his luck that you ended up thinking of another memory entirely. Still, it manages to get you to stop in your tracks for a brief moment. Your eyes struggle to focus on him as memories of a dark room smelling vaguely of your blood had forced its way back into your mind.

You’d asked Risotto that same question as well. But you’d never gotten a response from him. He’d only given you a deep kiss, as if that would have offered you any sort of comfort when he left you to bleed out in his room as punishment for defying him.

Risotto had a morbid satisfaction with making you bleed. He’d drained so much blood from you, enough to leave you woozy and pliant to his demands but never so much as to seriously harm you. With the blood he stole from you he made the ring that was sitting on your ring finger now and the choker that was wrapped around your neck. With each drop of blood that was taken from you, you felt as if little parts of yourself were being taken from you. As if you were being rewritten, you’d hated it so much. You’d go as far as to beg him to stop it but he was a brick wall which your pleas fell deaf upon.

Begging and begging, constantly being denied, until finally you learned that there was nothing you could do but become servile and obedient. Because maybe then he would stop. Because he was always so kind with you afterwards, he would dress your wounds so kindly, he would touch you so gently. His love was so passionate and all-consuming, you’d never felt a love like that before.

Hey, when did you begin to seek his affections? When did obeying him stop becoming a chore?

When did his torture start feeling like love?

“I’m sorry, alright!” Narancia yelled out suddenly, dragging you out of your stupor. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you!”

“Save me?” Your hold on your stand had softened, the chain and dagger dissipating before it hit the ground. “That’s right, I begged to be saved. I prayed for salvation and mercy.”

Your knees shook, buckling as you fell to the floor. Your memories surging and sweeping through the broken fragments of your mind. Nights crying out for help, begging him to bring an end to you. Holding on the the faint wish of the silhouette of a man in white who once reached out a hand to help you.

“But… no one came,” your voice cracked as you spoke, “no one came for me, no one saved me. I was left behind, I was all alone… All I had was…him.”

Your eyes flashed murderously at Narancia, before he can even think, you tackle him to the ground. Your Stand wrapping around his neck, cutting off his breath.

“Ah, damn that was smart of you,” you chuckled sardonically, “and I thought Fugo was the smart one.”

Your hands pulled the chain of your Stand tighter, choking him even more.

“Hey, how dare you make me think of something unpleasant,” you hissed. “You fuckers left me for dead, didn’t you?”

Narancia shook his head desperately, his face was already turning purple.

“You guys pumped my head full of your poison and lies. I trusted you, I believed in you guys.”

He tries to claw at you, tries to buck you off him but he can’t. It was almost pitiful, that boy was fighting a losing battle, and he didn’t even realize it.

“But I should thank you, because you abandoned me, I was able to be with Risotto,” you said with a blissful look in your eye. “And he’s given me so much love, so much more than you pathetic lot could ever give.”

Ah, this hateful thing brought back so many memories you never thought you’d remember. You needed to get rid of it. You had to get rid of it.

You had to get rid of him.

“Don’t be afraid,” you cooed, smiling as you stand over your former teammate’s body, your dagger raised. “I’ll make sure to give you plenty of love as well.”

Narancia lies still in the dark alley. His corpse horribly mutilated, you doubt the others will even be able to recognize him. But you made sure to leave his little bandana intact. Already you shivered with delight as you wondered what expressions they would wear, how their faces would twist with despair.

You should be happy. There was one less insect in the way of your love.

So why, why were you crying?

“Do you hate me for making you kill your old friends,” he asks you as he holds you in bed that night. Your hair still damp from the shower he’d given you after you came home limping and bloody.

“Dear, you could rip my heart from my chest, and I’d still adore you,” you told him with a content smile on your lips before you leaned in to demand a hungry kiss from his lips.

That’s right, no matter how bloodied you were, no matter how heavy your sins were. Even if you were burning in hell, as long as he was right beside you…

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jjba #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra #golden wind #vento aureo #play #side b

139 notes · View notes

swanslieutenant · 5 years

Text

the art of summoning, part 2

Notes: So.... several months later, here’s the second part of this fic. My life has been hectic since posting the last chapter of this one, but I’m happy to finally have this one up! This has ballooned (as per usual) into 3 parts, so the next one will be up when I can get it finished!

Summary: Emma has yet to master the art of summoning, but if it can help Killian rescue the fairies from the Sorcerer’s Hat, she’s going to try to her best. Though, as typical in Storybrooke, things never seem to go to plan, and a new curse sends her scrambling to find her way back to the people she loves.

Rating and Warnings: Teen.

catch up with part 1 on tumblr

Read this chapter on AO3

Alone in the brig, Emma only allows herself to wallow for a few minutes before rising to her feet, steeling herself. No matter that this is the Jolly Roger, she can’t very well stay here with a bunch of pirates who don’t know her and who she’s sure are absolutely terrified of her. Killian told her once that his crew were a superstitious lot; she has no doubt that appearing on a ship in the middle of the ocean has made many of them say a prayer to their gods for safety against whoever Emma is.

Emma grips the iron bars of the door to the cell, but they don’t budge even an inch when she rattles them. Frustrated, she attempts the poofing spell again, but when she closes her eyes, imagining herself back in the small room at Granny’s (as the only location she can really think of to go in this world), nothing happens. When she opens her eyes again, she’s still in the cell in the damp and cold depths of the ship.

She tries a couple more times, but to no avail. It appears that whatever amount of power it took to get her here in the first place is completely drained. She has no idea how far she travelled to get to this ship, but by the pure exhaustion beginning to hit her and making her feel nauseous and lightheaded, she guesses it was quite the distance. The adrenaline high she’s had since arriving back in the Enchanted Forest is starting to wear off too, leaving only that numbing exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.

Emma drops down to the floor, crossing her arms and hugging her legs close to her body. If only Killian remembered her. To see him and have her memories of their relationship, while he knows nothing about her … well, Emma wonders if this is how he felt when he showed up at her door in New York City. Hopeful, relieved, joyous – and then crushed with disappointment and heartbreak.

Perhaps she should’ve thought this whole thing a bit better. Maybe she should have sought out Regina’s help to break this curse instead of his. Not that Killian wouldn’t help her if he could, but this is Cora’s doing after all. From what Emma knows of Regina’s mother, she wanted nothing more than her daughter to be victorious, for Regina to be powerful and to rule over everyone who ‘wronged’ them. If Cora created this curse, then maybe there was some loophole that allowed Regina to retain her memories too, as Regina’s curse with Storybrooke had before.

Emma gasps suddenly and sits straight up, another jolt of adrenaline and fear rushing through her at the realization – Storybrooke, the last curse – Henry.

Oh, god, where is Henry in all this? Is he here somewhere in this cursed Enchanted Forest too? Or was he left behind in Storybrooke, alone and not knowing where his family is or what’s going on? If he’s here, where is he? Is he safe, is he out there somewhere on his own –

“Settling in?”

Emma jolts, and scrambles to her feet out of her vulnerable position on the floor, her embedded instincts of protecting herself re-appearing in an instant. She searches for the source of the voice, having recognized it already, and there, standing against the opposite wall and keeping a far distance from her, stands Hook. His face is shadowed in the darkness of the hold, his arms crossed.

“Uh, what?” Emma says blankly, not really having heard his question. Her mind is still caught up in thoughts of her son, in what has happened to him in the midst of this latest disaster.

Hook, oblivious to her thoughts, rolls his eyes, and Emma’s taken aback at the icy look he bestows upon her. She’s unused to seeing him look at her like that, not when only hours ago it was so, so different. His eyes are narrowed, his face is cold and distant, and there’s an entire lack of warmth to his stance. His usual, ever-present undercurrent of sardonic humour has evaporated in the face of the suspicious and unfriendly glare he gives her.

“I asked if you were settling in,” he repeats, voice calm and cool. “Though I should rather like to ask you what the hell you are doing here and who the hell you are.”

Emma ignores his cold tone, though it stings as if she’s been frostbitten. Instead, she grips the iron bars between them, staring at him intensely, trying to will him to remember her, to remember them.

“Emma. My name is Emma Swan.”

For a single heartbreaking moment, Emma swears she sees recognition flicker in his eyes. But as quickly as it came upon him, he’s scowling at her again, unimpressed and apprehensive.

“Swan,” he repeats, and though it’s the man she loves saying her name, as he has a thousand times, this time there’s a curled mockery to his voice that she makes her stomach turn. He surveys her up and down with cool, appraising eyes. “Unusual name for a witch.”

Emma frowns, taken aback. “I’m not a witch.”

He tilts his head at her, an eyebrow raised in question. “No? Appearing out of thin air on the deck of my ship is not the act of a witch?”

His voice is more jovial now, almost teasing, but Emma tenses. He’s doing the same thing he did above deck, a lighter tone to put her off guard. He’s obviously suspicious of her, and she can’t really blame him. As a general statement, Emma knows Killian distrusts magic. He has dark and tumultuous history with Rumplestiltskin, Regina, Cora and … well, Emma’s just never counted herself among that group.

Though her heart sinks in disappointment, Emma steels herself once again. Just because he doesn’t remember her, doesn’t mean he still can’t help her figure out how to break this curse. Killian Jones in any realm is useful, and Emma’s starting to get an idea of how he can do help her with the curse and make sure Henry is okay.

She has no idea where her son is, but since this is Cora’s curse, Emma’s wondering if maybe her son is with Regina. After all, in Cora’s eyes, Regina’s victory wouldn’t be complete without Henry by her side, right? So if he’s with her, and if Emma can get there, she can make sure he is safe and find a way for them all to make it back to Storybrooke, with Regina’s help.

It’s a gamble, but what choice does Emma have?

“I’m not going to harm you or your crew,” she says, as calmly as she can muster. “But I need your help.”

He snorts. “As you’ve said, many times. What help does a witch require of a pirate?”

She ignores the use of the word ‘witch’ and continues, “My son is missing. He’s been taken by the Evil Queen and I need help getting him back. I can’t get to her palace by myself.”

That last part is true at least; Emma doesn’t think she can manage another burst of transportation magic at this point, and while she feels slightly guilty for lying to Hook, she knows that if he could remember her, he would be more than willing to help her find Henry. And indeed, at the mention of her son, his features soften, a glimmer of the Killian she recognizes shining through.

“Ah. That is – I am sorry to hear of your boy, but I cannot help you.”

“What?” Her heart sinks. “Why not?”

He regards her silently, eyes narrowing as he scans her from head to toe. “I take it you are familiar with the Evil Queen?” he asks slowly, and Emma nods. “Then you well know that entering her territory without her permission is a death sentence. We would do no good to your boy when we’re all dead anyways.” He shakes his head, an almost imperceptible grimace of regret on his face. “I do not wish any child the presence of the Evil Queen, but I cannot help you. If that is why you sought me out, unfortunately, you’ve wasted your time. We’ll return you to the next port, and perhaps another ship can help you there –”

He begins to turn away, stepping back into the shadows of the passage towards the upper deck, and Emma grips the iron bars, wishing she could reach out and grab him instead.

“No, Killian, wait –”

But that’s the wrong thing to say. Hook whirls around, face pale now and eyes wide in honest shock. Emma backs away from the iron bars out of instinct, no desire to feel the sharp edge of his hook at her throat, as he marches back to her.

“How do you know that name?” he growls, and it’s easy to see how he gained his reputation as the fearsome Captain Hook with those black eyes directed at her, the snarl on his lip, the dark tenor to his voice.

“I – you told me,” she says, which is true but a very stupid thing to say.

“You’re a liar,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “The only people who know that name are either up on my deck or have been dead for centuries.”

Emma’s throat dries up. He’s right, and she doesn’t know what to say that he’ll believe, not that she’d have a good excuse for why she’d know it in this cursed realm anyways.

“I – uh –” Then she pauses. An idea is forming … it’s not the wisest choice, it may get her into more trouble, it really isn’t the best idea but – what choice does she have? She takes a deep breath and says, “The truth is … I know who you are because I know who you’re after – Rumplestiltskin.”

Hook gapes at her, and if he had looked taken aback at her saying his name before, its nothing like his shock now. Usually one never at a loss for words, now he is, totally flabbergasted and bewildered.

“You – the crocodile?” He shakes his head, as if trying to make sure he heard her right. “You – are you working with him? What do you want? Who are you?”

“I’m not working with him,” Emma says vehemently, interrupting his stream of questioning, his voice having risen with anger with each accusation. “I would never work with Gol – the Dark One. How I know him … well, that doesn’t matter – listen, please. I’m telling you the truth. I need your help.”

Hook isn’t listening to her. He’s started pacing the small corridor opposite her cell, his hand absently playing with the brace of the hook strapped tightly to his wrist, and he demands of her, “Where is he? Where is the Dark One?”

At that, Emma hesitates. Rumple was sent out of Storybrooke by Belle several weeks ago, and no one has heard a thing from him since. She has no idea if this new curse had enough strength to drag him back to the Enchanted Forest from an unmagical land, and even if it did, she has no idea where he’d have ended up here.

The truth seems like a viable option at this point, with a furious Captain Hook glaring at her, and she nearly confesses that she has no idea.

But she changes her mind at the last moment. She has very little power here, in the cell of the Jolly Roger when its captain doesn’t know who she is, but she does have some leverage. Clearly this cursed version of Hook is still desperately after Rumplestiltskin, and if he thinks she can help him get to him … well, then maybe he’ll help her in return.

After all, once they get to Regina in the first place and break this curse, then it won’t matter that she doesn’t know where Rumple is.

It’s an awful feeling to know she’s going to lie and manipulate this Killian, but she’s not sure what else to do. She has no power other than this, as far as she can tell, and if he remembered her, he’d be absolutely willing to help her. She could try telling him about this curse in the first place, but she figures that telling him, this suspicious version of Captain Hook, that she accidently released a magical curse to send them all back here from another world won’t endear him to her cause.

She straightens her back, and swallows down the guilt and unease. “I know where he is, but I need your help first.”

Hook stops his pacing at that. For a moment, he looks slightly impressed before his lips curl into a cold smirk. It’s a cold smile that Emma’s seen him give to many other people before, but never directed to her.

She hates it.

He chuckles once, a sound that send shivers down Emma’s back, and he shakes his head, his expression grudgingly impressed.

“Ah, I see. Well played, Mistress Swan.”

Emma curls her hands into fists at her side, hating the swoop of guilt in her stomach, but there’s no backing down now. “You help me, I’ll help you. If you help me rescue my son, I’ll take you to Rumplestiltskin.”

Hook stares back at her, eyes narrowed in contemplation and his expression stony. Then he smiles again, that same cold smile. He steps forward and extends his hand through the bars, the rings adorning his fingers glinting in the faint light.

“Then we have an accord.”

Emma steps forward tentatively and grips his hand with her own. She knows her Killian, knows him even as Captain Hook in the depths of his revenge, but as she shakes this version of Killian’s hand, his eyes unreadable and hard, she can’t help but wonder who exactly she’s made this deal with.

xxxx

After Hook leaves her alone again, Emma spends a few hours of total boredom and frustration in the brig. It’s cold and damp, with a terrible smell, and there’s no place to sit that doesn’t get drenched in seawater as the ship cuts through the waves outside. She can hear rats scurrying about around her, searching for scraps and crumbs, even nibbling at her shoes at one point. When she gets back to Storybrooke, she’s going to fix this brig up into some sort of respectable holding cell, or at least one without rats or leaky floorboards.

The rickety boards outside the cell creak then, and Emma looks up sharply. Its Hook again, stepping out of the shadows, his expression unreadable. Emma tenses, watching him closely, but he merely approaches the door, unlocking it with a thin key, and he gestures her out of the cell.

“This is no place for a lady to sleep. Follow me.”

A bit taken aback, Emma scrambles to her feet and trails after Hook as he leads her through the depths of the ship, down the narrow corridor that leads to his own cabin. That he is taking her there surprises her again – she knows this version of Hook doesn’t trust her as far as he can throw her, and yet he still has brought her here to his own quarters?

The interior of the cabin looks the same as it always does: the single bed in the corner, the oak table in the middle of the room, the walls lined with bookshelves. From the porthole and windows facing outside, Emma sees that it is sunset already, the fading sun casting a low glow of amber light into the small cabin. A folded set of clothes sit on the table, and Hook picks them up to give to her.

“Dry clothes.”

“Thanks,” she replies, unfolding the clothing to look at it. It’s one of Hook’s own black shirts, and a cloth pair of trousers, and her heart twinges. “These – these are just what I need.”

He inclines his head at her, still distantly polite. “You must be hungry. I’ll fetch you something to eat.”

He disappears back out into the corridor, and when she’s alone, Emma strips out of her soaked jeans and thin shirt into the fresh clothes, tossing her leather jacket over the back of one of the chairs. The new clothes smell strongly like Killian, and the familiar scent makes her heart pang once again.

Though the clothes are clean and dry, her time in the brig has left her with a chill. Emma moves to the bed in the corner of the room, settling down on it as she usually does. She’s only been seated for a few minutes before Hook returns, a plate with a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a pear on it. He skids to a stop in the doorway, an eyebrow raising at the sight of her.

“You’ve certainly made yourself at home.”

Emma tenses. She’d sat on his bed out of habit, and she gets to her feet, moving quickly away to the other side of the room. “Sorry, I just –”

“It’s fine, love,” he replies stiffly, placing the plate on the table. “As I said, the brig is no place for you to sleep.”

“Thanks –” Emma starts, but Hook is already backing away from her.

“Goodnight, Mistress Swan. Sleep well.”

And, with that, he’s gone, closing the door firmly behind him, his footsteps loud and echoing as he marches away.

Emma stares at the closed door, a swoosh of loneliness overcoming her. Here she is, in Hook’s cabin, on a ship where he doesn’t know her, where she’s nothing but a fugitive in a world where no one else knows her either. The exhaustion from the day, from the spell that drained her magic, truly starts to hit her now.

She returns to the bed, and trying her best to ignore the longing ache in her chest, Emma pulls the covers high, breathing in the familiar scent of the sheets and blankets, and falls asleep.

xxxx

The next days are amongst the strangest in Hook’s life. The witch – Emma, he reminds himself sternly – has been aboard his ship for only a handful of days, but she might as well have been here her entire life.

He had expected her to sequester herself in his cabin, wary of the suspicious pirates, but instead she’s been on deck most of the time, walking around the ship as if she owns it. The crew keep their distance from her, satisfied with their captain’s explanation that she has information of value in the hunt for Rumplestiltskin but with no desire to spend more time than necessary with her. After all, to them, they view her as nothing more than the witch who had appeared on their ship out of nowhere.

Emma seems unbothered by this, and she spends most of her time with him instead, apparently unafraid of either the hook at the end of his wrist or his reputation that sent her here in the first place.

At first, he’d been surprised by that, but that soon became the least of the surprises. To add to the unexpected behaviour, Emma treats him with her own sense of informality and familiarity that compounds his sensibilities. He’d first noticed it the day she arrived, when she’d settled herself in his bed like she belonged there, and then again when she began marching around the ship as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

She’ll say things out of the blue that catch him so off guard it makes him pause and wonder how the hell she could know that or a teasing comment that only someone who knows him well would dare to say. Other times he catches her staring at him, a strange expression on her face, that she quickly tries to mask.

He thinks he may be losing his mind. In fact, he’s certain of it as, the more time he spends with her, the more familiar she seems to be to him. He knows he’s never met her before – he would remember that face, he’s sure – but there’s something strangely familiar about her, something magnetic that draws him in and makes him doubt his own mind.

Every time he is around her, his skin prickles with a sense of déjà vu. A knowing smirk, a teasing lilt to her voice, a warm hand on his arm – all things that feel intimately familiar, as if he’s experienced it all and more. A strange vision of seeing her blonde hair whip in the wind on this ship before, of seeing her seated casually at his dining table in his quarters, of hearing the sound of her laugh before. It’s maddeningly frustrating, and try as he might, he cannot place where he may have met her before.

One night, after a fruitless attempt to sleep amongst the snores of the crew in their hammocks and quarters, Hook stands on the deck in the middle of the night, his mind troubled. Tonight, not only is his mind twisted with thoughts of Emma and wondering who she really is, he also can’t seem to shake the fact that she knows the Dark One.

Could that be why she knows so much about him, why she seems familiar? Perhaps that is why he feels like he has known her before, maybe in one of his many schemes to find the Dark One, he has met her before.

Truly, he thinks, he must be losing his mind.

All he knows is that ever since Emma said his name, since she vowed to help him find the Dark One in exchange for her son, his mind has been as turbulent as the rough seas. The promise of finally finding the Dark One is like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse, or (more appropriate to his case) throwing a life raft to a drowning man. The final key to the quest that has haunted him for centuries, the end goal to all his suffering and misery.

Though he’s cautious about getting his hopes up; he’s been burned too many times before. How can he trust the word of this woman, who knows his true name, who claims to have learned it from the Dark One? Perhaps she’s a former apprentice of the Dark One, bitter and spurned by an inevitable betrayal, willing to betray her former master to Hook in a version of her own revenge? Or perhaps an equally powerful witch who wants one up on the Dark One for whatever offence he caused her? Or maybe he’s the one who sent her son away to the Evil Queen, and now this is Emma’s revenge for that instead?

If attempting to save her son from the Evil Queen doesn’t kill him, he’s starting to think the madness of trying to sort out just who exactly this Emma Swan is may do it instead.

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the hatch leading down to belowdecks opens and a figure emerges onto the dark deck. Emma, wrapped in the blanket from his bed, straightens, a silhouetted shadow illuminated by the lantern in her hand against the darkness of the deck, and Hook can’t help let a chuckle escape.

Of course, she’s here now too.

He clears his throat to get her attention, and she starts, whirling around dramatically. She relaxes when she realizes it’s him, and heads towards him.

“You’re up late,” she calls out, joining him on the upper deck. She sets the lantern down, casting an amber light around them, and she leans against the railing beside him, their arms brushing.

“Could say the same about you,” he replies, pulling away from her slightly if only to clear his own mind. Just another example of her informality to add to his list …

Emma doesn’t seem to notice, shrugging as she pulls the blanket around herself tighter. “Can’t sleep,” she says simply.

He nods absently, thinking back to his own pointless tossing and turning. “I know how you feel.”

She casts him a knowing look. “I bet you do.”

Another one of her strange comments. He frowns, and they lapse into silence then for a long while, the glimmering lantern light flickering with the rocking of the ship against the waves.

From the corner of his eye, he watches her. She’s stoic, her brow pinched in a frown, and is gazing down at the dark ocean with an unreadable expression.

He’s curious about her, about this witch who knows Rumplestiltskin and has a child kidnapped by the Evil Queen. She’s nothing like he thought she would be when he first talked with her in the cell, where he saw only the powerful witch who knew too much and demanded too much. Against his better instincts, he wants to know more about her and her past. He nearly begins to question her, but then changes his mind.

Now, looking at her in the glow of the lantern, he knows it’s not the time. Instead of the powerful witch who may be connected to some of the darkest figures of magic, right now, she looks like nothing more than a tired and stressed mother.

“Worried about your son?” he asks gently.

Emma sighs, and nods. “I hope he’s okay. He – he’s only a kid. He doesn’t deserve all this crap that keeps happening to him.”

“What did happen? I mean, how did he come to be taken?”

Emma tenses. “Uh, it’s complicated. I – uh … well, I suppose it’s my fault, really.”

He frowns, not expecting that answer. “How so?”

“I – well, I guess I cast a spell that got him into this situation. I didn’t mean to,” she adds, a touch of defensiveness rising to her voice at Hook’s raised eyebrow. “I – I can’t always control my magic. I was looking at something, and it turns out it was – it was some sort of spell, and it caused this whole mess.”

He frowns. She’s speaking out of the side of her mouth, vague enough that Hook has no idea what she’s really talking about. But he decides against questioning her – as long as she keeps her end of the bargain after they rescue her son, she can keep her secrets. Whatever she did, it’s apparent she’s torturing herself over it.

“It sounds like it was an accident,” Hook murmurs, and Emma glances over to him. “I’m sure your son will understand.”

She regards him quietly, her eyes unreadable and dark in the dim light. “I hope so,” she says, after a long while of silence. “I hope everyone I … affected with this spell will forgive me.”

She says it meaningfully, as if there’s some message within her words, but again, Hook frowns, confused. She smiles sadly, and shakes her head briefly, pulling away from the railing. She pats his arm, and tugs the blanket tighter around herself once more.

“Goodnight, Hook.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

He watches her retreat to the cabin belowdecks, the lantern light winking out as the hatch door shuts, leaving him in the dark of the night, now more confused than ever.

xxxx

Several days later, after another few days of confusion and madness, the ship turns from the open waters and towards a small seaside town, emerging slowly from the morning fog coating the shoreline. With another four days of sailing to get to the Evil Queen’s fortress, they need more supplies to make it there.

Hook joins the crew in securing the sails as they get closer to the small town. They’re about to make port when Emma emerges from below deck, dressed hastily and haphazardly. She hurries towards him, her hands dropping to her hips as she approaches, and Hook is struck by the sight of her, emerging from his cabin in his black shirt, hair a mess.

“We’re stopping?”

He looks back to the rope he was tying, and focuses firmly on it instead of her. “Aye. We need more supplies before we continue on into the Queen’s territory.” He chances a glance back to her, and can’t help but grin teasingly. “Another mouth to feed drains our supplies quicker, you know.”

Emma rolls her eyes, though her mouth ticks up in half a smile. “How long will you be gone?”

“A few hours at most.” He finishes tying the rope, and straightens, wiping at the sweat on his brow. Emma looks tense, rubbing absently at her arms, and he adds, more gently, “I know you’re anxious for your son, but we do have to stop and replenish our supplies.”

She remains troubled, but nods in understanding. “Okay.”

She moves to leave, but Hook steps forward, blocking her path and grasping her forearm, brow furrowing. “You’re not a prisoner, love. You can come too.” He pauses, considering, and then adds, “I won’t leave without you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She hesitates, glancing out to the approaching town, emerging from the fog to be a small cluster of thatched roof buildings and fishing boats. Something crosses over her expression, her brow furrowing briefly in worry, before she shakes her head.

“No, I know you won’t leave. But I’m going to stay here.”

Hook wants to press her for more information, wondering what has made her worried, but instead he nods, releasing her forearm and stepping back.

“As you wish.”

Emma smiles strangely at that, and quickly excuses herself from his presence. He loses track of her in the business of making port, and when they are docked and secured, Hook leads the majority of the crew down the rickety docks into the quaint town square, while several of the crew remain behind to watch the ship. He has stopped here at this village before – a small town on the outskirts of the kingdom – and while the people here may have no love for pirates, they do have love for what Hook brings with him: gold, and plenty of it.

The crew disperse into the nooks and crannies of the town, off to fetch new supplies of fresh water and food, while Hook wanders further into the village. His stomach growls as he passes by a bakery, but he forges on. He’s on a mission – after seeing Emma, tousled hair and dressed in his clothing, he’s decided she needs some of her own clothing.

The last thing he needs is something else adding to his growing confusion and disconcertment regarding her.

At the end of the lane is a small seamstress shop, small but stuffed with swarths of fabric and ribbons. A small bell tinkles over the entrance as the door swings open, and the woman behind the counter straightens when Hook enters, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Can – can I help you?”

“Yes,” he says, briskly, and requests her to bring some of her pre-made garments out for him to look at. There only a handful; most requiring accurate measurements from the individual in question to be sewn, and he frowns, considering them.

“For your lady, sir?” the woman asks innocently, and Hook glances sharply to her.

“Uh,” he starts, and then decides to just go with it, because explaining that no, actually, this clothing is for the witch who appeared on his ship and promised to take him to an immortal demon, is something he’d rather not do. “Yes.”

He chooses two of the dresses, one beige and one maroon, as well as a pair of soft cowhide pants and a white blouse. They look to be Emma’s size, or at least something she can made do with so he pays the woman and leaves with the clothing bundled under his arm.

As he’s strolling back down the lane, whistling to himself absently, a large pin-board near a cluster of taverns draws his attention, cluttered with flyers and posters. Habit draws him closer; sometimes there are bounties posted here, for pirates like himself, and he always likes to check in on these, to get a sense of what law enforcement is onto him.

This time, however, it’s not a bounty that catches his eye. In the centre of the board is a large WANTED poster, and he stops dead in his tracks, gaping. The blood drains from his face, as he stares back at the WANTED poster, at the very face of the same woman aboard his ship right now.

#captain swan #ouat #cs ff #now up to 3 parts!#fic: the art of summoning

46 notes · View notes

pandawritespoorly · 5 years

Text

With Time: Chapter 17 - Sleepover

Author’s Note: A slightly longer chapter! I hope everyone had a nice holiday (if you celebrate). This chapter doesn't have any strong language warnings! Shocker!

Chapter Summary: Marinette tells her friends what happened before her transfer.

First | Previous | Next

“I went to Françoise Dupont for years. It was the only school I’d ever gone to. I didn’t really have any close friends, but people were friendly with me, so that was enough. Chloe bullied me a lot, and I think people were scared to hang out with me for that - they didn’t want to be bullied too.” The group settles in attentively, ready to listen.

“Last year, at the beginning of the school year, I met Alya. She became my first real friend. That was nice.” She smiles softly, before wiping it off her face quickly in favor of displaying as little emotion as possible. Emotions get you akumatized.

“Then… Lila came. She lied about everything! And it wasn’t even remotely believable!” Marinette’s face changed to one of anger, then she corrected herself. She’s not allowed to be mad. This is her fault.

“Everyone believed her anyways, because I was just being ‘jealous’. It didn’t matter what I thought apparently. I guess they finally realized how stupid I am.” she says the last part under her breath - muttering. The friend group looks like they want to interrupt her, but if they interrupt she might not start again. They can address that after she’s finished.

“She got akumatized on her first day there, and ‘moved away’ to ‘travel in other countries’ for awhile. She was still in Paris though, not only was she akumatized again but there are public records showing that her mom - who she was supposedly traveling with - was still in Paris. Things went back to normal eventually, and I thought it was over. I was wrong. Obviously. Moron.” Oh, Marinette. “Then I came to school one day to find that everyone had changed seats. My new spot had been decided without me. I was in the back. Alone.” Adrien squeezes her hand gently.

“The seating chart had been rearranged so that she could sit in the front near Adrien, for her ‘tinnitus’. I tried to say something and they accused me of being insensitive… I just didn’t want to be alone…” She shakes her head, moving on.

“Anyways, at lunch she convinced the class I could have blinded Max - who wears glasses - by gouging one of his eyes out with a napkin. She cornered me in the bathroom and told me if I didn’t go along with her she’d take all my friends away.

“I didn’t believe her. Stupid.” She looks like she considers mentioning more, but decides against it.

“After I fought off another akuma, she managed to get akumatized instead. She pretended to be Adrien, but it was taken care of.” The casual way she says ‘another akuma’ concerns them. Adrien winces, thinking back to when he’d learned of his friend’s run-ins with akumas.

“For the rest of the year she didn’t really interact with me other than when she would corner me to insult me - but that was fine.” Adrien turns to her in surprise - he didn’t know about that.

“Anyways, I didn’t talk to my friends as much anymore, I didn’t see them over the summer either. On the first day back, Lila was still around, spewing her usual nonsense. She left early on the second day - after she threatened me again, but-” she shrugs nonchalantly before moving on, “-Wednesday was nice, she was absent all day. I got to hang out with Alya… one last time.

“Then it was Thursday…” Marinette stares at the floor for a while. They think she might be done for a moment, but she continues - though her voice is noticeably shakier despite her efforts, “I-I was late and Adrien was gone. I d-didn’t see that she’d come back, but Alya was qu-quick to point it out to me once there was a break. Lila had fake bruises and said I’d attacked her. That I’d been b-bullying her over the sum-m-mer. And they all believed her. Rose glared at me. Rose.” She tears up, covering her face with her hands, clearly upset that her former friends thought so lowly of her.

“A-Alya grabbed my wrist and then I… tripped down the stairs. I th-think Chloe found me in the bathroom? I don’t r-really r-reme’ber much from the rest o’ the day. I transferred to your guys’ school on M-Monday.” Adrien narrows his eyes at the mention of her ‘tripping’ down the stairs.

“Th-That’s the story, …you c-can all hate me now…” She curls into herself slightly, clearly drained, but holding herself together so they can yell at her or something.

“Never.” They say it in unison the instant she’s finished.

She looks too surprised by this.

“Told you, Mari.” Adrien looks at her softly, running a hand through her hair softly.

“Oh.” She blinks slowly, working to remain awake, “‘re you sure?”

“Marinette, you are an intelligent, kind-hearted person who did nothing to deserve that treatment.” Felix assures.

“Marinette, you’re our friend. We care about you. We’d never hate you.” Claude hugs her gently, and the other four join in. They release her, and she looks about ready to drop. At least she’s already sitting down.

“‘Nette, you can sleep if you want.” Allan suggests.

She nods tiredly, leaning over to the side to flop onto Adrien. He’s always been the warmest in any room. He doesn’t protest, just plays with her hair soothingly. Eventually her breathing levels and she’s completely out.

Adrien looks up at them, face hard, “So. You know now.” He pauses, “Revenge?”

Allegra doesn’t hesitate in the slightest, “Definitely.” The others nod in agreement.

“Should we move Mari first?” Allan looks at the sleeping girl on top of Adrien.

“She’s kind of clingy…” He demonstrates, pausing in playing with her hair to grab her shoulders gently to try and lift her. She only frowns in her sleep and sluggishly grabs for Adrien again, hugging him limply when he lets her go.

“Willing to bet he doesn’t mind having a sleepy Mari blanket.” Claude grins at the model, who blushes.

“Well, I mean…” He trails off, shrugging, returning to messing with her hair gently.

“So… I’m guessing you still attend her old school?” Allegra looks at him compassionately.

“It sucks. It took almost two weeks after she left for them to stop talking bad about her. I thought I would snap.”

“Are they unaware that you are still in contact with her?” Felix asks.

“Yeah. Honestly, I’d say more in her defense if it weren’t for the fact that any sort of ‘scene’ I might make would make Father take me out of school. Then I’d be stuck in my room again.” He looks off to the side at the floor, speaking near-monotonously, “He’d take it as a victory and I’d never get to anything I want. I probably wouldn’t leave the house for at least a month. Then he’d need me to do some stupid photoshoot. What’s the point of having a son if he isn’t constantly earning you money?” He speaks the last part caustically, clearly having thought about this before, “Besides, I’m pretty sure that Lila has some sort of deal with him so I can’t upset her either.”

“Mon Dieu.” Allan shakes his head, “You poor dear.”

Adrien shrugs in a resigned manner.

“You sure Marinette is the only one we need to get revenge for?” Claude raises an eyebrow.

“If you’re considering trying to get me my freedom, you may want to enlist Mari for that. Sometime over the summer my father did something - I don’t even remember what - and she snapped. I was legitimately worried she was about to storm his office.” Adrien grins, “She can be terrifying.”

“I believe that, just maybe not right now.” Claude pokes the girl’s face and she sticks out her tongue tiredly at them.

“Are you still in the class’ good graces?” Felix asks, seemingly having some ideas.

“They don’t hate me if that’s what you mean. I think I’ve faded into the background to them. I’ve gone entire weeks without speaking and no one mentioned it. I think I’m just Lila’s personal pretty armrest now.”

“Wow. I hate them.” Allegra looks ready to stab someone, “And Mari still thinks these are good people?” Adrien thinks about what Plagg said about Ladybug. Marinette may not be Ladybug, but they have similar personalities - he’d called her their ‘everyday Ladybug’ for a reason. If Ladybug has decided to cling to the fact that her old friends were in the right, the same is probably true of Marinette. Especially considering what he’s heard her say about herself versus what she says of Bustier’s class.

“I think… she wants to believe there’s something she did wrong, so that she can fix it? Or so that she doesn’t do it again?” He looks down at her, frowning in concern. She remains unaware, only continuing to nap, “I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it a ton.”

“Oh, ‘Nette…” Allan shakes his head at her, rubbing her arm softly.

“Well, on the bright side, we know now…” Claude says optimistically, “We can try to help her more.”

They all nod.

“Seeing as it’s Friday, we could have a sleepover here - if she’s comfortable with it.”

“I’ll stay as long as I can, but sleepovers are not something my father approves of.”

“I will pay Ladybug or Chat Noir to kidnap you so you can join us.” Claude sounds entirely serious about this foolproof plan.

Adrien snorts, shaking his head. Chat Noir would be entirely willing to kidnap his alter-ego to meet with friends - if that was physically possible. Ladybug may be more hesitant, but he could see her being convinced.

His phone dings, he frowns when he sees it’s a message from Nino, asking if he wants to hang out, apparently he’s tired of Alya’s ranting. He notes that Nino isn’t tired of Alya ranting about Marinette, just that he’s bored of her still ranting.

Another text: ‘i get that mari sucks but i want 2 do sumthing fun’.

“Ugh. Nino texted me.” “I don’t know who that is, but if he’s one of the ones that contributed to this, I don’t like him.” Allegra doesn’t seem to plan on being lax on the class in the slightest, fully ready to get complete revenge on them for doing what they did to Marinette.

“What is our plan of attack?” Felix looks ready to take mental notes.

“Well we should definitely disprove all of Lila’s lies. From there I’m not really sure.” Adrien isn’t exactly well-versed in revenge plans.

“If they can’t see for themselves maybe they deserve to stay blind. They’ll probably come crawling back to Marinette looking for forgiveness.” Allegra looks indignant on behalf of Marinette.

“She’d probably forgive ‘em.” Allan adds, “But that’s her decision to make.”

Allegra sighs.

“It may be for the best for all of us to keep our emotions in check. It is surprising - and rather lucky - an akuma has yet to make an appearance.” Felix points out.

Yes, very lucky indeed. Almost as if a Goddess of good luck is within their ranks. Regardless, the group takes a moment to calm down.

“So, this is her old phone right?” Claude holds up the offending piece of tech.

“Yeah… I thought she got rid of it.” Adrien grabs it, frowning when he sees the lock screen is a smiling selfie of Alya and Marinette.

He puts it down. No one has to see that right now - it’s in the past.

“Why did she take this one to school? Where’s her normal one?”

A window is cracked open, and a cold breeze sneaks in, making Marinette stir. She catches Allegra’s question, and tries to sit up and respond, “los’ i’.”

They turn to her - surprised to see her up. Claude notices the window and crosses the room to close it, tossing a blanket from the chaise to Adrien on his way back.

Adrien convinces Marinette to lay back down - it really doesn’t take a lot of negotiation - and settles the blanket over her as she goes back to weakly hugging the boy that she’s currently using as a pillow.

They wait a moment, watching her to be sure they won’t disturb her again when they start up their conversation.

“Okay, so she lost it. Guess she grabbed the wrong one then?” Allan guesses.

Allegra gets her phone out, “I’ll call it. That way she can get rid of that.” She glares at the innocent phone as if it is single-handedly responsible for all of Marinette’s problems.

They hear a buzz from above. Looking up, they see the phone laying face-down on the ledge next to her bed. It’s on the corner, right above their heads.

Allan stands, “Not even going to ask how that got there.” He climbs up and retrieves it, putting it on the desk.

They’re quiet for a moment, then Claude asks, “So, like, off-topic but I have to know… what exactly is happening here?” He gestures towards the corner of Marinette’s room where all of her balcony garden currently resides for the winter (After Marinette’s little stunt when she was sick, Adrien made a point to come over and help her move the potted plants safely inside her room).

The large multitude of plants look almost entirely red. They’re covered in a bunch of ladybugs, likely hundreds, if not more. It looks as though Marinette has a little dish of water out for the spotted beetles.

“Hibernation support group?” Allan suggests.

“I think I heard something about this last year? For whatever reason Marinette’s plants are the local ladybugs’ favorite ones to hibernate on. She’s got a bunch of little bug-ddies.” Adrien shrugs, smiling at his pun.

“Eyyy!” Claude approves of the joke.

They keep talking, and with the window now closed, the heaters can actually warm the room. Marinette begins to stir slightly, glaring at the lights for having the audacity to be bright.

Adrien boops her nose, “Hey Mari, welcome back to the real world.”

She frowns at him, “No.”

“‘No’ what exactly?” Claude leans forward slightly, enjoying the tired girl’s nonsense.

She just sticks her tongue out, clearly having not thought out her retort.

“A valid point. Carry on.” Allan nods solemnly.

As the room warms further, Marinette grows more lucid, eventually sitting up (mostly) on her own, still leaning heavily on Adrien. The model wraps the fallen blanket around her carefully.

“Hey Mari, what’s on your wall?” Claude gestures above her desk.

She turns, not sure which of her pictures he’s talking about, “Huh?” “The purple, pink, and blue thing. It looks like my flag.”

“Oh. Tha’s jus’ a color reference. Wh’t flag?”

“The ambigender flag. I have one in my locker, but I don’t think you’ve seen it. I used to have one in my room, but I lost it.” “I still don’t understand how you managed that. It wasn’t like, tiny, or anything. Seriously Claude how?” this sounds like something Allegra has dwelled on.

He shrugs unhelpfully.

“Wait, so what pronouns do you use?” Adrien asks. Marinette appreciates it, words are not her strong suit in the winter.

“I am he/him and they/them at the same time, all the time!”

“Huh. Okay, good to know.”

“Yeah, I guess I never mentioned it.”

Their conversation moves on, eventually Adrien’s phone beeps and he glances at it,”Well, my time is up. I’ve got to head out in a moment.” He glances down at the girl who has fallen asleep on him again, “Mari, I’ve got to go.” He begins picking up her up carefully, but she has a surprisingly tight grip for someone of her stature.

He’s experienced in dealing with cuddly pig-tailed girls though, and manages to extricate himself. She looks at him tiredly and in distress. He feels bad, but he does have to go. She’d probably sleep the day away if given the opportunity and he does have places to be.

“Sorry.” He says goodbye to the others and slips out of the room. Claude is the next closest and Marinette flops on them instead to continue her nap.

“Ha! I have the tired girl now!” he raises his hands victoriously before readjusting the blanket she still has.

“That’s a bit of a double-edged sword bud. Adrien made escape look much easier than it actually is.” Allan warns.

“I think I’ll live.”

“If we’re going to stay over, we should probably get permission first.” Allegra points out eventually.

Felix nods, “Correct. We do not even know if Marinette is okay with the plan yet.”

“That’s corrected easily enough.” Claude pokes Marinette a few times to get her attention, “Hey, hey, Mariiiii.”

Her eyes crack open and she looks up at them, blinking a few times, “Hmm?”

“Do you wanna’ have a sleepover over here? Or I guess, do you want us to have one?”

The cogs in her mind are turning slower than normal - the stress of the afternoon has sped up her approaching winter-ladybug-instincts, which don’t mesh well with normal human life. Eventually she figures out what’s happening and nods sleepily, giving Claude a hug.

“Alright! Now we just need the permission of the parents!” Claude gets out his own phone, and the rest follow suit.

Allan stands, “I’ll ask Tom and Sabine.”

Eventually all the adults have given the go-ahead and the group is set to stay the night.

“Yay! First sleepover with Marinette!” Claude announces.

“She’s got the first part down pretty good.” Allan gestures at the limp girl that’s still napping.

“She was pretty awake earlier. Adrien must just be that much warmer.” Allegra shakes her head, “Another reason for him to have stayed.”

“Well, she was certainly right when she said she’d fall asleep on the same people a lot. Adrien and Claude must be the warmest of us.” Allan points out, “She uses them as a pillow the most.”

The trapdoor opens and Sabine peaks in, “Hi dears. Your parents are dropping off your clothes and such so you can go change now. Marinette will probably be better off in some warm pajamas. There’s some pizza things in the kitchen, you dears can make your own as dinner. Tom and I will be out for a few hours, but we’ll be back before too late. Don’t burn the place down while we’re gone.” She winks, then slips out.

“We should head down then. Mari can meet us in the kitchen.”

“If she ever sets Claude free.” Allan looks at the boy, who clearly underestimated the difficulty of freeing themself from Marinette’s clutches.

“I’ve got to go now…” he looks to the rest pleadingly, “Help.”

Allegra and Felix give him looks that clearly mean ‘you did this to yourself’, but Allan crouches beside them, carefully prying her off. Claude stands, free at last.

“You should get changed, Mari. Can you meet us in the kitchen?” he stands once she’s nodded at him.

Once the group have left, Tikki flies into the open. She’s not quite as tired as her holder - having not been emotionally traumatized today.

“Marinette, you should get changed. Pjs are nice!” After the girl pushes herself over to her clothes, the Kwami goes to check the old phone. She’d been trapped in Marinette’s purse during the whole debacle and wanted to know exactly what had been said. She understands why they’d kept the phone away from her though, and Tikki is more than capable of patience.

“Oh, Marinette…” The texts were worse than what she’d expected. That poor girl. Tikki hides the phone away, hoping to deal with it later.

The girl in question has dressed herself in pjs that look comfortable and well within her normal color palette. The Goddess is relieved to see no signs of aposematic coloration.

She flies to hide in Marinette’s hair as they make their way to the kitchen.

The oven is already preheating, and Marinette does the sensible thing and sits right in front of it. Tikki has no complaints, it’s warm and closed so they can safely sit there for a little bit at the very least.

Her friends show up again, each in a change of clothes, and place their bags near the couch. Allegra is the first to spot Marinette.

“Oh, honey, maybe you shouldn’t sit there. That’s an oven.”

Marinette just shrugs, not moving away. The heat has definitely helped her some. Maybe she should sit directly in front of heat sources more often….

The boys spot her, Claude shakes their head, gripping her arms and helping her to a stool.

“There. Now you’re not right in front of an oven. Besides, you need to show us how to make pizzas!”

Marinette blinks at him, “It’s not too complicated?”

“Still!”

Marinette shrugs, grabbing the dough and splitting it into six equally sized balls. Marinette takes one and rolls it out to a flat circle. She tops it with all of the meat options at the table. She goes over a few other steps, then puts it in the oven. She passes a dough ball to each of them, including herself and they all go about topping their pizzas. Marinette adds mushroom to hers - a new thing for her, but having the Ladybug miraculous has changed her food preferences a little.

Claude speaks, their voice grave, “Now, guys, I know what I’m about to do is controversial, but I hope that afterwards we can still be friends.” He’s holding his closed fist above his pizza. When he has all of their attention, he opens it slightly, dropping a pineapple chunk onto the pizza.

Dramatic gasps come from all the others at the table. Claude continues in his delinquent ways, adding a more equal amount on the pizza.

They move on, eventually everyone’s pizzas are done and added to the oven too. The group cleans up, putting the things away and clearing the counter.

“What should we do now?” Allan sits next to Marinette.

“There’s games downstairs, you guys could go pick some out if you want. I’ll watch the oven.”

“You just want to stay in the kitchen where it’s warm.” Claude winks at her.

She shrugs at him, “Maybe.”

“As long as you stay in the chair - no sitting near ovens this time.” Allan gives her a look.

She smiles sheepishly. They head downstairs, preparing themselves for Claude to have them carry every board game up for them to play.

Once she hears their footsteps grow softer, Marinette stands from her chair and quietly heads up to her room and out onto her balcony.

She stands at the far edge, looking around at the rooftops nearby. The cold begins getting to her and she begins to droop slightly. Her eyelids seem strangely heavy - she’d forgotten just how cold the outdoors are.

“Just what are you doing out tonight, purr-incess?”

She wheels around at her partner’s voice behind her. He’s looking at her in concern, resting above her on one of the taller walls that serves as a back to the balcony. “It’s a little cold for you isn’t it? Last time I was here you had a fever - can’t have that again.”

She only yawns, stumbling closer to the trapdoor. He lands on the balcony, steadying her.

“Let’s get you inside. It’s cold, Mari.”

Once inside, she climbs down the ladder, motioning for him to follow. He does so, confused.

“I made a…” The rest of the sentence comes out as tired gibberish that he can’t quite interpret.

She leads him into the kitchen.

“What was that?”

She leans against the oven, warming herself up for a bit before trying again, “I made you a pizza…”

He smiles, “Thanks, Marinette.”

She’s glad he doesn’t ask why. She can’t exactly say that it’s an apology for being unable to go to patrol tonight. It’d also be weird to say that she just thinks he deserves something nice.

A voice comes from the hall, “‘Nette, you’d better not be leaning against the oven again! Just ‘cause it isn’t dangerous doesn’t mean it’s a good idea!”

Chat Noir recognizes Allan’s voice. It would seem the sleepover happened after all.

“Princess are you doing something you’re not supposed to?”

“Nooo. He jus’ doesn’ like my warmin’ tactics. Mean.” She’s pouting, clearly still cold from her little venture to the outdoors. It seems likely she’ll fall asleep before the pizzas are done.

“Who are you talking to Marinette?” Allegra calls as they all turn into the kitchen again, stopping as they see who it is that has joined them spontaneously.

“Him.” Marinette points at the hero, as if further clarification were needed.

“Hi.” Chat flutters his fingers at all of them, “Princess here found a stray.”

“Not a stray… you go’ Ladybug.” Marinette corrects.

He clicks his tongue, pointing at her in agreement, “Very true, can’t argue with you there.”

“So we left for, what? Five minutes? And Marinette has just pulled one of the two heroes of Paris out of thin air? I need to stop getting surprised by these things.” Allegra shakes her head.

“Marinette is just that great!” Claude shouts.

“Marinette, what did I say about the oven?” Allan won’t let her surprise guest distract him from her rule-breaking.

In response, the girl only falls onto her side, her eyes fighting her to close.

“She may or may not have been outside for a little bit. I don’t know how long.” Chat adds, seeing how they’re looking at her slumped form.

“Alright, we can wait for the pizzas upstairs, Mari here should probably get somewhere warmer that isn’t an oven.”

She apparently hears this, pushing herself to a standing position, walking precariously to the stairs, the group follows her up.

She wanders over to her ladybug-covered plants, curling up near them and sleeping immediately. A few of the spotted bugs move to rest on her instead.

They set down the games they’d brought up and sit around the room. Allan tries to cover the napping girl with a blanket without disturbing the bugs. He eventually moves some of them back to the plants, leaving three or so in her hair.

“So how did you arrive here?” Felix turns to the cat hero.

“I was doing patrol and saw her on her balcony. Figured I’d check on her, seeing as the last time I saw her on her balcony she had a fever.” He shrugs, “Then she pulled me into the kitchen. Said she made me a pizza.”

“That’s what that extra was for!”

“She was on her balcony when she had a fever?” Allan frowns.

“She was very determined to get her plants inside. I talked her out of it.” “So you guys know each other pretty well? You and Ladybug seemed to recognize her by name.”

“Yeah… her old school is kind of an akuma hotspot, she’s one of two students in the class that hasn’t been akumatized, including the teacher.” His face darkens, “Though apparently that almost wasn’t the case.”

At their questioning looks he continues, “She told me there’s been… 5? 6? Akumas after her just this school year.”

“Oh, ‘nette.” Allan brushes her hair out of her eyes, watching her sleeping face.

“Anyways, yes, I’ve seen her a few times near akumas, but she doesn’t typically stick around long. I only met her officially during Evillustrator.” “Evillustrator?”

“One of her former classmates got akumatized and she agreed to go on a date with him if he would stop attacking people. She got his akumatized object- or almost at the very least, but boats aren’t the best place for a fight.”

Allegra thinks for a moment, “Didn’t one of you mention she took over City Hall?”

“Yup. While Darkblade was taking over the city she led her class in blockading the building - pretty impressive.”

“Goodness, Mari. Got anything else you’re hiding from us?”

A timer goes off from below and Allan and Allegra go to remove the pizzas. They return with waters and the sliced pizzas on a plate, having found a pizza cutter Marinette had left out.

They hand out the pizzas, Allan sitting beside Marinette and putting hers in front of her.

He sets his down too, turning to try and wake the girl.

“Hey, ‘Nettie, ya’ gotta’ wake up. It’s time to eat. You didn’t have a lunch, and I doubt you ate breakfast. Come on.”

She stirs eventually. Her movement prompts the rest of the ladybugs to fly back to their plants.

She spots the water, and as usual, drinks some of that immediately. They’ve learned by now she’ll drink water if it’s put in front of her. Food is a different story.

Allan pushes the plate at her, and she blinks at him, as if daring him to suggest she eat instead of sleep. The nerve of this boy.

“Come on, you can’t just eat nothing again.”

“Again?” Claude sounds concerned.

Allan turns to him, “‘Member when she got a fever? All she’d had the day before was like two granola bars and a bottle of water.”

They look at the girl, “Mari…”

Something sticks in Chat’s head, but he can’t quite make the connection - deciding to drop it for now.

“Princess, we’re all in agreement, you need to eat. Majority rules.”

She glares at the group, though it’s not exactly effective given her exhaustion. She does start to eat though, so they take it as a win.

The warm food and multitude of heaters eventually wake her up further, and she’s capable of proper communication again. She’s better at sitting up too which helps for when they start on their board games.

Chat stays for a few games, but does have to leave eventually. After a few hours, they put the games away - Marinette’s been sleeping on Claude for almost half an hour now, so it’s probably about time anyways.

---

Author’s Note: Good job, Marinette! This chapter marks a change for her. She'll be getting better from here, mostly because she's no longer trying to hide her past. She can talk about it now.

So Claude is ambigender. When I was writing up a character sheet for him I found that I kept called him 'they' in my head. I figured I might as well roll with it. The only change I make for writing for him is that I switch up which pronouns I use as I write. I am no expert on gender identity or anything like that, so if there's anything that I should keep in mind for them or if there's something I'm doing wrong please let me know. I tried to do as much research as I could, but I'm aware that that can only take me so far. I welcome any feedback, I want to make sure I'm doing this right.

I'm aware that the whole 'don't sit in front of the oven' thing is a little odd. I'm not saying that's inherently dangerous, but, like, there are better choices. The next chapter isn't as calm. Very much the opposite. Sorry, not sorry. I promise it's the final big bump in the road.

Woah, no page breaks in this chapter? I think that's a first.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

First | Previous | Next

51 notes · View notes