#the first three replies at least were Seconds apart not influenced by one another. there was just unanimous agreement

[irradiatedsnakes]

i cant get over how fucking quickly everyone just descended on that post to say Ritsu

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH22

And we’re back! Chapters will resume posting on Fridays both here on tumblr and on AO3 (linked below). I hope you’re ready for the second half of this story. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that are different from last time, so I hope you all enjoy it!

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Chapter 22: Mean

Marinette chewed her lip, picking at the hem of her shirt. She’d been too nervous to sleep, and the coffee she drank on the way to the hotel made her jittery. Clara and her manager flipped through her designs, the silence eating away at Marinette’s composure. Did Clara like them? Hate them? Had Marinette let her down? Why wasn’t she saying anything?

Clara glanced up at Marinette, a smile curling on her lips. She stood up with an amused giggle and took Marinette’s hands. “Oh, Marinette, you can chill. These designs really fit the bill. Choosing you was in good taste. Eloise, send these to my tailor, posthaste.” Clara winked, and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. “Truly, great work, Marinette. I love them.”

“I’m glad. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” Marinette bowed.

“Although your formality is rather cutesy, there’s no need since you and I are friends, you see.” She spun Marinette around and pulled her in for a hug. “I felt a connection with you right away. If you ever need anything, you just have to say.”

Marinette’s chest swelled as Clara pulled away and brushed her nose with a finger.

“Eloise, write a check for her beautiful mind.” Clara ordered, pacing over to the piano. “I’ve got an idea for a new song that will be simply divine!”

Clara’s manager tore a check from her book and handed it to Marinette as Clara began to pluck at the piano. Marinette did a double-take to make sure the decimal was in the right place, but before she could protest, Clara’s security guard ushered her out.

“Goodbye, my dearest friend. I’ll miss you until we meet again!” Clara blew a kiss.

As the door closed behind her, Marinette glanced down at the check, heart pounding. Clara liked her designs! She considered Marinette a friend! Oh, she’d love to see the look on Lila’s face the day Clara walked the red carpet in Marinette’s dress.

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette!” Tikki said as Marinette tapped the button for the elevator. “You worked really hard, and it paid off.”

“I’m just happy that Clara liked my designs. It’s not about the money for me. I want to design clothes that make people feel good,” she said, stepping onto the elevator. “I can’t wait to tell everyone over tea this afternoon!”

“Will there be cookies at the tea party?” Tikki asked.

Marinette shot her a knowing smile and brushed her kwami’s nose with one finger. “Control that sweet tooth of yours.”

“I want to celebrate your accomplishments!” Tikki shot back indignantly. “If there happens to be cookies there, then so be it.”

“Tell you what,” Marinette said as the elevator dinged on the first floor. “I told everyone to come over at 2. Why don’t you and I celebrate now? Let’s go get some ice cream.”

Tikki perked up, ducking down into her purse. Marinette shut the clasp as she paced out the front doors of the hotel. Pulling out her phone to see where Andre was stationed today, she failed to look up as she rounded the corner and collided with another person.

“Sorry!” she gasped as they both stumbled backward, but upon seeing the face of her victim, her face hardened.

“Finally apologizing for trying to upstage me? It’s about time,” Lila said.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you. Nothing else.” Marinette rolled her eyes and stepped around her.

“So, you’re not sorry for abandoning all of your friends then? For turning your back on Alya?” Lila asked.

Marinette’s hands balled into fists, but she didn’t stop. “Alya made her choice.”

“And she chose me over you.” Lila smirked. “She even got us matching bff necklaces. She’s so sweet.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure your genuine friendship built on honesty and trust will last a lifetime.” Marinette retorted.

“I’m just glad she finally deleted her blog dedicated to that insect. She has so much more time on her hands to do all of my work,” Lila said. “You know, I’m class representative now since you deserted your post.”

Marinette bit her lip hard. Lila was taunting her, and she knew it. How could anyone be this vindictive? Marinette had always known Lila was evil, but she really had a way of one-upping herself. Marinette made a promise with Adrien to stay out of it, but no matter how far she ran, Lila was always right behind her.

Marinette spun around with a sharp retort on her tongue, but a silver limo pulling up to the curb cut her off. She half expected blond hair to pop out, but to her surprise, it was Martin who appeared.

“Hey, Marinette. I saw you walking, so I had my driver pull over.” He flicked his gaze between them. “Do you and your friend need a ride?”

“Ha! She and I will never be friends. I have much better taste,” Lila said.

Martin eyed Marinette, eyebrows knitting together when she shifted her weight.

“Then if you don’t mind, please leave her alone. She’s my friend,” he requested.

“You don’t want to be friends with a loser like her. I’m the great-granddaughter of world-famous piano player, Victor Laurent,” she said, fluffing her hair. Her sinister smile said that she’d taken all of Marinette’s friends once, and she’d do it again.

“Victor Laurent didn’t have any children. He died alone at the age of 72 from pneumonia…” Martin tilted his head to one side. “And anyway, Marinette’s great-uncle is a world-famous chef with his own brand of cookware—my mom loves his knives. Not to mention she knows Jagged Stone and is good friends with Adrien Agreste. She has a lot of connections.”

Marinette stifled a laugh as Lila gasped in offense. Martin blinked in confusion as Lila stalked off with a huff, glaring over her shoulder at them.

“Who was that girl?” he asked.

“One of the worst human beings you’ll ever meet,” Marinette replied. When Martin seemed confused, she added, “It’s a long story. I was actually on my way to get some ice cream. Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

Andre was in Marinette’s favorite spot in the Trocadero—a fitting compensation for the unpleasant encounter they’d just had. They found a bench, ice cream cones in hand, and Marinette flopped onto it with a sigh. Lila was insufferable, but Marinette wasn’t going to let it spoil her day. Clara liked her designs. Nothing else mattered.

“So, that’s the girl who turned all of your friends against you?” Martin asked, and Marinette nodded. “Wow. No wonder you changed schools. I would have changed cities.”

“I thought about it.” Marinette took a spoonful of ice cream. “She’s super manipulative, and if you side against her, she does everything in her power to ruin your life.”

“She sounds like Gabrielle just without the muscle, but at least we don’t have to put up with her now that her family’s bankrupt,” Martin said.

“Yeah…” Marinette lowered her gaze. “I bet you were really happy when you found out about Gabrielle.”

Martin shrugged. “I’m glad she doesn’t pick on everyone anymore, but I can’t imagine losing everything. I feel kinda bad for her… Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said. “Actually, I feel the same way. No one deserves to go through that.” She pursed her lips, jabbing her ice cream with the spoon. “I’m surprised you of all people don’t hate her. She was the worst to you.”

“I try not to hate anyone,” Martin said around a bite. “I think everyone has good inside them deep down, and with the right influence, anyone can change if they want to.”

“So, you think Gabrielle could be a good person?” she asked.

“Well, sure. Why not?” Martin quirked a brow.

Marinette eyed him, a small smile curling on her lips. She sat up and turned to face him.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” he asked.

“It’s a long story, but Gabrielle and I are kind of friends now. I think…” Marinette admitted. “I haven’t told anyone because of everything, but I think you’re right. Anyone can be nice if they want to be, even Gabrielle.” When Martin seemed stunned, she curled her shoulders and added, “Do you hate me?”

Martin’s face softened, and he shook his head. “Of course not! I could never hate you.” He assured her. “I think it’s good. If anyone can help Gabrielle find the light inside of her, it’s you, Marinette.”

She leaned back on the bench with a smile, the spring sun warming her cheeks. Winter was over, leaving the cold and dreary behind. Nature was turning over new leaves. A fresh start, just like Marinette wanted. She took a deep breath, picturing all of the good things in her life. Adrien, Macy, Eliott, Martin, Gabrielle. Chloe, weirdly. Her parents, Tikki, Master Fu, Chat Noir, Clara. New opportunities. New beginnings.

She exhaled, letting all of the negative flow out with her breath. Lila had no power over her anymore, and after two months of running, Marinette was finally free.

♪♫♪ Cruel Summer ♪♫♪

Marinette hummed jovially, the heat from the tea kettle on the stove warming her arms. Her friends would be over soon to celebrate her presentation. After her run-in with Lila earlier, Martin dropped her off at home, where her dad made special macarons for their celebration. Talking to Martin eased her nerves, and Lila’s empty threats were far from her mind. Today she was celebrating.

It was the first time her new friends were coming to hang out at her house. After seeing all of their extravagant homes, Marinette might have felt self-conscious about her family’s tiny apartment, but her friends never gave her reason to worry. If only Adrien were joining them, but he was busy with a photoshoot. He promised to make it up to her, which had her head swimming with possibilities. Oh, she hoped whatever he had in mind involved kissing. Three almosts was driving her wild. Would she ever get to kiss those perfect lips?

And what were they now? Were they dating? Marinette didn’t know for sure, but they had to be pretty close, right? Adrien was so bold with her lately, complimenting her, touching her face, her hair, her hands… One of these days she’d snatch those lips down to hers if he didn’t kiss her soon. Kissing Adrien—the thought alone made her melt.

She wanted to hear his voice, but did she dare call him? He probably wouldn’t answer since he never brought his phone to photoshoots—always so professional. Then again, she could listen to his really cute voicemail… And she still hadn’t told him how her presentation went. Maybe she’d leave him a message. Girlfriends were allowed to do that, right? Oh god, Adrien’s girlfriend! She’d have to get used to calling herself that. Okay, no more stalling. New beginnings. Marinette wasn’t going to second-guess herself anymore. She was going to charge forward with confidence!

Pressing the call button, she chewed her lip with a giggle. This was really happening! One cute voicemail, then the next time they saw each other, she was going to kiss Adrien on the lips. Then they’d become boyfriend and girlfriend, date throughout the rest of collége and lycée, go off to university and get married, have 3 kids, and a hamster named-

Wait!

What was she going to say in the voicemail? She didn’t know how to be cute and flirty! Every time she tried, she ended up rambling about her toothbrush or falling down stairs. She needed to write a script. Abort! Abort!

“Missing me already?”

Marinette’s heart skipped at Adrien’s flirtatious lilt.

“Adrien! You answered,” she gasped.

“You called me, and you’re surprised I picked up?” he chuckled.

“Well, I thought you had a photoshoot, I was just going to leave a message,” Marinette said.

“I just got done with makeup, so I have a few minutes. I was actually thinking of calling you,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“No worries. I understand.” She assured him.

“I take it your presentation went well?”

“Yeah! That’s what I was calling to tell you. Clara loved my designs! I’ve never been so happy.” Marinette paced the length of her living room, biting back a smile. “I ran into Lila as I was leaving, but not even she could ruin my mood.”

“Whoa, wait! You ran into Lila?” Adrien asked.

“Ugh, yeah, but it was fine. Martin swooped in before she got me too riled up. She even tried to lie him out of backing me up, but he totally called her out. I’ve never seen her pout so hard.” When Adrien remained quiet on the other end, she added, “I’m fine, really. I’m not going to let her bother me anymore. This thing with Clara could open up a lot of opportunities for me.”

“I guess you’re right. Lila only wishes she were half as talented as you. You’re amazing, Marinette,” Adrien said, bringing a familiar warmth to her cheeks. “They’re ready for me on set, so I have to go.”

Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to tell you the good news, and…talk for a minute.”

“You can interrupt me anytime. I’m always happy to hear your voice,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Marinette bit back a smile.

“Oh, and congratulations! You deserve it, Marinette.”

Marinette hung up with a dreamy sigh, hugging her phone to her chest. She was going to replay that conversation in her head for the rest of the evening. Before she could get lost in her lovestruck daydreams, the doorbell rang.

“Congratulations!” Macy hugged Marinette’s neck the moment she opened the door. “Oh, I knew she was going to love them!”

“Uh, I think you’re choking her.” Martin pointed out, and Macy let go.

“Sorry! But you did it! A major celebrity is going to wear your designs to an official awards show. That’s huge!” Macy squealed. “Oh! Is this your living room? It’s so cozy!”

As Macy pushed past Marinette into the apartment, Martin presented her with a bouquet of flowers.

“We picked these up for you on the way.”

“Thanks! That’s so sweet.” Marinette gestured him in, moving to find a vase in the kitchen. “Where’s Eliott?”

“He’ll be here soon. He was auditioning for another play today, so he’s running late,” Macy explained. “Your house is so cute! Did you make these pillows?”

“Uh, yeah. They were one of the first things I learned how to sew,” Marinette said, filling a vase in the sink. “My dad made macarons, and I’m making tea if you want any.”

Martin helped himself, taking a seat at the table, but Macy moved over to the bookcase to look at their family photos. Marinette set the vase in the middle of the table and grabbed the cups from the cupboard.

“Are you feeling better now?” Martin asked while she set the table. “I mean, after running into that girl earlier?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said, surprised by how much she meant it. “I’m not worried about her anymore. I’m fine.”

Martin relaxed. “Good. You seem happier now than when you first came to school,” he said. “I could tell how sad you were, even when you were smiling.”

Marinette grabbed the kettle from the stove and pursed her lips.

“I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s been hard, but I’m really lucky to have people that support me. I have you all to thank for that.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Martin smiled, an expression Marinette returned.

“Right.”

“Marinette? Is this you?” Macy held up a baby picture. “You were so cute!”

Marinette’s cheeks burned, but before she could snatch the photo away from her, the front door flew open. Eliott burst in, hair disheveled and eyes wide with panic.

“Eliott? What’s-” Macy started.

“I need help!”

[writingsonawall]

Falling, fallen chapter 3

Pairings: Spencer Reid x OFC

Story summary:  Spencer randomly meets Leah at the library and their first encounter was supposed to be just that; a random one-time occurance. When an unsub lands Spencer in the very same hospital she works at, she feels obligated to take care of him. But what happens when his team notices her everlooming presence and theorises that perhaps she could be the unsub they’re looking for?

Chapter summary: The BAU start developing a profile which leads them to investigate Leah. 

Warnings: Recalling a violent incident, bit of blood but not too bad. 

Wordcount: 12,6 k

A/N: This chapter is written from Emily’s POV just to get a different perspective on the story. 

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7,

Emily shot Reid a knowing look as she stepped through the door before turning her head slightly to watch the nurse shuffle down the corridor. She was pretty, that much was for certain and she knew Reid thought so, too. She took a seat by his bed, dropping the bag to the floor. She had just gotten back from his apartment, finally having had the time to collect the things he’d asked for earlier that same morning. She decided not to comment on the nurse any further as the three of them went back to work, trying to piece together a profile with the mess of details they had. 

“What if we’re looking for two unsubs?” The first break came about an hour after Emily had returned to Reid’s room and they all peaked up at Rossi’s suggestion. 

“What makes you say that?” Morgan’s voice sounded through Garcia’s phone now and Emily wondered the same thing. 

“Look at the bruisings around Anita Thorne’s throat. That’s pretty large hands, don’t you think? Probably from a man. But the stabwounds on Gomez’ body were hesitant and shallow, not a lot of force behind them,” Rossi explained his thinking and Emily followed easily while she flipped through her files. 

“So, you’re thinking whoever killed Gomez was a woman?” J.J. spoke up this time. Morgan didn’t even give Rossi time to answer.

“But the stabbing was all over the place and brutal. It was overkill. Do you really think a woman would be capable of doing that?” 

“Maybe our unsub was hesitant about killing Gomez? Not knowing what to do or how to do it correctly? Maybe he was trying to establish a MO?” Reid spoke up now and his words surprised Emily. Anita Thorne had been killed a week and half before Gomez, so if the unsub was the same person then he was definitely accustomed to killing. It made no sense for him to brutally strangle Thorne, then hesitate when it came to Gomez. Unless there was a connection between Gomez and the unsub which they hadn’t made yet. That seemed unlikely since there was no sign of the unsub’s remorse anywhere on the body or at the crimescene. It didn’t feel personal. 

Emily voiced her thoughts and the team agreed with her. She got a little concerned about Reid. He seemed to have gotten confused by such a simple thing as the timelines of the different victims. That was the kind of mistake Reid would never do. She was afraid he wasn’t in the right headspace to be working this case, but she didn’t speak her concern just yet. 

“Typically in a killer-duo one part to be more dominant and the other more submissive. We shouldn’t assume that the female is the submissive one just because she’s the weaker sex. In fact we should assume the opposite, especially if we still regard our previous theory that at least one of them has some sort of medicaltraining. Healthcare is widely dominated by females after all,” Reid rambled on in his usual manner, but something still seemed… Off about him. Like he was trying to hide his privous slip up. 

“So, you think we’re looking for a man and woman, and that the woman is the dominant person here?” Rossi asked. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. In traditional gender roles the man is depicted as the dominant type, when it in reality is the female who holds all the power. She controlls access to sex, decides what’s for dinner, has the most influence over the kids… Even though men typically are physically stronger than women, it’s still the women who control them, so I wouldn’t say it’s odd,” Reid explained further and by the way he was fiddling in the bed Emily could tell he had a lot more to say on the matter. 

“Well, it fits,” J.J. butted in. “If the woman is dominant we can only assume she decides who gets to live and who doesn’t.” 

“But how does she decide that?” Emily asked out loud. 

“Garcia’s already looked through all the workers in both hospitals and no one crossrefranses,” Morgan interjected. 

“I sure have, Sweetcheeks,” Garcia spoke up. 

“There’s got to be something here that we’re missing,” Morgan mumbled. 

“Garcia, start off by looking into hospitalemployees who might match our profile who’ve had contact with more than one of our victims. The dominant would be meticulous, so look for anyone with a clean record, we can also assume she’s reserved with few sosial contacts. We still don’t know how she decides who dies so look for anyone who stands out, employees who pay close attention to the victims, who check on them more than necessary, anything that screams unnatural behavior.” Hotch said and at that last bit Garcia’s fingers paused over the keyboard. Emily knew what she was thinking, because she was thinking the exact same thing. 

“Does that mean employees who’s worked with Reid as well?” Garcia sounded guilty as she spoke and Emily noted that she gave Reid an apologetic look. 

“What have you got Garcia?” Hotch’s answer fell to deaf ears because Reid lashed out. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong!” He all but yelled. 

“Spence!” J.J. sounded concerned, but she too was ignored. 

“She didn’t do this. I know her and she didn’t do this.” Emily almost felt bad for him. The nurse had seemed like a sweet girl and either she’d played him like a fool or they were wrongfully accusing her of being a killer. There was no way she’d come good out of this one. 

“Hold on! Who are we talking about?” Morgan asked at the same time as someone, Emily couldn’t tell who, asked “What do you mean you know her?” It was silent after that, this kind of silence that was just waiting for someone to break it. Emily realized then that she was staring blankly at Reid, still not used to him lashing out like that. 

“I met her last night at the library,” Reid finally said after a reluctant sigh. That made Emily’s eyes go wide. Why hadn’t he said something before? “And I know what you’re all thinking, but it wasn’t her. She left way before I was shot. Garcia can probably verify that with an easy search, she got to work before 10 P.M. I know how bad that looks, but I’m telling you it’s not her. Hotch…” Reid’s voice was almost pleading towards the end and now Emily felt really bad for him. He wanted so desperately to believe it wasn’t her that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. Even though Emily hadn’t spent that much time at the hospital she had reacted to the nurse, feeling like there was something... off about her. She hadn’t even thought that the young woman might be the unsub, but when she thought it now; it just fit. 

“What’s her name?” Hotch asked, his tone of voice unreadable. Emily wondered what he was thinking. 

“Leah Clarewater,” Reid sighed, probably knowing he’d lost the battle. If he hadn’t said anything, Garcia would’ve found out anyway.

“Alright. Garcia, run her and see what pops up.” Hotch almost didn’t have the time to speak because Reid interrupted him. 

“Get out,” He spoke, his voice quiet but his words were harsh. 

“Reid,” Emily reached forward to lay a hand on his arm but he shied away from her. 

“I said, get out. I’m not even on this case and I’m telling you it’s not her, but no one’s listening. I don’t want to hear anymore, so please… just get out.” He sounded almost completely broken, as if his whole life had just been flipped upsidedown and it made Emily frown. 

“Garcia, Prentiss… You heard him.” Hotch’s voice was clear and Garcia sat there frozen for a second before quickly gathering her stuff and rising from her chair. 

“Reid,” Emily tried again. 

“What, Emily?” He snapped at her. “I’m telling you it’s not her, and it’s not just something I want to believe; it’s something I know for a fact. And when you eventually realize that you’re all wrong I am the one who’s gonna have to look her in the eyes and live with that guilt. So no, I don’t want to hear what you find out when you do a search on her, because it’s not my place to know unless she tells me herself.” He was almost panting with rage when he finished his rambling and the room once more fell in an awkward silence so thick it could practically be cut through with a knife. His words were laced with venom and she then realized that this wasn’t all about the nurse. Most it was, sure, but he was obviously still not over everything that happened with Emily and Doyle. She had felt horrible about lying to him and the rest of the team like that, but she had thought they had all worked through it by now. Reid obviously hadn’t, because that lash out was a whole lot of unresolved tension. 

Emily escorted Garcia out of the room without another word. They found a secluded area in the waitingroom outside of the ICU and Garcia seemed a little reluctant about continuing.

“Sir. I must say that this doesn’t feel right,” she mumbled, the rest of the team still on the phone even though they had gone silent after Reid’s blow up. 

“I know, Garcia, but just see what you can find out,” Hotch said. 

“Is someone gonna tell me who we’re talking about now?” Morgan asked and that made Emily smile. Of course he hadn't picked up on who they were talking about yet. He was a damn good agent, but sometimes he could be slow. 

“The nurse who came to get us when Reid woke up this morning,” Emily replied, leaning a little closer to her phone. 

“Oh, the ho-” Morgan stopped himself before he could finish his sentence. Emily tried to hide her snicker because she knew he was about to say ‘hot one’, but that would be highly inappropriate. 

“She seemed like a good kid,” Rossi interjected. 

“Oh, but she’s anything but!” Garcia finally spoke up again. This was the first time Emily felt a little disgusted by how excited she sounded. She knew that Garcia couldn’t always help it. She was stuck in her office all day while the rest of the team were out in the field. She loved having things to do and whenever she found something that could help, she always took that win personally. Still, this time Emily couldn’t quite feel it. Reid obviously had a thing for this girl; attraction, admiration or whatever it was… And now Garica might have found something to shatter his precious fantasy of the girl. 

“What have you got?” Hotch asked. 

“Well… Leah Singer Clarewater, born and raised in The Bronx, New York. Apparently she ran in a bad crowd in her younger years. Several of her friends were picked up on drugcharges in high school. She doesn’t really have a record herself, but we can only assume she was just as bad as her friends since, you know, they were friends… Anyway, when she was eighteen her eight year old brother disappeared without a trace and he was never found. Leah was apparently with him when it happened. Police investigated, but never found out what happened. Two years later her mother died of, oh, let’s see… Cancer and after that it seems that she and her father drifted off. I can’t see that they have any contact now and she doesn’t seem to have many friends. No social media, I mean zip zero, no Facebook, Twitter, not even YouTube. Nada. She’s basically a loner.” 

“That does fit the profile,” J.J. mumbled. Emily agreed. And the story about family could’ve been a stressor. 

“Look, guys… We have to be absolutely certain about this,” Morgan spoke up, probably feeling just what Emily was. 

“Well, she has a good medical education,” Garcia said. “I mean, like really good. She’s taken a lot of extra courses and addons to her Bachelor of Science in Nursing. She’d basically just need a few hours of mandatory training and she’d be certified as a paramedic.” 

“So, she has a lot of medical knowledge?” Rossi asked. 

“That she sure does,” Garcia nodded as she spoke, even though it was just Emily there to see her. “And- Oh! Oh…” Garcia trailed off, a sad look crossing her features. Emily wondered what she had just found out. 

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“She has a registered .45,” she whispered. Reid, and the other victims, had been shot with a .45. Oh, how Emily hated this. She had almost hoped for Reid’s sake that they had just jumped to conclusions and that they wouldn’t find anything on her. Now everything was pointing towards her. 

“That’s more than enough for a probable cause,” Hotch sighed into the phone, sounding just as defeated as Emily felt. “Morgan and J.J., go to her address. Rossi, I want you back at the hospital. We still don’t know if she is or who she might be working with. If she knows we’re onto her, she might come after Reid. Until we find her and question her, I don’t want Reid to be left unattended. Stand outside of his room if he doesn’t want visitors, but no one comes into that room without anyone of us knowing what happens. And I mean no one, no nurses, doctors, not even the janitor or cleaning crew. Got it?” Hotch’s message was clear and everyone agreed verbally before ending the call. Emily decided to let Garica work for a little bit and went back to Reid’s room. She knocked softly on the door before opening it. Reid met her eyes with a fierceness in his. 

“Look,” she said, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear and I’ll spare you the details… But this looks bad for her. We don’t know who she might be working with, so Hotch is adamant that we don’t leave you unattended. You may not like it and that’s fine. If you wanna be alone, then that’s fine too, I’ll just stay outside the door.” Emily had decided to just be frank with him. “In the mean time, do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” She asked, still not able to shake the tension between them. 

“You’re still wrong about her.” Reid’s reply left no room for argument on that subject. 

“I mean about whatever vendetta you have against me,” she clarified. Reid narrowed his eyes at her. 

“No offense, Emily, but not everything is about you. On the contrary to popular belief I don’t carry grudges. My problem isn’t with you personally, it’s with all of you. I tell you that it’s not her, and you don’t believe me. I know her and my word, my credibility still means nothing to you.” He was getting agitated and she finally understood why. This wasn’t just about protecting the nurse, it was also about the team not trusting his judgement. Emily sighed. 

“You’ve known her for how long? Less than a day? What if you’re wrong, Reid? Just what if?” 

“I’m not.” His reply came not even a heartbeat later and his voice was certain. It was still too similar to a childish game, him not wanting to admit he might be wrong. 

“Okay, I’ll bite… Say you’re right, there’s still things you don’t know about her. She’s not this amazing person you think she is. She’s got baggage, possibly more than you can imagine. She’s trouble, Reid, whether she’s the unsub or not.” Emily had no idea how much Reid knew about her, but she somehow figured out that if he knew everything then he would be more logical about this. 

“She’s the best person I’ve met,” Reid said and she looked at him for a moment. Did he really mean that? Did she really have him so tightly twisted around her finger that he believed his own words to be the truth? By the confident look on his face, she guessed on yes to both questions. “But you’re right about one thing; I do want to be alone. Please, close the door behind you.” That was a clear sign that this discussion was over. Emily decided not to say anything else as she slipped out of the room. 

She could only begin to imagine what Reid was going through. Emily didn’t have any relatives she spoke to, no friends outside of work. Her colleagues were her family, she loved them all dearly. If any of them got implicated for murder she probably would have lost her shit as well. Still, that got her to wonder what was going on between Reid and that nurse. She had seemed professional enough the few times she’d seen her, except for the time she’d caught her hanging out in Reid’s room for the better part of half an hour before she went home. What had that been about? Reid obviously didn’t know her that well, seeing as he claimed to have met her the night before. Maybe he felt attracted to her; she was pretty after all. But then again she wouldn’t take Reid for the guy to fall head over heels for a woman he’d barely met. This couldn’t possibly be love, she must have found a way to manipulate him. 

“How’s the kid?” Rossi greeted Emily as he walked down the corridor twenty minutes later. Emily sighed heavily as he came to a stop next to her. 

“Understandably upset,” she told him with a small shrug. “He’s… He’s actually pretty mad,” she said. 

“He’ll get over it,” Rossi tried to assure her, but she could only shake her head. 

“I’m afraid this could be a breakingpoint for him. No matter what happens from now on, Reid loses. Either this girl is a killer who’s managed to wrap him around her finger or she’s not… And I’m not sure which of them is worse,” she sighed as she spoke, not knowing how to feel about all of this. 

“You don’t think it’s her?” Rossi asked, his voice slow as if he was being careful with what he said. 

“It all fits,” Emily nodded. “But there’s some questions that need answers. This case is just all over the place and when one of our own is involved it just makes it… harder, you know?” She glanced up at the older man, finding him looking back with sympathetic eyes. 

“Now you know how we felt last time you were involved.” He gave her a sad smile then and it made Emily’s stomach drop. She had realized that the whole thing with Doyle had been hard on the team, but that it had felt like this? 

“I just hope Reid’s gonna be okay,” she mumbled. 

“He’s a smart kid. He’ll pull through.” Rossi bumped his shoulder into hers, a small sign of comfort. Emily couldn’t exactly say that it helped, but she appreciated the gesture all the same. Just then her phone started blaring and she pulled it out of her pocket, noticing that it was Hotch. 

“I’ve got Rossi here with me,” she spoke up after accepting the call. 

“Morgan and J.J. came up empty-handed,” Hotch informed them, getting right to business. “They’re already headed back to the hospital. We can only assume that she didn’t leave at all or that she’s waiting for a chance to get to Reid. I’ve already called in reinforcement to guard his room, but in the meantime have Garcia on watchout. I want the two of you to do a sweep of the hospital, try to see if you can locate her. We have a warrant out for her arrest and I’m bringing it over as we speak,” he told them and that made Emily’s stomach tighten just a little more. They had enough probable cause to arrest her now. Before they could even agree to his orders he hung up the phone. Emily sighed, dropping the phone into her pocket again. She leaned forward a little, putting her hands on her knees as she tried to make sense of it all. She wasn’t in doubt that they had the right person, but something still felt… off. She couldn’t tell if it was the profile or just Reid’s feelings involved. 

“Do you need a minute?” Rossi asked, his voice hushed next to her. 

“Yeah, probably,” she nodded as a hand was placed on her hunched over back. 

“I’ll go get Garcia,” he informed her before he disappeared down the corridor. Emily took a few minutes to collect her thoughts, push all doubt so far into the back of her mind that it couldn’t possibly bother her anymore. If she started doubting, she’d make mistakes and mistakes couldn’t be tolerated, especially not on a case involving one of her own. She owed it up to Reid to make this go as smoothly as possible. 

Rossi returned with Garcia who they placed on a chair outside of Reid’s room. They didn’t dare ask him if she could sit in his room with him, so for right now they’d just have to make it work that way. Rossi and Emily started by talking to the nurse who was on call, simply asking if she happened to know when the unsub was coming back to work. She informed them that she wasn’t scheduled to work until the eveningshift the next day, and that she was supposed to work at the post operative unit instead of the ICU. Emily asked if that was normal, to work at two different units, to which the nurse only laughed saying something along the lines of “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a permanent full-time position as a nurse? Most of us work in two different units, at least.” 

They went down to the post operative unit next, just to make sure she hadn’t clocked in almost 24 hours earlier than when her shift started. They came up empty there as well. For the next fifteen minutes they did a quick search of three other units, asking different personnel if they’d seen her. Most people had no idea who she even was, which didn’t surprise Emily. It was a big hospital after all. 

“Hang on a second.” Emily stopped Rossi’s pace as she glanced over at the doctor who was standing and talking to the officeworker by the lobby. She could vaguely remember seeing the unsub talk to him earlier that morning by the nursingstation in the ICU. The two had seemed close, as if they were friends or close colleagues at the very least. 

“Excuse me.” Rossi must have noticed her train of thoughts because he approached the man. “Dr. Ruiz,” Rossi said once he was close enough to read the print of his lapcoat. “I’m Agent Rossi, this is my partner SSA Prentiss.” Rossi pulled out his badge and showed it to the man. 

“We’re looking for Leah Clarewater, but we’re having a hard time locating her. Have you seen her?” Emily asked. She was surprised by the doctor’s reaction. More times than not, people would get nervous or upset when they came asking about friends and family. This man seemed… happy? Relieved? 

“Well, that was quickly!” He exclaimed. “She’s down in the ER. I’m headed that way myself, so I can walk you down,” he told them. Emily gave Rossi a look, silently asking if he was noticing the strangeness as well. He only shrugged, so they followed the doctor. 

“I saw you this morning. Have you been on call for long?” Emily found herself asking as they walked down a corridor. 

“It was chaos here last night, masscollision on the highway. I got called in as an extra set of hands. I usually work in post op. but when it’s all hands on deck, it’s… Well, all hands on deck,” he laughed. 

“Did Leah get called in as well?” Rossi asked as they reached the elevator. 

“Yeah,” he told them, pressing the button which said -1. “Typically we don’t call in nurses, but Leah has a lot of extra training and she’s really good at what she does. Always handy to have around, you know?” 

“She works in the post operative unit as well. Have you known her for long?” Emily asked as they stepped out of the elevator. Dr. Ruiz nodded. 

“Yeah… For the good part… Three years, is it, now? Wow, how time flies. She’s one of the best I’ve ever seen, to be honest. Cares a lot about her patients, you know? And she’s really good at her job so she’s a thrill to be working with,” he told them. He clearly thought highly of her, just like Reid. This woman had managed to fool not only one, but two doctors. She almost deserved a medal for that. 

“Good evening, Dr. Ruiz!” A petite blonde greeted as they made it to the ER. “Are you gonna be working here today?” 

“Yeah, no… Not today, Cindy. I’m just looking for Leah, is she still here?” The doctor asked. Emily stood beside Rossi a few steps away from them, just watching the interaction. 

“Yeah, she’s down there,” Cindy answered, pointing towards the end of the giant room where a shutter had been closed all the way. “She still refuses to go up to neuro, though. Dr. Charles insisted, but she refuses,” the nurse huffed a little, as if she was annoyed. What she said made Emily’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dr. Ruiz said and Emily noted the awardwinning smile he gave the nurse. He then turned towards herself and Rossi. “I’ll just need to check some files and then I’ll be over. You can talk to her if you want,” he informed them before walking over to the nursestation in the middle of the room. Emily shrugged at Rossi and started walking towards where the nurse had pointed earlier. She dragged the curtains open, revealing the blonde woman who was sitting at the end of the bed, feet dangling back and forth, head buried in her hands and what looked to be an icepack pressed to her forehead. 

“Leah Singer Clarewater?” Emily asked, a little uncertain about what exactly was going on. The woman slowly lifted her head, looking up at the agents. She blinked a couple of times, even the movements of her eyelids slow and sluggish and now that Emily could see her face she got even more confused. Her nose was swollen and obviously broken by the way it was leaning towards the right. She had cottonballs sticking out of each nostril, the tips of them stained with blood. She was sporting a massive bruise on her left cheek, the skin there already turned a deep purple which matched bruising around her eyes. She also had a deep gash across her forehead which had a few badges over it to keep it shut. Her throat looked red and Emily could see the indications of handprints developing there. She looked like hell, to say the least. 

“You’re… uhm, Dr. Reid’s friends,” she finally spoke up. Her voice sounded hoarse and nasal at the same time. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a few seconds, as if the light was hurting, before opening them. She seemed to have a hard time focusing on the people in front of her. 

“We are,” Rossi simply stated, probably as confused as Emily was. He glanced at her, and Emily could only shake her head because the sight in front of her was not what she had expected to find.  

“Look,” the nurse said slowly. “I’m off duty right now, and as you can see I’m in no shape to get back to work at the moment. Whatever he needs, there’s other nurses on call now who can help him.” Her voice was still slightly slurred as she spoke, as if she was drugged down or drunk. Emily assumed they had given her a cocktail of drugs for whatever pain she was in. 

“Actually, we wanted to talk to you,” Emily pursed her lips together, not knowing how to handle the situation. This woman was still a suspect, but now might not be the best time to have this conversation. They still had a warrant for her arrest, but they couldn’t possibly arrest her right now when she looked like that. There was a lot of information missing here. 

“You were with Reid the other night?” Rossi spoke up and that seemed to confuse her. Her eyes were even narrowed than they had been a second ago. 

“Oh, right… Right, at the library,” she said as the memories seemed to come back to her. Emily wasn’t a doctor, but she could clearly tell that this woman was seriously concussed. She was in no condition to be having this conversation. 

“We just want the stories straight, that’s all,” Emily said, leaving out the part of them thinking she was actually a serial killer. “But we can talk to you later if you’re not up for it right now,” she assured her. 

“Later might be a good time,” Dr. Ruiz spoke up, startling Emily a little. She hadn’t even noticed him approaching. “Leah, we’re taking you up to neuro.” 

“No, I’m fine,” she waved her hand dismissively and dropped the ice pack. She seemed to have sobered up a little bit since Emily and Rossi had walked in. “I just wanna go home, but I can talk now. Is this gonna take long?” She asked, pushing the doctors hands away as he tried to touch her. 

“Leah, seriously,” The doctor tried to make her stay still, but she pushed him off yet again. 

“Ruiz, I’m fine,” She jumped off from the bed, leaning down, probably to try to get her bag which was laying on the floor, and then collapsed forward. Emily was about to rush forward on instinct, but the doctor just barely managed to grab a hold of her. She still ended up sprawled out on the floor, but Dr. Ruiz had managed to lighten the fall so she didn’t smack right down. 

“Can you give me some space, please?” The doctor asked looking up at Emily and Rossi. He was sitting on his knees besides Clarewater, one hand supporting the back of her head while the other one was pressed against her chest. Rossi and Emily immediately took a step back. They couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch as he pulled a small flashlight out if coat, forcing one of the nurse’s eyes open to check the reflexes. 

“Fuck me, that’s bright!” She groaned, clearly not unconscious. She battled his hand away. 

“Yeah, you’re totally fine.” Emily could almost hear him roll his eyes at her. He was so done with her bullshit, and in any other situation the two of them might have been adorable. He obviously cared about her, even though she probably annoyed him at times. 

“It’s just a BP-drop,” the nurse scoffed. “Is it me or you who’s the doctor here?” 

“It’s me, and that’s why you’re going up to neuro.” His voice was stern even as he helped her up on her feet. He gently sat her down on the bed, pushing on her shoulders until she reluctantly laid down. She made small noises of discontent all the time until she closed her eyes against the blinding overheadlight. “Leah, I’ll strap you to the bed if I have to. I have two federal agents here to back me up. We’re taking that trip to neuro whether you like it or not. Doctor’s orders.” That left no room for argument and Emily felt a small smile tug on the corner of her lips, despite the seriousness of the situation. They were like a pair of siblings or an old married couple fighting. 

“Is it okay if one of us tags along so we can talk to her once she’s checked out?” Rossi asked once the scene in front of them calmed down. 

“Be my guest,” the doctor said, waving another man forward, probably a porter. He picked up the bag from the floor and placed it on Clarewater’s stomach. He unlocked the breaks from the bed and the other man stepped forward, taking his place on the other side. “neuro’s a few floors up and I’ve already called ahead for a CT and MRI, so it might take some time. But if you wanna stick around, then that should be alright.” He informed them as the two men started pushing the bed forward. 

“You go. I’ll call Hotch and tell him what’s happened,” Rossi told Emily who only nodded and moved forward to follow the moving bed down the corridors. She decided to stay silent as they traveled around the hospital. She waited outside of the room where the CT was placed, taking a seat in the chair. When the suspect, and yes she wanted to use the word suspect now since she had no idea how to read the situation anymore, was placed safely in the machine the doctor stepped out again. Emily offered him a smile as he took a seat next to her. 

“Is she gonna be okay?” Emily asked. 

“Leah? Yeah, sure,” Dr. Ruiz laughed. “She’s gotten a few blows to the head, so we’re just ruling out serious brain trauma. It’s probably just a bad concussion, but we have to make sure it’s not something more, you know?” 

“I hope it’s not anything worse,” Emily offered her concern.

“Well, it’s Leah so she’ll be fine. She always is,” Dr. Ruiz shrugged. “Sorry you had to see that back there. She’s a really nice girl, but she can be stubborn. She’s this kind of person who always gives 110 percent, you know? I constantly have to remind her to take breaks, because she refuses. Says she hates breaks because she feels like she’s useless when she’s not doing anything. I always try to sneak some treats into her pockets, like proteinbars or something, because I know if I don’t then she’ll be running on adrenaline and coffee the entire day.” 

“She seems invested in her work then,” Emily hummed. “You seem to really care about her.” She glanced up at him to see his reaction. He just smiled fondly. 

“She’s the best, honestly. She’s kinda like my workwife,” he laughed. 

“Oh, really?” Emily couldn’t help but chuckle herself. 

“Yeah, whenever we work together things just flow so smoothly, you know what I’m talking about? I mean, she annoys me to death sometimes… mostly because she refuses to look out for herself, but she’s damn good at her job. And she’s a lot of fun to be around and we work really well together. The others down at post op. call us ‘dream team’ because of that,” he laughed again. 

“Well, I can only imagine.” Emily felt a little bad about hearing him talk so highly of her when she was a suspect in a murderinvestigation. “So, you know her well then?” 

“Not as well as I’d like to,” he muttered, a little sadness lacing his tone now. “I think she buries herself in work. I mean, we were both supposed to be on the morning shift for today, but I switched things around so I could get the eveningshift instead since I had to work the night. Leah is the kind of person who prefers to work doubles. I do that occasionally, too and let me tell you this; it drains you. I think she thrives on it, the more work she has to do, the more content she is, you know? But I think it takes a toll on her social life.” He cocked his head to the side with a little shrug. Emily nodded her head slowly to his words. She had nothing to say to that, because she didn’t know what to say. 

“Do you know what happened to her?” She decided to ask instead, wondering what happened in order to give Leah those not so lovely bruises. She had her theories, but right now she had little to nothing to go on. 

“No one really knows,” Dr. Ruiz shrugged. “Another employee was headed home and found her by her car in the garage. From what I heard she was unconscious and they brought her up to the ER to get checked out. I haven’t really had the chance to talk to her yet. I was headed down to see her when I ran into you guys.” 

“Okay,” Emily nodded along and the doctor stood up from his seat. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“Are you a colleague of that federal agent who was admitted last night?” He asked. Emily nodded. 

“Yes, and we’re investigating the case. That’s why we want to talk to your colleague, get the full picture,” she told him, leaving out the parts he didn’t need to know. 

“Do you think the same person who shot your agent came after Leah?” He asked with a frown on his face. That thought had just crossed Emily’s mind as well, but she still couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the other unsub had lashed out on her. Dominant and submissive partnerships like that hardly ever worked out, especially if the dominant didn’t include the submissive in the whole process. Or if the submissive felt too subjected. 

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Emily offered him her best tight lipped smile. 

“You know… We worked on him when he was rushed in, before he went into surgery. She probably doesn’t want to admit it, but she was pretty shaken up about it,” he told her. This time it was Emily’s turn to frown. 

“Shaken up how?” She asked. This was news to her. 

“You know, just upset I guess,” he tried to explain, but it didn’t bring any clarity. He must have noticed that Emily needed more because he continued. “Leah… she beats herself up over… pretty much anything. I mean, if she loses a patient on her watch she takes that personally, even though it’s not her fault or responsibility. That’s her only flaw, I guess. She cares so much, too much sometimes. And when stuff like this happens, the wheels keep turning. I guess she blames herself? For not being there. She said stuff like if she hadn’t got called in then maybe she would’ve left at the same time as your agent, and maybe he wouldn’t have gotten shot. I tried to tell her to forget about it, but I guess some things you just can’t leave alone,” he shrugged his shoulders. Emily could only offer him a sad smile. She understood it a little more. If this was the kind of person Clarewater made everyone believe she was then it wasn’t weird that she had Reid fooled. But the more she thought about it, the more it made her doubt that maybe this woman wasn’t putting on an act after all. But she couldn’t go there just yet. They still needed to see this through before they could even concidder dropping her as a suspect.

The doctor bid his farewell after that, telling her he had to get back to work. She offered her gratitude before he left, to which he simply replied to with a smile. As Emily waited for their suspect to be done with her check up, she called up Garcia, gave her a heads up about what was going on and told her to see if there was any surveillance by the employee parking. If Clarewater had been attacked there then maybe the cameras had captured her assailant on video. She was just about to call Hotch to let him know as well when she spotted him at the end of the hall. Morgan and J.J. were at his side so she waved them over. 

“Dave told us what happened,” Hotch said as he approached. “Where is she?” 

“They’re doing a few tests to rule out braininjury,” Emily said as she nodded her head towards the closed door. “She looked pretty beat up so I think it’s gonna take a while until we get to interview her.” 

“Garcia just texted me and said she was attacked by her car?” Hotch asked and Emily nodded. 

“That’s where she was found,” she confirmed. “Listen, Hotch… I just gotta say… there’s something off about all of this.” 

“Yeah, I feel it too.” J.J. said. 

“Everyone I’ve talked to so far today says she’s a good girl, has her traumas, sure, but the way they describe her… I just don’t think she’s the one we’re after.” Emily felt the need to be honest with her coworkers. There were times when they’d uprehend the wrong suspect or they had their profile all wrong, and no one liked those moments. But they still needed to play this right. “Could we have made a rushed decision here?” They all looked at Hotch to hear what he had to say. He looked a little uncertain as if he too had no idea what right move was. 

“Morgan, I want you and Prentiss to head down to the garage. See if there’s anything there that might help us. J.J., I want you to check on Reid, see if Garcia might need a break. I’m taking Dave with me to the coroner’s. They’ve just re-exhumed Anthony Garland’s body to see if they can determine the cause of death. It appears it might take some time for Leah Clarewater to be ready to talk, but when she is, I want you to do it, Prentiss. You’ve talked to her coworkers, see if there’s anything that doesn’t add up with their stories versus hers. Take the garage first, though. I’ll let the doctors know we want to talk to her before she gets discharged.” Hotch’s message was clear and they all nodded their agreement. 

Emily followed Morgan to the parkingstructure next to the hospital. When they got there local authorities and CSI were already on scene. Wow, these people worked fast. They flashed their badge and gave the unit chief a runthrough of why they were there. The floor which Clarewater’s car was parked on was surprisingly empty so it wasn’t strange that no one had seen what had gone down. Including Clarewater’s Emily could spot about fifteen cars when there was probably space for closer to a hundred. 

“We think she was assaulted over here,” the unit chief said, pointing to the ground next to the driver’s side of the car. “We think the suspect came up behind her, smashed her head into the car a couple of times before throwing her to the ground,” he informed them and that seemed to be a pretty adequate guess. There was a dent on the edge by the roof of her car and some traces of blood. On the ground there were scuffmarks and a few smaller pools of blood. 

“Sir.?” A voice from the other side of the car called their attention. “Found it in the glovecompartment.” The man who spoke was standing in the space between the open passangerdoor and the car itself. He had a gun hanging from the tips of his glovecovered fingers. 

“What caliber is that?” Emily asked. 

“It appears to be .45,” the man told her. Emily turned to look at Morgan. 

“Our missing gun,” he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Chief, we have a murderinvestigation going on. Can you rush a ballisticstest on that gun to see if it matches?” 

“Sure can do,” he told them. “But that gun’s probably the victim’s, though, since it was found in her car.” 

“We’re aware,” Emily countered back, not offering any more information. He gave her a strange look, but didn’t say anything else on the matter. There wasn’t really much to do around the crime-scene, so Emily and Morgan decided not to hover for very long. They’d seen what they needed to and until they’d get the results from the various tests they had little to go on. They stopped by the cafeteria on their way, both in desperate need of fuel. They had been running different errands since the morning and Emily hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. They used half an hour or so for their break, briefing the rest of their team on their findings while eating. 

“Do you think it was that nurse?” Morgan asked once they finally had some peace and quiet, even with noise of other people around them. 

“Do you?” Emily countered back. She was still a little reluctant about sharing her thoughts. 

“I mean, part of me wants to just so we have the right suspect. If it’s not her, then we’re not making any headway,” he shrugged. “But I have this… feeling, like something isn’t adding up.” 

“It never really adds up, though,” Emily said. It was true, even when they were 100% certain they’d caught the right guy, there was always a minor detail or two which didn’t make sense to them. It usually always made sense to the unsub, but their logic wasn’t always rational. 

“True, but still.” Morgan huffed before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“I don’t think it’s her either,” Emily finally said, offering some sort of comfort in telling him he wasn’t the only one who experienced doubt in that moment. “She could be really manipulative with the people around her, but that doctor I talked to earlier… He said that she’d been really worried about Reid. And you can’t fake concern like that.”

“She could be worried about getting caught,” Morgan countered. This conversation really wasn’t going anywhere. They were just throwing out suggestions and the other one shooting them down. It wasn’t because none of them were right or wrong, it was just because none of them really had any idea if Clarewater was the unsub or not. And when they didn’t know for certain, no suggestion was right nor wrong. It was kind of like Schrodinger’s cat which Reid had once told her about. 

“I just feel bad for Reid,” she mumbled, followed by a sigh. 

“He’ll live,” Morgan shrugged nonchalantly, even though she knew he was just as concerned. “It’s Reid, he’ll pull through.” 

“I sure hope so,” Emily said, staring at a blank spot over Morgan’s head as she absentmindly started picking at her cuticles. 

“Hey, stop that now!” He scolded at her. “You’ll talk to her later and then you’ll know for sure. I trust your instinct. You can get the vibe whether a person is good or bad within a five minute conversation. If you think she’s the one, then she’s probably the one. If you don’t think she’s the one, then she’s probably not the one. Okay? Easy as that.” He put his hand on top of hers and she was grateful for the small gesture. It did sound awfully easy when he put it like that. 

“Okay.” She nodded, offering him a smile to tell him she was good. “They haven’t called yet, so do you wanna head up and check on Reid?” Morgan’s smile brightened at that and he agreed. They put their mostly empty trays of food away, but grabbed their still full coffeecups on the way. When they got back to the ICU Emily noted that Anderson, another federal agent, had arrived and stood stationed outside of Reid’s room. They both greeted him before opening the door and walking inside. Through the window Emily had seen that both J.J. and Garcia were sitting by Reid’s bed so she assumed he had calmed down from his previous lash out. 

“How you doing, kid?” Morgan asked. 

“Fine,” Reid’s reply was short and simple. He probably still wasn’t in the mood for talking. 

“He doesn’t want any updates on the nurse,” J.J. spoke up gently, carefully threading water. Emily’s phone vibrated in her pocket so she fished it out, seeing that there was a number she hadn’t saved. She excused herself before leaving the room. Accepting the call, she pressed the phone to her ear. 

“This is Prentiss,” she answered. 

“Hi! I’m calling from the Neurology unit at Inova Fairfax Hospital. My notes says that you wanted me to call you on an update with Leah Clarewater,” There was a man who spoke in a very high pitched voice, kind of like Reid’s. 

“Oh, yes!” Emily answered. “Is she awake?” 

“We decided to admit her for the night, just as a precaution. But she’s awake and coherent, so if you want to see her that should be fine now.” 

“Okay, great! I’ll be right over!” Emily said before hanging up the phone. She poked her head in through Reid’s door before she left, just saying she was leaving for a few minutes. Reid hadn’t wanted to know anything, so she didn’t say where she was going. Morgan would know and that was enough. 

The hospital was a maze, but she eventually found her way to Neurology. With the help of some lovely nurse she managed to locate Clarewater’s room which was at the very end of the hall. She knocked purposefully on the door, waiting a second before opening it. She poked her head in to see that the person she was looking for was laying down in the bed. 

“Hey,” Emily greeted her as she closed the door behind her. “Do you remember me?” She asked as she took a seat in one of the empty chairs. Emily thought it was strange. Clarewater was in her own clothes which  had a few stains of blood dried on them, there were no IVs or other kinds of medical equipment connected to her, nothing to indicate she was sick. While Reid had an IV hooked up constantly and a hospitalgown on he still looked far healthier than she did. It was just a funny thought. 

“I do, but I must apologise for not recalling the name,” Clarewater sighed. She didn’t sound irritated, just tired. Emily could only imagine. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled. “My name is Emily Prentiss.” 

“Okay,” the blonde mumbled. “Sorry, I’m just really dizzy and my head is kind of a mess so I probably won’t be able to remember that in, like, five minutes.” 

“That’s fine,” Emily assured her. 

“You, uh… wanted to talk to me about Spencer?” She lifted her head as if she wanted to look at Emily, but she was wearing a pair of dark, huge sunglasses so it was hard to meet her eyes. Emily took note that she referred to Reid by his firstname. 

“Yes, but let’s start with what happened to you in parkinggarage.” 

“I honestly don’t remember much.” The nurse leaned forward a little in the bed and rubbed her forehead with both her hands. 

“Just tell me what you remember,” Emily offered. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I was just headed for my car when this guy came up behind me.” 

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Emily asked. “Was he tall? Short? Bald perhaps? Did he have any tattoos? Do you remember anything that could help us find him?” 

“He was, uhm… tall, I think? I mean, he was taller than me, but I’m, like, five-foot-two so basically everyone’s taller than me,” she explained. “And… um, I didn’t really see his face or anything. At least I don’t think so. I honestly can’t remember. Sorry, my mind’s a mess right now.” She looked up and even though Emily couldn’t see her eyes she knew she was looking sad about it. 

“That’s fine. It’s normal not to remember everything right away. And you served some pretty bad blows to the head, so really… Don’t feel bad,” Emily offered her a genuine smile. “Let’s not focus on the details. Can you remember what happened? Was he behind you the whole time or was there a time where you were facing him?” 

“No, he, uhm… He came up behind me and smashed my face into the car. Like, hard and repeatedly. Then he threw me down on the ground, on my back, and then he got on top of me. I think I must have closed my eyes or something, because I can’t actually remember seeing his face.” Clarewater explained. 

“Are you sure? Try to think really hard.” Emily told her as she made mental notes as to what she was telling her. 

“No, you don’t… It’s hard to explain. It’s not like I can’t remember what he looked like, it’s like I can’t remember if I saw him or not. I don’t know how else to explain it, sorry.” She chuckled a little at that before wincing and clutching a hand to her forehead again. 

“It’s fine, we’ll come back to that.” Emily assured her. “What happened next?” 

“Well, he… got on top of me and started strangling me. And I think I must’ve… fought back or something, because I scratched him and he didn’t like that. So he sorta… lifted me by the front of my shirt and slammed me back down, like, slamming my head against the ground. And he did that a few times and I think I passed out from that, because I… can’t really remember anything after that.” 

“Wait, you scratched him?” Emily backtracked a little. That was the most important part of her story so far. 

“Yeah, I… I think I must’ve,” she said, holding her hands out. Emily noted that her nails were clipped short, as a nurse’s nails should be, and there was a little blood and what looked like skin under a few of them. 

“I’m gonna have someone come up later and collect a sample. There might be some DNA there which can help us find this guy,” Emily informed her and Clarewater dropped her hands again. “Do you remember anything else about him? Did he say anything?” 

“Yeah, he… he did, but I don’t think it means anything.” She said with a shrug. 

“What exactly did he say?” 

“He said… He said ‘Heathens be heathens. Heathens be scapegoats’.” Her voice was slightly shaky as she spoke and that made Emily frown as well. What did that mean? 

“And that doesn’t mean anything to you?” Emily asked. 

“Why would it?” She scoffed. “I don’t know, that’s what he said.” 

“Alright,” Emily nodded. “Do you need a little break?” Emily felt the need to ask. Clarewater seemed… a little shaken up, but fine considering all things. Most victims would be a crying mess halfway through telling their stories, but she wasn’t. She seemed noticeably upset, sure, but not nearly what Emily would expect. She still couldn’t tell if it was whatever medication she might be on or the concussion or if it was something else. 

“I just wanna get this over with so I can get some rest.” Clarewater responded, sounding tired so Emily could understand her desire for sleep. “You wanted to talk about your agent?” 

“Yes,” Emily said, still a little certain about how to proceed. “We just want to get the timeline right. So, we’re looking into everyone he saw before he got shot and everyone he-” she started explaining before she was cut off. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clarewater shook her head a little, as if she was trying to grasp something. “What do you mean ‘looking into’?” She asked. Emily’s mouth fell open a little at the defensive tone the other woman had. “Am I a suspect? Is that what this is?” Emily could understand that she’d feel upset about the accusations, but she found herself growing frustrated as well. It was kind of like a defensemechanism for Emily. 

“Look, here’s what I know,” She said, keeping her voice stern. “You were the last person to see Dr. Reid before he was shot-”

“I was already at work when he got shot!” Clarewater interrupted. She almost screaming and that must have hurt her head, but she didn’t show it. 

“You’ve visited his room on multiple occasions after he got admitted, some of those visits unnecessary, won’t you say? You don’t seem the least bit concerned about what happened to yourself and you’re in a rush to get out of here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that screams guilty to me and I don’t know what exactly you’re guilty for but I still have to follow all leads,” Emily told her and tried to look somewhat in the center of the sunglasses as if she was trying to maintain eye contact. She looked at her for a long moment before the woman eventually took the glasses off. She winced a little, shutting her eyes for a few seconds before opening them. She blinked a little against the light before she spoke up. 

“Why would I shoot Spencer? I barely even know him. It doesn’t make any sense,” She said, her voice a more normal level now. 

“Sometimes it just doesn’t make any sense,” Emily told her, keeping her voice in a lower tone to match the other woman’s. “Listen… Is it okay if I call you Leah?” Emily asked to which the other woman just shrugged. “I’m gonna be completely honest with you. Me and my team, Dr. Reid included… We’re profilers. We investigate murders and other criminalcases and we evaluate the evidence. Based on that evidence we make a profile of what we think that killer is like, how they act, their education, social life, etcetera. And you do fit that profile, Leah. And I’m only telling you this because Reid… he thinks you’re innocent. So, I owe it to him to be honest with you so you can be honest with me.” Emily watched as her eyes glossed over. She looked genuinely upset. 

“You said murder…” She trailed off at the end. “Is Spencer… Is he dead? He was fine when I left the ICU. God, please don’t tell me he’s dead.” She started crying then and that reaction put even more doubt into Emily’s mind. One thing was telling her that she was in the same room as the unsub they were looking for, another thing told her the opposite. It was a tough case, but she remembered Morgan’s previous words and she was adamant to leave that room with more answers than questions. 

“Reid is fine, but we assume that whoever shot him might come back,” Emily decided to just be completely honest. 

“And you still think that’s me?” Clarewater asked, sniffing through her tears. “You actually think I did this?” 

“Prove it wasn’t,” was all Emily could say. 

“Yeah, because how do I prove I didn’t shoot anyone?” She laughed darkly at that, even through her tears which were falling more rapidly now. 

“How about you start with telling me why your reaction’s so off?” Emily offered. Right now that was the most pressing concern she had. 

“Why? Because I’m not curled up in the corner like some baby and feeling sorry for myself?” She scoffed. 

“That might be a good place to start,” Emily nodded. She watched as the other woman fiddled a little in the bed before moving to the end of it. 

“I just… need to move around for a second,” she sighed, slowly getting up. Emily shot to her feet, afraid Clarewater would fall again. She didn’t go to grab her, just getting ready in case something were to happen. “I’m fine,” she assured her. Once Emily was sure she was actually okay to stand on her own she let the woman move freely. 

“Take your time,” Emily said as Clarewater moved to stand by the window. She just looked out it for probably five minutes straight, her face was unreadable. She looked drained of emotions, completely numb. 

“Are you gonna tell Spencer about any of this?” She finally asked after a long moment of silence. 

“Do you want me to?” Emily asked back. 

“No, I honestly don’t want him to know.” 

“Alright, then whatever you say to me will not reach his ear. He’s off the case completely now, he said he didn’t want any involvement after we brought you up as a possible suspect,” Emily decided that if she was to get any answers she had to just be honest. She owed that to Reid and to Clarewater. 

“He’s too good, you know?” She said, turning her head so she could look at Emily. She had a sad smile on her lips. Emily wondered what she meant by that. “So, you said you’re… profilers? Does that mean you… like, did a background check on me?” 

“We did, yes,” Emily answered. 

“So, you know about Sam?” 

“That’s your brother, right?” 

“Yeah,” Clarewater sighed, making her way over to the other chair which was on the other side of the bed. She slumped down in it. She looked… exhausted, there really wasn’t any other way of putting it. “I don’t know how much you know, but I was with him the day he disappeared. And I… just never stopped blaming myself for that. He had been right there. Right there! And in a split second he was gone. And I blamed myself and eventually the police gave up looking and then my parents started blaming me as well… And all this time I still wish it was me and not him. I never got to know what happened to him, but I can only imagine. And whatever horrible things he might have experienced, I still wish it was me and not him.” She explained and Emily felt a little bad for her. She could really understand her struggles, but that still didn’t give her a clear answer. “I don’t tell a lot of people that. Actually, I’ve probably never told anyone that. I’ve told some people about Sammy, though, just not… Anyway, I think it’s clear to say I don’t really care about myself. I mean, I’m not exactly stupid and I know that when people tell me it’s not healthy to have those thoughts, I realize that they’re right, but I just don’t care. I guess I care more about other’s than I do about myself.” She finished with a shrug. 

“Leah, don’t take this the wrong way… but are you depressed?” Emily had to ask because the way she talked very much suggested that she was. Clarewater paused for a moment. 

“Look, as I said I’m not stupid. I’m not gonna sit here and lie when I’m quite literary trying to clear my name. I don’t think I’m depressed, but then again most depressed people think that… but there’s a possibility. I… tend to bury myself in work rather than feel my… emotions, feelings whatever. I don’t like feeling vulnerable, I don’t like feeling sad and I realize that I do not exactly have a healthy relationship with my emotions… but I didn’t do this. I didn’t shoot Spencer. Enough people around me have been hurt and I don’t ever want to be the reason for that again.” Tears were streaming down her face again towards the end of her speech. Emily felt the urge to hug her, something she had never done before with a suspect. 

“Leah, listen to me… You did not hurt your brother. You are not the reason he’s gone. I know it’s hard, but try to believe me when I say that you did nothing wrong. Nothing,” Emily spoke sternly, putting pressure on all the right words. Clarewater raised her eyes to look at her. 

“So… Do you believe me?” She asked. “I would never hurt Spencer, at least not on purpose. I know I’m fucked up. Sorry for cursing, by the way. I know I’m messed up, but I wouldn’t go around shooting someone. And especially not Spencer. He… he’s possibly one of the best people I’ve ever met.” Emily had to smile at that last part. 

“You know, he said the exact same thing about you.” She knew it wasn’t her place to tell, but she realized this woman needed to hear some positive words right now. 

“He did?” Clarewater asked. Her eyes were still glassy. “So, you believe me?” And that was the question, wasn’t it. It had an easy answer now. 

“Yes, Leah. I believe you,” Emily told her honestly. “I’m gonna be honest with you now and you need to hear this. The people we usually hunt, they’re like you. They’ve had a bad childhood or have some mental disorders, or something else to make them lash out… But not everyone who experiences trauma becomes killers. Some people are like you, they spend all their time and effort on helping others. You do need to remember, though, that you have to take care of yourself as well, okay?” 

“I try…” Clarewater said in a hushed voice. “Or actually, that’s a lie. I want to try. I guess it’s just easier to take care of others than myself.” 

“Maybe you should start by doing that, put yourself first?” Emily suggested. 

“Maybe,” she shrugged, but Emily had a feeling she wouldn’t take that suggestion to heart. It wasn’t her place to say anything on the matter, not really, but oh how she wanted to. This woman had been through enough. 

“I still have a few questions before we’re done, is that okay?” Emily asked, deciding it would best to just hurry things along so Clarewater could get some rest. “We found a gun in your car… Is there any reason you have it?” The woman fiddled a little in her seat, as if she didn’t quite want to answer the question. Emily actually believed that Clarewater wasn’t behind this, not anymore, but there were still so many questions and evidence still pointing towards her. 

“Would you buy it if I said it’s for protection?” She asked, looking up at Emily through her lashes. “I want to be honest here, but I also really don’t want to get into detail about that… I bought the gun… years ago and it is for protection. I’ve never even fired it and it has nothing to do with Spencer so do I really have to go into details?” She looked genuinely uncomfortable, so Emily decided to let it go. But she still had some things to say on the matter. 

“Hey, why you got it is actually none of my concern. It’s what you use it for that we’re interested in. I have to tell you this, since you’re still technically a suspect until we’ve ruled out everything, but we’re gonna test the gun, just to see if matches the gun we’re looking for. If it doesn’t, then there’s no problem here,” Emily informed her. She nodded shortly. “I also need to ask you about last night. We just need to hear your side of what happened after you left the library.” 

“I uhm… I was just trying to read this book at the library. And I know this is probably gonna make me sound… even more suspect, I guess, but I’m hardly ever there. I just… lately I’ve been having a lot on my mind and I already explained how I am with emotions… I just couldn’t be at home alone, so I decided to just… head out. So, I went to the library and apparently I left my card by the printer. Spencer found it and returned it to me since I was still there,” she explained. Emily nodded for her to continue. It didn’t make her more of a suspect in her eyes, especially since she now believed closer to 90% that this woman wasn’t who they were looking for. “We got to talking, because… You know, he seemed nice. We didn’t really talk that much, because I got called into work around… I’m sorry, I know when they called and I know when I arrived, but my head’s still kind of a mess.” 

“We checked and you clocked in at nine-fourty-eight,” Emily offered. Garcia had checked earlier. 

“Yeah… that sounds about right. I always clock in the minute I walk into work. And if I remember correctly then they called around half something, so probably nine-thirty. It’s in my phone, so I can just check to make sure.” She said. 

“No need, that seems to fit with the timeline.” Emily respond. “So, let’s say it took you around fifteen minutes to get from the library to work, does that sound right to you? You didn’t make any stops along the way?” The team had already checked this, estimating that with the light traffic so late at night it would probably take about ten minutes to drive that distance, and given the time it would take to park, get from the parking garage, change clothes and clock in fifteen-twenty minutes seemed more than plausible. 

“No, I just headed straight in. They said it was an all hands on deck situation, so I got here as fast as I could.” She answered. 

“Alright, that seems to match our timeline.” Emily told her. “I think that is enough for right now.” 

“That’s… it?” 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Emily offered the most reassuring smile she could muster. She had everything she needed. Sure, they’d have to wait for the ballisticstest on her gun to come back, but she already assumed that wouldn’t be a problem. “As I said before, we’re still going to check your gun, just a procedure. But if the test comes back negative then we can officially drop you as a suspect.”

“So… you actually believe me? This isn’t some kind of trick is it? Because I’ve been nothing but honest and if this-”

“Leah, I believe you.” Emily interrupted her, leaning forward in her seat a little. “Okay? I believe you.” She said it again, just to make sure Clarewater understood that she was genuine. Her initial response was to let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” she breathed out, her eyes watering a little again. “I mean, I shouldn’t be thanking you for not thinking I’m some lunatic who just goes around shooting random people, but… thank you.” Emily couldn’t help but laugh at that and suddenly she could see why Reid likes her so much. 

“There’s no need to thank me, Leah. I just wanted answers and you were honest with me. That’s all I needed to know.” Emily shrugged. 

“But you still thought I did this… and I still swear I didn’t, but doesn’t that… like, leave you back to square one?” Clarewater asked. 

“It kind of does,” Emily agreed. “But we’ll catch whoever is behind this.” That caught Clarewater’s attention. 

“Do you think whoever shot Spencer might be the same person who attacked me?” Emily had to purse her lips a little. 

“It’s a theory,” she said. “But you being the person who shot Reid was also just a theory. So, it might just be a theory and nothing more than a theory.” 

“I’m still a mess and that was a lot of ‘theory’s in the same sentence.” Clarewater said while shaking her head, looking a little lost. Emily found herself chuckling again. “But I think I got the point.” 

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, a little sheepishly. “I should probably let you get some rest now. It’s been a long day for you, so remember what I told you about trying to take care of yourself, okay?” She nodded, but Emily still had her doubts about wether she’d actually listen to those words. 

“I’m sorry, but what was your name again? I know it was something on ‘E’, I just think my brain is shutting down now.” Clarewater asked. 

“Emily.” She smiled. 

“Is it okay if I call you Emily or do you prefer Agent… something else I don’t remember.” Now that Clarewater was unofficially ruled out as a suspect Emily realized that she started to like her.

“Emily is just fine.” She replied.

“I know this is gonna sound really inappropriate, but can I hug you?” That was a really inappropriate request, but one that Emily couldn’t find it in herself to deny. So, she rose from her seat and the other woman met her halfway. They embraced and it wasn’t this earthshattering experience. There was no crying on the shoulder, no messing up make-up, just a comforting hug. But Emily found it that she had needed a hug just as much as Clarewater had. 

“You try to get some rest, okay?” Emily said, stroking the other woman’s back a final time before stepping back. “I’m gonna have someone come in soon so they can collect the DNA-sample from your fingernails. And we might have some more questions for you later regarding your own assault, but for tonight I think you should just rest. Is that okay?” Clarewater nodded and went back over to her bed. She laid down in it, drawing the blankets around her. 

“Hey, uhm, Emily?” She asked just as Emily was about to leave. 

“Yeah?” 

“You said if I remembered anything?” Clarewater started. “The man who attacked me… I’m pretty sure he was an addict or something.”

“What makes you say that?” Emily frowned. 

“Or maybe not addict, but he was really irrational. When he… said those words, he said it when he was slamming my head into the ground. And he… Well, he was so angry, but his voice was calm. It was like his body was full of rage, but his mind wasn’t, if you know what I mean?” Clearwater explained and Emily did. “He just… he wasn’t sane is what I’m saying. I guess that’s something important for you to know.” 

“It is.” Emily assured her. “It really is. Thank you, Leah. Now if there’s anything else, no matter how small the detail may be, then call me, okay?” Emily picked a card out of her pocket and left it on the nightstand before deciding she had occupied enough of Clarewater’s time. 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “You’ll look out for Spencer, right? He’s a good guy.” 

“Of course we will. He has a whole team behind him who cares about him very much.” 

“That’s good. He deserves that.” Clarewater smiled once more and Emily took that as her que to leave. She almost didn’t even get out of the room before she called someone to collect the DNA-sample, feeling like that might answer one question if they’d get a match. Even though she walked out of Neurology feeling ten times lighter, she still felt like the more answers she’d gotten, the more questions popped up. 

She returned to the ICU to find Morgan standing outside of Reid’s door, phone to his ear. She decided to wait for him to finish talking, so she started a friendly conversation with Anderson. 

“What’d the girl say?” Morgan asked once he’d hung up. 

“I don’t think it’s her.” Emily sighed, getting right to the important part. 

“Well, ballistics agree with you.” He informed her and Emily’s eyes went wide. 

“You got the report already?” 

“Well, I told the chief to put a rush on it and what can I say? They really put a rush on it.” He laughed. Emily felt even lighter now. 

“So, the gun didn’t match, then?” Emily asked, just to be sure. 

“No. That was the gun expert I just talked to. He said he didn’t even need to test it since the gun hadn’t been fired in a while. He actually concluded that the gun had never been fired. But he did a testround anyway just to be sure and it doesn’t match.” So, Clarewater really had been telling the truth. Not that Emily had doubted that after the heart to heart they’d had, but it was good to have a solid piece of evidence as well. 

“So, does that mean we can rule her out then?” Emily asked and Morgan shrugged. 

“I mean, we still gotta brief the rest of the team and hear what Hotch has to say, but to me it’s a pretty straight case. We have no evidence tying her to any of the shootings or murders, we’ve all had mixed feelings about her, your good peopleknowing skills speak in her favour… And Reid’s as well. I say she’s no longer a suspect.” Morgan shrugged and Emily had never once in her life been so relieved that they’d caught the wrong person. 

Tag list: 

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187​  @wooya1224​  @haylaansmi​

[starshavegoneastray]

Perfect Lovers

Angst // h.hj

Inspired by Félix González-Torres 'Untitled (Perfect Lovers)' 1991; an installation art.

CW // loss of a loved one

1,923 Words

IT has been a while since Hyunjin came out of his apartment. The door to his unit creaked louder than he anticipated, but couldn’t blame the lack of new oil it required in order to work. Green carpet under his soles felt a little different from the last time he mindlessly trudged and tumbled into his cold unit. Newly painted hall greeted him, and before he knew it, he was waving politely at the landlord as he stepped outside of the building.

His blonde hair, caught by the wind as cars passed by, had gone longer than the last time he locked himself, reaching just above his shoulders in a half up half down. For sure it hadn’t been long, but the new stores that opened up right next to the bakery he visited often made it seem like he’d missed at least three months.

That was enough time for Hyunjin to get cooped up inside his tiny living space, free from any pain he had to endure. It was just the right number of weeks for him to be by himself, to look for some sort of interest in order to get his mind off the unpleasant thoughts hunting him for the past weeks.

Painting was one of the things he did, recalling the amount of oil paints and canvases littering across his apartment floors. He’d given up on sketching because the only image running around his head was you. The outcome made him light a match and let it eat the paper into ashes. A similar occurrence happened the last time he painted, but instead of setting the building on fire he decided to dump a whole bucket of lightning blue over it, then left it as it is in his work room.

Part of him wanted to rekindle that passion again, to get his brush going across the canvas and start over. But he lost the spark to ignite his flames, and morning came to replace the light he lost. Leaving him to scout for some sort of exit during the darkening night. He’d doused himself in bottles and bottles of booze the other night, and woke up the next morning with a booked ticket to an exhibit downtown on his laptop.

Hyunjin took his time wandering amongst the crowd, feeling the warmth of the room as people gathered around a few installations placed along the way, and paintings hung up on walls. Some visitors came in batches of elementary students in their orange uniforms, there were groups of (possibly) art students admiring another philosophical work, then there were the interested couples. He came alone in his cream knit vest, black cross bag and a pamphlet in his hands.

There was a mini map of the exhibition inside the neatly folded paper between his fingers, and he began at the very first spot his eyes landed on which were the paintings. Hyunjin stared at a few fancy frames, before moving along to the next in hopes of catching a glimpse of interest within the colors, the shapes, perspectives, anything.

He looked at his pamphlet again then proceeded to the next part of the exhibit. Sculptures in many shapes and sizes stood on white pedestals, behind glass boxes, and even stood on their own to showcase its amazing heights. More people took pictures here, seeing this is a perfect spot for such activity. Hyunjin, after looking around at the people pulling their phones and posing for the camera, fished for his own from the pocket of his jeans and snapped a clay statue that he thought looked like a memorable piece. A smile crept up his full lips, chuckling as he slid his fingers across the screen at the picture he took.

Y/n would love this.

Hyunjin’s lips faltered slowly. Just when he thought he could put down the weights from his shoulder, he couldn’t. Not now. Not even after three whole months. Every time he gets a little happy, he thinks of you. And you were the reality he’s not ready for. With a push of a button, his screen turned void and he shoved his gadget back from where he took them before walking to the next part of the exhibit.

Nothing caught his eye. Not the paintings, not the statues, not the impressive wall art on one side of the building. For starters, he never really frequently visited an exhibit. He started going to some back in the day because of someone’s influence. Someone who would go out of their way to get two entry tickets and accompany him despite their responsibilities and schedule. The same person who would be the first to point out an artist’s work and the meanings behind the intricate strokes, dents, parts, and smudges. The very individual who taught him how to paint.

He kept glancing back and forth towards the pamphlet once he realized he’s stepping into the installations exhibit; the field of art he’s having trouble understanding. Nothing ever makes sense in his eyes, as his steps progress deeper into more stacks of cups, papers, possibly metals displayed on the floor. His eyes jumped from one installation to the other, and all he could process were the odd-looking mismatched objects glued to one another. But he knew for a fact it was because he did something wrong, not because the language doesn’t click.

Take your time, the three words lingered like an aftertaste of a bitter coffee in the shape of your voice. That was what he did as soon as his eyes landed on two clocks hung up on a wall side by side. Félix González-Torres was written on a card right next to the installation, under the title that named the art:

‘Untitled (Perfect Lovers)'.

Take your time, and it’ll all make sense.

Two of the same clocks ticking by the same exact time like what they are and what they’re intended to do; to tell the time. Their needles ticked by the number ten, then ran past eleven. Hyunjin chuckled after the hour hands slightly moved closer to the number seven simultaneously as the seconds morphed with the minute hand on twelve. Upon closer inspection, it was his first time seeing an hour hand move. Nothing fascinating, but now that he thought about it, he’s a quick-paced guy; he never stopped for once to take in the smallest things around him.

Different from how you were. He could almost see it, you would probably stop on your tracks as well, and stared at the two clocks which bore a deep meaning that only few could understand. Installation is a language that took some time to perceive, it’s a different concept of relaying opinions, messages, or a story. The language of art isn’t just from how visually pleasing it is, but also how the message behind it resonates with the people who interact with it. It’s not what you see in it, but it’s how you feel when you see it. Because it captures emotions and memories that exist without a visual form.

Hyunjin never got that idea through his head, especially when he encountered the particular abstract movements. But perhaps his perspective changed once he noticed the right clock began ticking a little slower than the left, gradually falling behind and out of sync; as many clocks do.

Eventually one of them would stop working as the exhibit went on.

For many reasons, you were the very first person he thought of. Fights were a repetitive occurrence but it never tore you apart from each other. And even when disagreements filled the gap, somehow you both found a way to come to terms with it. Your dynamics brought the best out of him, even he was surprised himself. And the both of you had the craziest idea of holding onto each other, until time did their worst and pulled you apart from his grasp on one spring.

Despite the green hues covering his steps, the grey morning he returned from your funeral was one of the hardest things he had to do. Walking back out was another hell he didn’t want to live in, so he locked himself in where he could succumb into an indefinite amount of sorrow and grief at the loss of the love of his life.

Perhaps the harsh reality pushed him at his worst, locking you up in his attic, only to have you drip down the ceiling and he could only see you, you, and you. Even in his dreams, all he saw was you.

The only argument he couldn’t come to terms with was the fact that you’re not here to hold onto him anymore.

But the title still remains ‘Perfect Lovers’. Even when the two hands fall from each other, going their separate ways, or stop dead on their tracks, they were the best for one another. His heartbreak was the evidence of your unconditional love. A mark that will forever be remembered as your beautiful life that collided with his at the imperfectly perfect timing. Despite the circumstances, despite the abrupt end to your chapter with him, you remain as his perfect lover.

**

It was a small flower shop that opened right next to the bakery Hyunjin stopped by. Warm scent of croissant filled up the air as he leaned back onto the white chair, scrolling back through his phone as another warm loaf met his full lips.

“Did you visit the exhibition?” A voice made him crane his neck to see the owner of the little bakery in his white apron pulling a chair to sit next to Hyunjin. He nodded as a reply, munching slowly at the warm bread while letting his friend see the pictures he took.

“You know, Minho,” Hyunjin began to speak, putting down the goods on the plate as he did so, “I thought my time would stop the second hers did.”

Minho listened intently, not too sure where he’s going with the conversation. “But I guess, even soulmates aren’t synchronized.”

Hyunjin looked around the afternoon sunlit streets. Orange hues kissing the autumn leaves that fall from their respective trees adorning the chalkboard sign he drew an hour ago for the bakery. Minho exhaled, taking Hyunjin’s phone gently and swiping a few pictures until he stopped at one with two store bought clocks that was supposed to be deemed an art.

“Is that another philosophy you learned for today?” The question made the blonde boy lean back on his chair, crossing both arms on his chest and said, like it’s a matter of fact, “It’s a new language I learned.”

A tiny small pulled the sides of Minho’s cheeks at his friend’s little banter, it has been a while since he’d last heard of Hyunjin’s sassy remarks. Pinching and zooming the photo, Minho asks again, “And what do you think about it?”

“I think…”

He thought of your eyes, the crinkly ones every time a smile adorn your face at the paintings he finished, or the paints he threw your way, coloring a few strains of your hair. And the way you cried in front of an art you resonated with the most, as if the world you see was filled with the same frequency of affection, despair, desire, sadness, or happiness that none could muster or perceive. Your heartfelt emotions that never fail to make him fall harder every day. And he knew definitely how you’d feel if you’d come along.

“…Y/n would have loved it as much as I do.”

[flowerwrites06]

blossoms and blood II — jjk

Plot: Two lovers are ripped apart in the name of duty.

Pairing(s): Prince/King!Jungkook x Princess/Queen!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Royal | Angst | Smut

Tags & Warnings: violence, angst, explicit smut, blood

Authors Note: I know a couple of you wanted this so I hope you like!

Seven years later.

The fourteenth white cloth covering a limp body left King Jungkook in a slump on his throne. Disease in the form of a violent king cursed their kingdom three years ago spreading slowly and painfully, creating two golden coffins in his own home leaving the heavy crown on his head without warning.

After a while he understood more than he ever did during that time, how much it hurt to lose both parents at once. An event one could never expect to happen or could control.

He had only been hearing news about Queen Belle through the years. Her name etched and engraved into everyone’s conversations.

The Queen conquered five neighbor kingdoms and rebuilt her council from full scratch with six strong diplomats including Prince Yoongi who bent the knee freely. The prince was always known not to be attached to the hip with his power and Belle built a good reputation for being loyal in her word. All neighboring kingdoms now flourished with good food in their bellies, warm homes and a strong law system lessening crimes by half. Her territorial power and societal influence now stood in dangerously close competition with the new Sun King Hoseok.

The double doors opened with a thud breaking his tumble of thoughts. Eyes flickered up to see one of his guards glistening with sweat and expression twisted in distress much like most of his council and citizens nowadays. “Any survivors?” Jungkook sighed scratching at the dark wood of his armrest.

The solider gave a quick bow before standing at attention. “Twenty, sir. Excluding our few surviving soldiers.”

Twenty. He remembered a time when his kingdom used to be impenetrable. After the secret attacks on the outlying village, the funds thinned out significantly as well as the population. A lot of citizens fled to the inner city which meant overcrowding and many trying to live on the streets with scarce food and shelter.

Having an alliance with Belle’s kingdom allowed their funds to be conjoined and keep the Sun King at bay from attacking but now Jungkook’s land was vulnerable.

The man would have conquered the neighboring kingdoms but the Queen had been a lot better at diplomacy than he ever was. Jungkook fought in wars more than spoke in councils. King Hoseok had likely grown cautious of angering Belle thus leaving Jungkooks’ territory a better target to somehow surpass his current biggest competitor.

“Sire…permission to speak freely?” The soldier spoke with utmost care, feeling a little jolt of anxiety now that his question lingered in the air.

Jungkook waved his hand gesturing him to continue except his gaze focused more on the window to the side.

“Our army is deteriorating after every attack…” He gulped. “Queen Belle has the strongest military power to date.” Immediately the words caught in his throat.

The Kings’ eyes now burned right through the slightly quaking soldier, nails raking down the sides of the throne at the mention of her name. A deadly mixture of frustration and his chest clenching tightly. “You know that’s not an option.” His voice turned dark.

“Your Majesty, at this rate…” He let out a little shaky sigh. “…we might need to make it an option.”

“Are you suggesting the soldiers are turning back on me?”

“I’m suggesting the soldiers want to see their children live another day.” He quickly bit down his tongue, hanging his head.

The traditional urge to punish the solider for speaking out of turn grew strong but Jungkook knew the results were never fruitful. His peoples’ trust slowly deteriorated by the day after every defeat. If he punished someone on his own accord then the respect for him as King will die with him. Letting out a heavy breath, Jungkook closed his eyes for a moment, angry at how he could so clearly see Belle smiling right in front of him when he did. Gulping he took a breath to speak. “Even if I did ask for her help…” He shook his head. “The chances of her agreeing are slim...”

The solider cleared his throat gently, hands clasped behind his back. “Slim chances are all we have. The low lying villages are now determined as the Sun Kings’ territory. He’s trying to conquer the kingdom piece by piece and it won’t be long until he’s standing in this very throne room.” He swallowed down hard again with a silent prayer in his mind that his freedom of speech didn’t fizzle out. “If there’s a more powerful voice to match King Hoseok, it’s Queen Belle.”

Jungkook predicted Belles’ success as a ruler surpassing his own. Except at that time, they hoped to be married after their parents’ passing so the tradition between their families could be broken. Now they were on different sides and his inability to make orders rather than follow them became overwhelmingly clear. With a sigh and deflated figure, he spoke again to break the silence. “Alright. We’ll ride out for an audience with her.”

-

Under the pale morning sky, the Queen and her general carefully stepped on either side of the training courtyard. Private area just close enough to the throne room, large pillars bordering it all with a large weapons table on the end. On a better day the whole room would glow a deep orange but right now it looked dull and dreary save for the striking velvet red lining her suit.

Thin strand of hair hovered over Belle’s face, posture straightened and sword held with such a steadiness it looked like an extension of her arm. The kindness usually spread across her features made Namjoon forget his queen currently stood as one of the most biggest conquerors of their generation. But at these moments, how she wielded her weapon with pride reminded him clearly.

The General gave the first swing, metal clanged against each other in a static pattern. He worked off his strength with large strikes while the queen moved quick on her feet, evading the move to conserve her energy before swinging against his sword with an expected might. As they pushed away, the swords created a screeching sound. Arms ached at this point despite having training with such a heavy weapon since childhood. After some time, even strong holds gave in but at that stage persistence took control.

Long braid swung over her shoulder as she turned to the other side of training ground, taking a deep breath without showing it. Belle tried to make the world around her slow down to calculate her movements.

Few more swings of their swords, the metal screeched again.

She pushed his back causing him to lose control of his weapon and she pointed her own right at his neck.

“You went easy.” Belle replied, pulling the steel blade away.

“Asking a general to hurt his queen is easier said than done.” Namjoon smirked, breathing a little heavy.

“The hardest lesson for a soldier to learn is hurting the ones they love most.” Belle advised sheathing her sword. “There might be a day where you’ll have to.”

Namjoon stared down at his sword before sheathing it as well. “Let’s hope that day never comes.”

Belle hummed in agreement before a rush of armor clanging grew louder. Both their heads turned to the foyer of the training yard where a young guard paused to heave out a few indistinct words.

“What’s wrong, Jongin?” The Queen asked.

“Your Majesty! An unexpected visitor.” Was all he could muster as he rested against one of the pillars.

Pulling off her leather gloves and placing it on the weapons table, Belle walked past the guard with asking another question while Namjoon followed along intently.

-

In the throne room, Belle placed her braid behind her. Cool breeze from the hallways allowed the sweat to stop sticking to her clothing while all ragged breathing calmed down. The line of guards standing to the entrance of throne room bowed down to her immediately. She got visits every single day considering problems from each kingdom addressed to her. Except they were always planned.

Double doors opened and she stepped through. Prince Seokjin already standing next to her throne while Yoongi gazed towards her as he rested back on a pillar. The entire room had been designed with a deep mahogany adorned in red and gold tapestry, contrasting against all the colours worn by the court members.

Eyes moved from Seokjin to the figure standing in the center in front of her empty throne. Her heart dropped to the pit and lips parted watching the small pout, hair just over his eyes and a firm gaze. It only took a second for that dreaded sense of recognition to spread through her. Belle despised the fact she couldn’t figure out whether the feeling in her belly swirled due to anger or yearning.

Standing just in front of her thrones, fingers quickly intertwined together as she tried her best to keep a composed face. Matching to the same one she usually had when witnessing an execution. “King Jeon.”

Jungkook felt a tug at his chest hearing her address him in such a formal way. Even in court proceeding or public events, she would call him by his first name or at least have a sweet, loving tone that made him forget about all his problems. Except he knew he lost the right to relish in that now. “Queen Belle.” He bowed slightly.

“What do I owe this visit?” She asked trying to get straight to the point before her knees started shaking.

Jungkook glanced around the court, watching some of their faces contort into disgust, disappointment or curiosity in the younger looking members. A lot of the older ones knew who he was and what he did to the former rulers of this kingdom. Only some of them had seen his face. Honestly Belle was the only one he could recognize in a heartbeat. “I’m afraid I have a favor to ask.”

“A favor?” Belle seethed a little. “What kind of favor?”

He hesitated for a moment, for the hundred time wondering if it were wiser to just turn back and find another solution. But his people deserved more than a half-hearted attempt. “The Sun King aims to take over my kingdom through violent and tyrannous means.”

“Says the slayer himself.” Yoongi retorted earning nothing but a silent side-glance from both Jungkook and Belle. Though Belle knew the older male didn’t need validation.

Jungkook took a deep breath. “My soldiers…innocent civilians are being caught in this rampage. People murdered on the streets, women raped, children taken as slaves, I—I can’t hold them down for much longer.”

Belle pursed her lips together, eyes twitching a little. “We had an alliance, King Jeon.” She emphasized the ‘had’. “It was to protect both of us from this very future.” She purposely let the words linger in the thick silence to remind Jungkook just what his parents got them into.

“But you and your parents broke that contract in the same way the Sun King is breaking your kingdom.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I won’t save you from the undoing you caused in the first place.”

With that announcement, the Queen turned on her heel to exit the throne room leaving Jungkook stammering a little on the spot.

“What’d you expect, Your Highness?” Yoongi seethed.

Jungkook gave the council member a sharp glare but the other merely smirked.

“For a kingdom to help you, one needs loyalty. You not only let that ship sail, you burnt it down and sunk it.”

As much as every inch of his pride had the urge to fight back, Jungkook knew the man spoke the harsh truth. Maybe if he fought with his parents a little more instead of adhering to their orders immediately, his kingdom would not be falling right now. So the king kept quiet with his head hung.

-

The Queens’ bedroom usually had the most the serene atmosphere. Birds chirping just the perfect tune outside the windows where one could watch the trees whistle against the gentle breeze of coming autumn. The maids fixed all the flower bouquets into a red rose theme while two were preparing the golden lined tub for her bath after training.

Belle barged into the room making the maids jump, her chest rising and falling to calm the rising anxiety down somehow. “Ladies, please excuse us.” She tried to keep a composed voice but it came out breathy. No one was ever allowed to see her in this manner ever. Except Namjoon generally made himself an exception and Belle never saw a problem with it.

The maids scurried past the Queen and General to the exit before Namjoon closed it behind him.

“Who does he think he is?” She muttered, fingers tightly woven with one another. Eyes growing glossier by the second while her heart rattled against her ribcages. “Seven years.” She let out a trembling sigh. “Seven years and he just waltzes in here like nothing happened.” Belle grabbed onto the edge of the dining table centering the entire chambers.

“It’s odd…�� Namjoon nodded. “I suppose being almost destroyed by the Sun King jolted something in him.”

Belle rubbed her exhausted face gently. “Everyone wants to take over that kingdom, they have the most impenetrable walls.” She raised her a brows a little. “At least they did. Jungkook never loses a battle.”

“The circumstances are different now though.” Namjoon walked to the table, caressing the surface. The Queen had his back to him to prevent any sight of her clear distress to see an old lover and friend.

“How so?” Belle turned her head a little.

“I think we’ve learnt in our journeys that impenetrable walls don’t always equate a strong kingdom.” He raised one shoulder. “And we can’t blame civilians by the actions of royals.”

“He killed my parents, Namjoon.” Belle swallowed the small lump in her throat. “He didn’t even hesitate.”

The General had to stay silent for a moment as the events of that day replayed in his mind. He saw the blank look in Jungkooks’ features when he finally gave the swings that took out the two royals. Then he could also recognize the same look on his troops before charging in conquests. “You told me this today.” He took a tiny step closer.

“The hardest lesson a solider has to learn is to hurt the ones he loves most.” He tilted his head a little but couldn’t really catch her expression. “I think you know…somewhere what he did wasn’t completely his fault. Soldiers don’t work on their own accord. Queens do.”

Belle hung her head and let another deep sigh, eyes still burning but her tears seemed to be dried up today. “Can you guarantee safe travel for his people?” She turned around to meet the generals’ gaze.

Namjoon nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“Make sure to fly our banners. The Sun King and I have no active quarrels, it may prevent any attacks.” Their little territorial competition was silent for the most part and never truly led to any battle between the kingdoms. Except Belle worried helping Jungkooks’ kingdom may end that somewhat peaceful streak.

-

Three single files of people walked at a tired pace while small children and seniors were carried in wagons by her guards. Namjoon made a good job to keep everyone safe but it tugged at Belle’s chest ever so slightly to see the small size of the group.

The Queen and King stood at a main balcony of the palace watching as the people were led into through the majestic doors. “Is this all?” Belle asked.

“Yes.” Jungkook replied simply, resting his arms on the railing.

Belle stood a significant distance from the male. She now adorned a white and gold dress with her hair in a jewelled bun, a few hair strands framing her face. “My father used to tell me that murder solves the smaller problems but only fuelled something worse.” She side glanced at the male. “You always did hate those lectures. Found them useless.”

Jungkook hated to admit he wasn’t a fan of learning intricacies of the mind or morality because his own father thought it best if he were immune from it. Too much thought meant reluctance. “Fighting wins wars.” He quoted his father.

The Queen scoffed lightly. “Really? Then why am I taking in your entire kingdom as refugees? For a banquet?” Belle retorted. “Fighting wins battles. Diplomacy wins wars.”

“Nevertheless…thank you…for reconsidering.” Jungkook sighed.

“My general was kind enough to remind me civilians should not be blamed for royal blunders.” Belle turned a little to face him. “We have a meeting in the throne room for conditions.” She spoke in a solemn tone before walking away from him.

-

Shoes tapped and echoed through the private throne room despite the crowd of people waiting in anticipation. White and gold train followed behind the Queen as she gave a quick glance to Namjoon standing next to her throne before turning to face Jungkook. Chin held high, small gold crown shining contrasting against her dark hair and painted red lips making her exude the most elegant yet potent power.

“Earlier you asked for me to revive our past alliance.” Belle began speaking and the entire throne room hushed down to such a silence, it could almost seem like it was empty. “I refuse.”

The couple of members from the council began murmuring to one another but the King himself continued to stare at the regal figure. “Why not?”

She stayed quiet for a moment to wait until the council members behind Jungkook stopped to realise the attention was on them and quickly quietened down, hanging their heads. Then Belles’ gaze flickered over to King Jeon again. “Alliances are made between two kingdoms who want to come in peace after war or kingdoms who have something to offer one another. Meaning they are meant for equal parties.” She spoke with the utmost eloquence. “Your kingdom has lost all their funds, military lessened by half, scarce resources and you have a notorious past of breaking alliances.”

Jungkook tightened his jaw. “What would you have me do?”

“I will call for the Sun Kings’ audience.” Her eyes trailed from left to right to address the entire court. “If we are to protect your kingdom from any more attacks…you need to bend the knee and reclaim your previous title of Prince.”

The court stayed quiet already knowing they heard this exact rule passed onto a once King Seokjin.

“So you won’t help my people unless I bow down to you.” He almost seethed.

“I will help your people till the end.” She emphasized. “I have an abundance of land where they can grow crops and live peacefully. The children can attend the schools built in the inner city.” Belle nodded towards the window again gesturing to her vast territories. “Your people can stay here as long as they wish. Now that they’re within our walls, they are eternally under my protection and will not be the subject of harm due to political matters.”

Jungkook pursed his lips together. “But?”

“But we can’t be two unmarried Royals in one kingdom. It confuses the balance of power.”

“Then marry me.” The King knew he poked a sleeping bear with that statement but it wasn’t like he could take it back now either.

Belle gave him a sharp glare as the court murmured in slight shock. How he could so casually bring the topic up like it was nothing made her burn with fury. Maybe it was nothing to him anymore. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “Bend the knee and relinquish your title as King…or surrender to King Hoseok. Either way, your people will not be harmed unless they want to ride out with you.”

“Is this supposed to be your revenge?” Jungkooks’ brows furrowed.

“What you did to my parents was an act of a soldier, Jeon. Not of a crown prince” She spoked through gritted teeth. “It’s not revenge. It’s placing you back to what you do best. Taking orders blindly.”

The male swallowed down a thick lump in his throat, seeing the love of his life announce his pride to be stripped away from him. Deep down of course Jungkook knew he didn’t have all the qualities of a King. He never thought Belle would be the one to end up reminding him.

“You have till morning for your decision.”

<< prev chap | next chap >> 

[dirtyhelen]

with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer) - part two

PART TWO: i’m in your head now, from every second now Series Masterlist Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: Mature Featuring: Angst; Fluff; No Additional Warnings Words: 7894 Summary: So, you had sex with a co-worker under the influence of a super-powered aphrodisiac. What do you do now? A/N: First of all, BIG thank you to everyone who liked/replied/reblogged Part 1!! Honestly overwhelmed by how lovely you all are 🤗 Second of all, there is no smut in this part so if you wanna skip this one and catch up on Part 3 (which does have smut) I totally get it and you will receive no judgment from me!! Sorry for the wait on this one, Part 3 won’t take this long I promise! ________________________________________________________________

You sleep for a long time, deep and dreamless, and wake to the hot midday sun streaming in through your open curtains. You’d been so out of it the night before you hadn’t even bothered to shut them. For a moment or two it feels like a normal day, albeit a lazy one. Like sleeping in on Sunday and waking up easy and refreshed. You reach for your phone to check the time when recollection kicks in, reminding you exactly why you’re in bed at noon on a Friday, stripping away any feelings of peace or rest. You want to stay in bed, bury yourself under the covers until you die. Or at least until someone from the compound reaches out to you, but there’s too much nervous energy thrumming under your skin, making you restless and jittery and you finally give in and leave the warm cocoon of your blankets. You spend the day at home, stress-cleaning your entire apartment and stress-eating your entire fridge, vacillating between panic and calm. One minute you’re stuffing your face with week-old stir-fry and checking your phone with every mouthful; the next you’re elbow-deep in dishwater, resigned to your fate – whatever it may be. In worried moments, you can’t imagine how you can possibly go back to the compound after everything that’s happened. How can you discuss schedules and mission reports when everyone you work with knows you got railed by an Avenger on one of the jets they use to fly around saving the world? How can you face Bucky again? Even if he doesn’t blame you for what happened, he’s bound to have some negative feelings about the whole thing. About sleeping with you. It’s not like you’d been friends before. Not like he’s been harbouring secret romantic feelings like you have. If Bucky’s harbouring any secret feelings about you, they’re probably feelings of annoyance and dislike. What if every time he looks at you now he’s reminded of how you begged, needy and naked and pathetic, for him to fuck you? What if he’s disgusted by you? Somehow that’s the worst thought of all. That the first person – the only person – to have seen your body laid bare, to have touched you in the most intimate ways possible might be repulsed, not by what happened, but because it happened with you. It’s a thought you try not to dwell on for long, but you come back to it over and over throughout the day. Each time, shame and self-loathing and heartache flood your body until you force yourself to think about something else. To eat something else, clean something else. You remind yourself there’s no point worrying about things that might never happen. You’ll only have to endure the reactions from Bucky and the team if you actually go back to work, which might not be an option anymore. No one’s reached out to you all day – no calls, no emails, no texts – and the radio silence has you fearing the worst. That no one has reached out because they’re busy working on your termination paperwork. As the hours slip by, those moments of calm get fewer and further between. By the time you’ve eaten all there is to eat, cleaned all there is to clean, and paced what feels like a hundred miles across the length of your apartment it’s nearly midnight and the only messages you’ve gotten all day are promotional emails and a meme from one of your friends back home. You wish you could talk to her, tell her about everything and get another perspective, but the ironclad NDA you signed on your first day of work rules out telling pretty much anyone other than the Avengers and their support staff – none of whom you want to talk about this with. If nothing else, at least your nervous energy has burned off, leaving you drained and eager to sleep for another twelve – or twelve thousand – hours. But despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come any easier than the night before. You toss and turn for hours it seems, and when you do sleep, it’s light and fitful. You wake early on Saturday morning, feeling no more relaxed than when you first shut your eyes. +++ After another morning alone in your apartment with no news, you think you’re going to go insane soon. You’ve drafted a dozen emails to Maria Hill, to the head of R&D, even one to Steve, but can’t bring yourself to hit send on any of them. Trying to find the line between professional concern and desperate pleading proves to be very difficult. You’ve just started yet another message to Maria – since she coordinates all Avengers operations (including the one that landed you in this situation) – when your phone rings. It’s such a surprise after the silence of the last two days that you’re frozen for a moment before you scramble for your phone, almost dropping it in a mug of lukewarm tea in your haste. A glance at the screen reveals it’s Maria herself on the line, as if summoned by all your unfinished emails. Knowing her background and capabilities, you wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow has seen them… Brushing away that uncomfortable thought, you take a breath and answer the call, trying your best for a confident and casual, “Hello?” Characteristically brusque, Maria wastes no time getting straight to the point. “Can you come to the compound this afternoon? The research half of R&D has an update for you and I figured we should talk, too.” “Uh—” you start, wondering how to give a firm fuck no while still being agreeable and cooperative. Luckily, Maria picks up on the reason for your hesitance. “Right, that would probably be uncomfortable for you. We’ll come to you. Three o’clock?” she offers. “Three is good?” It’s not like you have anything else going on. “Great. I’m supposed to call Secretary Ross at three and I do not want to. See you then.” And with that, the line goes dead. Maria has very little patience for pleasantries, you’ve learned. +++ At three o’clock sharp there’s a knock at your door. You open it up to find Maria waiting outside with a middle-aged woman carrying a black medical bag. You vaguely remember seeing her face among the half dozen or so you saw during the debrief after the jet. Maria says hello and makes the necessary introductions. “This is Dr. Sakina Singh,” she says, face expressionless. “She’s from R&D. You might remember her from –” “The extremely intrusive round of questions I asked you two days ago,” Dr. Singh interjects with a grimace, looking about as uncomfortable as you feel. This probably isn’t what she imagined she’d be doing when she accepted the offer to work with the Avengers. You laugh politely if a little awkwardly. “I remember. Nice to meet you, officially?” She smiles and you shake hands. “Can we come in?” Maria asks, reminding you they’re still standing in your open doorway while cold February air blows into your apartment. “Right! Sorry!” You bring them through to your kitchen, gesturing for them to sit at the table and making the obligatory offers of tea and coffee. Maria and Dr. Singh take one side of the table and it makes you feel a bit like you’re about to have the worst job interview of your life. The fact that Maria was actually at your last job interview doesn’t help. You start to fidget with your hands, relieved the table hides the worst of your nerves. Dr. Singh starts off the proceedings. “I mostly just wanted to check in and see if you’ve experienced any other symptoms, anything out of the ordinary, and to give you a bit of an update on what we’ve found out about the chemical you and Sergeant Barnes ingested,” she says, looking more at-ease now the small-talk portion of the conversation is over and she can focus on the science of it all. “I feel normal,” you reply quietly. “No symptoms since Thursday night.” She nods. “That’s good, and consistent with what Sergeant Barnes reported.” Even the mention of Bucky’s name is enough to have your face flooding with heat. Your hands clench, fingernails pressing crescents into your palms. She carries on, explaining what she and her team were able to determine about the chemical. It’s nothing ground-breaking or unexpected, not after having experienced its effects first-hand. A super-powered aphrodisiac with no discernable purpose beyond making people horny. Just the sort of thing you’d expect to uncover in some mad scientist’s underground lab. Why try curing cancer when you can make people fuck instead? “It provokes extreme sexual arousal while simultaneously decreasing inhibitions,” Dr. Singh explains. “It appears to be neutralized by the chemicals released during orgasm. More than that we don’t know. And since the only uncontaminated sample of the chemical was destroyed, it may be all we will know. But the good news is we don’t see there being any lingering physical impacts, though I would like to take another blood sample from you to be sure it’s completely out of your system.” You consent to the blood sample and she heads back to the compound after it’s done, leaving you and Maria alone at your kitchen table. She’s been nearly motionless this entire time, watching you and Dr. Singh converse, but offering nothing in the way of commentary or even acknowledgment. If you didn’t know better you’d think she wasn’t paying attention at all.  But you do know better, and you have no doubt she could repeat word-for-word everything that was said since you opened the door half an hour ago. Regardless, the stony-faced reticence is unsettling and gives you no clue as to how your conversation with her is going to go. And it’s this conversation you’re really worried about. After a moment of silence that feels endless, Maria lets out a big, heaving sigh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxes into her seat. “Well, that was awkward.” Oh. That’s how your conversation is going to go. It’s so not what you expected her to say and yet so completely like her that a shocked giggle forces its way out of your mouth. She grins at you across the table, but you feel your own smile fade. “God, Maria, I’m so sor—” “If you’re about to apologize, so help me God,” she says, with a look on her face that dares you to argue with her. “I apologize, sincerely, on behalf of myself and the entire Avengers organization. This shouldn’t have happened. We have a dangerous chemicals procedure for a reason, for fuck’s sake,” she adds, with a stormy expression that has you pitying the poor techs who loaded the jet. “I mean, it’s no one’s fault, really. I’m sure that case wasn’t purposely unlatched.” You don’t want anyone to get in trouble for this. You feel guilty enough already about Bucky. “Probably not,” Maria concedes. “But regardless, we’re not treating this as business as usual. This isn’t SHIELD. It won’t be swept under the rug and dismissed without investigation.” You’ve read a handful of the documents Natasha leaked during the fall of SHIELD. You can only imagine how many lab accidents were concealed; how many weren’t accidents at all. It’s a dark line of thinking with no end in sight so you change the subject, asking a question that’s been on your mind for a while. “I wanted to ask – who knows about what happened? I know you can’t hide it, obviously, but –” you shrug, wondering exactly how many people you’re going to have to avoid eye contact with in the halls, or around town even. Maria nods. “The Security Council has access to all our files and we have to report this as a safety incident, but no names or identifying details are recorded. And we didn’t say two staff members had intercourse on a quinjet,” she adds wryly. “Just that there was a chemical spill and two individuals were affected. The only people who know the details of what happened and to who are me, the Avengers, and Dr. Singh and her staff. And they’ve all been made very clear on what will happen if they breach confidentiality. Believe me, they won’t tell anyone.” You believe her. “Speaking of the Avengers… What’s the mood there? Am I totally fired?” Maria snorts. “Fired? Because of a costly mistake for which the organization takes full responsibility, resulting in you ingesting an unknown chemical compound? No. You’re not fired.” Okay, when she lays it out like that it makes your fears seem ridiculous. Still… “Seriously, Maria. Should I just quit? Or be reassigned? Somewhere I will never have to look at any of the Avengers ever again, maybe?” you ask, with a cringe. “Are you concerned it will be awkward for you, or them?” “Well, both. But obviously, their feelings would come first in this situation. They’re the Avengers. I'm a secretary.” Maria rolls her eyes at that comment but chooses not to address it. “Well I can’t do anything about your feelings, but I can assure you that you won’t be treated any differently because of this.” You gape at her. “Seriously?” How could they not treat you differently? Maria levels you with a look. “Do you really think this is the strangest thing that has ever happened on that team?” she says, with the distinct air of a woman who has seen and heard too much. You’re not convinced. “Stranger than two of them banging on a quinjet under the influence of a crazy sex drug?” You’re pretty sure if this were the Strange and Unusual Olympics, that would earn you at least a silver medal. Maria doesn’t seem to agree. She straightens her back and takes a breath. “Giant octopus monster in the Thames. That time a wizard transformed Steve into his pre-serum body for a week. Wanda, daily.” She looks at you, eyebrows raised. You have to admit she has a point. “But –” “Last month I walked in on Steve and Sam having sex in a conference room. A couple years ago Barton got wasted during a game of truth or dare and told everyone how much he enjoys getting slapped around by women in leather. There are multiple sex tapes of Tony on the internet.” She pauses, making sure she has your full attention. “Dealing with weird shit and knowing way too much about the people you work with? Pretty much the two things that bind the Avengers together. Welcome to the team.” Once again, she manages to make things seem so simple. You want to believe her. You almost do believe her. There’s just one thing… “What about Bucky? Maybe everyone else can brush it off, but this happened with him. He can’t possibly want to work with me anymore.” “Fair enough,” Maria says. “But I actually spoke to Barnes this morning. He made it very clear he did not want this to impact your employment in any way.” She shrugs. “Like I said. If it’s not a problem for you, it’s not a problem for them. They’re professionals. Well, mostly.” You nod. This conversation has been enlightening – in a few ways – and Maria’s given you a lot to think about. Also a lot to very purposely not think about (Clint! And presumably Laura!). Maria leans back in her seat, considering you for a long moment as you try to process what she’s told you and come up with some sort of response. The silence stretches on until finally, she speaks. “I’ve had a lot of weird, bad sex in my life.” You stare at her, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Luckily, she doesn’t wait for a response. “I know what happened to you wasn’t just a shitty hookup and you have every right to feel however feel about it.” She says, for the first time looking less than perfectly at ease. She takes her time with her next words. “But I guess what I’m trying to say is it doesn’t have to count. Sex doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to.” You nod dumbly, not sure what to say. You feel the sudden intense need to be alone for a while so you can sit with all the new thoughts running through your mind. Maria nods back, face settled again into cool composure. “Okay, no more feelings talk. The point is: you’re welcome to come back to work anytime. FRIDAY’s taking on as much as she can, but an AI is only capable of so much. Even that one. Think about it.” +++ You do think about it. You spend the rest of the day thinking about it. You go for a long walk in the crisp winter air, thinking about it. You journal, thinking about it. You Google “I slept with a co-worker, what now?” in various combinations and read several unhelpful articles, thinking about it. After hours of introspection, what you come up with is this: you love your job. You love your life. You’ve always been cautious, careful to a fault. Never a risk-taker. Until a few months ago, you lived in the same town you were born in. Happy enough, but not exactly satisfied. Until you applied for this job. Until you packed up your life, left behind everything you’d ever known to start over someplace new. And you’ve never regretted it. You finally felt like you had a place where you belonged. Over the time you’ve worked with the team, they’ve become friends, not just-workers and you love getting to know the real people behind the glossy media personas the rest of the world is familiar with. You love the sense of pride you feel, knowing the work you do matters, contributes – even in its own small way – to something as unfathomably huge and worthwhile as world peace. You don’t want to give that up. You can’t. The sex thing? Yeah, that sucks. You may not have dreamt of rose petals and scented candles, but you were pretty determined there’d be love and commitment involved. A partner, not just a person. But Maria is right. Sex doesn’t change who you are. Virginity is a goddamn social construct and this doesn’t have to matter unless you want it to. You had sex for the first time with someone you have feelings for, someone you respect. And maybe the circumstances (weird sex drug, floor of airplane) were less than perfect, but you can’t deny the sex itself felt good (amazing). Better than a random guy that couldn’t locate the clitoris with a GPS and flashing neon lights. You feel like you’ve been given permission to let this go. To let it be something that happened, but not something that defines you. Just one moment out of millions. You know it’s not that simple. That one illuminating conversation isn’t enough to silence the part of you that still feels ashamed, embarrassed, and heartbroken, but it's a start. A new perspective and one that has you feeling a hell of a lot better than you did just a few hours ago. There’s just one roadblock in this journey of self-enlightenment to being a mature, grown-ass woman who is handling this like a fucking champ – Bucky. But if what Maria said is true, and you have no reason to think she’d lie to you, then maybe that’s not such a roadblock after all? If everyone, even Bucky, can go on as usual (whatever that is with the Avengers), then you’re basically in the same place you were before all this: hiding your unrequited feelings for a man that doesn’t think about you at all. Just with the added aspect of remembering what his body felt like on top of you, inside you. How his tongue felt in your mouth, and on your… Anyway! You’ve decided. You’re going back to work and it’s going to be totally fine. You’re all going to be adults about this. Having drug-fueled sex on a plane is basically the Avengers equivalent of getting too drunk at the office Christmas party anyway, and many an administrative assistant before you has done that and come out the other side. You call Maria and inform her you’ll be back at the compound on Monday, and you can’t help but think there’s a little note of pride in her crisp acknowledgment.  +++ Sunday passes in a blur of nervous anticipation. By the end of the day, you’re nearly crawling out of your skin, desperate to get the embarrassing part over so you can move on with your life and dreading it at the same time. When you wake up Monday morning there’s a significant part of you that wants to call the whole thing off and stay in your apartment for the rest of your life. You remind yourself you did nothing wrong, that you have every right to your job and your life, but apprehension only grows as you get ready for work and begin the drive to the compound. As the heavy metal gates slide shut behind your car you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake. But after a brief almost-breakdown in the parking garage, you manage to pull yourself together and get out of the car. You make your way to your office in the Avengers’ private wing without running into anyone other than security and custodial staff. It is eight in the morning after all, and it’s not like the Avengers usually congregate outside your office like a welcoming committee, so you’re not sure why you felt like you’d be seeing them all at once. They might not even all be in the building – you’ll have to get Maria to update you on any new missions that have been assigned while you were off. You pass an hour or two catching up on emails and reaching out to a few different contacts around the compound, but no one on the team. The first person you see who knows why you really were off is Sam, making a smoothie in the kitchen when you come in for your morning tea. You steel yourself for the ensuing awkwardness, but it doesn’t come. Sam doesn’t behave any differently than he normally would, acknowledging you with a friendly smile tossed over his shoulder as he prepares ingredients. “Morning,” he greets, handing you a mug from the cupboard over his head as you fill up the electric kettle. “Thanks.” Sam nods, immediately launching into a story about his weekend that has you almost in tears from laughing so hard. “I don’t know why you’re laughing,” he scolds playfully. “I was stuck in that tree for like ten minutes while Tony took pictures, even though it's his fault I ended up there since he designed the damn wings. Anyway, how was your weekend?” he asks with an expression of exaggerated innocence. If it was anyone else it might feel rude or intrusive or even mean. But Sam, all easy charm and genuine warmth, has a way of making people take themselves less seriously, and you find you’re smiling despite yourself as his smirk splits into a cheeky grin. You manage to hold eye contact for a couple of seconds before you’re both laughing uncontrollably, the utter absurdity of the situation suddenly hitting you as actually kind of funny instead of completely tragic. “Yeah, it was alright. Just hung around the house, really,” you tease, catching your breath, and the conversation seamlessly turns to what you’ve both been watching on Netflix. You’re still smiling when you sit back down at your desk. You know there are bound to be awkward moments ahead, but the relief of knowing things can be normal, that the awkwardness will pass, has a tension leaving your body you’d been holding onto for days. Over the next couple days as you go about your normal tasks and routines you run into members of the team in ones and twos. Some are more uncomfortable than others – you and Bruce share a particularly stilted exchange until Tony barges into the room – but after the initial acknowledgment, almost everyone carries on like it never happened. Almost everyone, because by the middle of the week there’s still one person you haven’t seen or heard from. Bucky. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed. Sure, you’re not exactly eager for that first – almost certainly uneasy – interaction. But at the same time, all you want is to move on and put this behind you and you don’t think you can do that until you’ve seen him. Until you’ve assured yourself he really is okay, and okay working together. The longer you go without seeing him, the more you begin to wonder if he’s really as fine with you being back as Maria said he was. If he truly wasn’t bothered, wouldn’t you have run into him before now? It’s not like Bucky was a social butterfly before, especially not with you, but you work with him in the building where he lives – it’s rare to go this long without at least seeing him in passing, outside of times he’s on a mission. And he isn’t on a mission – you checked. The sense of acceptance you’ve built around what happened on the jet is fragile, and relies almost entirely on knowing Bucky is alright, that he doesn’t blame you, or hate you, or feel disgusted by you. If none of that is true, you can’t move on. At least, not while continuing to work with the team. It wouldn’t be right. Each day, that acceptance weakens as it becomes clear Bucky is intentionally avoiding you. He must be. The agonizing waiting game finally ends on Thursday in a conference room. You’re tidying up after a meeting, gathering pens and water glasses, when Bucky turns the corner into the room, eyes glued to the tablet he holds in front of his face. At least, until he notices the room isn’t empty and his eyes snap to you. You’ve been imagining this moment for days now – seeing Bucky again for the first time. You’ve crafted and perfected so many scenarios of how it might play out – maybe you’ll be cool and aloof, brush it off like it’s no big deal, like you haven’t thought about it at all. Or maybe you’ll crack a joke like Sam would, and Bucky will laugh and tease you back and the tension will be broken and everything will be fine. In the moment, when it actually happens, all you can do is stare. Bucky looks – not well, really, and it squeezes something in your chest to see him this way. You’ve been around him before when he’s having a downswing and it’s not as bad as that, but there are dark circles under his eyes that speak to sleepless nights, and a stiffness in the way he holds himself, as though every muscle is tensed. It makes you want to hold him. To wrap him in your arms until that tension bleeds out of his body. But that’s the last thing Bucky would want, considering you’re likely the source of the tension. Your eyes find his and he holds your gaze for a moment – just a moment. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression, but he clearly doesn’t like it because his brows furrow as he turns on his heel and leaves the room. And just like that, you’re back on the quinjet, naked and trembling on the cold floor as Bucky bolts from the room without looking back. The rejection is clear, unmistakable. You’re fully clothed but you may as well be stark naked for how vulnerable you feel in that moment. You can’t help the tears that gather in your eyes and spill over as you stand there staring at the open door like an idiot. You roughly swipe a hand over your face to brush them away and make a hasty retreat to your office. The day passes in a fog as you try not to break down at your desk. The dam breaks the minute you step through your apartment door as the tears you’ve been holding back for hours come flooding out. You fall to your knees and you know you’re overreacting. You tell yourself it’s probably a misunderstanding. Bucky realized he’d forgotten something. Or maybe he was just surprised to see you, wasn’t ready to talk to you yet and had to leave, but not because he hates you. Your mind clings to the idea, latches onto it like a lifeline, even as your body continues to drown – sadness like physical pain in your chest, throat sore from deep, heaving sobs. You calm down eventually, mind winning out over body at last, but the crying has you feeling a little hollowed out. You fill the space with food and mindless media consumption, telling yourself you’ll feel better after a night of sleep. +++ You do feel better in the morning, thank God. You’ve successfully convinced yourself what happened yesterday had to be a misunderstanding. Maria wouldn’t lie to you about what Bucky said, and honestly, it’s self-centred to think just the sight of you is enough to scare the Winter Soldier out of a room! You head into the office feeling a little uneasy still, but mostly okay. That feeling lasts until lunchtime. You’re taking your lunch break in the common room, eating a sandwich and watching an episode of House Hunters with Natasha. She’s in the middle of a sentence, noting the lack of defensible positions and the overabundance of wood panelling in the mid-century bungalow on-screen when Steve and Bucky enter the room. They’ve clearly just come from the gym, likely looking for a post-workout snack. They amble into the room, playfully shoving at each other as they head for the kitchen. You can hear Alpine trotting in behind them, meowing for the treats she knows she’ll get if Bucky’s in the kitchen. Bucky’s hair is tied up in a messy, damp bun and his t-shirt clings to his torso with sweat, toned muscles on display. Steve’s there too. You see the moment Bucky realizes you’re there partly because you can’t look away from him – the shadows under his eyes are still dark, but his face is flushed and lively from the workout – and also because his step very noticeably falters and the teasing expression is wiped from his face, the colour quickly draining from his cheeks. If yesterday could be brushed off as a misunderstanding, this confirms you were right to fear the worst. Bucky was avoiding you, doesn’t want to be around you. He mumbles something back to Steve you aren’t able to discern and turns back the way he came. Instantly you feel your face heat with shame. Now Bucky can’t stand to even be in a room with you and other people? Exactly how uncomfortable do you make him? Does he think you’ll leap up from the couch and throw yourself at him? You catch Steve and Nat sharing a look out of the corner of your eye, but you have no idea what it means. You feel thoroughly wrong-footed, as though everyone in the room knows something you don’t. Something you probably don’t want to know. They make an effort to gloss over Bucky’s hasty exit, Natasha more successfully than Steve, but you just want to get back to the privacy of your office as quickly as possible so you can ruminate in peace. Or, if not in peace, at least in solitude. Choking down the rest of your lunch in record time, you make your escape – by a different route than Bucky, lest you accidentally cross paths again and he’s forced to jump out a window to escape you. TGIF, you think. +++ That weekend is rough. You journal, you pace, and you think and cry and eat and Google. Finally, you end up spilling your guts to an EAP counsellor (under the guise of a drunken hook-up between co-workers) and you come to the conclusion: fuck James Buchanan Barnes. Yeah, he’s smart and kind and strong and beautiful and maybe you’re a little in love with him, but he is just a man and you have cried over him enough. You didn’t ask for this! You didn’t mean for it to happen! And it’s not like you forced him to have sex with you. It’s not like he was cowering in the corner while you were throwing yourself at him. If anything, you were equally taken advantage of by each other – by that stupid fucking chemical and whatever mad scientist created it! He was the one who said he didn’t want your employment affected by what happened! As though running screaming from the room whenever he sees you doesn’t affect your employment. The least he could do is try to be a little more subtle in his distaste. Whether he finds you unattractive or not he should be able to treat you like a human being – not some sort of leper. And if he can’t do that, he can say it to your face! You don’t deserve this, no matter how Bucky feels about what happened. Which is exactly what you’re going to tell him when you see him on Monday. And you will see him. Bucky Barnes might be an internationally feared former assassin who evaded detection for over seventy years, but you manage his calendar. He’s got a meeting in the morning with PR and you’ll be waiting outside to catch him as soon as they’re done. On God, by noon on Monday, this will be resolved once and for all. +++ Ten a.m. sharp you’re standing outside the PR office suite, reminding yourself why your anger is justified and trying to hold onto the feeling itself. You’re more than a little afraid that the minute you see Bucky you’re going to forget all about confronting him and just start crying. But you didn’t spend hours curating a fuck you, girl power playlist and practicing speeches in the mirror to admit defeat so quickly. You’re standing directly opposite the glass doors, no opportunity for hiding – or for Bucky to hide from you – so you see each other the minute he approaches the door. There’s a flash of surprise on his face, quickly turned to grim resignation as he opens the door. He obviously knows you’re there to see him and he stops outside in front of you. “Hi,” he says, avoiding your eyes and staring at his feet instead. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?” He nods, gesturing down the hall and you follow him a few feet to a small seating area, out of view of any offices. He stands back and finally makes eye contact, looking a little like he’s staring down a firing squad instead of an unarmed civilian in a fuzzy pink cardigan. You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts and remembering the plan. You ask him the big question. “Do you want me to quit?” Bucky shakes his head almost frantically. “No, I – no,” he says. You stare at him, wait for him to continue speaking but he just stands there, hands in his pockets looking miserable. ‘No.’ That’s all he can say? No? No! Something inside you snaps, your carefully prepared speech dissolving in your mouth like sugar as words start to pour out of you. “Really? Because Maria told me you didn’t want me to be reassigned so I thought we were good. But then you avoided me for days and the two times we did see each other you looked like you were going to be sick and practically ran out of the room, which makes me think you’re definitely not okay with me being here.” “I—” “And like, okay, that’s fine, but I wish you would have just said that? Because I get it, I do. This is super weird and obviously, you didn't want to sleep with me and I know I'm not like, a supermodel or even a JC Penny catalogue model, so yeah, you wish it could have been literally anyone else but you don't have to run away from me like I have some sort of flesh-eating disease, okay?” “That’s—” “Because that really sucks, Bucky. And not just because I’ve had a crush on you forever or because it was my first time but because I actually really just like and respect you as a person and I know you didn’t like me even before all this so maybe you don’t believe me, but I didn’t mean for this to happen. I promise. I would never try to take advantage of you – of anyone – like that and –” “What?” he interjects sharply. It cracks through the air like a whip, finally snapping you out of whatever insanity possessed you to say all that. To say all that. Oh, fuck. “What do you mean crush? Wait, first time?” Bucky’s eyes are wide and he’s staring intently at your face. Your own face burns and your hands shake as you try to come up with something – anything – to say. Thirty seconds ago you couldn’t shut up! The silence stretches unbearably long as Bucky stands there looking at you, waiting for you to answer him. It looks like he’s about to speak again when an alert sounds from both of your phones. “Oh, thank God,” you breathe. It’s the unmistakable tone that signals a drop-what-you’re-doing-and-Avengers-fucking-assemble emergency. You’ve never heard a sweeter sound in your life. Bucky holds your gaze for another moment before he swears and jogs off down the hallway, tossing you a conflicted look over his shoulder as he goes. +++ The emergency turns out to be a false alarm; some new system Tony was working on triggered it accidentally, so you got away from Bucky and nobody died. All in all, a pretty successful day. Except for the part where you confessed your feelings to the man you’ve been crushing on for months and told him he was the first person you’ve ever had sex with. During what was supposed to be a mature, adult conversation where you asserted yourself calmly and professionally instead of projectile word-vomiting like the girl from The Exorcist swallowed a dictionary and spat it back up. If there was ever a chance you and Bucky could move past what happened on the quinjet and co-exist in mutual agreement to never mention it again, it’s gone now. There’s no dramatic breakdown this time, no floods of tears or self-loathing or panic. The last week and a half has been an exhausting roller coaster of emotions and honestly, you just can’t anymore. It is what it is. It happened and there’s no going back. You can’t summon up the energy to freak out. Tomorrow you’ll go to Maria’s office and request a transfer. Maybe the UN has an opening for a secretary in Antarctica. But tonight you will wear flannel pyjamas, eat greasy pizza, and watch the Great British Bake Off, where everything is lovely and nothing hurts. Just as you’ve finished turning your couch into a cozy oasis, laying out your softest blankets and fluffiest pillows, there’s a knock at your door. Right on time. You grab your wallet and open the door, a polite smile on your face for your usual delivery man. But that’s not who’s standing on your porch. It’s Bucky. Pizza box balanced in one hand, the other fussing with his hair. “Hey,” he says, voice soft and almost hesitant. You step back, silently letting him inside and shutting the door behind him. “I didn’t realize you delivered for Ronzoni’s now,” you say, cringing immediately after. Bucky looks at the box in his hand like he forgot he was holding it. “Oh, uh, yeah, I got here the same time as the delivery guy.” “I see that.” He hands you the box and you lay it on the floor behind you. “Thanks,” you tell him awkwardly, eyes fixed on the floor in front of you. “Look, Bucky, I’m really sor—” “I do like you,” he blurts and your eyes flash to his, wide in shock. “What?” Bucky shifts on his feet, stands a little straighter and nods, more to himself than to you it seems. Like he’s steeling himself to face something difficult. “I do like you. I’ve always liked you. Just took me a while to figure it out. It’s been a minute. Haven’t had a crush in about seventy years; I’m rusty,” he says with a sheepish smile, ducking his head and looking at you through his lashes. His smile fades. “And you’re always so nervous around me. I thought maybe you were scared of me. Or hated me, maybe, for everything I did when –” “Oh, Bucky, no,” you can’t help but interrupt, can’t let him finish that sentence. You haven’t really processed anything else he’s said, but you can’t bear the idea of him thinking you blamed him for being abused and controlled for decades. “Yeah, I was a fucking idiot,” he says with a humourless laugh. “I know you’d never – but I didn’t then.” His face softens as he looks at you. “And even though it was ‘cause you were scared of me, I still thought you were so cute when you’d start running at the mouth. Stumbling over your words and getting all embarrassed,” he says, with a fond little smile. You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, thinking of all the times you’ve looking like an idiot in front of him. Bucky chuckles warmly and tugs your hands down but doesn’t let them go, holding them in a loose grip. You can’t believe this is happening. He likes you. He likes you and has liked you for months. He likes you and he’s holding your hands and staring at you with an affection you couldn’t have captured in your wildest fantasies. Bucky’s smile turns a little wistful. “I was so jealous of everyone else. How easy you were with them. I wanted you to be like that with me, all happy and cheeky and –” he cuts himself off. “Then that fucking drug. If there was any doubt about how I felt about you that definitely made it clear. That was something else, doll.” His grip on your hands tightens before he lets them go. “You’re so – that shit you said about not being a model or whatever? I couldn’t care less. You’re perfect,” he says, voice intense. He shakes his head a little, like he’d gotten off track. “And then it hit me. This goddamn revelation for me was probably the worst moment of your life, and I fucking liked it. I felt like a creep, like a fucking monster. And that’s why I avoided you. I thought I was doing you a favour, staying away. It wasn’t ‘cause I hate you or I blame you or anything. Pretty much the opposite.” You laugh softly in disbelief, shaking your head at how wrong you were. How wrong you both were, all this time. “I thought maybe it reminded you of Hydra,” you tell him. “You know, losing control, being forced to do something you didn’t want to – not that I think what we did is the same as being forced to kill people, obviously. I just mean, the principle of it –” Bucky kindly cuts you off. “I know what you mean. But trust me,” he says. “That’s not how I feel. At all. I mean, yeah, that’s not really how I wanted things to go. I hate that that was your first time. I hate that it was my first time I can clearly remember. But I’m glad it was you. What Hydra did to me and what happened to us, what we did together – doesn’t even compare. I don’t regret it.” And finally, with those words, spoken with such undeniable sincerity, you feel the last piece of the puzzle fit into place. Even with everything he’s already said it still felt too good to be true. Like it could be a confession and a rejection at the same time. An acknowledgement that if you’d figured it out sooner you could have been together, but you got the pieces so mixed up that there’s no sorting them out. Better to throw them away and pick a new puzzle. “I don’t regret it either,” you tell him. “I wish it had happened differently, but I’m really, really happy it was you, Bucky.” He looks at you, soft and sweet and a little sad and you can’t help but throw yourself at him, finally giving in to an urge you’ve felt a hundred times, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugs you back, holding you just as tightly as you hold him. You feel warm and bright and happy, bubbling over with joy that spills out of you with a giggle as you pull back just enough to look him in the face with a dopey grin. “So… you like me?” He laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, doll, you been listening?” “I can’t believe you’ve had a crush on me for months. You never speak to me!” Bucky snorts. “Hey, we don’t all let our anxiety spill out our mouths like you.” You glare at him but he does have a point. “That’s fair,” you acknowledge, stepping out of the warm circle of his arms to give him a long look, crossing your arms. “So for months I thought you didn’t like me, and you thought I didn’t like you. And the whole time we were super into each other?” Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks on his heels, nodding. “Yep.” “Sounds like we’re pretty dumb, huh?” “Sounds like we’re perfect for each other,” he says, leaning in close with a grin. You get a sudden glimpse of the charmer Bucky must have been back in the day and it takes everything you have not to kiss him. “You wanna stay for a while?” you ask. You don’t want him to go yet, but you don’t want to keep standing up in front of your door either. “I’m watching Great British Bake Off. And you did pay for the pizza so it’s technically yours.” “You askin’ me on a date?” You think he means it to come out as flirty and confident, but he says it with a shy, boyish expression that’s somehow so much more attractive. You nod, smiling. “Yeah, I guess so. I wish I wasn’t wearing pyjamas, but…” “Hey, pizza and GBBO? I wish I was wearing pyjamas,” he counters, picking up the pizza and letting you lead the way to the living room where he sets the box down on the coffee table. You sit with Bucky on your couch, sharing a blanket and stuffing your faces as you talk about your favourite Bake Off contestants and it feels right. Feels like the start of something really, really good. And to think, you have an evil, horny scientist to thank for all your current happiness. Welcome to the Avengers. A/N: If you have made it to the end - thank you for reading! This is definitely the piece I struggled with most and I am very open to feedback! This part is so long and so sexless lol so I’m very interested to see how it reads re: pacing, interest, cohesiveness, etc. Feel free to like/comment/reblog and let me know! My ask box is also open to anons if you have feedback but you’re feeling shy! I definitely wanna hone the skill of series-writing as I have a loooooot of longer ideas. Part 3, which will be shorter (I think!) and definitely sexier, will be out in a few days 😚 

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

Bran Stark's Journey

Today I've decided to talk about Bran. He may not be the most beloved character, or the most exciting, but to me at least, he is a very interesting character and his path is very interesting. One revelation the show gave us (that was later confirmed) is that by the end of ASOIAF, he will be King. So today I wanted to talk about his arc, possible paths to kingship, and also about his abilities and what he might be able to do in the future.

Summer to Winter

A large theme in Bran's story is fear. In his first chapter (the first chapter in the entire series, not counting the prologue), Bran asks if a man can be brave when he is afraid, after Jon and Robb argue about the deserter's death, to which ned famously replies "that is the only time a man can be afraid". Later, during his coma dream, he becomes afraid to look down as he falls, crying, until the three eyed crow convinces him to look down at the world below him, and into the heart of winter.

Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live. "Why?" Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling. Because winter is coming.

Upon waking from that dream, Bran wakes up and names his wolf Summer. Later, Bran listens to a story about the Long Night from Old Nan, telling her that his favourite stories are the scary ones. The dream has is rich in symbolic visions, but I think the most important take away from both that and the story Old Nan tells him is that Bran will need to overcome fear and take on the monsters and villains of those scary stories to help end the Long Night. His direwolf's name Summer also fits with this.

A literal summer child, Bran has never experienced winter and the horrors that come with it. Soon he begins to live out the stories he was told, traveling beyond the Wall in search of the elusive three eyed crow, dealing with wights along the way. In a way, the story of the last hero does work as foreshadowing for Bran's journey to the far north. When he joins Bloodraven, he is given advice for the future, that once again touches upon the theme of fear.

"Never fear the darkness, Bran." The lord's words were accompanied by a faint rustling of wood and leaf, a slight twisting of his head. "The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong."

Bloodraven is a man who has a very storied past, acting as Hand to several Targaryen kings, being an effective administrator (although he had some flaws when it came to dealing with the Blackfyres), and eventually rising to the level of Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He sometimes did have to do dark things for the greater good, and he's teaching that same principle to Bran. Of course, going back to the theme of fear, he is also telling Bran to overcome his fear in order to do things that will help the world around him.

That is where we end with Bran as of ADWD, but thanks to both the show and GRRM, we have some idea of what happens with Bran next. One of the more shocking moments in Game of Thrones came in season 6 when it was revealed that Bran caused Hodor's disability in the first place by skinchanging him in the past, thus creating a time loop and sealing his fate as he holds the back door of the cave against the wights so he can escape. For Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon, a book about the production of the TV series by James Hibberd, GRRM expanded on what that meant and how it will play out in TWOW.

"It's an obscenity to go into somebody's mind. So Bran may be responsible for Hodor's simplicity, due to going into his mind so powerfully that it rippled back through time. The explanation of Bran's powers, the whole questions of time and causality - can we affect the past? Is time a river you can only sail one way or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop into it? These are issues I want to explore in the book, but it's harder to explain in a show." Martin said the 'hold the door' scene in a forthcoming book will play out a bit differently than in the show. "I thought they executed it very well, but there are going to be differences in the book. They did it very physical - 'hold the door' with Hodor's strength. In the book, Hodor has stolen one of the old swords from the crypt. Bran has been warging into Hodor and practicing with his body, because Bran had been trained in swordplay. So telling Hodor to 'hold the door' is more like 'hold this pass' - defend it when enemies are coming - and Hodor is fighting and killing them. A little different, but same idea."

Varamyr's prologue in ADWD touches upon the various concepts of skinchanging, and how certain acts are considered abominations, including; eating the flesh of a person, mating in the skin of a beast, and entering another person's mind. While I don't necessarily think that Bran will commit the second one, it makes sense for there to be consequences for Bran's disregard for the rules. He may be only a child and not fully understand what is happening around him or how his actions effect his surroundings, but if he is becoming extremely powerful, he needs to learn to use it effectively while not becoming completely ignorant of how his actions effect people.

So, this as a consequence of his breaking of the rules of skinchanging makes perfect sense. What I think this isn't, however, is Bran becoming a villain, or Bran heading down a dark path that he won't come out of. If anything, this might actually have the opposite effect, and set him on a path to try to fix the sins he committed. Personally, I think that after this is when Bran will once again have doubts, this time in his ability to use his powers effectively. After all, he's a child, he's going to have strong emotions about this.

It makes perfect sense for him to suddenly fear his powers, realize what he's done, and try to reject that part of him out of fear of what he might do. But ultimately, it's part of a learning process, and something or someone will once again convince him to embrace his powers and use them for good, this time with his past mistakes now influencing better decision making. After that, he must face the true horrors of reality, the creatures from those nightmarish tales he loved hearing about, when the Long Night falls again. He must confront fear itself.

Greenseeing Powers

The show had Bran as someone who only used his powers to look far away and in the past, but greenseers in the books are much more than people sitting in a tree watching. They had all sorts of abilities, and Bran has demonstrated some of them. Others we learn from stories of the past. As a greenseer, Bran is a skinchanger, and an incredibly strong one at that, able to enter Hodor's mind on a whim. He can enter into ravens hundreds of miles south of the Wall, as demonstrated by the curious ravens cawing Theon's name in the TWOW sample chapter.

He can also enter and look through the weirwoods, and back at the past. Apparently, his seeing won't be restricted to the trees and eventually he can look even further without the need for them.

"Once you have mastered your gifts, you may look where you will and see what the trees have seen, be it yesterday or last year or a thousand ages past. Men live their lives trapped in an eternal present, between the mists of memory and the sea of shadow that is all we know of the days to come. Certain moths live their whole lives in a day, yet to them that little span of time must seem as long as years and decades do to us. An oak may live three hundred years, a redwood tree three thousand. A weirwood will live forever if left undisturbed. To them seasons pass in the flutter of a moth's wing, and past, present, and future are one. Nor will your sight be limited to your godswood. The singers carved eyes into their heart trees to awaken them, and those are the first eyes a new greenseer learns to use … but in time you will see well beyond the trees themselves."

And despite Bloodraven's insistence that Bran cannot change the past, it's very clear that is wrong. Bran speaks to Ned when he sees him and Ned visibly responds. Not to mention "hold the door" and going back in past Hodor's mind. Speaking of, Bran can seemingly communicate with the trees, and he has done so with Theon at the Winterfell godswood. First, during the night of the Pink Wedding, Theon hears something calling to him but finds nobody around. True, might be he's been driven psychotic by the torture at Ramsay's hands, but it becomes a bit more real later on.

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. "Theon," they seemed to whisper, "Theon." The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. "Please." He fell to his knees. "A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek." Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. "I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands." A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. "… Bran," the tree murmured. They know. The gods know. They saw what I did. And for one strange moment it seemed as if it were Bran's face carved into the pale trunk of the weirwood, staring down at him with eyes red and wise and sad. Bran's ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm.

Bran also seems to have the ability to awaken others skinchanging powers, even when he was not entirely aware of it. Take the wolf dream Jon has while in the Frostfangs.

When he closed his eyes, he dreamed of direwolves. There were five of them when there should have been six, and they were scattered, each apart from the others. He felt a deep ache of emptiness, a sense of incompleteness. The forest was vast and cold, and they were so small, so lost. His brothers were out there somewhere, and his sister, but he had lost their scent. He sat on his haunches and lifted his head to the darkening sky, and his cry echoed through the forest, a long lonely mournful sound. As it died away, he pricked up his ears, listening for an answer, but the only sound was the sigh of blowing snow. Jon? The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only . . . A weirwood. It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother's face. Had his brother always had three eyes? Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow. He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs. Don't be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him. And suddenly he was back in the mountains, his paws sunk deep in a drift of snow as he stood upon the edge of a great precipice. Before him the Skirling Pass opened up into airy emptiness, and a long vee-shaped valley lay spread beneath him like a quilt, awash in all the colors of an autumn afternoon.

And we know that this was real because later...

Here in the chill damp darkness of the tomb his third eye had finally opened. He could reach Summer whenever he wanted, and once he had even touched Ghost and talked to Jon. Though maybe he had only dreamed that.

Nope, not a dream. That was real. It's almost scary to imagine how powerful he is if he awakened Jon's abilities unconsciously from so far away. Of course, greenseers can also have prophetic dreams of the future, in addition to visions of the past. Greenseers seem to have no limit on what animals they can enter, too.

"The greenseers were more than that. They were wargs as well, as you are, and the greatest of them could wear the skins of any beast that flies or swims or crawls, and could look through the eyes of the weirwoods as well, and see the truth that lies beneath the world."

The hunters among the children—their wood dancers—became their warriors as well, but for all their secret arts of tree and leaf, they could only slow the First Men in their advance. The greenseers employed their arts, and tales say that they could call the beasts of marsh, forest, and air to fight on their behalf: direwolves and monstrous snowbears, cave lions and eagles, mammoths and serpents, and more.

We must also talk about Coldhands, a very curious person indeed. He is a wight, but he can speak and do as he pleases himself, lacks the blue eyes of ice wights, and has lots of ravens following him. Personally, I believe Coldhands was one a member of the Raven's Teeth, Bloodraven's personal escort who joined him on the Wall. Is Bloodraven now using the body of a dead man for his own purposes? Is he skinchanging into a corpse and it's actually Bloodraven speaking through him?

We don't exactly know how the Others are controlling the wights, but it makes sense for them to be in some way related to skinchangers and greenseers. if that is the case, does that mean greenseers hold this power too, albeit in a different way? There is also this interesting tidbit from Asha.

She thought back to a tale she had heard as a child, about the children of the forest and their battles with the First Men, when the greenseers turned the trees to warriors.

The trees to warriors? Who knows what that means. Although I think it is time to consider exactly how the use of greenseeing and weirwoods could effect Bran. Unlike most gods, it seems the old gods are indeed real... but they aren't exactly literal gods.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies," said Jojen. "The man who never reads lives only one. The singers of the forest had no books. No ink, no parchment, no written language. Instead they had the trees, and the weirwoods above all. When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world. Maesters will tell you that the weirwoods are sacred to the old gods. The singers believe they are the old gods. When singers die they become part of that godhood."

Bloodraven doesn't seem to be entirely all there at the end either. We know there is a consequence of skinchanging too much, becoming more beast than man. Entering the weirwoods could have its own unique, but similar effect. The more you enter, the more you might mingle with the spirits inside the trees.

Let's look back at an early novella GRRM wrote, called A Song for Lya. In the novella, two telepaths, Robb and Lyanna (yup) travel to the planet of Shkea and learn about the inhabitant aliens, the Shkeen, worshipping a giant parasite called the Greeshka, which is an amalgamation of different peoples consciousnesses mixed together as some sort of afterlife.

Robb and Lyanna are a couple, and despite their telepathy allowing them to be closer to one another, Lyanna still feels lonely. When contacting the minds within the Greeshka, she learns that many people have found their loneliness vanished upon joining the Greeshka. After a fight with Robb, Lyanna allows herself to be consumed by the Greeshka before contacting Robb as he dreams and telling him to join her, only for him to reject.

There are quite a bit of similarities between this and how the weirwood afterlife functions. While the thematics of the two stories are rather different, Bran is a telepath, and he is entering into what is essentially the afterlife with many different consciousnesses inside of it. The idea that he becomes a little less Bran and a little more absorbed into this afterlife hivemind makes sense, although I don't think that we will see it quite the same way the show portrayed.

King Bran the Rebuilder

"Archmaester Rigney once wrote that history is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again, he said."

ASOIAF has a lot of events in the main series that parallel those in-world historical events, and those historical events might even be foreshadowing for the future. So it might not come as big of a surprise that Bran becoming king at the end sort of acts as a parallel to Bran the Builder. Bran the Builder was supposedly the first Stark King of Winter who emerged after the Long Night, built the Wall, Winterfell, and supposedly Storm's End and the Hightower. Likewise, Bran is the first new king emerging after the Long Night, and given how broken the realm will be at the end of the series, it will be his prerogative to try to rebuild it and make it function again. So, Bran the Rebuilder.

But again, the circumstances are a bit different. Bran the Builder became a King of Winter, but apparently Bran is going to end up as King of Westeros. Isaac Hempstead-Wright said:

"David and Dan told me there were two things George R.R. Martin had planned for Bran, and that was the Hodor revelation, and that he would be king."

And in Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon, GRRM says:

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: It wasn’t easy for me. I didn’t want to give away my books. It’s not easy to talk about the end of my books. Every character has a different end. I told them who would be on the Iron Throne, and I told them some big twists like Hodor and “hold the door,” and Stannis’s decision to burn his daughter. We didn’t get to everybody by any means. Especially the minor characters, who may have very different endings.

This does come as quite a shock, and it is admittedly difficult to see how this will happen. However, while the show was extremely disappointing, I am willing to give GRRM a chance to show us how we get there. Narratively, it does make a certain amount of sense, since Bran was the first character George created and the first POV character whose chapter we get, so for it to end with him is a good circle.

Thematically, I think there is a certain view of why this ending for Bran fits. For starters, I don't think magic is going to go away like a lot of people predict, but come to stay. In contrast to the way The Lord of Rings ended, King Bran seems to suggest some sort of more magical world. Not to say it will be super high fantasy, but magic will be more common. A magical kingdom, a magical king. What better way to usher in a new era in Westeros?

Bran also has a deep connection to the weirwoods. If the First Men cutting down the weirwoods was a metaphor for humanity's current destruction of the environment and climate, then Bran being king might be a metaphor for humanity coexisting with nature. Admittedly, I'm not saying that is 100% what King Bran means, I'm mainly just suggesting ideas on what it could mean, given we have no real context behind it other than what were were told and the last two books have yet to be released.

I dislike the reading that Bran as king is dystopian and that he would be enforcing a "police state" and that only a "god-king" could be a good leader. Or even further, that Dany and Bran's endings mean "revolution bad, big brother king good". Disregarding what Dany's ending means being, in my opinion, irrelevant to her status as a revolutionary, these takes always presume that King Bran has to be one way and has to be evil. That Bran having such immense power means that it's going to be the worst case scenario. Why can't it be more hopeful? The series isn't ending nihilistically, it's ending bittersweet.

Bran can look into the past, he could learn about the past mistakes people have made, and learn from it to make better decisions in the future. Sure, he could spy on people far away, but I don't think it's really Big Brother-esque. When you live in a world not so technologically advanced, it might help to learn info from far away much quicker.

That said, how Bran's ascension occurs is a mystery. The show hand-waved it away as just "he has a good story and that will unite people", which is... weak to say the least. Also there is the fact that he is effectively proof of the old gods, and a wizard with immense powers, which might alienate people in the south, or just outright scare people because he's capable of so much and they don't understand and find it scary. He's also going to be a kid, and he has no claim to the Iron Throne.

I will end this post with some suggestions for how this could happen. Nothing concrete, but some ideas of how we might get there. For starters, Bran has to amount to something, unlike the show. He did practically nothing but act as bait. But GRRM is not shy about showing magic, so the magical components of his story are definitely going to play a larger role. Since there is set up for it, Bran having a large role in ending the Long Night could indeed make him a hero of sorts to people, and make him be respected. As a disabled person in a very ableist society, people won't inherently trust or like him.

It's also possible that if Daenerys ends up dead and Jon is exiled, that through some technicality, Bran could be viewed as a sort of heir. Jon is both Targaryen and Stark. With the other Targaryens all but gone, the closest relatives to the final living Targaryen being Starks might give Bran a chance to be selected as king. We could also see Sansa or someone else trying to maneuver events politically to help Bran gain the throne, especially if she sees him as the best option for Westeros in the long run. A Great Council being called makes sense too (not the laughable "council" in the show).

But these are all just ideas I'm throwing at a wall. It's important to keep in mind that a lot of what I'm proposing is mainly just my own interpretation of the text. I'm flawed, I might not always make sense. It doesn't help that we don't have the last two books yet, and the show was a badly pasted together cliff-notes version, so we are left in the dark about a lot.

[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence , smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | coarse language

master list | AO3 link

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prev chapter

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Kate is on the next commercial flight to Bucharest. She's worried Bucky will move on before she can get to him, but she knows Tony would never approve of the use of one of his jets to chase down an ex-assassin in hiding. The less he knows, the better. Which is why she told him she was escaping to Europe for a long respite after feeling oh so overwhelmed with her work at Stark Industries.

Tony barely bats an eye when she told him. There were some advantages to being Tony Starks' baby sister. The first being he feels guilty about his ineptness at raising her after their parents' death and would literally let her get away with murder. The second is an almost unlimited bank account left to her by her father and supplemented by Tony's previously mentioned guilt.

Kate Stark was her mother’s mid-life crisis. Maria, three decades younger than her husband, had – at forty-two years old – decided she wanted another baby. Tony, who was eighteen at the time, had balked at the idea. But Howard relented and called in the best team of fertility doctors money could buy, and Kate was born.

She doesn't remember her parents, not really. She was only three when they died, and she doesn't remember that event either. Though she was there, in the car, when it crashed on Long Island.

Tony's only ever spoken to her about it once, after she accused him of hating her for surviving when their parents died. Really, he hated that he survived.

When rescue workers arrived at the scene of the wreck, they found her parents dead in the front seat and her tucked safely into her car seat in the back, bundled up against the December cold. She was an orphan, and Tony, at twenty-one, was suddenly responsible for a toddler.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He hired a series of nannies to raise her, then sent her off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, all the while playing genius, billionaire playboy.

He wasn’t surprised when it turned out she was just as smart as him or their father. And it surprised him less when she followed in his footsteps and attended MIT. What did surprise him was when she started hacking government databases for fun. She only agreed to work for him at Stark Industries in exchange for him not sticking Rhodey on her after she released documents regarding the US Air Force‘s involvement in some less that savory overseas dealings.

On the plane, she starts an email to Steve telling him where she was headed and what she had found. Then she deletes it and starts over. Then deletes that. She chews her thumbnail and thinks. If she tells Steve where Bucky is, he'll come blazing in, shield at the ready, and Bucky will.... She doesn’t know what Bucky will do, but she has a feeling the encounter would end with a fight and Bucky running. Which will kill Steve. Again. So, she decides she doesn't need to tell Steve – not right away. She'll see if she can figure out what Bucky remembers – if anything – before telling Steve where he is.

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A little over forty-eight hours after her software found Bucky, Kate is assembling IKEA furniture in her new studio apartment in Romania. Getting the landlord to lease her the empty flat next to Bucky's was easy enough when Kate offered him double what he was asking in rent. He was discreet enough to not ask any questions. Most of the people in the building were hiding from something so a young American woman who paid cash upfront wasn't the most unusual thing he'd dealt with.

She makes her bed, unpacks her suitcase, and re-reads the Winter Soldier file. That night she dreams of her parents and the wreck that killed them. In the dream there's always a man outside of the car, but she can never see his face. Her father begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help."

She wakes up sweating, a scream caught in her throat.

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The apartment next to his is no longer empty. Bucky can hear music and soft footsteps through the paper-thin walls. If he focuses his hearing, he can hear a heartbeat other than his own, but he's working to turn off the super soldier reflexes, so he tries to ignore it. He's enjoyed the silence that the empty apartment afforded him, and he hopes the new tenant isn’t as nosy as his neighbor in Kiev who had asked so many questions. He hadn't stayed long after that meeting.

Around two in the morning, he wakes to the sound of a strangled cry from his new neighbor. Bucky sits up straight, suddenly on alert. He listens closely, focusing for the sounds of a struggle, but he only hears the unfamiliar heartbeat. His neighbor was having a nightmare, he imagines. He had plenty of those himself.

Sometimes he was staring down the barrel of a gun, his only intent to kill. Other nightmares took him back to the HYDRA base and their machine that scrambled his thoughts over and over again. And others found him falling from a train, the blonde man from the Triskelion reaching out toward him. He always wakes up just before he hits the icy river he knows awaits him.

Bucky knows now that the blonde man is Steve Rogers. Without HYDRA's influence, he's started to remember more: flashes of Steve and a group called the Howling Commandos during the war, but also flashes of Steve before the war, smaller, shorter. And flashes of a family – his family – a father, a mother, a sister. Rebecca. The name comes to him one afternoon while he's browsing the used bookstore near his flat.

He's started eating plums and jogging to improve his memory. He isn't sure if it's helping, but the memories are becoming longer and more frequent. He sees himself with Steve at Coney Island, riding the Cyclone until Steve lost his lunch and Bucky laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face, and he sees himself flirting with an auburn-haired combat nurse in Italy, following her back to her tent and undressing her slowly.

He wakes the next morning feeling restless. He had slept in fits and starts, listening for any more disturbances from next door. None came.

He dresses and goes for a run, and when he returns, he catches his first glimpse of his new neighbor. She's coming out of her apartment, her face turned downward toward her phone. When he reaches the top of the stairs, she lifts her head and smiles. Bucky is struck by how pretty she is, a thought he hasn't let himself have since leaving HYDRA. He turns away quickly and slams the door to his own apartment. He doesn't need pink lips and dark curls reminding him of what he can never have again. He's too broken for her, or anyone else for that matter.

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Bucky has seen his new neighbor more times in five days than he's seen anyone else in the building over the past two months. They always seem to be coming or going at the same time.

The first time he actually speaks to her, she's dropping groceries up the stairs from a rip in her canvas bag.

"Fuck," she mutters as an apple rolls beneath the railing and falls to the landing below.

Bucky has a brief vision of her uttering that same word while his head is buried between her legs, but he shakes if off quickly.

"Let me," he says in English, scooping up some rogue potatoes and taking the bag from her.

"Thanks," she says before unlocking her door and holding it open for him.

Her apartment is the same layout as his – one room, with a tiny bathroom at the front and a small kitchen along the back wall. He sets the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and steps back.

"I should—"

"Thank you—"

They both speak at the same time. Bucky bows his head and motions for her to continue.

"Thank you for your help." She pauses. "And it's nice to speak English for a change. My Romanian is atrocious," she laughs. "How’d you guess?"

"All the music you listen to is in English," he replies brusquely.

She cringes. "Sorry. I'll turn it down."

"No," he says, "It's fine. Really."

There's an awkward pause as they both stare at each other.

Bucky breaks the silence first. "I should go."

"Right." She leads him to the door. "Thanks."

Bucky nods.

When his own apartment door closes behind him, he sighs and scrubs his right hand over his face. He needs to avoid her. He doesn't need anything to distract him from regaining his memories, and he certainly doesn't need to get close to someone he'll inevitably hurt. He doesn’t even begin let himself entertain the thought that she could be a HYDRA agent waiting to turn him in.

_____

Later that evening, he's startled by a knock at his door. When he peers into the hallway, there's a plate of food on the floor, covered with a cloth and a note. He picks it up.

Thanks for saving my groceries.

- Kate

Bucky considers the possibilities that she is a HYDRA agent and the food is poisoned, but he decides it's unlikely HYDRA would take that approach. If anything, they would want their soldier back, and if they didn't, they wouldn't kill him quickly. Also, he can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal – definitely before the war – and he’s starving. Protein bars aren’t really cutting it anymore.

He studies the note as he eats. He runs his fingers over the name written in curling handwriting: Kate, and debates what his next move should be. He needs to ignore her – for her own safety – but his mother raised a gentleman so he should at least thank her for dinner, right?

_____

Kate nearly steps on the plate when she leaves her flat the next morning for a run. It’s sitting right at her doorway, clean, the dish towel she had with it folded with a note peeking out.

Kate,

You’re welcome. Thank you for dinner.

- Bucky

If she knew how long Bucky had agonized over whether to write back, she probably would have cried. Kate definitely would have cried if she knew he had debated whether or not to sign the note “Bucky” or “James.” He’s been using James at any off-the-books odd jobs he can get, but with his memories returning, he’s been feeling more like the Bucky Steve referred to in DC.

_____

Kate makes a potato soup that night and leaves it outside his door sans note. She brings him dinner for a week straight before she asks him to dine with her.

"Come over,” she says the next time they pass in the hall.

"What?" Bucky freezes.

"Come over tonight,” Kate repeats, “for dinner.”

"Why?" He sounds rude. He should really work on that, but she’s caught him in one of his broodier moods after another sleepless night.

"Why not?” she shrugs. “I have wine."

He’s staring at her. He realizes he needs to stop staring at her and answer.

“Okay.”

“Seven thirty?” she suggests.

"Okay," he replies.

"Okay," she laughs.

For a second, Bucky wonders if she's laughing at him, but there's a softness in her eyes that makes him think not. Talking to women used to be easy, he thinks. It took him hours to come up with the simplest response to her note the other night, and now he can't even form a sentence in front of her. He spends the rest of the day worrying he's made a huge mistake in accepting her invitation.

He's not the only one. Kate has half a mind to call it all off, phone Steve, and get on the next plane back to New York. What if he doesn't remember anything? What if he's still the Winter Soldier? She has a brief vision of Bucky snapping and wrapping that metal hand he's been hiding around her throat – and not in a fun way. But when he knocks on her door at seven thirty, she thinks she might actually die from how sweet he looks.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he responds, running his tongue over his lips nervously.

They're caught in another awkward moment of just staring at each other when she finally invites him.

The old Bucky would have bought flowers and then made some quip about how the flowers aren't nearly as beautiful as she is, but this Bucky – post-HYDRA Bucky – feels like he's forgotten how to interact with women at all and his tongue has suddenly turned to lead.

Kate's debated how much to reveal about herself. Finally, she decides she'll tell him everything. Well, mostly everything. He doesn't need to know that she's a Stark or friends with Steve Rogers or here on some crazy rescue mission to save the Winter Soldier because maybe, just maybe, she read his file one too many times and got caught up in the look in Steve's eyes when he talked about Bucky. No, he doesn't need to know that.

Kate's also considered how much to ask him about himself. She wants to know what – if anything – he remembers, but she also doesn't want to give herself away by revealing she knows who he really is. And she doubts he’ll tell her outright. The fact that he signed the note Bucky seems like a good indication that his memories are returning, though.

"How long have you been in Bucharest, Bucky?" she asks, plating their dinner.

"Almost two months," he says.

"Here for work?" she asks casually.

"Uh...it's complicated," he says, scratching at the back of his neck. "You?"

She looks up at him. "It's complicated."

They're staring at each other again, and Bucky has to force himself to look away.

"Family?" she asks.

"Also complicated," he says. God, he thinks, he sounds like a jackass. But it's not like he can tell her he's a ninety-eight-year-old ex-assassin in hiding so his family is probably long dead.

She motions for him to sit at her small kitchen table and sets a plate in front of him.

"You're not hiding a wedding ring under those gloves, are you?" she asks, a smirk on her lips. She knows about his arm; she just wants to see what he’ll give away.

He blushes and looks at his hands. Then he realizes he's taking too long to answer, and she probably thinks he's an idiot. "No... uh...no. No," he finally says without elaborating.

Kate can sense he's nervous so she does what Tony would do in a situation like this and just keeps talking. She tells him about Tony – minus the Stark detail. She talks about MIT and New York and the last book she read. He listens closely, laughing softly when she makes jokes and asking questions where appropriate. He likes the way her lips look when they form his name and the way her eyes light up at her own humor.

When they finish eating, Bucky helps her wash dishes. She considers asking him to stay, watch a movie or something, but then she thinks maybe she should take this slowly, not overwhelm him, so she bids him goodnight and closes the door behind him.

Bucky thinks Kate might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Then he thinks that might be because she’s the first woman he’s interacted with in so long. Either way, he tries not to think of her that night when his body remembers what it's like to be a man.

He decides that staying away from her would be too hard.

On the other side of the wall, she’s thinking of him, too. She hadn't expected his eyes to be so impossibly blue. She had stared at the black and white military photo for hours, but seeing him in person, she was caught in the Arctic waters that made up his eyes.

_____

next chapter

[sazc94]

Pietro and Bunny

Here is my second entry for the wonderful @msmarvelwrites 2k Challenge.

This a spin-off from my Bucky fic: The three times Bucky broke your heart. Part 1 linked Here.

It follows the same timeline and explores the relationship of Pietro and Reader (Bunny) More.

Words 4890 ish

Themes. Angst, Suggestions of smut. But mostly lots and lots of fluff. 18+ Because of the smut suggestions.

Part 2. (Part 1)

2015. Pietro and you stayed in touch. Both getting swept away in your busy year. Pietro had gone into Business with Wanda creating a fashion company. His dad was helping to fund the start-up costs, but Pietro was never one to take a handout so worked an extra job, he mostly did courier services. this allowed him to be flexible with his days.

Meaning he was able to pick up supplies and do whatever else it was his sister had him running around the city for. It also helped pay towards the rent of his apartment, his father covering half. One day in the summer when Pietro was rushing around he entered into the Baxter building and literally ran smack into a head of blonde hair.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I keep getting told I should slow down.” Pietro said bending offering a hand to the woman he had knocked over. “I’m just as much to blame, honestly I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and all though I may be nicknamed The Invisible woman, I need to remember that I’m not actually invisible” replied the blonde brushing herself down.

She was pretty in that conventional way but her piercing blue eyes drew Pietro in. “Pietro”, he said sticking out his hand. “Susan, but you can call me Sue”, she replied shaking his hand.

Pietro and Susan began dating in the autumn. All though you and Pietro still stayed in touch. The contact was dwindling. He also found it incredibly hard not to call you by your old pet name. “Hey sis, Vis”. Pietro said walking into the small office space they rented in downtown NYC. Wanda was hard at work behind her sewing machine.

“So you’re dating Susan Storm,” Vision said. It wasn’t a question but Wanda’s eyes shot up from her machine to look at Pietro with an acquisitional look. This was news to her. She knew you were dating someone but Susan Storm was practically a celebrity with her brain and looks, plus her high profile relationships with Reed Richards and Victor von Doom. Not to mention her dad was a renowned Scientist too.

“How did you know?” Pietro asked grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the space. “Your pictures from last nights date are all over the internet. Someone called Prez Hilton broke the story” Vision said shrugging. Wanda shot Vision a puzzled look, he may be great with technology and smart enough to work with Tony Stuck, but Vision didn’t usually follow much on the internet. “Ah yes, Pepper Potts showed me how to set up google alerts”. Vision said before heading out the door.

2016

Pietro knew you and Bucky had grown closer over recent months, but it still took him by surprise when he heard from you that you had gotten back together. He knew he had no right to be jealous as it had ultimately been his decision to break up, and he was dating the stunning Sue Storm. But it didn’t stop the small seed of jealousy he felt.

What didn’t help matters was that Sue had been working later and later at the Baxter Building, and getting closer with her ex, Reed. Pietro tried to shrug it off but ultimately after almost a year of dating, he could see that Sue’s heart belonged to another, and if he was being honest. Part of his heart still belonged to his Bunny. So, after a night out in NYC Pietro had kissed Sue Storm goodnight for the final time.

Pietro respected you too much to ruin your newfound happiness with Bucky and it seemed like he had finally turned a leaf over. That was until he got a text from your cousin explaining that Bucky had been unable to get the time off for your Grandma’s funeral.

Pietro didn’t even think twice about using his links to his dad to secure a flight out of NYC for the funeral in September. His heart shattered when he saw you at the airport, with tear-stained cheeks, a red nose, and puffy eyes. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into a huge hug.

“Shhh Bunny” – the old pet name slipping out. “It’s okay, I’m here. She was a wonderful woman. She wouldn’t want all these tears” he said releasing you from his grip. It had been two years since you’d last seen each other in person. Other than the brown in your hair having slightly grown out, no doubt due to your mind being on more pressing matters. You looked exactly the same. His Bunny.

After the funeral Pietro planned to catch the first flight out of Miami back to NYC. With the launch of Scarlett Witch fast approaching Pietro didn’t want to leave his sister to deal with all the pressure herself. At least that’s what Pietro told himself was the reasoning. Truthfully it was that he couldn’t bear to be around you and not be with you.

But when your family had insisted on putting him up for the night and feeding him, he couldn’t refuse.

After the wake when your Mum had insisted on Pietro leaving the dishes, he grabbed two beers from the fridge and went looking for you. He found you sat on the private beach your grandma’s house backed on too.

You sat with one of Bucky’s jumpers wrapped around you. It wasn’t cold but still, you felt cold, so you had grabbed his jumper as a source of comfort and warmth. Pietro stopped for a second before swallowing. This wasn’t about him; this wasn’t about Bucky. This was about you and being there for you whilst you waded through this grief. 7

“Hey Y/N. I thought I’d find you here. Your grandma used to tell me about how she found the sea hypnotising” Pietro said sitting down on the sand before offering you one of the beers he had grabbed.

That night Pietro sat with you in solidarity offering you nothing more than friendship and a pillar of support whilst you cried and then laughed, and then cried some more reminiscing about your cherished times with both your now deceased grandparents.

After Pietro returned to NYC, he put the thought of you out of his head, instead, he turned his efforts to focus on the upcoming December launch party. Thanks to their dad’s connections. Wanda’s hard work and a few strategic tweets and IG posts from a hard-working friend who did add campaign work for a living there was a real buzz around Scarlett Witch.

“Hey Brother, I was thinking of asking Y/N to attend the launch and to wear something from the evening collection for the launch, Jane is in town and already said yes, she’s bringing her Boyfriend Thor, I extended two further invitations to them encase Thor’s brother Loki is around. What do you think?” Wanda said throwing herself onto the grey sofa opposite Pietro. They were at Pietro’s apartment as he had the most amount of spare room.

“Excellent idea, she should bring Bucky too,” Pietro said sipping on his coffee. Pietro wanted to remain in your life and after the funeral, your conversations had been a bit more frequent. Most importantly Pietro wanted you to be happy.

Pietro brought a date along to the event; her name was Crystal and they had been on a few dates before. However, they both had an understanding that this was more of a casual thing and that neither of them were looking for a relationship with each other. Crystal had gone off to schmooze with some of the guests when you arrived. Pietro made a mental note to introduce you both later, he was sure you would both get along with your similar senses of humour. Pietro couldn’t take his eyes off you the moment you entered the event. You looked stunning, Wanda had asked for Pietro’s input when choosing the outfits that You, Wanda and Jane were going to wear. Pietro had chosen a silver two-piece skirt and top for Jane, a scarlet red ensemble for his sister and a Black strapless dress, the top was form-fitting made from chiffon fabric, the skirt cut out the front made of black tulle sparkled with the touches of glitter.

Pietro had chosen the ensembles for two reasons, one they were undoubtedly the showstoppers from Wanda’s evening collection and they all complimented each other well. He made a mental note to ensure Peter Parker got a photo of the three of the ladies together before the evening got away from everyone.

“Bunny! I agree absolutely amazing. Bucky, you don’t look too bad yourself” Pietro said kissing you on the cheek. Pietro was wearing a deep blue suit; it made his hair and ice-blue eyes pop. Wanda had insisted on the blue over a grey suit Pietro had originally planned on wearing. Pietro didn’t miss the smile on your face after they had complimented you, it was as big and bright as it had been that final summer. And you've got a smile That can light up this whole town

After photos and ensuring everyone’s, drinks were full, Wanda and Pietro left the small group of old school friends in the private area of the event and made their way around the guests. The press contained fashion bloggers, small fashion magazines, social media influencers and gossip columnist too. Pietro found his way back to Crystal after he’d finished making the rounds. He was on his way to introduce you when he spotted an unfamiliar red head amongst the group.

Thor introduced her as Natasha, Pietro tried not to give away the surprise in his eyes, but he could sense that there was some tension as you avoided making eye contact with both Pietro and Bucky. Pietro kept his nose out of it for the most part, but when the pair of you said your farewells for the evening, he couldn’t help but assure you that he was there if you wanted to talk.

“Was that Natasha Romanoff I saw hanging around Thor and Y/N’s group most of the evening?” Wanda asked when she and Pietro slipped into the back of the waiting car. “Yes it would appear so, did you know she was coming?” He asked loosening his tie. “Vis said Jane had asked to bring a friend along as Loki couldn’t make it, I told him to tell her it was fine as she technically had four invites. I didn’t realise it was going to be her”, Wanda explained, there was an emphasis on her.

Regardless of her brother's relationship status with yourself she genuinely liked you and always would, her loyalties lied with you and as far as Wanda was concerned, she didn’t even want to know Natasha, something about her didn’t sit right with her from the few interactions they’d had over the years.

“Will Crystal meet you at your apartment? I didn’t see her as we were clearing away”, Wanda said changing the subject. “Huh? Oh, no she’s meeting her friends downtown at the Voodoo Lounge, something about a magic night” Pietro said looking out the window as the streets of NYC blurred into one. He couldn’t help but worry about you, you could put on a bright smile and laugh all you liked, but Pietro knew when you were faking.

2017

The launch of Scarlet Witch had gone better than Pietro and Wanda had hoped. When the label opened up to online orders in February, they had sold out of everything in 30 minutes flat. Now they were looking at opening up an in-person store in the lower east side sometime early next year. Pietro was working late one night in the office when Vision turned up.

“Hey Vision, it's good to see you but Wanda’s not here,” Pietro said sitting back down behind his desk. It was late and the numbers had started to dance around the screen but Pietro was determined to get these figures finished before the weekend. It was the least he could do as Wanda had been working flat out, she insisted on sewing as many of the items herself as possible, and when she had hired two seamstresses, Wanda still checked all their work.

“Thank you, Pietro, but I know she is back at our apartment. It is actually you that I came to see” Vision said. James or Vision as everyone called him very rarely looked nervous, yes he sometimes missed social cues but he was never one to act nervous. Pietro sensing this was important saved his spreadsheets and shut down his computer.

“What’s going on Vis?” Pietro asked walking over to the sofa area where vision, stood awkwardly. “Traditionally, this question would be asked to your father, but as your father was not in your lives much until recent years, I felt it better to ask you” Vision babbled on. Pietro had a pretty good where this was going, but this was Visions plan and Pietro wasn’t about to jump the gun, besides if this was going where he thought it was, it was only right to make him suffer ever so slightly.

“Well Vision, I’m all ears. What is it you want to ask?” Pietro asked grinning. “Well you know how much I adore your sister Wanda, and we have been together a good many years now. So I would like to ask your permission for your sister's hand in Marriage” Vision asked. Vision’s heart was pounding so loud and fast he thought that he might collapse. Pietro’s eyes watered, he was happy for his sister and he was of course going to say yes, but he wanted to have a bit of fun first. He quickly stood and turned away from Vision, heading towards the small fridge of the small office kitchen.

“So you want to marry my sister, are you certain about this Vis? Because once that ring is on her finger, there is no backing down, even if you get cold feet.” Pietro remarked. “I assure you Mr Maximoff, I want this with my whole self” Vison responded. Pietro couldn’t continue with the charade anymore. “Of course you have my blessing Vision, I would be honoured to call you brother,” Pietro said handing Vision a beer.

Vision proposed to Wanda that summer on the fourth of July. The three of them attended Tony Stark’s exclusive fourth of July bash at Stark Tower. Vision had a good relationship with Stark and Pepper was a hopeless romantic at heart. Shortly before the fireworks, Vision and Wanda wandered off to a private balcony three floors above the outside decking where everyone else would watch. Tony introduced the display then the three of them slipped out of the crowd as the fireworks got underway.

Tony had his AI software J.A.R.V.I.S set to record the whole thing. As the firework display got underway. Vision got down on one knee and popped the question. Wanda of course squealed and said yes between tears. That’s when Pietro, Pepper and Tony appeared with glasses of champagne and toasted to the happy couple. “Congratulations Sis, also please let me be there when you call Y/N and tell her, I know she is absolutely going to flip her shit when she finds out,” Pietro said kissing his sister on the cheek.

Sure enough, Pietro was right, three days later when Wanda Facetimed you to show of the ring your excited screams were loud enough to be heard all through NYC. “Oh my god. He did it, he finally proposed! I was wondering if he was ever going to pull his finger out and propose. Oh Wands I am so happy for you, you deserve this” you said. Wanda was so elated she missed the small crack in your voice towards the end of the sentence, but Pietro didn’t.

“Here Pietro want’s to say hi. Go on tell her all about how you had known about this since March! I’m going to get ready Visions parent’s got into town today and we’re meeting them for dinner before they see a show tonight,” Wanda passed the phone to Pietro before heading off to her shower. Pietro had come round specifically to hear the call. Pietro waited for the door to close before he turned his attention back to your face on his sister's screen.

“Everything okay Y/N?” Pietro asked. You sighed before letting your hair out of its ponytail, You were avoiding the question. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m tired, going out later with Peggy Carter, she’s the girlfriend of Bucky’s teammate, Steve. We’re going to get some lunch and do a bit of shopping, Steve’s working on some projects and Bucky said he’s running some extra training drills at the stadium. Not that he needs to the season doesn’t start for another two months, oh I’m sorry. I’m wittering on, how are you? Had any good dates recently?” you asked forcing your voice to be light and carefree.

Pietro knew what you were doing but it wasn’t his place to call you out on lying. “Naa, not really. None that would ever go anywhere” Pietro said. The two of you stayed on facetime for a few more short minutes before Pietro reluctantly advised he had to get going to the office.

September 2017

“So Y/N I have a very important question, will you be one of my Bridesmaids?” Wanda asked. Pietro walked into Wanda’s office just in time to hear you scream your response. “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU KIDDING OF COURSE I WILL” Wanda moved the phone from her ears and looked up at her brother who just grinned. “You owe me 20 bucks I told you she would scream,” Pietro said making himself comfortable in the chair opposite his sister's desk.

“ I should be offended, but I’m in too much of a great mood to care” you chuckled. “Oh, is that so?” Wanda teased. Pietro felt sick, had Bucky proposed? Worse, were you pregnant? “I got offered this amazing job opportunity, it would be working for Stark Industries, Pepper Potts approached me directly about it the other week, I shot it down but she called me again today doubling the offer,” you squealed.

The weight that had threatened to crush Pietro lifted, not that his sister hadn’t noticed the change in his complexion a few moments ago.

“Oh my god Y/N, That’s amazing! Are you going to take it? I miss you and would love to have you nearby like old times. And I am not only saying that so you can do my wedding planning for me” Wanda sang. “I don’t know, I said I would think it over and get back to her after the weekend, I’m going to talk it through with Bucky tonight” you replied. “It sounds like a great opportunity Y/N” Pietro responded with earnest.

“Huh, that’s weird, I wonder what she’s doing here,” you said out loud “Who’s where?” asked Wanda. “Oh um nothing, look I got to go I just got to Buck’s and I’m cooking dinner, going to talk to him about Tony’s offer,” you said before hanging up. Wanda and Pietro just looked at each other. Pietro got up to leave but Wanda shot him a look as if to say she wasn’t finished with him.

“You still love her” she spoke plainly. “He doesn’t deserve her. He’s always posting pictures of him and that Natasha doing “Official” Lions events” Pietro replied simply. “You are right brother, he doesn’t deserve her, but like I told you all those years ago. If you had asked her she would have waited. You don’t get to complain that she moved on with someone who was a big part of her life for 13 or so years” replied Wanda.

She was right and Pietro knew it. He sighed before lifting his gaze to meet his sister's cold blue eyes. “You’re right.” He said simply before exiting the room.

Pietro awoke to his phone ringing at 2 am, he wasn’t going to answer it until he saw your name and the picture of the pair of you from Uni flash up on his phone. “Y/N? Is everything okay? It’s 2 am.” Pietro asked rubbing a hand along his face. You didn’t respond.#

“Y/N, are you safe? Should I call Bucky?” he asked urgency surging in his voice. “NO!” you practically shouted. “Sorry, no please don’t call Bucky,” you asked quietly.

Pietro shifted leaning over to turn on his bedside lamp. “Bunny, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Pietro pleaded. The comfort in his voice was enough to break you all over again. You started sobbing all over again. How you had any tears left was beyond you.

“I’ll fucking kill him” Pietro growled. Pietro knew, the pictures Bucky had been posting on IG, the tears now, the way you had withdrawn recently. You didn’t need to say it for him to know. “Please don’t, I don’t have enough money to bail you out of prison” you managed to squeak.

Pietro felt his heart shatter, all he had wanted since you two had started dating was to save you from the heartbreak you had experienced in the summer of 2010 and he had failed you. That night Pietro stayed on the phone with you until 4 am where you finally fell asleep exhausted from the day's turmoil.

May 2018

Pietro and Wanda had helped you apartment hunt. They helped decorate and furnish your apartment ready for your move to the Big Apple in January. Wanda had introduced you to her friends slash employees but to Wanda, they really were her friends: Doreen Green, Janet Van Dyne, Julia Carpenter and Laura Kinney. Including you on many girls nights.

Vision and Pietro always walked you home after nights out. Wanda made sure to invite you to brunch with her and Vision when Pietro was attending. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give you and Pietro another shot, it’s just you weren’t certain he would want you, after all, Bucky had really done a number on you again.

Sighing you picked up your phone and decided to take a leap of faith and text him, the two of you hadn’t spent any time alone together since you had moved in January.

Pietro’s Pov

Pietro’s phone buzzed. You, me and that little cafe in times square tomorrow = date? – Y/N x Pietro was stunned, he was sure that the time for you guys to be a couple had long passed. “Brother, are you listening?” Wanda asked agitated at her brother's lack of respect, the two of them were going through the plans for the rest of the year. Plans for when they would drop certain collections, run certain in-store promos. When they would run online promo’s.

“Sorry, it’s just Y/N just text me, asking me on a date” Pietro’s voice came out dazed. All though Wanda was miffed, she couldn’t help but smile. Looks like Y/N had finally listened to the girls last night when they went out for Monday night happy hour. “You had best text her back then brother” She responded raising her eyebrows at Pietro. I thought you’d never ask. How does 5 pm work? Pietro shot back.

Perfect x Your response came through almost immediately.

Your Pov

You got to the café early, you were too nervous to focus on anything in the office. And as you were only scheduled to work until four, you decided it was just easier to go to the café and wait with a book or something, you had to deal with this nervous energy somehow. You walked in expecting he’d be late, but Pietro got there early and he stood and waved. You walked to him Pietro pulled your chair out and helped you in. Pietro sat down opposite you and shot you a small nervous grin.

“I ordered you a hot chocolate and a cookie, I know how much you like hot chocolate even if it’s warm out like today,” he said shyly. “Thank you,” you said, you felt yourself blush. For goodness sake Y/N this is Pietro, you dated him for three years get a grip you silently berated yourself.

As the date got underway you felt yourself relax and slip into a comfortable bubble, you told Pietro about a recent mishap where one of your colleagues Darcy Lewis had accidentally thrown toner waste all over you.

You couldn’t help but smile as Pietro threw his head back laughing like a little kid. He took your hand and rubbed small circles on the back of it, that familiar feeling made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again.

December 2017 Pietro’s Pov. The snow was falling, and the streets of New York City were quitter than usual, a sign that Christmas was just around the corner. You had finished for a nice long Christmas break earlier that week and last night Pietro had taken you out for drinks and dinner as a surprise. However, due to the snow the restaurant had been unable to open as staff couldn’t get in due to all the delays on the subway. Pietro had felt crestfallen.

Right up until you had suggested that the pair of you skipped dinner and went back to Pietro’s straight for dessert. Pietro had struggled to leave you this morning. As he only had a few things to deal with before Scarlett Witch shut down for three weeks for a well-earned extended Holiday break he hadn’t left until later that morning around 10:30.

You had once again found your way back to the bright bubbly person you and everyone else knew you to be. Pietro as always being that safe place for you to heal. The way you danced around the kitchen cooking pancakes had Pietro beside himself. You really were ultraviolet. That fire you ignited, Good, Bad and undecided, Burns when I stand beside it Your light is ultraviolet. Pietro thought to himself.

All though you had only been back together since May this time Pietro was never going to let you again.

Pietro was leaving the office for a late lunch when his phone pinned with a google alert. James “Bucky” Barnes announces engagement to Natasha Romanoff! Read the headline. Fuck. That piece of shit. Pietro felt rage on behalf of you. He knocked on Wanda’s door. “Hey, Wanda. I know were almost done here anyway, but I got to go early” Pietro shifted uncomfortably.

“Why?” Wanda asked simply. They were almost done but Pietro was meant to be shutting down the website whilst Wanda finalised everyone’s surprise Christmas bonuses. Pietro didn’t say anything simply handing his phone to his sister. Wanda scanned the headline and the article. Sucking in a deep breath. “Go. I’ve got this. Go check on Y/N” she said her eyes softening.

Pietro practically raced home. Just as he was coming out the subway his phone rang, caller ID showing Sam. “What the fuck is that dickhead playing at?!” Sam asked. Pretty much the entire friend group had cut ties with Bucky after they found out he had been cheating on you again.

“I have no idea, but he better hope to god I never see him, because I will not hesitate to rip him a new one, look I’m just letting myself into my apartment building, Y/N stayed here last night as she didn’t have work today and we’re meant to be going to Stark’s Christmas gala this evening. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Pietro said ringing off before Sam could respond. Pietro knew Sam would understand.

“Hey handsome how was your day?” you asked not taking your eyes away from the street below. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief, he was certain he would have come home to find you curled up in bed, or worse the floor crying. You were happy together but that didn’t make Bucky’s betrayal sting any less.

“It was good, busy” he replied taking off his coat and walking over to join you at the window seat. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of the kids below. He could faintly see in the reflection of the window that your eyes were rimmed with red.

“How about you Bunny? I saw a news alert. I’m guessing you know about the engagement?” he asked. You hummed a response. Pietro knew you loved him; he also knew that you knew how much he loved you. But that didn’t make seeing you hurt any easier. Suddenly you shifted turning around to face him. His floppy silver-blonde hair covering those beautiful ice blue eyes, they looked at you with such love and endearment, they also spoke a silent promise. You kissed him gently on the lips before standing up.

“Come on Quicksilver let's shower before the Stark Christmas Gala,” you said pulling your boyfriend along behind you shooting him a knowing grin. God, he fucking loved you.

All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me

[blankie-greenie-anon]

A Death Note AU I desperately want to write (but lack the time needed to do so)

The plot has three arcs. I will detail each one in separate posts.

1st arc: Hidden Away in The Wammy's House

Light, in his third-year in high school, cracks a big case regarding a criminal organization. The boss of the organization finds out about his involvement, and the Yagami household are placed in the witness protection program. The family is made to live apart from each other, with Light staying in The Wammy's House. His destination was influenced by L, who was fascinated by his deductive abilities. Naomi is assigned to check on Light in the institute every month.

At the institute, Light lives under the false name "Kira" and works as a caretaker and tennis coach since he's too old to be registered as a child. During his free time, he investigates, hoping to bring the case to an end so his family can reunite. However, he truly appreciates his time at the institute. The presence of incredibly bright children who are able to communicate at the same level as him helps Light shed the idea of the world being rotten, and he becomes quite attached to them.

Among the things he does for the kids are:

Light fixes a tear in Linda's clothing. Seeing how skilled he is, Linda sketches a stuffed animal design and requests it be made reality, and Light complies. When Linda makes a second request, though, Light responds, "Shop is closed."

Light plays Mario Golf with Matt every now and then. The first time they did, Matt called him a grandpa for suggesting the game, and Light replied, "Respect your elders, sonny boy." before getting destroyed. Matt taught Light to get used to losing.

Light would visit the institute's library for information to help his investigation, and find Mello hogging the books he needs and the library computer. When this happens too many times, and too long of a time, Light offers to tutor him. If he can help Mello solve a problem, or at least nudge him in the right direction, Light is allowed to borrow a book or use the computer for a period of time. Besides that, Mello can get incredibly competitive during tennis.

Light had to make Near a gift for one Christmas Secret Santa event. For a nanosecond, he considered buying a toy or a puzzle, but he's seen how fast Near goes through those. Light almost wanted to make handmade pajamas but resisted because it was too easy. In the end, Light made a steady hand game circuit. It ran on no electricity and the wire was made of thin, short magnets. The magnets were weak enough to come apart at the lightest contact while still being able to stick to one another. As soon as Near clears a game, he can arrange a new circuit, over and over again until he's satisfied (which might take a while). After receiving the gift, Near concluded that Light really, really hated to lose.

One day, Light tries a few of the tests in the institute out of boredom and curiosity. The results show he's the most intelligent of the institute. (Yeah, I do think Light is smarter than Near because Light predicted Near's fake Death Note plan while Near didn't expect him to be prepared, until Mello's interference.)

L finds out about this and visits the institute as a benefactor named "Ryuzaki". He spends a few days there, talking to Light and playing some tennis. On the last day of Ryuzaki's visit, Light mentions he's actually been investigating and shows Ryuzaki his progress, to which Ryuzaki helps with some inside information. This prompts Light to question Ryuzaki's true identity, and gets this answer: "It's because I'm L." Right afterwards, while Light is still dumbfounded, Ryuzaki departs, promising to keep in touch.

Every day since, L contacts Light through a laptop provided by Roger and enlists him in the investigation. L acts as the intermediary. He discusses with the investigation team first before bringing the latest findings and deductions to Light to get his opinions. Sometimes, they just converse normally. At some point, the other children in the institute catch wind of Light and L's meetings and want in on the investigation, reasoning that they're training to be detectives so they should be allowed some real-life experience. L agrees. Now, every kid in the institute is aware of the chemistry Light and L have.

The case comes to a close. The children witness one more exchange between Light and L, during which the latter remarks how impressed he was with the former keeping up with him throughout the case and even one-upping him sometimes, as no one else ever had. Then, L offers to make Light his successor. Light reacts negatively and scolds L for saying that in front of the children, especially Mello, since they work so hard to meet L's expectations. Mello also reacts negatively, except towards Light because he felt like he was being pitied and he hated that. However, Light admits there's another reason he doesn't want to succeed L.

"To succeed L is to replace him," explains Light, "and to be replaced L has to go away. I don't want L to go away. I... I want to be with you, L. I want to keep solving cases with you, beside you."

A moment of silence. All the kids stare at Light. Mello's eyes and mouth are wide open. Matt mouths 'Wow!' Even Near stops playing to look. Naomi is standing by the door wondering how she's gonna tell Raye about this without disclosing anything confidential.

And in the center of all that attention, Light stood proud and unbending.

Finally, L replies, "I feel the same way. Honestly, I've always thought its okay if I'm the only one who understands me, but..." His monotonous voice grew a tad more sentimental "...it was nice to find someone else who could too."

"Yeah." Light chuckles; partly in relief, partly in joy. "Yeah, it's really nice to be understood."

"We understand you," Near pipes up.

"But not the way L does. Hush!" Linda hissed.

Anyway, the case is closed and Light is allowed to reunite with his family. His stay at the institute is about one year, so he missed his high school graduation and went straight to university. Four years later, Light graduates and receives an invitation from L to become his partner in justice (with a touch of crime) in person. Light initially wanted to join the police force, but only because it was what he believed would please his family, especially his dad, the most. Now, he wants to please himself. Thus, he goes to L.

Next arc: Light and L, solving cases together.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Okay, so I wanted to get this out, like twelve hours ago, buttttt Tumblr is having issues with me today and it wouldn’t let me. So anyways, better late than never! 

This is a Christmas-y oneshot, set years Post-Mockingjay, with their first toastbaby. It’s completely canon-complacent and focuses on their lives and family after the war. It got way longer than I intended. Actually, originally, it was meant to be a Thanksgiving oneshot but uh... I took too long so it’s not Christmas. Only they call it Yuleday here, because I can’t imagine Panem calling it Christmas, idk why. Anyways, please read and enjoy! 

Oh yeah, and thank you @rosegardeninwinter for writing the song Katniss sings to her daughter in here!

Summary : Everlark spend Yuleday with their daughter and the rest of their blended family. 

The sticky vanilla liquid drying against the counter clings to my forearm. I wrinkle my nose slightly, the smell of vanilla too strong for my liking.

No, I prefer the smells of cinnamon and pine and fresh baked bread, I think to myself, as I watch my husband slip on a oven mitt and pull out a new loaf.

The kitchen is much messier than Peeta typically allows it to get, but he didn't have the time this week he anticipated he would to bake for our family's impending visit.

I lean unconsciously closer to the baked good, my mouth already watering at the sight. "Katniss," Peeta warns while he places a cake pan inside the oven, his voice growing stressed. "Be careful of the door." He gestures with his chin to the white-hot contraption just inches from my legs.

I roll my eyes at his fretting and pick up a piece of bread from a loaf we never finished last week. "Don't worry, I've been married to a baker for a while," I reply coyly as he begins to stir white, creamy homemade frosting around in a bowl. "I'm used to getting burned every so often."

It's his turn to send me a look now. "Yeah, because you forget to put a mitt on when touching the rack."

"Hmm, funny, my husband said at the time it was his fault for not warning me how hot it was," I shoot back as I dig my finger into the frosting bowl and pop the sugary substance into my mouth.

"That's sanitary," he deadpans and pushes me away from his workspace playfully.

"Oh, come on," I implore, pressing my hands against his chest as he tries to move me out of the kitchen and towards the living room. "Don't you ever sample your treats while making them?"

"No, Katniss," he replies, trying to remain serious but I see a smile peaking through. "Because I'm a professional."

I go to make a comment, pointing out every time before he's been less than professional in his workplace—with me, in particular. In the back room, with the most counterspace—when he leans down and plants a kiss on my lips. More than likely to shut me up.

"Yeah, this is sanitary," I tease against his mouth when we break apart ever so slightly.

Peeta leans back a little, keeping his chin still pressed against mine. "When have we ever cared about sanitary?"

I smirk up at him as his hands find my hips tenderly, his fingertips gliding underneath my shirt, touching the edge of my stomach. His lips find mine again or mine find his, but either way, in a matter of seconds I'm opening my mouth to let his tongue enter, eliciting a loud moan from him when my teeth graze his bottom lip.

"Mmm," he whispers when he pulls back again.

"Mmm?" I repeat, chuckling. "That's the best you can do?"

He tightens his arms around my waist, holding me to him. "I was about to say, I do enjoy taste testing my own frosting that way."

"Well, as long as you had a reason for invading my mouth."

"Like I said, I'm a strict professional."

Before I can reply back, there's a loud knock at our front door. Followed by another and then another, growing more noisy and cacophonous with the passing seconds.

Neither of us make a move to get the door. "Are you sure we have to invite Haymitch?" I inquire, my voice very serious.

"I believe I left that decision up to you, my love," Peeta replies cheekily, planting a small kiss on my nose.

"I can hear you two," Haymitch barks from the other side of the door before he knocks again, just as loud, and then rattles the doorknob. "Let me in, I'm freezing," he demands gruffly.

Peeta opens the door with a sardonic look, revealing our grouchy mentor and, at his feet, our tiny daughter, bundled up to keep from the cold. "Put a coat on, Haymitch."

"Why would I do that? I was coming here to sit by your fireplace all day anyway."

"Mommy!" Indigo shouts and races her chubby little legs in a beeline to me.

I scoop her up easily, having missed her for the entire forty-five minutes she was away from me. "Did you have a good time helping feed the geese?" I ask, in a tone I would have found absolutely embarrassing three years ago. I never even spoke to Prim in that tone.

"No, I hate them," she proclaims, very seriously, before laying her head against my shoulder exhaustedly. "They're very demanding cree-ters," she explains.

I nod, petting down her long, dark hair, moving it out of her little face, giving me access to the stunning blue eyes Peeta gave her. "They are very demanding creatures, aren't they?"

"But someone has to help Granpuh," she adds on the end, very matter-of-fact.

I shake my head at that, hoisting her higher on my hip. "I think Haymitch takes care of himself just fine, Indigo," I murmur sternly, as my old mentor passes by me, his eyes falling on the frosting bowl still sitting on the counter where we left it.

"Excuse me, Sweetheart. It's Grandpa to her," Haymitch corrects gruffly, pointing to my child.

Peeta hums as he leans against the doorframe, his shirt tightening up around his shoulders as he stretches his neck. "Katniss, remember when you were pregnant and Haymitch swore our kid wouldn't call him Grandpa?"

"I seem to remember that well."

"Yeah, well I seem to remember you saying no one is ever calling your daughter Indy and yet, here we are," the older man reminds me and all levity is gone from my face instantly, only to be replaced with irritation.

Three years ago when I gave birth, me and Peeta both agreed on the name Indigofera. Or, more like, he agreed because I liked the name.

I never expected to have a child. I spent majority of my life swearing I'd never procreate. The world I grew up in, the only world I knew, was nowhere I'd allow a child to grow up in. Not if I had any control of over.

Not when every year from the age of twelve to eighteen, my child could be stolen from me, could be taken away and tossed into a dressed up cage, forced to fight to the death, likely die on national television.

I'd never allow my child to live in that world.

That sentiment only grew stronger once a child of my own was no longer just a vague image, but a living, breathing, loud little being.

The idea of my Indigofera being subjected to the world I knew, the world that fell apart almost twenty years ago now, is beyond devastating to me.

I still wonder sometimes how Peeta ever was able to convince me to have a child.

As I think of him, he's right beside me, saying something quippy to Haymitch, before pulling Indigo out of my arms and unzipping her coat. I watch on at their exchange as she puts her tiny little hands on his cheeks, telling him happily about her time with Granpuh and the geese. I watch as Peeta's eyes brighten when he looks at her, I watch as she smiles more and more with his encouraging nods, prodding her to keep talking. I watch as she squeals out and laughs when he tickles her and kisses the side of her face.

And I still wonder, how on earth he convinced me to have a child.

But I'm thankful every day he did, from the bottom of my heart. That little girl is the most important being in both our lives and, though I had no idea at the time, we were not complete without her.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Indigo complains as he starts to pull away, very obviously intending to head back to the kitchen and finish up baking and frosting.

"We're going to eat once Grandma and the others gets here, Bean," I promise, stepping in to scoop her back up.

"They're so slow," Indigo says, with no shame or remorse in her voice for the blunt statement.

"Indigo," Peeta chides gently. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"It's kind of true," I add sheepishly after a moment, agreeing with our daughter.

My husband just rolls his eyes at me now. "You're a bad influence on her."

"Oh, give me a break, Peeta!" I exclaim defensively. "You gave her chocolate pancakes for breakfast today. I think you're the bad influence."

"I made them for you too, Katniss," he reminds me wryly.

"That's a little different-"

"Hello," Haymitch interrupts as he plops down on the sofa, his usual spot in our house. "Some of us would like to eat Yuleday Dinner tonight."

"And?"

"And that's not going to happen if we don't let the boy work, Sweetheart."

The boy. Haymitch never did get new nicknames for us, despite Peeta being a man, a husband and a father for quite some time now.

Peeta hauls Haymitch up by the arm from his seat. "If you're going to be in my house, you're going to help me with dinner," he says firmly and Indigo giggles against my neck, watching her daddy drag her grandpa into the kitchen.

Haymitch being grandpa was only ever meant to be a joke. Neither me nor Peeta ever intended for Indigo to actually view Haymitch Abernathy as her grandfather.

Though it makes sense. He's been a constant in our lives since we were sixteen. And even when me and Haymitch are at each other's throats, he still shows up here, sitting on the couch, expecting dinner, at least once a week. He regularly shows up at the bakery Peeta runs now almost entirely on his own, asking for free samples. And he still loves our daughter like his own flesh and blood.

The only true gripe I have about Haymitch and Indigo's relationship is the nickname Indy. I knew when we named her Indigofera, after the mysterious plant that my father used to jokingly say was about as real to us as unicorns—the color plant was all but extinct long before I was even born—that her natural nickname would be Indigo. Peeta himself says we gave her a mouthful of a name, choosing to go as far as adding in a middle name that we both lacked ourselves. But something about the nickname Indy is extremely unappealing to me.

And as her mother, as the person who grew her and carried her inside me, and loves her more than all the things in the world combined, I think I should have final say on what she's called.

I'm abruptly pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, little hand pulling my tangled hair. "Mommy, what time does Finn get here?"

Of course, that's who Indigo is focused on. It's not just my mother arriving today to join us for our Yuleday Dinner. It's everyone that me and Peeta consider family.

Including Annie and Finn, her child with the sensual, alluring, kind-hearted Finnick Odair. The child who has taken after his father in ways that seemed unimaginable.

Indigo knows, even at three-years-old, that we always treat Finnick's memory with respect. We never forget him or anyone else that ever helped us make the country a safe place.

Of course, she's too young to fully understand. What she understands is Finn, who at eighteen, has all his father's looks and charm, is her suto-cousin, is her playmate and brings her presents. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all she needs to understand.

"In an hour," I reply gently, bringing myself back to reality. Pushing her dirty hair back, I lean my nose against her's, letting my eyes grow bigger. "You know what that means?"

She lets out a loud shriek of excitement and all but kicks her way out of my arms. "Bath time!" She yells as she propels herself excitedly towards the stairs, going on all fours to struggle her way up independently.

I stay inches behind her, making sure I'm able to catch her if she should tumble, but the precaution isn't necessary. Indigo gets to the top stair and takes off running towards the bathroom down the hall.

"Lots of bubbles," Indigo commands in a very serious tone as she watches me pour a cap full into her bath water.

I remind myself for the thousandth time to send Effie a thank you note for bath bubbles she sent weeks ago. My old escort is one of the few people I haven't kept in close contact with over the years and it's no surprise really. Me and Peeta never stopped looking at the Capitol with disdain, perhaps even more so after the war, and Effie, even with a good heart deep inside, is Capitol, through and through.

But she's still sent sporadic gifts here and there over the years. She's still called Haymitch dozens of times since the end of the war. She's still kept her mouth shut about Indigo's existence for the last three years and for that, I am indebted to my old escort for life.

Peeta and I agreed early on in my pregnancy that Indigo would never be property of the Capitol. It didn't matter how much safer the world was now, or how many new faces have come along for people to fawn over in the last eighteen years, or how adorable Indigo is, we both vowed with everything we had that no one outside our family and friends and community would know of her birth. If I did anything in my life, it would be protect my child.

The way I failed to protect my sister.

Even almost twenty years later, the memory still stung. The image of my sister being blown apart, right before my eyes, is permanently ingrained in my mind. I still wake up from nightmares, reliving Prim's last moments alive before the bombs took her away forever.

But the once searing pain had faded into a dull ache, a deep imbedded hurt that never went away entirely but instead became a part of who I was.

I help Indigo into the tub and instantly get to work, washing her up as she splashes around and plays with her bubbles. Technically Effie sent them to me, along with a lot of other useless items that I all but threw out immediately, but they were better used for Indigo. Whereas I saw the impracticality in many of Effie's gifts, Indigo saw a new luxury, a new toy, a new activity or adventure she could have.

It's the Peeta in her. It's his appreciation for beauty that he passed down to our daughter.

I've told him countless times in the last few years that if she turns out to have a massive spending addiction or have desires to live a luxurious life, it's all on him.

"Alright, eyes shut," I warn dramatically, waiting for her to cover her big blue eyes with her tiny palms before dousing her head with water.

After she's dried and dressed she runs into the kitchen barefoot and immediately flings herself onto Peeta, gripping his prosthetic leg. "Daddy, look how clean I am!"

He chuckles as he finishes wiping the counter off before scooping her up. "Imagine how clean you could be every day if Mommy didn't take you to the woods to play in the dirt?"

He's teasing me and I know it, but I still shoot him a dirty look. "She gets dirtier in Daddy's kitchen than the woods."

"Dirty? From baking?" He directs the questions towards the three-year-old in his arms. "No!"

Indigo gives him a shy smile before a loud giggle escapes and nodding her head, affirming his point. "See," he points out, gesturing to her grinning face.

"Daddy is the bad influence around here," I say as I pull her from his arms.

"Only because Mommy corrupted me," he says back as he moves to grab the broom, the last step in his clean up routine before the rest of our guests arrive.

He leans around me and Indigo to grab the cleaning device, before not so subtly sneaking a kiss on his way back. I just look to our daughter and, indicating to her father with my chin, wrinkle my nose dramatically, causing her to laugh more.

"Mommy's mad at you," she informs him, finding this very humorous.

"Hmm, is she?" Peeta asks, as if he's shocked by the news.

"Yes," I affirm. "For implying I dirty my child, when it's you who covers her in flour and cake batter every other day."

"Oh, well, Indy, whatever will we do to gain Mommy's forgiveness?" He isn't gaining any sort of forgiveness from me by using her annoying nickname. Still he pretends not to notice my narrowing eyes, as if after eighteen years he doesn't know me like the back of his hand.

"Bake her somting!" She exclaims, clapping and excited again. She's always excited. I'm not even sure if she's mine some days with how enthusiastic this little human can be.

"Hmm, I could," he agrees, but then dramatically he gazes around the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. "You know what though? I just cleaned it all up in here. So I guess I can't bake Mommy something. I guess I'll have to try other methods."

As if he planned it the entire time—which, without a doubt, he did—Peeta leans in gently and starts pressing kisses to my skin, right where my jaw meets my neck. I resist at first and so his lips move upwards, towards my forehead, towards my nose and then my chin.

"Okay," I relent, laughing in spite of myself, batting him away. "Okay, you're forgiven." I reward him with a smile as he moves his lips from peppering my face to my mouth itself. He only gives me a chaste kiss, since I'm holding his daughter, but it's enough to make my stomach flip like it did on the beach, when we were seventeen.

We were also in a death match, neither of us intending to live through the following day, but that fact somehow has separated itself in the almost twenty years since the war from the moment between me and Peeta, and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my mind compartmentalizing itself, for the horrors witnessed and forever printed inside my head somehow shifting away from specific moments in the games, moments I can now look back on more fondly than when I was seventeen.

I look at Peeta again then, as he gives me a sweet smile and turns away to start sweeping the floor, to rid it of the thick layer of flour split while baking, and I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the last eighteen years. I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the almost two decades he's given me, that had been the best years of my life.

Of course, the little squirming creature in my arms have only made the years better, and I kiss her face gently, murmuring softly, "Let me braid your hair," against her little pink cheek.

She obediently sits in front of me and starts humming as I comb the knots from the long dark locks she inherited from me. "What're you singing?" I ask, smiling, already knowing what song she's trying to hum.

"Bloo sky," she replies simply, before going back to humming again to herself. I smirk softly, waiting for her to ask me to take over.

And, of course, with the predictability of a three-year-old, Indigo turns around abruptly after a long moment of silence with a frazzled look overtaking her big blue eyes. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you sing bloo sky? I can't 'member all the words."

My smirk turns to a full on smile now, as I begin to twist her now soft and silky hair into a braid. "Don't let your mind be troubled, dear. Don't you get lost in fear. For through all the storm clouds and darkest days, I promise I will be here."

Indigo beams at me, tipping her head back to watch me sing before her own little voice, lisp and wrong words and all—though, I have inexpressible pride that her melody is perfectly on pitch—joins in with me.

"And a blue sky will come shining through. And a blue sky just for me and you," I sing as she accidentally says too instead of through. "Through all the storm clouds and darkest days, there's a blue sky for just me and for you," we finish.

"And for Daddy," Indigo suddenly asserts, like she forgot him until now.

I laugh gently. "Yes, but that won't fit the rhyme."

"What's a rhyme?"

"Nevermind, Indigo." I can barely hold back a chuckle as I finish her braid, tying it with the band around my wrist. Since she grew hair long enough to get caught on things, I've always made a special point in carrying extra hair ties for her, everywhere we go.

"Sweetheart, am I expected to go grab our guests in my car? Because I don't have enough room so someone's going to have to hang onto the bumper-"

"Don't worry, Haymitch," I cut off, laughing again, at the image of him attempting to gather up our blended family and friends in what he refers to as a car. "And I didn't miss you saying our guests," I add, turning away from my child to give him a look.

"I helped the boy clean the kitchen, I get to take ownership over the guests as well."

"Grandpuh?" Indigo's little voice peeps. "I wanna go for a ride before Finn gets here."

"Finn?" Haymitch picks. "Every person you've ever met is coming over today and it's Finn Odair you're excited to see?"

But Indigo adores—and I mean, adores—Finn and he's always been so good with her, more patient than any typical teenager is expected to be, and his arrival is all she's really thinking about.

"Haymitch, stop giving my daughter crap and take her for a ride in town," Peeta calls from the kitchen, evidently by the clanging noise, putting away the last of the dishes. "Hurry up too, I don't want her out there when the crowd comes in."

We never allow Indigo out into town during the busy times a day. During the times when the crowds, even here in the once decimated Twelve, grow too large for either Peeta or my liking. Too many opportunities for a stranger to grab her, too many chances for her to get lost, too many things could go wrong. Too many dangers exist for a three-year-old, even in this world that is miles better than the one we used to know.

Peeta and I do our best to put the past behind us, but we both still have times when the memories of war and bloodshed and cruelty creep in, and it's on those days all I can imagine is the world shifting again, some sort of disorder or disarray ruining the peace that will always feel foreign to me. It's on those days all I can see is the games coming back, is someone taking Indigo from me, putting her through what no child should have to endure, her sweet, little innocence being ripped away violently. Someone taking me or Peeta from her, her pure heart being hardened, the blue eyes that sometimes I swear I could see my sister in turning ice cold.

It's on those days I shut and lock the doors, I refuse to open the blinds, I refuse to let my daughter out of my sight. It's those days I beg Peeta not to run to the bakery, to just stay with us, to just not go where I can't see either of them.

It's on those days I plan what I will do if the world does fall to its knees again, if my worst fears when even thinking of the abstract idea of having a child come to life. I never tell anyone of these thoughts, but on the days Peeta has a flashback or can't sleep, on the days when he feels like he’s still seventeen, locked inside Snow's mansion, a tortured shadow of the wonderful boy with the golden heart, on the days he paints horrific images he'll never let our daughter see, I know he makes his own plan too.

As always, Indigo breaks me out of my thoughts as they run dark, jumping up excitedly, ready to go for a ride in Haymitch's car. It's actually more resemblant of a cart, with just room for three people if you squeeze, and no doors in sight. But she loves it and it makes her happy and after everything else, I know I can trust Haymitch with my child.

I fix her little green overall dress, straightening her dandelion patterned shirt underneath. "Don't let Haymitch get your dirty," I instruct very clearly.

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't mess up your hair."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't be too long."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't talk to strangers."

"Okay, can I go already?"

Both Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me and it takes all my restraint not to say something profane in front of Indigo.

As soon as they leave, I get to work, helping Peeta straighten up the house before our guests arrive.

As I'm finishing fluffing and re-arranging the pillows, two warm hands come into contact with my waist. "Excuse me, sir, I'm working right now."

Peeta's arms wrap entirely around me now, his lips on my neck. "Don't worry, I know the boss. She'll... understand."

"Will she?" I cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He nods confidently. "She rather enjoys activities such as these."

I'm about to coyly ask what activities he's implying when his lips trail up further, finding residence closer and closer to my mouth.

His lips have just contacted mine when I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself, "the second our daughter leaves, you just can't help yourself."

His kiss turns to a laugh. "She does tend to take up a lot of the bed space. We have to catch these opportunities for us when we can."

I chuckle in response, because it's true. As much as we both love our child—more than words could ever say—lately, her fear of sleeping in her room down the hall has meant we've gained a new, invasive bedmate.

"That we do," I agree, smirking now as I fiddle with his sky blue collar that matched his eyes. "I see had a wardrobe change."

"Mhmm. Thought I would look nice for Yuleday."

"Is there someone special you're expecting to see? Someone you want to dress up for?" I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to the center of his chest, right at my eye level.

"There is, actually," he affirms slyly. "Two people, in fact. Both women. One a little smaller than the other. Both have dark hair and loud voices—"

"Excuse you?"

"Both have me wrapped entirely around their fingers," he adds, full on smiling now.

"Good save," I retort, about to turn away when I feel his hands grip the underside of my thighs and hoist me up against him.

I pretzel myself around his body, unable to help the girlish noise of surprise that slips out as he holds me in his arms. "We only have maybe ten minutes until Indigo and Granpuh," he imitates his three-year-old, but his nose teasingly presses against mine and his voice is very suggestive, "come back. We should... make the most of it... before we have to entertain guests all day."

I return the glint his eyes, my desires in line with his. Our lips meet halfway in the minimal space still remaining between us, and we waste no time before our tongues begin to intertwine, twirl and gently twist.

I feel his hand sliding up my ratty, torn shirt, just barely crossing over my stomach to my ribs when a knock at the door suddenly catches us off-guard.

"Haymitch isn't usually back this fast," I say as Peeta—very reluctantly—sets me down.

But as soon as the words slip from my lips, a thousand thoughts race through my mind.

What if Haymitch had lost Indigo somehow, in the crowd that always grows large on Yuleday? What if someone took my baby? What if she's scared and can't find me and I don't even know it yet because I let an old drunk man take her out of my sight? What if she fell out of Haymitch's cart and smacked her head on the town's icy cobblestones? What if the car spun out and hit a tree and now one of our neighbors is coming to tell us the grave news?

I'm holding my breath, my heart suddenly beating a million miles a second, as my husband pulls open the door.

Behind the door is not Haymitch nor a random member of our community. It's Delly. Delly Cartwright-Bagley and her husband and three children in tow.

A half hour early.

I can't help the reaction that slips from my lips, the stress of my fears overpowering my filter. "Would it have killed you to show up on time?"

Peeta shoots me a look but I ignore him. Delly however is unfazed by my irritation. As is her husband, Kanon.

"Happy Yuleday, Katniss!" Delly beams and pushes her plate of frosted cookies into Peeta's hands to hug me tightly. "And we only showed up early because your husband invited us to," she adds, talking too loudly into my ear.

My eyes narrow at Peeta but he's clearly just as unhappy with himself, since now our plans have been interrupted.

"I said they could come early and help," Peeta defends slightly, just as Delly's husband notices the button I must have unknowingly undid.

"Mmm, well you two could go upstairs while we finish getting everything ready for the rest of the guests," Kanon teases, ruffling Peeta's conspicuously tousled hair as he leads the three young ones inside from the cold.

Delly pulls back from me then and leads her eldest, Evelyn Malia Bagley—but, much like with Indigofera, is known solely by Evie—to the kitchen, with a high level of familiarity.

The confidence inside my house is only natural at this point, considering the relationship with our family and Delly's has grown much closer than I ever could have anticipated.

Delly is Peeta's childhood best friend, and therefore after the war she was one of the biggest supporters and greatest confidants to him in his darkest hours. The times I couldn't do anything, because I was the source of his fear, of his anger or his pain. 

Or rather, Snow made him believe I was.

Delly's presence in Peeta's life was far more helpful than any over the phone therapist could have ever been, and for that I am eternally grateful. However, I never expected her to be a close friend to me as well.

Begrudgingly on my part some days, but it was fact. If I ever needed anything, if I was having a hard time, if I ever wanted to talk with someone besides Peeta—which is rare but happens every so often—I'm still shocked to realize Delly Cartwright-Bagley is one of the first people I'll turn to. I’m still shocked to realize the girl who once had baby fat and yellow hair, who sat two rows ahead of me in school and chewed her bubblegum obnoxiously loud, is one of my closest companions. 

She's surprisingly more understanding and wise underneath her overly perky personality and boisterously loud voice.

And, of course, the man she married also helps the equation. Kanon is a kind, tall man, a few years older than the rest of us. He's rather quiet but will poke a joke at someone he knows well enough. He's hardworking and loyal and intuitive.

He's the exact opposite of Delly, which sounds like it should be a recipe for disaster but in reality has proven to be a wonderful occurrence in everyone's life.

After all, we all let out a sigh of relief when she could quit working at the medicine factory.

For all of Delly's good qualities—and there are a great many—she's not exactly an ideal factory worker. Or manual laborer. Or cleaning personnel.

When Delly took over operating the counter at Kanon's Candy Store, which unlike the bakery, is more of a novelty than an essential, everything sort of fell into place.

"Aunt Katty!" I hear a small voice shriek, pushing her older brother out of the way to sprint into my arms.

I barely have time to catch little Kendall, Delly's youngest child before she’s flung herself onto me with a force only her mother could have matched.

"Hi, Sweetie," I all but coo, disgusting even myself a bit.

I hug her almost as tightly as she hugs me, and I intentionally ignore Peeta's smirk in my direction.

Okay, so I'm not the most subtle about having a favorite out of Delly's litter. But Kendall is only three months different in age than my Indigo, so I have the excuse of spending the most time with the little wild, rambuctious thing.

Although my child is by far the ringleader in their friendship. A fact I try not to think of too often, as I could easily imagine a multitude of things Indigofera could get into if I don't keep a close eye on her.

"Where's Indy?" Kendall asks as I cart her to the kitchen. She's the only one I let that nickname slide with.

"She went for a ride with Haymitch."

Speaking of my child only increases my anxiety for her whereabouts. I suddenly regret letting my old mentor take her at all, as my gut continues to constrict painfully, thinking of every scenario in which she could be taken away from me. Forever.

My only job, the only one I truly cannot live with the idea of failing, is keeping my daughter safe.

I failed once before to protect someone I loved more than my own life. Twice, I correct myself, looking at Peeta, who's now guiding five year old Rhys by hand to the kitchen.

I cannot fail Indigofera, like I failed both Prim and Peeta.

Delly senses the tension building inside of me as I come to stand beside her, Kendall still on my hip. "Haymitch would never let Indigo get hurt," she says without preamble. To her credit though, she says it quieter than her typical range of volume. "C'mon. It's his granddaughter."

The four of us laugh, the fact that a little person with giant blue eyes and a constant pair of messy braids is what entirely melted Haymitch Albernathy's heart still laughable three years later.

I let Kendall down and watch as she and her siblings begin to set the table dutifully, with more order and structure than I had at their age.

I feel the everlasting anxiety that's making a permanent home inside my gut suddenly release, like a knife being pulled out of a stab wound, as Indigo's voice fills the room.

"Mommy!" She yells, racing into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can carry her. "Look at what Gamma Sae gave me," she exclaims, holding up a stuffed bear for me to see.

I don't acknowledge the toy or her hair that's coming out of the braid I only just did, or even the grass stain on her dandelion patterned shirt. I just yank her up into my arms and squeeze her tight.

I should be ashamed of myself, that my three-year-old knows when I've worried or been in distress over her, but all I am is awed when she lays her little head on my shoulder and whispers softly, "I'm okay, Mommy. Granpuh wouldn't let anything hurt me."

There is an awkward pause in the room for a moment, only noticeable to the adults. I don't know if it's because they understand my anxiety—Peeta, at least, typically does—or if it's because they think I'm insane, but no one speaks until Indigo shuffles herself downwards and immediately tackles Kendall, excitedly showing her the stuffed animal Greasy Sae gave her.

Delly, as per usual, breaks the silence. "You know, if you two ever want to finish the... activity you were engaged in when we showed up, I will gladly take care of Indigo for an afternoon."

I roll my eyes, long past the point where Delly could make me blush with her innuendos. "I'll keep that in mind."

Peeta is chuckling as he finishes drying off a now clean cooking bowl. "You're a more appealing babysitter than Haymitch," he says, his eyes falling on the older man, who's standing with the kids now, not-so-subtly keeping closer to Indigo, as he isn't too fond of most children in general.

"You sure we wouldn't be ruining your fun?" I tease now, looking at Kanon, who's arranging the cookies they brought onto a different plate.

"Katniss, we have three kids," Delly all but deadpans. A rarity for her. "All under eight years old. One more won't make a difference."

Kanon speaks up then as me and Peeta snicker. "We also learned to be faster," he adds slyly, looking directly at me. "The joy of having a few kids. Makes you a better multi-tasker."

"I so miss when you used to be quiet," I say in a monotone as the doorbell, that no one uses, unexpectedly rings.

"Peeta, how many people did you invite early?" I snap.

He holds up his hands defensively. "No one else, I swear."

"Sure."

But when I open the door, revealing my mother, Annie and Finn, I know he's got to be telling the truth. He wouldn't have invited my mother early for anything. The tension that existed years ago is all but gone—especially since Indigo's birth, the event that drew us closer than we had been since I was a child—but still, Peeta remains cautious. When it comes to my mother, he leaves her visitation completely up to me.

Her husband, Rod Marin, doesn't attend our celebration however. I don't know if it's the chilly reception he may or may not receive from me, or if it's the fact that my mom doesn't want to bring Rod's daughters with them, but either way, she has attended our home alone for the last five years and, as selfish as that may be, I prefer it this way.

Still, I greet her warmly. "Hi, Mom," I say as she hugs me tightly.

"Sorry we're a little early, honey," she professes as she steps into the house that was once her home too.

"That's fine," I assure, even though I'm not dressed or ready yet.

Annie is next and she instantly throws her arms around my neck. "I missed you," she murmurs in the sweet, gentle way she's always had since I met her in District Thirteen.

"We missed you too," Peeta calls from around the corner as he comes into our eyesight, holding a very excited Indigo in his arms.

"Finn!" She screams as she all but launches herself away from Peeta and into the eighteen year old's arms.

"Hi!" He exclaims as he catches her and swings her upwards, returning the overzealous squeeze she's giving his neck. "How's my best girl?"

"She's gweat!" Indigo beams and my heart melts a little, watching her with the boy who looks so much like his father. The boy who's always been such a joy in life. The boy who saved his mother eighteen years ago, who has been nothing but respectful and kind and funny to me and Peeta, who has shown incredible maturity at such a young age.

Then again, at his age I had already been through two games and a war. Peeta had already been hijacked and fought his way back. I'd already lost my little sister. Me and Peeta had our toasting at only a year older, at nineteen. Maybe eighteen isn't a young as it seems to me now, looking at youthful Finn, who I watched learn to walk and talk and swim and tie a knot.

Or maybe I was just as young when all that tragedy occurred. Maybe I just felt older because of the circumstances in which I was born, because of the world in which we lived.

I shake my head slightly, trying to shake the bad thoughts away.

"Indy, guess what?" Finn prompts enthusiastically—but not without shooting me a teasing glance, knowing my distain for her nickname.

"What?"

"I brought something."

"What?"

Both Peeta's and my curiosity has been peaked now, just as much as our child's. Annie's hesitant glance, that looks both hopeful and apprehensive, only fuels my confusion more.

"Well, there's a new tradition in some of the other districts that I think you'd find fun," he explains, but his eyes flicker to me and I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he could be suggesting. "You see you cut down a tree—or sometimes people in One or Two buy a plastic tree—and then you bring it home and decorate it."

Indigo claps her hands together, too excited and too precious for me to disappoint her. "I want to do it!" She yells, with an exuberance only a three-year-old could possess. "Kenny, we're gonna decorate a tee!"

I hear a variant of what being exclaimed in the other room, where my mother, Haymitch and the Bagley's still are.

"Where do we buy decorations?" My child asks, abruptly serious, the details of this tradition becoming clearer in her little mind.

"Indy," Finn quickly tries to corral. "I brought decorations with me, but we need a tree and..." He hesitates, looking at me now.

"And?" She prompts, confused.

"We have to ask your momma if it's alright to get one. Since it's her house we'll be doing this in." He winks at me, then turns his eyes pleading, half mocking me.

Indigo doesn't have to even feign the look, she naturally inherited that sweet, wide eyed, begging glint. Either from Prim or Peeta—probably both—and I'm powerless against it.

"Fine," I relent dramatically. Indigo rewards me by jumping from Finn's arms to mine and kicking her little chubby legs excitedly. "But not until after dinner," I condition.

"We should probably go get the tree now though?" Peeta suddenly speaks up, looking at the clock on the wall. "Before it gets dark?"

I shoot him a glare over Indigo's head. "It won't get dark for hours. And why do you seem not surprised by this?"

Peeta shrugs too innocently and when Annie giggles and nudges his shoulder, I realize they had been conspiring behind my back.

"Daddy is definitely the bad influence around here, Indigofera," I declare, as my husband walks closer to us, leans down and kisses my hair.

"We love you," he says teasingly, against my crown. "Even if you are a stick in the mud sometimes."

Before I can respond, likely with a snappy comment, our daughter pops her head off my shoulder. "Daddy, I want to pick out the tee."

Of course she does. That girl has been in charge of us since the day she was born.

"Okay, Bean. Ask your mother if it's alright," he tells her, but it's just a formality at this point, as to not ruffle me further. She's his kid too, he can take her to get a tree if he wants.

"Mommy, can I-"

"Yes," I say exasperatedly, giving Peeta a look as I hand him Indigo.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," he whispers, leaning down and touching his nose to mine. "I'll take care of our girl."

"I know," I sigh, because I do know that. I've never not trusted him with our child. Even if I prefer to keep them both here with me. Even if I'd have preferred to keep her inside of me, where I knew I could protect her always.

I can't keep the smile off my face though when he pecks my lips unexpectedly and then my nose. "We won't be long."

"Better not be," I call as he grabs their coats and carries my little girl out the door, following behind Finn and Kanon and the Bagley kids. "Or else I'm eating without you."

"Same here," Delly calls from the kitchen, though they probably can't hear her.

"Go change," Annie suggests, touching my messy braid gently. "I'll go help Delly and your mom."

I shoot her a grateful smile and make my way upstairs. In the years since the war both Annie and Johanna have remained, shockingly—maybe only to me—constants in mine and Peeta's lives. They both returned to their home districts, but through visits and telegraphs and phone calls, even just for Jo to call me an idiot, they both became a part of a new blended family I didn't even know was being created.

Though I am grateful now for it. Beyond words. As neither me nor Peeta can offer Indigo any sort of extended family, her having Johanna, Delly, Annie and their families somehow fills the space left empty from the loss the war gave us.

As if on cue, just as I'm thinking of her, I hear a loud rapt on the bathroom door and know Johanna has arrived.

"Come in," I yell as I pull on a dark green—which for some reason is an acceptable color on Yuleday—sweater and push a brush through my hair viciously. I'm just moving on to rebraiding it simply when Jo enters.

"Hello, Brainless," her voice rings out as she steps into the bathroom.

"I'm shocked you knocked."

"I didn't wanna see you indecently."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Probably won't be the last."

We both let out a laugh and—pretending to be at least a little begrudgingly about it—embrace for a moment.

"Missed your stupidity these last couple of months," she murmurs as she pulls back.

"My stupidity? You once almost shot an arrow at Haymitch."

"You thought that was an accident?"

I can't help but snort as I turn back to the mirror and finish up my braid. "How's Christopher?" I ask, my tone a little more serious.

But she just shrugs, her gaze focusing now on Indigo's tiny comb. The one with the diamonds that Effie sent and Peeta insisted we keep.

Christopher is the man Jo, almost against her will, fell for almost two years ago. She refuses to commit to him entirely, especially since he has a son not much older than Indigo and that prospect alone terrifies her, but when Peeta visited her last year he told me that Christopher and his son, David, without a doubt live in that house with her.

"I can't believe you keep stuff from Effie Trinket?" Jo segues gracelessly. "Especially for a three-year-old."

"Blame Indigo's father. Both for her love of fancy things and his compliance in letting her have them."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because you make sure she only gets the bare necessities."

"Okay, who's side are you on?"

"The one who makes the dinner around here."

"I hunt it."

"He stuffs it and bakes it."

"This feels personal. Is this because I didn't save you any pumpkin cake or sweet nut bread from Harvest Dinner?"

"Now that you mention it-"

Johanna is abruptly cut off by the sound of a yelp. Only, instead of the sound being a distress call or a bone chilling cry, it's one of excitement.

"Johanna Mason, get down here!" Annie yells, way too excited to be beckoning Jo of all people.

She rolls her eyes—a little too good-naturedly to be as annoyed as she'd like for me to believe—before exiting the bathroom and heading down to greet Annie at the bottom of the staircase.

I chuckle to myself, marveling at their odd friendship, before brushing my teeth and washing my face and heading down to join them as well.

I almost run headfirst into my husband as I walk by the front door. "That was quick," I note breathlessly as Peeta catches me by the waist, burying his now chilly face into my neck. Probably more for warmth than romance.

"Hmm, Indy-Indigo," he corrects himself humorously. "She is very decisive. Saw the tree she wanted and looked at no second options."

I wrap my arms around his neck and peer over his shoulder. "And where is the little decisive thing now?"

"Having a snowball fight with Finn and Kendall in the snow. You'll be happy to know your daughter is winning."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she is. Well, I guess we better start the fire to warm her up when she's done."

"Hypothermia would be a bummer on Yuleday," he agrees cheekily.

"For us more than her."

"Pretty much."

Inside the living room, Kanon and Haymitch—but mostly Kanon—are finishing setting up a newly trimmed tree, right by the back door.

"Sweetheart, it's your dream," Haymitch taunts. "Having part of the woods in your house."

"Did he knock a few back on the way to grab a tree?" I ask Peeta quietly, as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

"Probably. I was busy watching the four little ones, I didn't have time to monitor an old man too."

"Should have put Finn on Haymitch watch."

"You know, I can hear you," our old mentor barks as Kanon finishes putting up the tree.

"Indigo!" I hear my mother exclaim, as the front door opens again.

I spin around in time to see a little person, shorter than all the other kids, practically dance her way into the house. "Gamma!"

"Hey," I halt her, pulling away from Peeta. "Let's not track snow into the house, baby."

Delly and Annie both help dust off the other three while I pull Indigo's scarf, boots, hat, gloves and coat off and toss them all aside carelessly. Much to Peeta's dismay, as he sees the snow fly all over the entryway.

"Let's not track snow into the house, baby," he imitates.

"Shut up."

As soon as she's free from the white frozen slush, she launches herself towards my mother. "Hi!"

"Hi, sweet girl! How'd you like playing in the snow?"

"It was fweezing. But I beat Finn and Kenny at our snowball fight so it was worth it." She smiles up at my mother proudly and for a moment, Indigo looks exactly like Peeta and I am amazed at that fact somehow. Considering, at first glance, she's all me besides the eyes.

Except sometimes she looks at me and I see my sister at her age, so deeply ingrained in her eyes, in her mannerisms, in her voice, that I'm taken back to being child again myself.

"You're a little messy," my mother also notes, pushing back the hair that has fallen from her braid.

"Well I like to play so, things happen." Her little shrug is one of the most endearing things about her.

"Your mother also loved to get messy."

I furrow my brows. "I was always very clean, Mom."

"Oh I doubt that," Peeta disagrees and has the audacity to laugh, standing right beside me now. "You aren't even very clean now."

I turn to him, pressing my face close to his, trying to look threatening as I push my nose against his. "I will get you."

"Oh, please do," he eggs on, his smile turning into a grin.

"I have a bow, I could literally-"

"Is dinner almost ready yet?" Rhys, Delly's only son, complains.

Chuckling slightly, I pull my face away from a still smirking Peeta. Thankfully, no one else noticed our exchange, aside from my mother, who's too polite to do more than smile.

"Yeah, Rhys, dinner's all ready," Peeta says, putting his hand on the back of the little boy's head and guiding him to the table.

Dinner is only slightly chaotic. Four kids under eight-years-old, a teenager who can match Haymitch's humor effortlessly, Jo and Peeta and I swinging insults back and forth like compliments and then Annie, who's quiet and blissful spirit can't be tempered for anything in this world on holidays, and my mother, who feigns oblivious to the chaos surrounding her, all adds up to an interesting affair. Add in the stupid stray cat my daughter adores meowing at the back door and it's practically a circus.

But it's a circus I have found myself loving, more and more, since Indigo joined us. Since I somehow made the most beautiful and intelligent and spirited human being, somehow the dreary outlook I used to hold on this new post-war holiday has turned to excitement.

Maybe it's the fact that eighteen years have passed since the war that stole my sister from me. Or maybe it's that I'm looking forward to who's here now, who's experiencing this holiday with me, who I get to share this day with and witness their enthusiasm.

My daughter.

I never thought, in a million years, I'd have a child of my own. I never thought once that she'd come to exist, that I'd feel safe enough or strong enough or brave enough, to bear bringing something to delicate, something so wonderful and precious and breakable, into this world.

But she has lit up my life in ways I didn't even imagine possible. I thought I was happy, blissfully happy most days, with Peeta. And I was. But that was before I saw what life was like with Indigo and now I can't even picture how miserable and downcast this day would be without her.

As the sky begins to darken outside and Peeta stands up to light candles along the windowsills while Kanon adds logs to the fireplace, my child suddenly starts squirming in her seat. "Can I decorate the tree now?" She asks as I wipe her face with a cloth napkin.

"In a minute, Bean."

"I want to now!" She whines as I scrub the leftover food that didn't make her mouth off her cheek.

"Indigofera," Peeta says in a warning tone.

"I wanna decorate the tree right now," she says in a slightly quieter voice.

"Okay," I murmur, smiling slightly as I drop my hand from her face and let her go. "Go decorate, Sweetie."

With my consent, she practically flies out of her chair and��nearly knocking Evie over—pushes her way to the bag of ornaments Finn brought from Four.

"She didn't get a nap today," I explain to Johanna and my mother, who watched the almost tantrum unfold.

"You were the same," my mother replies and then chuckles. I toss her a look, before I spot Finn lifting Indigo up to place a trident high upon the tree.

My eyes aren't perfect but from where I'm sitting I can make out the name Finnick Odair gracefully carved underneath and my gaze falls on Annie.

She offers me a knowing smile and shrugs. "He wanted to handmake the ornaments himself. Meaningful ones you can't just buy. I wasn't going to discourage him."

I nod, a feeling of pride for some strange reason flooding me. I didn't raise Finn. The indefinite length of my sentence to Twelve was never revisited and, in truth, I had little reason to care enough to fight it. But it did mean I wasn't able to make it to Four, to see my mom or Annie and Finn at my own whim.

But Annie has always made a point to come here, every so often since the war ended. She's written letters and called and sent photos, consistently, for so many years that I've lost track. They were both here the day after I had Indigo. They've never missed any of our birthdays. And I've watched that boy, with his father's tan skin, bronze hair and sea green eyes grow into a man who'd make Finnick proud.

And it's nearly impossible for me not to feel so sort of pride in him as well. If for nothing else, the way he treats my daughter. Always patient, always kind, always ready to play.

"Where'd he get this idea?" I ask, if for no other reason, just to change the subject before I get visibly sentimental. "To decorate a tree, I mean."

Annie's expression shifts and changes slightly. "Coral McGonigill."

Johanna's ears almost noticeably perk up. "Is she is his new flavor of the month?"

"Well, she's lasted for several months," Annie corrects, but doesn't seem too enthusiastic of this girl.

"Do you like her?" I ask, my brow furrowing. I don't even want to imagine my child dating. The idea of her spending time alone, with anyone I don't personally know already drives me nearly to the brink of insanity, but to add in teenage impulses and hormones? My skin is crawling at the thought and I feel a wave of nausea come over me suddenly.

Before Annie can answer though, Haymitch is cutting into the conversation.

"Look at you guys," I hear him guffaw over my shoulder. "Gossiping like old ladies."

Jo throws her fork in his direction, barely missing her target. His left eye and cheek. "Hey, hey, hey," Haymitch bellows now. "Not in front of the children."

"I agree with Haymitch," Delly calls from behind the tree, where she's helping Kendall hang up a pink squirrel ornament.

"Of course you do," Johanna mumbles, loud enough only I can hear, and I have to repress a laugh.

All levity though slips away from my features as I watch Finn hand my child a new ornament. I feel Annie's eyes on me, apprehensive and a little fearful.

The ornament is an angel. It has blonde hair and blue eyes and my sister's exact nose and mouth. She's wearing a skirt and blouse, both pure white, to perfectly match the halo floating above her head. But the skirt is untucked in the back, giving her a duck tail, and it's this fact that registers in my brain. It's this fact that makes me realize that the ornament is Prim, even before I read the name sprawled across the bottom.

Peeta's staring at me now too, but it's my mother that grasps my hand. Our eyes barely meet for a second but we both understand what the other one is thinking.

She should be here. She should be helping decorate the tree. She should be playing with my daughter, who she'd surely love.

But she isn't. Because someone I trusted may or may not have built bombs that killed her. Because a vindictive woman thought that killing her and dozens of other children was the only way to win. Because I was too stupid for too long and didn't see what the real plan was, even as it sat right under my nose.

But she can be here now. If there's anything I learned from Indigo, it's that someone can exist, even in a small part, inside another person. It's that life doesn't have to end at death, as long as someone is around to remember them.

"That's a beautiful ornament, Finn," I say, as evenly and as kindly as I can.

He takes my other hand, his eyes sweet and gentle. "I made it for you. I thought..."

I nod, even though he doesn't finish his sentence. "I know. Thank you."

My mom keeps hold of my palm underneath the table for minutes after everyone else has moved, and even with the issues that still lie between us, I give her fingers a squeeze. Because she's the only one who really understands my grief.

I watch on as the kids decorate the entire tree, top to bottom, with shaped ornaments, ranging from plants to flower to boats to berries to pastries. And a loaf of bread, which Peeta finds particularly funny.

At the end though, all that's left is a large star, clearly meant to sit at the top of the tree. "What is this?" Evie asks Delly, turning it over in her hand.

"That goes on top of the tree," Annie explains, gesturing to the point of the pine near the ceiling.

"How do we get up there?" Rhys asks, stealing the star from his sister, his little eyes confused. "Daddy isn't even that tall."

"Someone's gotta lift us up to the top," Kendall states, munching on something I hope came from her dinner plate and not the floor.

"My daddy can lift me up there!" Indigo suddenly exclaims and reaches her grabby little hands for the star.

Rhys, however, jerks it out of reach automatically. "Why do you get to do it?"

"It's her house," Delly chides her son sternly.

"And she's the youngest, Rhys," Evie says, in a tone that clearly imitates her mother. "Give her the star."

He does so reluctantly and I'm glad that moment passed by quickly, before I had the chance to tell Rhys—as much as I care for him, and I do, deeply—that he better give my kid her star.

I don't even care that this isn't my tradition to start with. My house, my rules. My kid puts the star on the tree, end of story.

"Daddy!" Indigo squeals as Peeta scoops her up in his waiting arms. "Lift me," she commands, holding the large tree-topper with both hands.

Kanon and Haymitch start directing her, as her little eyes can't see to the top, even with Peeta lifting her as high as humanly possible. But when she gets it into place, she grows so excited that her limbs start flailing.

"Look, Daddy! I did that!" She says once he has her on his hip again, pointing to the star she just placed.

"I saw," he enthuses, brushing back the long, dark hair that's almost entirely out of her braid. "You did good!"

And if I thought my heart was melting before, with Finn and Indigo, it explodes when Indigo puts her tiny hands on Peeta's face and turns him towards her. "I love you, Daddy."

His eyes are awed and grateful, as this was all he wanted for years. For years upon years, he remained patient and understanding when I said I wasn't able to give him a child. When I explained all my reasons to why I didn't want a family. He always was respectful of my wishes and of my feelings.

But I saw it in his bright blue eyes, the ones he passed down to our daughter. He wanted a child so badly. He wanted this, this love that Indigo so easily has to offer, that we effortlessly shower her in.

It took me fifteen years to realize that perhaps I wanted it too. Perhaps my fear was overshadowing me from what I truly wanted. Perhaps it was better to have a child and do everything to keep her safe, to fret and worry in addition to love and adore her, rather than to never know that kind of love at all.

"I love you too, Indigo Sky," he murmurs back softly, before she leans in and kisses him.

I feel my mom squeeze my hand again and I know it's not out of sorrow this time, but out of joy. Joy that her child was able to have a family full of so much love. A family so similar to the one she had decades ago.

I squeeze her hand back, feeling horrific now for how angry I was with her for so long. I don't know who I'd be or what I'd do if someone took Peeta or Indigo from me.

"I think Mommy needs to admire the tree," Peeta says, eyeing me conspicuously.

I stand up, looking at the decorations admiringly. Of course, this tree was mainly decorated by young children, so the majority of ornaments gravitate towards the bottom or are clumped into one place, but still, I tell Indigo how pretty it looks and how good of a job she did.

My eye still catches on the Primrose Everdeen angel, hanging right in the center of the tree, and I have to force myself to refrain from tracing the face on it. The details are even more impressive up close and I wonder if Finn has become an artist or if his girlfriend is the talented one.

Just as I'm about to say something, anything really, to take my mind off my deceased sister, a meaty smell fills the air and my stomach lurches without warning.

I propel myself towards the kitchen sink and lose majority of what I just consumed at dinner.

Behind me, I hear a small commotion. Peeta telling Indigo to go to Finn, Delly and Kanon keeping their kids back, Annie and Johanna saying something to Haymitch.

My mom's hand comes in contact with my cheek, feeling my face and pushing the hair that fell from my braid back behind my shoulder. "What happened?"

As I'm about to answer, Peeta comes up to stand on my other side, one hand subtly turning on the water to flush out the sink, while the other rubs my back soothingly.

"I don't know," I croak, as puking always makes my throat raw. "I just smelled something like meat-"

"Told you it was Haymitch's fault," Jo cuts in, clearly speaking to Annie.

"I only asked if this bird was still good," the old, paunchy man defends himself, holding up some game I shot a while back.

"Well, if it makes Katniss throw up just by smelling it, I'd say no," Finn says.

"You don't have a fever," my mother notes, but her eyes are still confused. Though, I will say, not as worried as I thought they might be and for that I'm glad. The last thing I wish to do is ruin everyone's holiday, especially when I've only just started to enjoy this festivity in the last few years.

"I'm fine," I insist, pulling away from both my mother and my husband and wiping my mouth on a cloth quickly. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"Okay, but still sit down," I hear Delly say and I roll my eyes but do so anyways. Because I'm genuinely tired, not because anyone told me to.

"I'm fine, Indigo," I promise when I spot my daughter's scared eyes, still being held in Finn's arms. "I'm just tired."

Peeta follows me to the couch and, even though I wish to refuse out of embarrassment, when he offers me a fizzy water and starts subtly massaging my back, I can't help but lean my head into his chest gratefully.

I still fight the urge to fall asleep right there though. I still conjure up as much willpower as I can to stay alert, to watch Indigo and Kendall play with their stuffed toys, to listen to Finn and Haymitch shoot smart remarks back and forth, to listen to Annie and Jo catch up or my mother and Delly share stories of their vastly different lives.

By the end of the night though, when it's way past all of our bedtimes, as people start to filter out, planning on catching the late night train or taking a shortcut to their houses here in Twelve, my eyelids begin to involuntarily droop.

"You can sleep," Peeta whispers against my forehead. "I'll take care of everything else."

I want to turn down his offer, to say I can help clean up and put Indigo to bed. But when the last of our guests dissipate and Indigo, exhausted herself, climbs into my lap and curls up against me, I lose the battle and doze off right there on the couch.

Hours must pass, because when my eyes crack open again, the flames in the fireplace have been put out, the entire kitchen and living room are clean, and my child is missing.

Of course, those are the first words out of my mouth. "Where's Indigo?"

"I tucked her in. She's in her own bed tonight," Peeta promises, pulling my arm up to wrap around his neck. "I told you I'd take care of everything."

"You didn't have to..." I mumble sleepily as he lifts me up against him.

"Shhh, just go to sleep," he whispers, his lips pressing against my neck then collarbone. "Just rest, Katniss."

When I wake up again, the sun has already risen in the sky. Thankfully though, my child hasn't yet.

Peeta is alert already, propped up on his elbow, when I open my eyes. "Hey," I rasp, my voice not working yet.

"Hey, beautiful," he greets softly and I roll my eyes at the compliment. I do appreciate hearing it though, despite the years we've been together and how some things can lose effect over time. Peeta's little comments and gestures still haven't. They still mean more to me than I'd ever admit.

Now that I'm fully awake, I feel a small bit of embarrassment creeping back in. "Sorry about last night."

His blonde brows twist with confusion. "You mean getting sick? I don't think that's anything for you to be sorry about, Katniss."

"It was just strange," I note, more to myself than to him. "I just smelled the meat Haymitch found and for some reason, my gag reflex couldn't handle it."

The look that crosses his eyes is sly and reserved and I must still be a little foggy from exhaustion, because it's a rare time where I don't understand what he must be thinking.

He changes the subject abruptly anyway. "Did you have a good time yesterday?" He asks kindly.

"Yes," I reply, maybe a little begrudgingly. Considering for years I complained that I hated this newfound holiday, it is both a joy and a joke to Peeta that I look forward to this day now.

"Good," he replies and kisses my forehead, then my mouth warmly. "I like it when my wife is happy."

"Your wife is always happy when she's with you."

He moves back a little to smirk. "Me too."

I can't help teasing him though. "You're always happy when you're with you too?"

"Yes, Katniss, that's exactly what I meant."

I lean up then and kiss him again, this time with more passion. It's a real testament to our marriage that he can still conjure up butterflies in my lower stomach, after almost two decades since we had our first kiss-our first real kiss-in that cave.

"Thank you," I whisper softly as we break apart.

His eyes flicker lightly with confusion. "For what, Sweetheart?"

"For everything. For Indigo and the life we have. For the last eighteen years," I profess, genuinely. Words have always been difficult for me, and they still don't flow at the slightest slip of my tongue, but it's easier now. It's easier with Peeta, just the two of us, and the strong foundation in which our relationship and life is built upon.

Words for him, however, have always come as easy as breathing. "You have made my life so wonderful," he murmurs and tenderly kisses my lips one more time. "Thank you."

Weeks later, the source of my mysterious illness, my nausea and exhaustion, is discovered when we find out I'm pregnant again.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 06

<= Chapter 5

Summary : Lukas gets to have a heart-to-heart discussion with an absolute asshole. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/81015496

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AAAAH I'M SORRY FOR THE TWO MONTHS HIATUS I HAD A WRITER BLOCK---

Anyway uuuh, new chapter, I have no idea if it's good or not but still, here it is. I did my best to offer you a longer chapter as a compensation, it's twice the length of the last one.

Happy reading ! Thank you for waiting all this time.

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Chapter 6 - “Oh. It’s you.”

The rest of the day had been… Quite blurry for the student. After coming back home, he had sat down at his desk, staring into space for… Minutes, hours, he hadn’t been able to tell. It was an understatement to say that he was in shock after what had happened. Even after everything, his mind couldn’t help but think this was just a joke, or that he had imagined the whole thing. But the script in his bag was a proof of the contrary. For a good while, the young man hadn’t found the courage to look back at it, as if it were some sort of cursed object, haunting him. But then, the Conductor’s words came back to him: “learn your text by tomorrow”. An order, a clear one, coming from one of his bosses. The student shivered as he remembered, soon bringing his hands to his face, massaging his closed, tired eyes. Oh, boy, why did he always get in that kind of situation… Even when he was a kid, he would often get dragged in things like this. He had thought this would get better as he grew up, but noooo, of fucking course it wouldn’t. Lukas let out a loud, long, exaggerated sigh, and stood up. He walked to his sofa bed all while dragging his feet and, once he was in front of it, it was like what was left of his energy left him. What a day . With another sigh, the student felt his body fall forward, and it wasn’t long before his face hit one of his pillows. Air was forced out of his lungs by the impact, though he did nothing but grunt in the fabric. Him? An actor? This couldn’t be right, this just… It wasn’t right. Sure, MJ was a jerk, but he still had the skills and the experience! In comparison, Lukas was just a law student- not a bad one, mind you, which only made it even more surprising to see him getting the role. It wasn’t like he had chosen the wrong scholar path, no, on the contrary, he was skilled in his major. But apparently, his bosses had seen something else deep inside that walking shell of anxiety… -“Uuuuugh...” his voice was low and tired. For a moment, he thought he was almost going to fall asleep like this, still wearing his clothes, but he reluctantly sat down. With a look full of weariness and unwillingness, the student’s attention went back to his bag, in which the script was. He didn’t want to learn the lines, and a single glance at his desk full of homework was a good way to understand why. But it seemed like his paycheck was now depending on it, as much as he would have preferred to remain a stagehand… -“Guess I don’t have a choice…” he mumbled, before moving his foot to reach for the bag, making it slide towards him, so he could open it. He supposed that he would be able to scribble down the answers to his homework during his lunch break… Or, at least, he hoped. And so, the young man spent the next two hours learning his lines, saying them out loud, so he could remember them. A good thing about his brain was that it learned pretty well from words and sounds. Thus, by saying them out loud, Lukas was pretty efficient in remembering them. Plus, truth to be told, those lines weren’t exactly as hard to learn as his law books… Not that it was a bad thing, far from it. At least, it made his job far easier. However, he wasn’t going to lie, there were a few parts that were harder to remember. Once he was done, the student hesitated on whether he should go to sleep (the reasonable option) or try to get some of his homework done. Sure, he was pretty tired, and the day had been filled by a lot of diverse emotions… But part of him knew he just wouldn’t be able to fall asleep knowing what awaited him the day after. He had always been very anxious, this was a secret to no one, and especially not himself… However, this whole thing was very new, and it made it all worse. And so… The student ended up staying up late until three in the morning, managing to get most of his homework done. One of the perks of being good at a subject was being fast. Of course, this would have given him much better results if he had worked on it seriously, without all the tiredness and all, but the context wasn’t really allowing him that.

Thus, Lukas packed up his college stuff for the next day and soon went to sleep for one very short night. Oh, well, not his first, far from it. Thankfully, he had a few sleeping meds he had kept from an old treatment, allowing him to fall asleep rather quick. However, this always came at a price- they made waking up a much more difficult moment, as his body was still very much under the influence of the medicine when that happened. And the next morning… Was no exception, especially since he only got to sleep for less than three hours. Fighting the urge to go back to sleep, Lukas managed to get up and prepare himself for college. New clothes, brushing his hair and teeth… It only took him a moment until he was ready to leave his small apartment. Oh, his face, however… It looked like it belonged to a rotten corpse, who had just come back to life… Somewhat. The trip to college was pretty ordinary, and so was his morning and afternoon, actually. He gave his teachers all the papers that were due, he aced one of his oral presentation despite looking like a dead man… No, really, this day was going well, which was surprising considering he was mostly surviving thanks to coffee and to the fear of collapsing in public. Yeah, no, he didn’t want any attention on him… Which was a funny thing to think about, because this was exactly what he was going to get with his new job! Once his classes were over, Lukas took the bus to his workplace, dread settling on his shoulders, heavier and heavier as the minutes passed. Oh, he didn’t want to get that role… Of course, he could tell his bosses, but there was a small part of him, deep down, that was curious about where this would lead him. Now, obviously, being a stagehand was a pretty classic job, one without risks… But this? While he was terrified of screwing up, especially since people would be looking at him… Yeah, there was something that prevented him from refusing this promotion. And, also, if that could piss MJ off, then it was a good bonus. The studio reception was calm compared to the day before and, for a moment, just a small moment, the student thought his shift was going to be nice. But ooh, no, he couldn’t have nice things- the moment he opened the door leading to the staff areas, he winced as many voices echoed around him. They were coming from all directions, through walls, doors too! It was a large cacophony in there, and people were running around, carrying stuff and bringing props for each shooting. Actions movies, dramas, comedies… Each type had its own part of the studio, but there was this central room linking them all together and, oh, this place was just a battlefield. Moving fast through the agitated crowd, Lukas tried to reach his accredited part of the studio- the children shows shootings. Avoiding props almost falling on his feet accidentally, sneaking between people carrying hot coffee, and bending down to avoid planks being carried around… He bumped into someone just before he got to open the door leading to his area. -“Oh, I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, quickly moving back, so he could apologize properly to the person he had bumped into. However, his eyes widened when he recognized the figure in front of him. Mike! The good twin. For a second, the latter’s face had alarmed him, as he thought he had bumped into MJ instead… But thankfully, while having the same face, the two brothers had very different hairstyles and fashion choices. The student let out a sigh- phew, he wasn’t sure he would have been ready for MJ’s bullshit right at the beginning of his shift. -“Oh, hey!” Mike seemed almost as surprised as he was, though his expression quickly changed to a warm, welcoming one: “Good to see you again- oh, wait, let’s, uh… Get inside,” he then mumbled, opening the door quickly so they both could leave the absolute war zone they were in. Lukas didn’t lose any time and followed the other like a shadow would, only getting the opportunity to sigh in relief as they found themselves in a much quieter place. Kinda ironic that the children shows part of the

studio was calmer than the staff hall... -“Hey,” he finally replied, now that the “battlefield” was behind them: “It’s good to see you too,” he answered trustfully, with a smile. He hadn’t seen the other since MJ’s outburst the day before, and getting the chance to meet him again was a good way of making Lukas’ day a little better and… Less chaotic. -“How are you?” he then asked, deciding to take a moment for a conversation with his only friend in the studio so far. Plus, he was… Worried. With what had happened the day before, and how MJ had thrown Mike’s puppet on the floor like it was nothing, he wanted to make sure everything was okay. -“Oh, I’m… Doing fine,” the other looked away with an awkward smile, which was an obvious sign that things had definitely happened yesterday. With how furious the actor had been when leaving the shooting, Lukas could very well imagine the latter taking his frustration on his brother. What an asshole. But, it was family business, and he couldn’t say anything about it, as a stranger. -“What about you?” Mike added quickly, visibly determined on changing the topic: “I heard you got the role, yesterday. Congrats!” The praise took the student by surprise, and he felt his cheeks reddening from the embarrassment. Oh, man, this was new, yeah… He wasn’t used to that kind of thing. His stance tensed up, and a sheepish smile took place on his lips. -“Oh, uh… Thanks,” he blurted out, and it was his turn to look away: “It’s… Really weird, I guess I’m just… Feeling a bit shocked, you know?” he turned his head back to his new friend and a nervous giggle escaped him. He was fidgeting, not really knowing how to respond to that. -“Ah, yeah, it’s your first time,” Mike nodded, remembering that Lukas had first been hired as a stagehand, not as an actor: “Don’t worry, children shows are the perfect way to start as a beginner. You know, with the public being less critical and all… I’m sure you’ll get used to it in no time.” The puppet maker was kind, trying to reassure Lukas and ease his anxiety. Too bad that his stage fight was skyrocketing since the moment he had stepped in the building again… Another nervous giggle left his lips, and he started to rub his arm, not knowing what to do with his hands. -“I suppose so…” he muttered, still smiling, though it looked less genuine: “It’s just that… I mean… Why me? I’m just a guy who wanted a part-time job. I’m not an actor, I don’t have any experience…” -“Well, from what I’ve heard, you were pretty good yesterday- oh, speaking about that…” Mike’s face darkened, as if he had just remember to mention something unpleasant: “I think you should… Avoid MJ, as much as you can, from now on. My brother, he’s… He didn’t take it well, I’m not gonna lie, and… I mean, you saw how he is with people, he’s not the best at being with others. Now, with what happened yesterday, I don’t think he’ll make your life any easier.” The student grimaced as he listened to his friend. Yeah… Yeah, he had seen that coming. With how livid MJ had been when leaving the set, it wasn’t surprising that the latter was going to make his shifts hell. God, he really hoped he would manage to avoid that jerk… -“Yeah, I… Kinda expected that,” he admitted, tilting his head to the side with a wince: “But, uh… Since he’s not part of the team anymore, I shouldn’t run too much into him… Right?” -“I wish I’d say yes, but…” Mike answered, his face showing conflict: “He has some other roles in the studio, and he might come see me now and then, so… Yeah. Be careful and do your best to avoid him. He’s not… The best person to be around when he’s like this.” “Oh, you mean all the time, then?” Lukas thought to himself, but kept his mouth shut. Not the best thing to say out loud, especially when it came to said person’s twin. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why Mike was making so many efforts for someone that clearly didn’t deserve them… But, then again, he was a stranger, it wasn’t his place to say anything. -“Will do,” he assured his friend, before looking at his watch and- oh, shit, he was going to

be late. Apparently, it must have been visible from his expression, because the puppet maker let out a soft giggle: -“Oh, yeah, it’s time,” he looked up, as if he were trying to remember something: “Last time I saw the Conductor and DJ Grooves, they were in the conference room with some investors. You should go practice in the meantime… My workshop is open, if you want,” he offered with a shrug: “It’s a small room, but I’m normally the only one there, so if you wanna have some quiet, alone time to rehearse, well… I need to help the stagehands for some set repairs, so I won’t bother you.” The offer was a really nice attention, another one that did help to make Lukas’ day a little better. Considering his promotion, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to help the other stagehands while waiting for his bosses, but… Well, practicing really wouldn’t hurt, especially considering how short his night had been. -“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he gave Mike a warm smile, before pointing to a door on the other side of the room: “It’s this one, right?” he asked for confirmation. -“Yep, that’s the one! Just, uh… Please don’t touch anything, most of the puppets and costumes aren’t done, so they’re quite fragile.” Lukas assured him he wouldn’t, and even then, he didn’t have any reason to. At least, contrary to his friend’s twin, he knew how to respect someone’s work… And with that, the two waved to one another, before heading to opposite directions. The student walked to the door with a quick pace, wanting to get as much time as possible to practice. When he opened it, he was surprised to see that, yeah, the room was pretty small indeed, even smaller than what he had imagined. The place was full of puppets hanging from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in eccentric and colorful clothes. It was almost eye straining! Two out of the four corners of the rooms were used to stock supplies and different types of fabric, making the room even smaller than it originally was. Then, hidden in the third corner was a desk with a sewing machine on top of it. It looked like an old but durable one, the kind that would last years even if it was out-of-date. Other than that, the desk was full of smaller supplies, like needles, sewing threads, pens, pieces of paper, templates… It was like this room had no free space other than the center of it. Well, Lukas supposed this is where he would rehearse, then. Not like there were many other option… The young man closed the door behind him and made a few steps, his eyes looking all around him. He didn’t think it was possible to fit so many things in a single room, but, hey, he was wrong! He then shook his head- it was time to work. After clearing his throat, the student opened his bag and took the script out, flipping the pages up to the parts he had the most trouble remembering. Oh, jeez, he really was doing this, wasn’t he? This was so weird… But whatever paid his bills and his studies, he guessed. And so… He got to work. It was a lot easier to practice when there was no one around. No one to judge him, no one to mock him when he fucked up… Yeah, it made it all easier. Sure, he didn’t have any experience in it, but at least he had to admit it was pretty fun. Nonetheless, he still had no idea why the two directors chose him over an experienced actor like MJ… Like, of course he had noticed the latter was a huge asshole, but other than that, his acting skills were obvious. Maybe he was being used to give MJ a lesson…? This seemed like the most probable explanation. After all, MJ’s presence in the casting was supposed to bring attention to the show… And now, one of the most important roles had been given to a nobody instead. It didn’t seem like a good idea, marketing-wise. Law was his specialty, but that didn’t mean he was stupid when it came to other things. Lukas couldn’t believe he had been chosen for his “talents”, because he had none on that field. After a moment, he paused his practice, shutting his eyes and letting out an exaggerated sigh. Shit, this was distracting him. He couldn’t focus

on his lines. His acting skills, if he had any, were affected by it. It was like something was entering his mind from one side only to disappear through another. Memorizing the words was harder than he had thought it would be the day before, and he couldn’t help but grunt in frustration. Fuck, he knew he was able to remember those lines, he had learned much more complex texts before! This script was simple, so the young man put the blame on his short night of sleep. Furthermore, it was hard to memorize something only by starting the day before… He was about to start again when he heard the door opening behind him, cutting him short. The student turned to the direction of the noise, expecting to see Mike’s face and… Well, in a way, he kinda did. Except it wasn’t Mike. It was MJ, the evil twin. “Oh, fuck me,” he thought, paling up. For fuck’s sake, right after Mike told him to avoid his brother! Was it a joke or something?! Before he even got the chance to speak, MJ’s expression changed from a neutral one to one of utter disgust. Yeah, clearly, the other had expected to see his twin, but… Nope, Lukas had been the one in the room. “Lesson learned, never going back in that workshop alone,” the student told himself, though it was way too late to do anything about it. -“Oh. It’s you,” the actor spat, this time not trying to keep his nice mask on like he had been when they had met the day before: “The fuck are you doing here?” The celebrity’s eyes were glaring at him, all while examining him from top to bottom. It was… Very unpleasant, to be stared at this way. And being talked to like that? Yeah, no, Lukas was perhaps a shy person, but he didn’t want to let anyone walk all over him, especially not an asshole like MJ. Usually, he tended to flee conflict, but today was different. He was way too tired to deal with this shit. -“Yes , hello to you too,” he muttered as an answer, quickly putting his attention back to the script: “Your brother’s not here, but he told me I could use the room in the meantime.” Apparently, his tone didn’t please the actor, whose eyes narrowed in response: -“No kidding, I can see my brother’s not here, dumbass,” he shrugged and rolled his eyes: “I’m not blind.” Oooh, the insult didn’t fall on deaf ears, and it really rubbed Lukas the wrong way. He turned to the celebrity again, this time returning the latter’s glare: -“Well, good for you, I guess,” the student spoke louder than his previous mutter. His annoyance was much more visible, though he still remained polite: “If you’re looking for Mike, he’s with the stagehands.” -“Didn’t ask,” the actor retorted harshly. The other’s eyes then fell on the script, and his expression darkened. Well, shit, this couldn’t be good- and, just like Lukas had predicted, it wasn’t. MJ’s look of hatred was soon replaced by a mocking yet salty expression, one that the student really didn’t like. -“Aw, am I interrupting something?” the celebrity taunted him, leaning against the door frame as a smirk took place on his lips. -“Actually, yes. You are,” Lukas’ patience was running out. God, he wanted to punch that guy so bad… Well, not like he would ever do that, he wasn’t that kind of person. Still, the urge was there. In response to his honest words, the actor scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes again. God, that fucking asshole… -“What, don’t tell me you honestly think you have what it takes!” MJ’s tone had changed from a mocking one to a harsher, meaner one: “You have no idea how to play a role- lemme guess, you never had any theater courses before, hm?” At Lukas’ silence, the celebrity snickered bitterly: -“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re just a nobody, a guy who happened to be there at the right time. But you, an actor? Don’t make me laugh. You don’t know shit about acting.” Okay, now that was enough. Politeness was nice and all, but with this guy? No, nu-huh, nope, not happening. In an instant, Lukas’ attempts at remaining civil were thrown away through a window. No one could talk to him like that, and not even his anxiety was

going to silence him. -“Oh, I don’t know shit about acting, that’s right,” he talked back, his tone much more aggressive: “But at least I know how to be a decent person.” -“Excuse me?” MJ’s face showed a mix of bewilderment and fury, probably because no one ever confronted him like this in the past: “I didn’t steal someone else’s job!” -“Hah, that’s rich!” the student scoffed, raising his arms with a scandalized expression: “You lost your job! I didn’t do anything!” his voice echoed in the room as his anger intensified: “If you weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d have kept your place in the-” However, the student didn’t even get the time to finish his sentence. The celebrity had dashed towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, bringing their face close as an intimidating gesture: -“Watch your fucking mouth,” was the warning he got from the other, whose eyes were fixed on his: “There are so many things I could do to make your life a living Hell. I have a lot of strings I can pull, and if I were you, I wouldn’t risk that,” the actor’s voice had got lower, like a murmur, a clear threat directed to him. But Lukas was just getting so fucking tired of it. Enough was enough. He grabbed the celebrity’s hand and pulled it away, forcing the latter to let go of him. -“So, let me get this straight: you want to destroy me because I pointed out how much of a jerk you were to everyone? And you still think you’re the decent person out of us two? You might want to rethink that, buddy.” The response he got was yet another glare, though this time there was no spiky answer. “Of course I’m right, asshole, can’t say anything back, now, can you?” he thought to himself, pride swelling inside him. Man, this was perhaps the first argument he ever won… Holy shit, yeah, it was- and he didn’t even stutter! Maybe he needed to be tired more often- yeah, no, that wasn’t a good idea. Air was forced out of his lungs as he was pushed away, though despite the fear of being punched, it never came. The look of pure hatred he was getting from MJ was almost burning him and, for a moment, he really thought he would get attacked- being someone who had never fought anyone, he wasn’t really confident about his abilities to fight back. But all MJ did was to step back to the door, a furious expression written all over his face: -“You wanna play that game with me?” he spat: “Fine. But mark my words, stagehand, I will win.” And not even giving Lukas the time to retort anything, the actor stormed off the room and slammed the door behind him. It screamed “ I am mad, and I want everyone to know that”. Lukas, however, did not give a single fuck about it. Perhaps it was the tiredness speaking (and it was), but if the other wanted to fight, then Lukas would be ready. Well, he probably wouldn’t in hindsight, once his mind cleared up… But at the moment, the young man’s anger was making him blind to many aspects. One of them being that MJ was a famous person who was indeed capable of destroying him, and making him fail his studies with just the right calls. But this wasn’t something Lukas would realize before calming down. And only then, he would ask himself “why the hell couldn’t I keep my mouth shut like usual?!” Until that moment… The student kept rehearsing, though his anger prevented him from actually anything. Today was going to be a long day…

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hopefully Lukas won't have too much trouble with this jerk of an actor :)c (who I love with all my heart)

=> Chapter 7

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Eight) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, poorly written smut

a/n: here’s a link to the song in the second part, which is essentially the inspiration behind this love story (even tho his entire discography played a part). there’s one more part after this plus the epilogue! again, thank you for reading along :)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

September 2019 - Denver, CO

You can see it on his face. Tyson’s clearly trying not to panic, and you’re kind of unsure why. He was fine the first two hours you were over at his house, helping him pack. But now, he’s folded and unfolded the same crewneck sweatshirt at least eight times and you’re about to yank it out of his hands and tell him that you’ll just do it. 

His room was a mess. His large set of hard-shell suitcases open and scattered on the floor, a pile of garment bags on his bed filled with his suits, and a box collecting his random knick-knacks by his bathroom door. His alternative playlist was playing through the speakers on his laptop that sat on his bed, filling the periodic silence between you two. You were both sitting criss-cross applesauce on his floor, packing up his dresser, when you decided to finally cut in.

“Tyson,” you call out. “You doing okay there? You’ve been folding the same sweater for five minutes.”

He folds the sweater one more time before finally placing it in his suitcase, “I’m fine.”

Your heart sinks a little and your lips form a pout at his mumbling, knowing instantly it was just him not wanting to talk. Your hands stop folding the pair of jeans in your hands and you drop them to your folded legs. You sit up, bringing yourself to your knees, and crawl over to kneel behind Tyson’s sitting figure. 

“Hey,” you whisper, wrapping one arm around his torso and resting your head on the back of his shoulder. You run a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp and twirling some of his curls through your fingers. Tyson leans back into you, taking in the extra weight you’re putting onto him. “Talk to me.”

“I’m just anxious. I’ve never lived by myself before,” he admits. “I’m excited, but still.”

“It’s all a part of growing up,” you sigh. He’s probably already heard that statement from his family members and even guys on the team, but you knew that when you heard that, it helped. “Besides, don’t the older guys always check in on the younger guys when they start living on their own?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Tys. Living on your own is refreshing, trust me. You’ll find out so many new things about yourself and it’s not like you’ll be by yourself 24/7. Especially with how social you are,” you reassure with a smile as you rub his shoulders. You could tell he was nervous prior to packing. Every time he had called you to talk about a new place he found over the summer he just rambled and nit-picked the place apart. His pros and cons list looked more like a maybe and a no list by the time he finally settled on the Cherry Creek apartment. 

“Can we take a break? I think it’d ease my mind a bit.” He asks, gesturing to the mess in front of him. 

“Sure.” You twist your body around Tyson’s. “Only if I can have a kiss.”

Tyson playfully scoffs and rolls his eyes before leaning in and placing a smiley kiss on your lips. The kiss is quick, and you pull away to stand, pulling him up with you. 

“You want to figure out plans for dinner? I don’t know about you but this packing is making me hungry,” Tyson says, changing the subject.

You two end up deciding on getting sushi from your favorite place, a spot where you knew the owners by name at this point. You spend the time sharing your favorite stories from the Rookie House, Tyson not missing a chance to chirp JT about his Fortnite addiction. Your favorite memory being the one time you and Tyson were in the living room and Kerfy and his girlfriend had set off the smoke detectors while trying to cook.

“I think my best memory was move-in day,” Tyson swallows. He grabs another piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “I was on cloud nine knowing that I had made the team and then I crossed the street to go meet my neighbor and I just about shit my pants when you walked in.”

A strangled cough comes out of your mouth in response to Tyson’s statement. You grab your drink next to you and try to swallow down the remnants of your food that you’ve swallowed incorrectly.

“Actually,” Tyson ponders, changing his mind. “That might not be my favorite memory, but it definitely led to a fuck ton of my favorite memories.”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you turn your head to look at Tyson. He’s not even looking at you and is focused on the container of sushi in front of him. Your eyes water and you blink at the thought of all of his favorite memories in this house over the past two years all stemmed from you. More specifically, stemmed from the off-chance that the two of you even reconnected in the first place. You smile softly, blinking away the tears in your eyes, setting your chopsticks down and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention. 

He turns to look at you, and the expression on his face shows that he doesn’t even fully understand the weight those words had as he spoke them to you. Looking into his eyes, it hits you. This was fate. Tyson Jost sitting in front of you was the universe’s doing. All of the comments you got since meeting Tyson flow through your mind as you stare into his eyes silently. One sticking out more than the others.

I knew you two would somehow find each other

“What?” Tyson asks, breaking you from your thoughts. He’s chewing the last bit of his sushi roll, and you bring your thumb up to wipe at the soy sauce that gathered in his mustache. 

“Nothing, nothing,” You shrug. “Just really happy is all.” You turn your attention back to your sushi, finishing the last few pieces before Tyson’s up and throwing away the containers.

Once he makes his way back over to you, he pulls you into his chest, placing a kiss on your lips. 

“Your breath smells like seaweed,” you chirp against his lips.

“Are you gonna stop kissing me because of it?” He asks, pulling away slightly.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” He laughs, pulling your face back to his to reconnect his lips with yours. His lips move along yours softly, your hands moving against the expanse of his chest as he moves his hands along your torso until one lands on the side of your face. The hand on your waist finds its way underneath your t-shirt, squeezing the bare flesh lightly. He’s pulling you tighter against his body, crowding you around the counter behind you. As the kiss deepens, his groin brushes against your pelvis, causing a growing heat in your stomach and between your legs. You twist your hands under the cotton of his shirt to feel the warmth of his back.

“So now that we’re moving out you’re gonna start making out with people in the kitchen?” 

A voice, you recognize as JT makes you pull away. You drop your forehead to Tyson’s shoulder before lifting it back up. You give JT a tight-lipped smile, heat rising to your cheeks. His jaw drops open and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead before he stutters over his next words,

“Oh. Hey, y/n.”

“Hey, JT.”

He disappeared up the stairs just as fast as he entered the house.

“Sorry, I thought he had already finished moving to his new place,” Tyson apologizes, pushing a hand through your hair.

“Does he know anything about what’s going on between us?” You ask, sheepishly. 

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, scratching at the back of his head. “I might’ve called him a few days after you left Canada to tell him and get advice.”

“And what did he say?”

“That’s a secret.”

You playfully shove at his chest and he stumbles backward. “Fine. Let’s get a move on this packing. We’re almost done.”

You playfully slap at Tyson’s ass before pushing him towards the stairs, a task made difficult by the brunette due to his size and unwillingness to move. After a few more shoves and the promise of a kiss, he’s finally heading down the stairs so he can finish packing up the remainder of his clothes.

--

“Hey,” you shout as you walk through the front door of Tysons’ apartment, announcing your presence. Tyson’s sitting on his couch, watching something on the tv. “I texted Kacey and-“

“Wait. You texted my sister?” Tyson asks a hint of awe and confusion in his tone.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. I texted your sister for your grandma’s almond butter cookie recipe and now I’m here because I thought we could bake them together.” You had known he had already started to miss St. Albert even after only being gone for a little over a week. This was the first time you really got a taste of what an NHL off-season was like and when you were in Kelowna, you could start to fathom how hard it was for Tyson to leave home every summer. The least you could do was help make that transition a little easier for him.

Tyson joins you shortly as he watches you fill the contents of your canvas grocery bag onto his kitchen island. He picks up the jar of almond butter before setting it back down. 

“You know I don’t bake.”

“There’s always time to learn, Tys,” you state. “And now’s a perfect time!”

A laugh slips out of Tyson’s mouth at your eagerness. He goes quiet after, thinking back to the comment you first made about how you texted his sister. His heart swells at the thought of it, at the thought of you and his sister possibly becoming friends. His heart swells, even more, knowing that Kacey didn’t really have an older female influence in her life that wasn’t their mom or a relative, or even her teammates at school. He wants to ask you how often you talk to her, but he decides against it, not wanting to intrude.

The last thing you pull out is a plastic mixing bowl and utensils to properly make the cookies. Tyson laughs at the extra tools, to which you reply with a scoff,

“I literally helped you move, I know you don’t have the things to bake.”

He throws his hands up in defense before poking at your side, causing you to squeal. You slap his hands away, telling him to focus. The two of you get through making the cookie dough pretty easily, as Tyson was attentive to your directions for once. It’s moreso you mixing the ingredients together as Tyson hands you what you need while he tells you about the start of training camp. You let him press the almonds on the tops of each cookie and you hop up onto the counter as he puts them into the oven. 

“I have a question to ask you,” Tyson announces as he shuts the oven door.

“Shoot,” you answer.

“So every year in November we have the Mile High Dreams Gala. It’s this huge charity event all of the Denver sports teams host,” he starts, moving to stand in between your open legs. He places his hands on your thighs, rubbing his thumbs softly over the exposed skin. “And I know it’s not for another two months, but I’d love for you to come with me.”

“Like one where you wear a nice suit and I wear a fancy dress?” You ask curiously.

“Yeah one like that,” he chuckles. 

You ponder the idea for a minute, puckering your lips in thought. “On one condition, you come with me to the Dermot Kennedy concert in a few weeks.”

“I thought you and Caitlyn were going?” He asked, confused.

“She was supposed to, yeah, but Jack’s brother is getting married that weekend.”

“Sounds like you’re gonna need to start shopping for a new dress then,” Tyson smiles.

A comfortable silence falls around the both of you as you scrape your finger on the side of the mixing bowl, picking up the remnants of the raw cookie dough before plopping it into your mouth. 

His thumbs continue to rub small circles on your thighs before he breaks the silence, “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” you start, hesitantly. When Tyson usually wanted to talk to you about something specific, he usually just came right out and said it. The fact that he’s asking you first makes you avoid his gaze, and you look at the small, potted plant behind him that’s sitting on his tv stand in the distance. You swallow thickly, trying your best to suppress the burst of anxiety coursing through your veins. 

“You asked me the other day if JT knew about what was going on between us, and he does, but -” Tyson takes a deep breath, stopping himself. His thumbs stop moving on your thighs, and you grab his hands in hopes of giving him comfort. “But, I’m not even sure what’s going on between us. You came to Canada, and I don’t know, there was just this huge shift between us and we haven’t really talked about it. I know I’ve only been back for a week and it’s always a hectic first few weeks back for me-”

“Tys, you’re rambling,” you interrupt. “Take a breath.”

“I really don’t know how to talk about it because it’s so new and intense. You’re my best friend and I don’t know how to even talk about taking it further or even how, really.”

“I don’t really know either,” you admit, playing with his fingers where they’re joined with yours. “But I really like this and it doesn’t even feel that different than before.”

“I do know that this is what I want. I want to sit here and talk about the universe with you. I want you to help me prank my friends and for you to tell me when I’m being immature. And at the same time, I want to be there to tell you when you need to let loose and be the one you go to about work even though I don’t understand a thing that comes out of your mouth when you do,” he explains. His nervousness seems to be gone as he focuses on your reaction. It was a lot for him to come out and admit these things, and you know that. 

As he spoke, the feelings you felt from the last day at his old house came flooding back. The man in front of you was fate, and he clearly felt that you were put in his life for a reason as well. All of the little things with him like napping, cooking, going to his games, and the bigger things like meeting his family, and spending time with him outside of Denver really meant just as much to him as it did to you. You’re finally starting to see it and the way he’s talking to you has perfectly mirrored his previous actions. 

“Tyson,” you start, your voice cracking. You take a deep breath and sniffle, holding yourself back from letting any tears out. Tyson lets go of your hands quickly, bringing his up to your face, grasping your cheeks.

“Hey,” he says leveling his head with yours to get better direct eye contact. “What we’re not gonna do is cry.”

“You can’t say things like that to me and not expect me to cry,” you sniff, a few tears escaping from the inner corners of your eyes. Tyson catches them before they can even leave mascara smudges. “Ever since you walked into that study room at school, you were all I wanted. I just wasn’t ready.”

Tyson looks at you in a questioning manner. You can see it in his eyes, he wants to ask you if you’re ready now, if you’re ready to dive head-first into being with him romantically. You lift one of your hands and place it on where his hand is still on your cheek. Looking at him, you feel the same way you think you’ve always felt about him-- a way you were too scared to admit to yourself, a way you sometimes even avoided feeling. However, in this moment,, you know you’re ready for more with him.

“I want you, in every way possible.”

Tyson leans further in, his hands still on either side of your face. The intensity combined with the softness of his gaze has your body feeling weightless, the warmth from his hands keeping you grounded. He leans in all the way, capturing your lips with his in a passionate, heated kiss. He slides his hands from where they were on your cheeks to the junction of your waist, pulling you to the edge of the counter and closer to him. 

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles and digging your heels into his ass, urging him to come impossibly closer. Your hands brush over the expanse of his chest, and up to the back of his neck, where you lightly scrape your nails. He bites at your lip, letting out a small moan when his groin brushes over your clothed center. Pushing your hands up his torso underneath his shirt, you tug on it letting him know you want him to take it off. He pulls away, just for enough time to peel his shirt off, before latching his lips right back on yours.

Your hands travel around his torso, your fingers dipping into the curves and definitions of his muscles. You’ve never felt so connected to someone with just kissing, and you’re trying to memorize where every line is on his toned torso because you never want to forget this feeling-- the feeling of pure elation and pure want deep in your bones.

His lips traveling down your jaw and to your neck pulls you from your thoughts. His lips kiss lightly against your warm skin, adding a coolness before he softly bites down when your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Tys, baby,” you moan out. He hums against you, not wanting to take his lips away from your skin. “We can’t keep doing this on kitchen counters.”

Your request has Tyson pulling away from you and he picks you up, hands squeezing at your ass as he walks you to his bedroom. When he drops you onto the bed, he crawls over you, eyes dark. You lick your lips as you look down his torso once more, fully being able to appreciate his athletic build with no shame for once. He smiles widely as he leans further in, reconnecting your lips.

His hand pushes your shirt up your torso, revealing your lacy bralette. He pulls one cup aside, exposing your hardening nipple before wrapping his lips around it. Your hips buck up at the feeling and when he pulls away to switch to the other nipple, you take the opportunity to pull your shirt off over your head. You’re lost in the scent of his shampoo, a combination of sage and lemon. Once he gives your nipples ample attention, he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach, kissing above the waistband of your running shorts. Hooking his fingers under the material and his eyes flick to look at your face, making sure he has the okay before he’s pulling them off your legs.

“You need to tell me that you’re sure you want to do this,” Tyson breathes out heavily. “This is so much more than-”

“I know. I want this, I want you,” you interrupt, reassuring him of your intentions, running your hands through his curls. He smiles up at you, before dipping his head down between your thighs. The warmth of his breath combined with your view of him has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head. 

His tongue peeks out of his mouth as he licks at his lips, looking up at you. His eyes focus back onto your center, and his tongue sticks back out again, this time licking a stripe up your folds. His hands rub along your thighs, pushing your knees to the bed, leaving more room for his torso. The heavy grip on your thighs disappears and you feel his thumb find your clit. The new pressure eclipses a moan from you as he fucks his tongue into you.

His thumb continues to rub your clit, your hips grinding up against his face to get as much friction from him as possible. His other hand comes to lay flat against your lower stomach, pushing your down to keep you from moving. He lifts his face up, thumb still on your clit.

“Stay still,” he demands, looking up at your face. You lift up to rest on your elbows, giving yourself a better view of Tyson’s head between your thighs and nod in understanding. Your eyes stay focused on him, as he looks back down at your pussy and lets spit drop out of his mouth. The action has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the cool sensation on your hot folds has you gasping and throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He spreads the wetness around, this time focusing his tongue’s movements on your clit. He pumps a finger into you, curling his finger to find your sweet spot. He adds another finger, and you focus on the wet sounds coming from your center.

“Tyson,” you whine, threading your fingers through his hair once again. Your grip tightens as you feel the familiar pressure start to build. Tyson groans against your clit and wraps his lips around the small bundle of nerves, bringing you to your high. He licks at your folds through your orgasm, only pulling away when your grip on his hair loosens. His lips are redder than normal and swollen and his beard is glistening from your juices. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand as he crawls back over you, setting some of his weight on your body as he kisses you.

As your lips move against him, a whine escapes your mouth when you feel the outline of his dick through his shorts. You reach your hand down to wrap your fingers around his clothed member, and Tyson moves one of his hands to push both his shorts and underwear off. 

“Fuck,” he curses against your mouth as he feels your thumb swipe against the tip of his cock. His hips buck into your hand, and you start to push at his chest to make him flip over onto his back. He’s hesitant to follow your movements, and you pull away from his lips,

“I wanna blow you,” you mumble against his lips.

“You can do it another time,” he asserts. “Just wanna be inside you.”

You nod, kissing down his jaw, sucking marks across his neck and shoulders. He leans up on his elbows, pulling away to grab at his nightstand.

“No, no condom. I’m on birth control.”

“You sure?” Tyson asks, hand still on his nightstand drawer. You nod your head yes, and he groans, presumably at the thought of him being inside you, bare. Finally, he crawls back over you, pushing one of your knees up into your chest. His lips leave yours, his forehead resting on yours. Gripping his member, he spreads his tip through your folds, gathering your wetness.

“Please,” you whine, squeezing one of your hands around his bicep as his tip catches against your clit. His eyes caught yours once again as he pushed himself inside you slowly. Your mouth drops open at the feeling, a choked out moan coming out. 

He picks up a slow yet steady rhythm fucking into you, one arm hooking under your thigh keeping you spread open for him. His lips move roughly against yours, your mouth silencing his moans. 

His lips detach from yours and he brings his other hand to rub his fingers at your clit. His eyes focus on yours and his pace slows down slightly. He’s hitting inside you deep and you can feel every part of him against you. You bring your hand to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing against his bottom lip. If you thought the connection when the two of you were kissing was a lot, the connection you felt now, with him buried deep inside of you, was a million times that. He pauses his thrusts, his member buried deep in you. 

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” you whisper. Tyson, a man usually of many words, opts for a silent response and kisses you deeply. With one hand on his face, you hold him to you as he starts moving again. Trailing his kisses down your neck he finds your sweet spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

“You feel so good, fuck.”

He picks up his pace, fucking you slowly, yet hard, as you both try to savor this

movement between the two of you. The finger rubbing your clit picks up speed and your fingers around his bicep tighten, leaving crescent marks behind. 

“I’m close,” you breathe out. Your walls tighten around his member as you tightly close your eyes. Tyson brings his mouth back up to yours, kissing you until you’re pulling away with a loud moan as your orgasm rushes over you. He fucks you through it, leaving some pressure on your clit even when your high has passed. His orgasm follows yours soon after, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside of you.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, too.” He says. You kiss him fully, whining against his lips as he pulls his member from you. He flops down next to you, pulling your body tight into his chest. Your hand falls over his heart, the skin there sticky and shining from sweat. Your breath falls in line with his, and your eyes close briefly. His fingers push through your hair, trying his best to smooth out the knots that were previously created. He tugs a little harder, tilting your head up so you’re looking at him.

He opens his mouth before his face twists. He inhales deeply, his eyebrows furrowed as he turns his focus away from you.

“What’s that smell?” Tyson asks. You waft some of the air around you towards your face and that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“The cookies!” You shriek, jumping up and detangling your limbs from Tyson’s. His booming laughter fills your ears as you run to the kitchen to inspect the damage. Turning the oven off with a beep, and taking out the burnt cookies, Tyson’s body appears behind you. 

He places a kiss on your bare shoulder where the blanket started to slip, “God, I could get used to this.”

His whisper against your skin causes a shiver to run through your body. Once the burnt cookies are on top of the oven, you turn around in Tyson’s arms, leaning up to brush your nose against his.

“Me too.”

September 2019 - Red Rocks, CO

 “Tyson, I don’t think you understand how excited I am!” You exclaim as you go to hug him hello at the door. “I’ve literally been looking forward to this since I got the tickets in February!”

Tyson chuckles into your neck. Letting go, you walk back into your kitchen. Tyson follows closely behind, watching you grab your water bottle and your purse. 

“Hey, I didn’t know this picture was taken,” Tyson gestures to the photo of the two of you hanging on your fridge. You smile as you look at the photo he’s pointing to. It’s from a home playoff game in the second round, a few days prior to them being knocked out. The picture in question is you and him after the game outside the locker room. He’s dressed in his navy game-day suit,holding his tie, phone, and headphones in one hand, while the other arm is wrapped around your torso. Your hand is squeezing his cheeks, forcing his smile to be somewhat squished. 

“Yeah, I went through the pictures on my phone after I got back from Canada to see what I wanted to get printed and saw that one.” You answer with a smile. “It was too good a memory to not put somewhere.”

Tyson’s smile slightly widens, remembering the night in question vividly. He was on a post-game high. He had scored a goal that game, helping propel the team to force a Game 7 in San Jose. You had gone to the game by yourself, sitting with some of the WAG’s and family members of the team and enjoyed every minute of playoff hockey in the Can with people you normally didn’t attend games with. 

“It’s a nice picture,” he compliments quietly, dropping his hands back down to his sides. He follows you to your front door, watching you as you slip on your Doc Martens. You’re wearing a one-sleeved bodysuit, paired with a pair of patchwork jeans.

You let him know you’re all ready to go, standing up and placing your hands on his chest and placing a kiss to his lips. Your eyes are wide and bright when you pull away, emphasized by your long eyelashes, and he doesn’t think you’ve stopped smiling in the few minutes he’s been here.

“Thank you again for going to this concert with me so last minute. I know you don't really like this type of music,” You say, referring to the Dermot Kennedy concert you’re getting ready for.

“He’s your favorite artist, I’ll be fine, Y/n,” Tyson reassures. “Besides, it’s an excuse for me to dance with no judgment.”

Hopping into Tyson’s SUV, you snatch the aux cord before he can protest and play your driving playlist on Spotify. The 45-minute car ride to Red Rocks from your place is spent with all the windows down, your feet up on the dash, enjoying the cool, Denver summer, and its almost fall-like air. Your playlist is bouncing through the speakers for most of it, both of you singing at the tops of your lungs. Joyful laughter keeps interrupting both of you, too excited and infatuated with the other.

As Tyson pulls into the amphitheater parking lot, you turn the radio down, taking in the sights around you. The bright oranges and reds of the canyon rocks shock you - you had looked at plenty of photos of Red Rocks Canyon since you had moved here, but none of those did justice to the sight in front of you.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, settling onto the ground next to the wide-open car door. “This is breathtaking.” 

Tyson meets you on your side of the car, leaning on the side of the hood, “Yeah, it really is.

And you know he can’t even really see the vibrant coloring of it, but when you turn around to look back at him you notice he’s looking more at you than the canyon surrounding you. Tyson opens the trunk of his SUV, you going to sit down on the ledge once it’s fully open. The two of you sit there for a while, enjoying the view and each other's company, waiting for the doors to open for the show.

“Okay, so you can’t get mad at me for not singing any of the songs.” Tyson makes you promise, with a laugh.

“I won’t. I promise.” You assure, putting your pinky up to intertwine your pinky with his. He pinky promises you, and you kiss your thumb, him following suit. A somewhat childish tradition you made him do with you every time you made a promise to one another. As you drop your hands from in front of your faces, Tyson leans in stealing a kiss. You pull away with a shy smile, still not used to the new dynamics of your relationship.

Not too long later, you’re walking into the venue and down to your seats. Tyson leads the way, your hand in his as he leads you through the large crowd. Once you reach your seats you take in the sights around you and the ethereal atmosphere. The pre-show playlist is playing through the speakers as you tell Tyson everything he needs to know about the show that’s soon to start.

The lights go out, and the darkness of the canyon surrounds you until the show starts and Dermot Kennedy enters the stage through a cloud of smoke. As the set continues, Tyson has moved his focus from the stage to your dancing form next to him. Your eyes seem to be closed more often than not, letting yourself get lost in the environment and dance along to the beats of the heartwarming music. He’s swaying his body next to yours, not as lost in it all as you are.

The soft intro of ‘For Island Fires and Family’ starts and a small shriek leaves your mouth. You turn to Tyson, yelling to him that this is your favorite song. His smile replicates yours, eyes crinkly, as he pays more attention to this one than the ones that came before. As the chorus comes and the guitar starts to pick up, Tyson focuses more on the lyrics. 

Tyson takes this chance to pull you into his side. His arm slings over your shoulder and you turn your face to him smiling, grabbing the hand draped over you.

“But she's bringin' the moon and stars to me, damn permanent reverie. And even though this life, this love is brief, I've got some people who carry me” You sing softly, swaying your head to the piano and strums of the guitar. Tyson hums next to you at a quieter volume, nodding his head to the beat. Every time the chorus passes, Tyson squeezes you a little tighter into him. 

Once the show ends you make your way back to the parking lot and as you reach his car, he meets you on the passenger side with you. You thank him again for coming with you, giving him a hug and a quick, gentle kiss.

“No problem. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would.” He admits, pecking your lips once more. 

The drive back to your house is quiet, mostly because you’re too awestruck at the show you were just at. As he’s pulling into your neighborhood, you turn the music down, continuing to sing along softly. He turns to look at you, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss to the back of it. He rests your joined hands on his lap. You stick your hand out the window, feeling the wind against your skin, the streetlights bouncing off your jewelry, and creating an almost ethereal glow on your skin.

He pulls into the parking lot, parking his car next to yours. He meets you at the back of his car and stops you from walking up to your front door.

“I love you,” he blurts out. He realizes then how unromantic this moment is, with how the two of you are standing in a parking lot full of your neighbor’s cars. “I love you so, so much.”

“Tyson, I -” You stutter, pulling away from him. His admission shocks you and it all feels too early for it to be happening. You had only just talked about your feelings in the past week and were just starting to feel fully comfortable being in this new relationship with him. You hadn’t even told anyone other than Caitlyn about the new aspects of yours and Tyson’s relationship. “Do you have your soulmark, what, when -”

“I don’t - I don’t know, it just hit me,” He stutters. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He takes a step towards you, effectively canceling out the step you had taken away from him moments prior. Your feet are stuck to the ground and you’re having trouble focusing on any of the thoughts running through your brain. What if he truly does love you, but doesn’t have a soulmark? What if he does have a soulmark, but you never get yours with him?

Tyson can see that your mind is running a mile a minute and he grabs your shoulders, pulling you into him. He runs his hand in a comforting manner over your hair before placing a kiss there. He pulls away, and gives you yet another quick kiss, in hopes that it calms both of you down.

“I have no idea about the soulmark, I just know that I love you. It came in waves throughout the night, and then it just hit during that one song and at the end. The one you were singing with your whole chest and I had you in my arms.”

“For Island Fires and Family?” You ask, thinking back to how tightly he held you to his chest during that specific song.

“Yeah,” He breathes out.

“Tyson,” you start, looking down at your shoes to avoid his gaze. “I can’t say it back.” 

It breaks your heart to even say that to him, especially with the amount of love you already have for the brunette. He already had a piece of your heart, but looking back up at him you couldn’t find the words to say that you were in love with him.

“That’s fine,” Tyson assures, his tone light letting you know that it really is in fact okay.

“It’s just really early and there were so many changes so fast,” you explain further. “But, I can tell you right now that I have love for you already, and that I am falling for you. You just have to give me time.”

He nods his head in understanding, taking yet another deep breath. You stand there in his embrace a moment longer before he leads the two of you up to your door.

Tyson’s in the bathroom finishing up while you’re already in bed, under the covers. When you hear the bathroom door open, you set your phone down and look over at Tyson. He’s smiling widely as he scratches his head. He sits at the edge of your bed and pulls his t-shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere on the floor.

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, sitting up further in bed.

“What?” Tyson asks, twisting around to look at you.

“Your fucking arm!” You exclaim, reaching out to touch at the ink adorning his once bare arm. 

Your jaw drops at the revelation, staring at Tyson, whose eyebrows are knitted in confusion. Opening your mouth to speak, nothing comes out but a choked noise. You point at his arm, not able to find your words, hoping he takes the hint and looks at his arm.

He glances between you and where you’re pointing and he sees the black ink just above his elbow. He jumps up, running to your bathroom to get a better look at it in the mirror. He examines it closely. He doesn’t notice your presence until your hands land on his bare chest, and he turns his focus from the mirror back to you. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your face and bring your lips to his in a heated, passionate kiss. 

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he announces once he pulls away. Looking into his eyes you notice the glossiness in them. 

“Let me see it,” you whisper, dancing your fingers along the back of his right arm. 

He turns his body enough for you to get a clear look at the brand new ink. Just above his elbow is a half-sun, surrounded by the phases of the moon, adorned with various small dots and lines to make it look more complete. The lines are delicate, which is something your mind links to the way you treat one another. You place a kiss in the center of it, before wrapping your arm around Tyson’s waist turning him around.

“It’s gorgeous,” you compliment.

A blush rises to Tyson’s tan cheeks. His eyes are sparkling in the harsh lighting of your bathroom and his smile is bright as he looks down at you. Your heart is full and your hand stays wrapped around his bicep, almost like if you take your hand away the mark will disappear. 

“I guess this means I’m your soulmate, huh?” You smile.

“I guess so,” He smiles back, wrapping his arms around you to fully embrace you.

The two of you make your way to bed eventually, only after pulling away from Tyson long enough to get there. The two of you don’t fall asleep for hours after getting in bed, too caught up in one another’s body, and the connection between your souls. He’s snoring above you and you smile to yourself before dozing off. You may not be in love with him yet, but you knew in your heart that you were a few steps from falling.

tag list: @reavenedges-lies​ @oilers2997​ @quinnsbxtch​ (let me know if you wanted to be added!)

[julemmaes]

Pinky Promise - Chapter Three

A/N: Well, I mean, I cried writing this cause I would never be able to live through something like this with my s/o but I guess they will. Or so I hope tbh, don’t know what I’ll do eheh.

I’m sorry if it took me ages to write this, but at least it’s looong. Hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 6,873

Ignoring Cassian's calls turned out to be more difficult than expected.

She had received the first one while she was still in the cab. She had read the name on the screen and the emotion that she had managed to keep inside until that moment had taken over, pushing her to tears. She had refused with trembling hands and then cried silently all the way to her apartment, where she thanked the driver and climbed the stairs like an automaton. She had managed not to run into her sisters as she walked to her room, but had heard Feyre arguing with someone on the phone.

She hadn't had the strength to go in and see that everything was alright.

The news that the two of them had fought heavily didn't even take half a day to travel in their group, and by noon the next day, Elain had entered Nesta's room with a tray and some cookies, followed by Azriel.

Nesta had tried to kick them out, hiding under the covers, exhausted after a morning spent concentrating on the impossible lessons of the last year, but they had both remained next to her, talking about this and that, without trying to extrapolate information from her, and when Elain had had to go back to work, Azirel had taken off his shoes and laid on the bed, being careful not to touch her.

Nesta could be much more sensitive than normal when she was angry and hurt.

Now, they were both quietly watching a stupid sitcom on television and Nesta couldn't even pick up the phone and pretend she was doing anything else, because the thing hadn't stopped vibrating all morning and she had to turn it off so as not to fall into temptation and text him.

She had written to him that if he showed up at her house it would only make the situation worse and that she needed time, and Cassian had understood that, but that didn't stop him from sending her messages long as books where he begged her to listen to him.

She looked at Azriel sideways, who looked rather focused on the tv series and laughed at every joke. He didn't seem upset at all by what she had just discovered and Nesta realized something very important at that moment.

She snapped to her seat, surprising the boy, "You knew it!"

Azriel jumped up, taking his hand to his chest and looking at her with his eyes wide open, "What the fuck Nes."

"I'm the one who should be saying what the fuck," she said with an equally shocked expression. She took the remote control and turned off the tv, without even bothering to pause the video. Azriel looked around the room and then sighed. "You knew and didn't tell me. Why didn't you tell me?"

Azriel looked at her sincerely confused, "Are you really going with that?"

Nesta took the comforter off her legs, suddenly feeling too hot, "Jesus, yes. Your brother, my boyfriend, he wants-" she froze, choking on her words, "he wants to enlist for some strange reason and you don't have even the slightest thought of coming immediately to tell me?

"You do realize that we are talking about Cassian, do you?" he looked her in the eyes with a serious face.

Nesta replied in tone, "No, we are talking about you and me, Az."

"If we have to dot the I's we are talking about you and Cass." replied mumbling Azriel.

"Stop being a dick and tell me why you didn't come straight to me."

He looked her in the face carefully and then sighed, "He asked us not to tell you anything and you know I would never betray his trust, just as I would never betray yours if you asked me such a thing."

"I know," she replied immediately, "but this is different."

"I understand," he began, but was interrupted almost immediately by Nesta.

"I don't think you truly understand. Not really." she stood up, perhaps too quickly, because she swayed a little. She recovered right away, clutching her fingers around a cloth bookmark that her boyfriend had given her to try to find something that would keep her tied to the real world, without getting lost in her thoughts. She whispered, "If Cassian enlists and they send him on a mission we risk not seeing him for months, never seeing him again in case something more serious happens."

When Azriel didn't answer, she spoke again, "If you had warned me earlier, I could have changed his mind one way or another-"

"You couldn't have done it,"

"Stop interrupting me."

He sat down, putting his hands in front of him on the mattress, "No, you stop with this nonsense. You wouldn't have been able to do it because he only told us when he had already made up his mind."

Nesta blinked confusedly, "Sorry, us?"

The boy nodded, "Yes, Rhys knows it too."

"That asshole." she muttered.

Azriel puffed, avoiding her gaze, "What I'm trying to tell you is that Cassian did not want others' thoughts to influence his decision and I think it was difficult for him to reach this conclusion."

"If it was so hard to decide, maybe there's a reason." Nesta exploded, throwing her arms in the air, "If it was so hard he shouldn't have even started thinking about it."

She saw him clenching his jaw, "He didn't get into details with us and didn't tell us much, although Rhysand busted his balls enough, but I know he has a good reason."

"What would that be?" she asked sincerely curious.

"It's not my place to tell."

She scoffed, "Fuck you."

"You're starting to tell me that too often." he joked.

Nesta replied in the same moking tone, "And I might start using it instead of hello if you don't stop being an asshole to me."

He also stood up, walking towards her, "I'm not being an asshole, I'm just trying to make you understand that you can't sit here and feel sorry for yourself thinking about things you don't know." he put his hands on her arms, squeezing her lovingly, "Before you do that, you should talk to Cassian and listen to what he has to say and then draw your own conclusions."

Nesta squeezed in her shoulders, asking in such a low tone that even she struggled to hear herself, "What happens if I don't like the conclusions I draw?"

"I don't know," he sounded worried for a second, before his expression became neutral again, "would you break up with him?"

She shook her head, "I don't know."

"Alright," he said, letting go of his grip on her and sitting on the edge of the bed, "I understand what the main problems of enlisting are and what you're worried about, but is there anything else that upsets you?" he leaned down on his back, crossing his arms behind his head. Nesta almost laughed, despite everything. If Azriel was moving around so much, it meant that he was just as stressed as she was. "If you want to talk about it."

Nesta sighed, sat back down again and gave him his back, "I think I'd rather not talk about it, actually.

She felt a hand on her back, "Okay, well, you know I'm always here if you need me."

She turned to him, offering him an apologetic smile, "Sorry Az, but I'm so confused right now and saying something would mean giving too much importance to that thing and I'm not sure I really believe everything that's going on in my head-"

He hurried to get up, shaking his head, "Don't worry and you don't need to apologize. It was difficult for me, I can only imagine how complicated it must be for you." she gave him another little smile. He added, "And then, less than twenty-four hours have passed."

"True."

***

That afternoon she was back at the university and like in the morning, she had made an effort to attend every lecture without thinking too much about what was going on in her private life. Amren had sent her a message during the last hour asking her what the hell had happened and that she had seen Cassian only a few minutes earlier and found him destroyed. Nesta's stomach had twisted, but she hadn't answered and tried to forget the image of her boyfriend crying now imprinted in her mind. He had decided to bring that chaos into their lives.

In the evening, the messages from Cassian had decreased and shortly afterwards they had become practically nil, only one every two, three hours. The next morning she was shocked to see that a couple of them had been sent at worrying times in the night.

The next day had gone exactly the same way,  she had studied all morning and rested in the afternoon, deciding to take half a day for herself. She had not allowed her brain to dwell too much on Cassian and had watched more documentaries about new scientific discoveries in the space field, which would not allow her to distract herself from what was said in the movies.

Despite the several attempts, however, in the late afternoon, Feyre had come into her room to warn her that she was going out for Tamlin's birthday. Nesta had nodded distractedly and asked her if Elain would go with her and when the other sister also appeared on the doorway, she couldn't even compliment them on how beautiful their dresses were, too lost in her thoughts.

"If you want, I can call Tam and ask him if he can add a seat to our table." Feyre asked her. Nesta had really looked at her at that moment and admired the long dark blue dress. The thing that caught her attention though, was the frantic movement of her hands and the nervous twitch in her mouth that Feyre never seemed to notice. Her older sister had looked her in the eye and assured her that she would stay well at home alone and the relief in the look of the youngest Archeron had hurt her.

She had to find a way to talk seriously with Feyre about Tamlin.

Elain had hugged her and then they both left, leaving her in a house that was too quiet for her at that moment.

She got up and ran out of that apartment, and now, in front of his door, she couldn't figure out how she had driven all the way over there without having crushed someone.

She raised her hand, knocking gently. As if she didn't want Cassian to open the door.

She waited a few seconds and panic crept under her skin, screaming for her to run away. Screaming that she was not supposed to be there. That everywhere would have been better.

The door opened wide and the figure of him filled the space in front of her.

The sight of a so upset Cassian shocked her. The hair normally combed and held up in a messy bun was loose and fell on his shoulders. His eyes, normally a warm and bright brown, now seemed devoid of any crumb of happiness and life. The dark circles under them confirmed to Nesta that he too must not have overslept these days.

He looked her in the face and opened his mouth slightly, closing it immediately afterwards and whispering, "Nesta."

At the sound of his voice, so familiar, she stepped back, wanting to do nothing more than jump on him and beg him not to do it. She clenched her fists, gathering some courage.

What was she doing? She hadn't thought at all about what had happened. She had focused so much on the university that she hadn't had a chance to process all the information he had given her.

Without much thought, she talked, "I need to know some things and-" she sighed, that could go on, she went on, "and I don't know how to ask them. I don't know what I should ask you."

Cassian nodded and closed his eyes, tightening his hold on the door handle. His knuckles turned white and his tone was almost inaudible when he whispered, "And I need to apologize."

The anger she had repressed in those days dug its way into her veins. She gritted out, "I don't want to hear your apology again, I want an explanation."

He nodded again, stepping aside to let her in. He led her into the kitchen, "Do you want something to drink?" he asked quietly, as if he were feeling uneasy. As if he was afraid to say the wrong thing and scare her away.

"No."

He looked closely at her, "Alright." he sat down, pointing at the chair in front of his and Nesta sat hesitantly. She didn't want to give him personal satisfaction, making him think she would do anything he said to her, but she knew she wouldn't be able to endure the conversation standing up. Cassian put his hands together on the table, "Where should I start?"

"Maybe from why the fuck you decided to even think about joining the army." she teased, without looking at him.

He took a deep breath, as if his thoughts were as confused as her own, "About four months ago I was stopped by a person, a recruiter..."

"Where?" interrupted him.

Cassian looked at her confused, "Sorry?"

"Where were you when this guy stopped you?"

He frowned, "I was coming out of the supermarket."

"Oh God, are you telling me that you let yourself be convinced by one of those pain in the asses outside the stores that are literally put there to attract the fools?" she asked laughing, not amused at all.

"I-" he staggered, looking almost offended, "No. Could you just let me explain everything without interrupting?"

"Go."

He looked her in the face, tensing his muscles, "They stopped me and told me about all the benefits of the army. How important it was for me to take part in this great mission." he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Obviously, I laughed at them and left." Nesta would have wanted to punch him in the face. "In the weeks afterwards, a lot of soldiers started coming to the bar and telling their stories in the neighboring continents, how every move they made was necessary for the survival of hundreds of people in other countries. I heard them tell about every achievement, every conquest - personal or not - and I realized that I wanted that too."

He stopped for a moment, making sure that Nesta was still listening to him and when she gave him a slight nod with her head, he continued, "I met a guy named Declan one night, a soldier on duty for about three years. We talked all night, he stayed up till closing and left me his number".

She couldn't help it, "How romantic."

He glared at her, deciding to ignore that derisory comment, "He explained to me that every time he goes on a mission and saves a child's life or manages to complete a task and returns home to his family, the pride he feels for himself, for his team, is enormous and a unique feeling," he said in the tone of someone who had never heard of the military. As if those words weren't the same as the ones they used at every event where the army was advertised. "I like the life I have now, I like working at the bar with Az and helping my brothers with the apartment, I like being able to see you every day, but I need something more. I feel the need to act and do something relevant for this world."

She was going to answer him, to interrupt him and tell him to stop saying so much bullshit, but he beat her to it, "I talked to Declan until he had to leave and he explained how it all works and there are more than enough sites on the Internet explaining every little thing, so if you want to know anything, you can ask me, or look for information on your own, but I'd rather talk to you anyway once you've learned the whole thing." he was looking at her with so much hope in his eyes, "He's on a mission right now. He's already done two months and is seven months away."

Nesta had stopped listening to him. She saw him moving his lips as he answered questions she hadn't asked. As he continued to give her a speech that seemed to come out of one of the propaganda videos they showed you at the end of high school.

Azriel was right. She realized he was right as she looked him straight in the eye and saw that excited twinkle that seemed not to belong to him at all.

"What about my career?" she asked suddenly, feeling the need to make him understand what he was going to lose. What both of them were going to lose.

He frowned, "What about it?" He said.

How could he not realize how much this destroyed every little project they had done up to that point?

"All about it."

She stared at the table, following one of the lines of the wood with her index finger, looking for a way to focus on what she had to say. "I didn't expect you to work in the bar for the rest of our lives, I didn't expect you to want to do just that forever, but this is definitely the farthest thing I could ever imagine."

She took a deep breath, retracing the line of a darker brown on the wood, "My job, the one I've studied all my life for and will be graduating for in a few months, is something that will take up most of my days, Cass. In a few years, when," she choked on her words, closing her eyes a moment longer, "if we have kids, I don't want them to grow up without both of us."

She saw him stiffen at those words, but still didn't have the courage to look at him, "I would stay out all day and come home in the evening in time for dinner and I already know that this will weigh heavily on me. You would go to work and you couldn't put them to sleep every night, but you would be with them all day, every day, as long as you worked at the bar. It would be you, together with me, to educate them, to raise them. To teach them what is right and what is wrong." the emotion that that speech was giving her was making everything difficult for her. The fact that they could talk so openly about these things warmed her heart, it had always done so, and yet now it was as if they were hitting her repeatedly and Cassian was standing there next to her just watching.

They had never doubted that it would always be him and her, her and him, forever, but this thing was threatening them on all fronts and Nesta was not willing to let it win. "If you leave every year, or how often a soldier leaves, you'd be gone for months. And we would be forced to leave them with a babysitter and it would be me and this completely random person to raise them." she forced herself to look him in the eye and the expression on his face was the perfect twin of hers, "We wouldn't see you for so long. I wouldn't see you for too long."

Cassian seemed to awaken from a trance, shook his head, resting his forehead on his crossed hands, "These are the things we will talk about when I enlist."

Her tone of voice got louder, "No, Cassian, these are the things we have to talk about now, while we decide if you are going to enlist."

He looked at her at that point, "I'm going to enlist anyway, Nesta."

"Then why are we talking?" she whispered, with eyes wide open, "Why are we talking. Why am I here."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, "Because I missed you these days and I want you to understand why I want to do this. Why I need you to understand and support me on this path."

She couldn't believe her ears. He was giving her reasons why he couldn't leave on his own. Nesta could not understand. "So what are you going to do when it's not just two days where you won't see me, but eight or nine or ten months?" she asked exasperated.

"It will be different."

"How?"

"It will be different because I will know that you will be here, at home, waiting for me," he simply said.

This angered Nesta, who replied in a threatening tone, "Will it be different because you will know that I will be here waiting for you and being a good housewife and model mother?"

Cassian bit his lip, to stop before saying things he didn't mean. "Stop putting words in my mouth that I never said. You're complicating things."

"No, I'm not. I'm not complicating anything." she chuckled, "I'm trying to make sure you realize how serious and critical the decision you're making is." she stood up, rotating her shoulders trying to relieve some of the tension there, "This is the reality of things." her stomach twisted to the prospect of what she was about to say, "You enlisting will mean I have to give up either a career or a family."

Cassian seemed delirious when he said, "We can always have children and pursue the careers we want. We don't have to choose."

Nesta shook her head vehemently, "I have no intention of giving birth to my children and letting other people raise them," she stared at him, "That's not me."

He was looking at her without saying anything. "You don't even know what to say."

More silence. Nesta felt the emotion become too much and when the body was about to betray her and let the tears accumulated in her eyes come down, she attacked again, "So we are not enough? I am not enough?"

Cassian appeared stunned, "What?"

"You said you need something more. Does that mean that you like me, your brothers, your life now, but I'm not enough to keep you alive?"

"Nesta-" he stood up too, taking one step towards her.

Nesta took one step back and the look Cassian gave her hurt her physically, "Don't fuck with me".

He had the audacity to whisper, "This is not about you."

"Yes, it is!" she shouted, "We've been together for seven years, Cassian." the voice growing higher when she said the number, "Seven, for god's sake. And it didn't occur to you to talk about it with me. I could have helped you." her voice betrayed her and broke on the last word.

He seemed to ignore it, "Help me with what exactly?" he asked so desperately, "Because I know what you mean. I know you would help me by preventing me from choosing my path and following my dreams."

She couldn't have heard that right. She laughed as she looked at him with her mouth open, "Your dreams?"

"Yes, Nesta!" he shouted, "I need to leave my mark. I need to do something concrete in my life that will bring me satisfaction."

It was as if he had ripped her heart from her chest and held it so tightly that it exploded, "And why are you and I, our marriage, the children we will have in the future, not satisfying enough?" Nesta exclaimed, lowering her voice shortly afterwards, "What is wrong with me that is not enough for you?"

Cassian whispered the word no repeatedly and came so close that he could touch her. Nesta retracted before he could hug her and the pain imprinted on his features destroyed what little was left inside of her, " Sweetheart, there is nothing wrong with you. I love you and you are enough. You are more than enough for me. You are too much. And starting a family is and always will be one of the most important things for me."

She snapped, "Stop messing around, this is serious."

"I can't stand behind the bar all my life serving drunks and men with midlife crises who no longer understand how to satisfy their partners." he muttered, "There are people dying because their countries are failing them and I am one of the people who can help them. There are children who are kidnapped every day and are taken away from their families. My job would be to bring them home. My task would be to save those who are too weak to save themselves." he concluded, as if the last two days without her had given him enough time to prepare a speech.

Four months, she corrected herslef mentally.

Nesta nodded, looking for support in the kitchen counter behind her, "So you've made up your mind."

Cassian nodded once, "I have."

"And I can say nothing about it." she smiled and there was nothing friendly or sincere in that gesture. He moved one hand, lifting it midair, but lowered it immediately realizing that she did not want to be touched. He stepped back and Nesta realized that she had held her breath until then.

Cassian also seemed to realize this and his face grew grim, "That's...".

"I understand." she intercepted him, when he seemed to stumble over the words, "I understand." she repeated more silently.

Cassian panicked and let himself fall backwards against the table, moving it a few centimeters. He ran his hands through his hair, "Can I explain to you how this would all work, please?

Nesta shook his head, shifting her gaze to anything other than him, "Cassian, I..."

She was interrupted by the door of the house that opened and banged against the wall.

Rhysand came in dragging his feet on the ground, his arms full of colored notebooks and sheets and cards.  He seemed more tired than usual and Azriel had told her that he was not really well, but which of them had been genuinely happy in those last days?

He seemed to realize only after taking off his shoes that both of them were looking at him and he was surprised to see her there with Cassian, moving his gaze quickly from one to the other.

She dared a glance in his direction and realized only at that moment how distressed both of them must have looked.

Rhysand cleared his voice and placed the notebooks on the entrance cabinet, raised his hand in greeting, before saying, "Sorry, I didn't think you'd be here. I can get out," when no one answered, he grimaced, then turned directly to Cassian, "send me a message when you're done."

Nesta instantly recovered at those words and breathed abruptly through her nose, moving to pass Cassian and head for the exit, "Don't worry Rhysand. I was just leaving."

"Nesta." Cassian called, in a desperate tone.

She didn't even have to get dressed. She had been so shocked to see him again, so shocked that he didn't even look like himself, that she hadn't thought to take off her jacket, "I feel like I need a little more time, Cassian. A few more days, to think." her throat tightened. She could feel her eyes wet.

Rhysand got into the conversation, walking into the kitchen, "Guys I'm serious, I can get out, it's no problem."

Nesta hesitated, looking Cassian right in the eye, "Don't worry, I'm done here."

Her boyfriend looked at her with fear and when he muttered, "Are you breaking up with me?" Nesta could only answer in a whisper, "I don't know."

A tear slipped over her cheek and she moved quickly to remove it, "I'll call you."

Cassian stood motionless in the middle of the room as Nesta walked past Rhysand and muttered a simple, "Bye."

"Bye Nesta." the younger brother seemed equally upset, but she heard him answer before the door closed behind her.

Cassian looked at his hands, running them over his face and almost scratching his eyes. He raised his head and turned towards Rhysand, "Where were you?"

"I stayed at school preparing lessons for next week," he answered in a very low tone of voice. He walked over to the table and sat down, "What happened?"

"You can guess." he cursed under his breath.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked cautiously.

Cassian scoffed, trying to hold back the tears, "No."

He sat down, dropping his head on the table.

Rhysand remained silent for a few minutes, pondering what he might say without hurting his older brother too much, "You have everything you could want, Cassian." he whispered to him, cracking his fingers, "You don't need this."

He shook his head, massaging his temples, "You have no idea what I need."

No one seemed to understand him.

He got up, knowing perfectly well that he would not be able to hold that conversation for any longer. The blows he had suffered so far from Nesta were enough to make him feel bad. He did not need someone else to punch him as well.

Rhysand did not answer immediately, but then sighed, "Okay, maybe I have no idea, but," he also stood up, leaning forward on the table, "Nesta is the woman of your life. This would just be a career change. A risky career that will lead you to death."

Cassian did not answer, he looked out the window while a flash of lightning cut the sky in two, followed by thunder.

Perfect, now he would have been worried until he saw Nesta again the next time.

He was so used to having her around and texting her every move he made, and he was so used to her warning him every time she got home safe and sound.

There would be no message that night.

Then Rhysand said something that took the air out of the man's lungs, "I thought we both knew that Nesta was going to be the mother of your children." he approached him, placing his hand on his shoulder. Cassian turned to look at him and saw how Rhysand's eyes were dark, darker than they had ever been. "She will be the mother of your children and if you can't see how much this will destroy her, maybe you don't deserve her." his brother's fingers tightened around his shirt, before he let go once and for all, "Maybe I'm wrong, maybe you don't realize how much Nesta is vital for you, but this will destroy you too, if you are not careful."

With this, Rhysand nodded and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone once again.

***

The next morning Nesta woke up with a deafening headache. Elain and Feyre were definitely not coming back before lunch, both of them had sent drunk selfies and called her a couple of times and she knew they had stayed over at their boys' house.

She had fallen asleep crying, sniffing sheets that smelled like Cassian and thinking how every single thing in her life was about to be turned upside down, one way or another.

The only thing that had cheered her up was finding that her cycle was over, but even that spark of happiness had faded when she saw that Cassian had tried to call her at four o'clock and something in the night.

She had been awake at that hour, looking at the ceiling after she had woken up completely soaked in sweat. She couldn't remember what she had dreamed, but it had been enough to pull her out of her sleep and she could not fall asleep afterwards. Anyway, she had not touched the phone, left it on the kitchen table.

She dragged herself to the fridge, taking the milk and starting to make coffee.

She was setting the table when the spoon fell from her hands and she froze, looking at the object on the floor. She clenched her teeth and felt immensely stupid when tears threatened to flow from her eyes.

How could she cry over a fallen teaspoon?

She was about to scream, driven by frustration, when the front door opened and she hurried to erase every trace of her lonely morning cry when she realized it was Feyre.

The little sister stopped at the entrance, her heels in her hand and her face that of someone who would want to destroy everything in their path. As soon as she saw Nesta, her expression became confused, "Were you crying?"

Nesta shook her head to say no and Feyre scoffed. "Yes, and I don't want to tear this stupid dress." she dropped her shoes on the floor and then turned around, starting to walk backwards towards her. Nesta took the hint and approached her sister, pulling down the zipper of the dress. Feyre thanked her and took the gown off, swearing more than once when all the jewels she was wearing got caught in her straps.

She sighed with relief, her shoulders sagged and she remained in her panties and bra in front of Nesta, who snorted, sincerely amused by that little show.

"I take it your night didn't go so well," said Nesta pointing out the coffee. Feyre nodded, puffing and sat down in front of her. She served both and then sat down as well.

"Tamlin was being an asshole as usual and ruined the evening for everyone," she explained, taking a cookie.

"I see." murmured Nesta, watching her sister, "And who exactly was he being an asshole to?"

Feyre grinned, looking her in the eye, "Not with me," her eyebrows shot up, "at least, not just with me. He argued heavily with Lucien, but I didn't understand why. And it shocked me a little." she shrugged, "We'll have to ask Ellie." she took another cookie.

"Yes, we should."

Feyre got serious all of a sudden, "Why were you crying?"

It was Nesta's turn to shrug, "Stress."

"So early in the morning?" she asked just a little amused.

She chuckled, "I dropped a teaspoon, if I have to be honest."

Feyre burst out laughing, "It happened to me last week, too."

Nesta smiled. It had been so long since they had spent any time together and joking. And Feyre must have noticed it too, because she reached out to her, waggling her fingers, "I'm sorry if I answered you badly the other night. I wasn't angry with you."

"I know, don't worry," Nesta reassured her, taking her hand and squeezing it just once, "if you ever really need someone, you know I'm always there, don't you?"

"Yes, I know." she smiled shyly at her, then took a deep breath, "How are things going with Cassian and... everything?"

Nesta knew that she would have to talk about it with someone else, but she couldn't see that it was real. That Cassian was really trying to enlist.

"Things are bad." she placed the cup on the table, clenching her fists, "I went to his house last night. When you went out." Feyre seemed surprised, but she didn't comment and let her continue undisturbed.

"He explained to me why he wants to do it." her breath started trembling as she remembered the longing in Cassian's eyes, the hope there, "He went as far as telling it's his dream." she scoffed, "His dream. Can you believe it?"

Nesta continued to speak for a few minutes and Feyre listened attentively, especially when she talked about Cassian's motivations, but at the same time she seemed to be thinking about something else entirely. When her sister put her hand on her arm to stop her, Nesta froze with wheezing breath and shaking hands.

"First of all, calm down." she squeezed her hand, caressing her palm, "Secondly, you won't like what I'm about to tell you, at all." she grimaced, leaning against the back of the chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave her a narrow, not quite sincere smile, "Cassian depends on you," said Feyre without many words, "That man depends through and through on you, Nes." she scratched her forehead, thoughtful, "I can see that."

Nesta sharp intake of breath was enough to tell Feyre that she was walking on thin ice and this conversation could have ended in only two ways: Nesta physically attacking her sister or Nesta crying desperately.

"This city is overwhelming, one way or another." she began, "And you and Cassian have been together long enough for you to realize that he needs to feel alive." she looked her straight in the eye, "Opening a bar right after high school was a way to meet different people every night, to have a breath of that adventure that he craves so much through others."

Nesta brought a hand to her chest as she listened intently.

"He waited years for you to finish school so he could support you in everything you want to do. To be there for you when you need it most. Exactly as you do with me," she added at the end, giving her a little smile, "I realize how frightening this is for you and what it would mean for your relationship.

No, you really don't. Nesta wanted to tell her, but she remained silent.

"In a couple, one has to give and receive, Nes. He gives you every fiber of his being every day. He never imposed anything on you," Feyre's voice grew shaky, "he never stopped you from doing anything. He let you live your dream of becoming an engineer and never told you that you could not do it because you are not enough." Her eyes filled with tears and Nesta clutched her chest. She felt that the speech was very personal.

Feyre usage of the word "let" made her head pound even more. "I realize how scary the idea of losing him is, but give him a chance. Sit down at the table with him and let him explain every little thing." she seemed to be almost begging for her to do so. "Ask him to go into details and maybe you will be less frightened. Because, Nes," she leaned forward, "right now you don't really know anything about this whole project of his."

Nesta nodded.

"He is in conflict right now. He's definitely scared because he doesn't know what he wants. Or he knows it all too well and he's terrified of losing you." she ran her hand over her face, rubbing her eyes.

I am the one terrified at the idea of losing him.

"All I know is that he needs you now and he needs your support."

Nesta shook her head, "How can I support him in such a thing? In his suicide mission?" she whispered.

"It's not a suicide mission, he's trying to figure out if he can handle it. He wants to do it because he feels the duty and the will is secondary here, probably." Feyre sighed, "Nesta we can stay here and talk for hours, but I am not in Cass's head and neither are you. You just have to prepare yourself and have the willpower to really listen to him. Without undermining his speech, without belittling what he is trying to do."

"I don't think I can do it," Nesta began.

Feyre immediately interrupted her, "Then you can't go on being together. If Cassian has really gone this far and called this his dream, it means he really wants to act on it." they remained silent for a few seconds and then Feyre stood up, "I'm not saying you should break up, but if things don't start to go wrong now, they will in a few months or years."

Now Nesta really wanted to ask her why she was still with Tamlin, since she was so aware that they were not well. She often wondered if Feyre felt somehow forced to be with her boyfriend for everything he had given and offered her during the long years of their relationship.

"Cassian wants to do this and if by telling him what you told him last night, his idea hasn't wavered at all, then there's no way to change it. You can only offer support or let it all go."

Let it all go.

She could never.

"You cannot continue to be together if you prevent him from trying, because that would be too big a wound to live with." Feyre concluded her speech by titlting her head a little and apologizing, stepping out of the kitchen and warning her that she was going to drown her own sorrows in bubbles and boiling water.

Nesta sat in silence alone, her hands tightened around the edge of the chair on which she sat and her thoughts running faster than ever before.

She closed her eyes when she came to an inevitable conclusion.

She would have lost Cassian no matter what, the only decision she had to make was when.

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[jemmahazelnut]

Two broken hearts with matching sides - Chapter 5

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four.

Pretend nothing happened

Evergreen would have killed him. It was the second time Freed had disappeared and left in the middle of the night without telling them where. This time at least he had sent them a message, writing them that he was fine and that they shouldn't worry. That he’d come back to get his things and find another apartment.

Despite this, the girl had slept little, also because Laxus had been intractable all evening. She honestly didn't understand them. Bickslow put a cup of coffee in front of her and sat down on the table eating a croissant.

“Freed won't come back, will he?” he asked.

“I don't think so,” Evergreen replied, texting his friend. He didn't answer her calls, but at least he wrote them. She put down the phone partly realizing that her friend wouldn’t have said anything more to her. “You say we exaggerated?” she then asked. Bickslow snorted.

“A little,” he admitted, “I just thought a little push would do them good.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Evergreen said in a sigh. “Maybe they'll never go back to the way they used to be,” she added sadly. The point was, she didn't understand what had happened between them. She had come up with multiple scenarios, but she hadn't been able to confirm any of them.

Of only one thing she was certain, both were looking for each other and both were missing. She knew Laxus missed Freed, she saw him every time they mentioned the old high school days. And Bickslow had told her the same about Freed. And lately she too had noticed. Also, until the night before, Freed had stayed in their apartment. That surely meant something.

But neither of them wanted to take the first step. And she just wanted to help them, but not knowing what had happened was difficult. Laxus was like a wall and Freed… well, Freed was worse.

She picked up the phone and wrote to Freed agreeing to see each other that morning. Evergreen would bring him some clothes, she hoped Freed would finally talk to her, but she honestly didn't have much hope anymore. She finished her coffee and then got ready to leave. She took some of her friend's stuff into a bag and then turned to Laxus's room. The door was ajar. She pushed it lightly and noticed that the boy wasn’t home.

“Hey Bix, where did Laxus go?” she asked. She thought he was still sleeping with a hangover. The friend appeared in the corridor.

“He's not in his room?” he asked surprised.

“No,” the girl said, pointing to the unmade and empty bed. The two glanced at each other and then Bickslow, sighing heavily, called his friend, just hoping that he hadn't decided to leave too.

***

Laxus had now been sitting on his grandfather's sofa for twenty minutes, saying nothing, despite having gone there for a very specific reason. At least Makarov knew him enough not to rush him. He had brought him a freshly squeezed orange juice and then sat in the armchair, chatting about this and that and watching TV.

Laxus sighed in annoyance and ran a hand through his hair, thinking back to the fight he had had the night before with Evergreen and Bickslow. He had exaggerated, he knew it. And he had regretted quite a lot especially how he had yelled at Evergreen. And Freed too, to be honest. Because although he hadn't wanted to think about it until then, he had realized that he hadn't behaved as he should have done either. He hated to admit it, but that was it. He'd been the one who screwed it up, kissing his best friend three years ago and slipping his hands down his pants.

He put his hands in front of his face and didn't notice how Makarov was staring at him in anticipation, until the old man turned the volume down on the TV so that it was just background.

“What happens?” he asked.

“I had a fight with Bix and Ever,” Laxus explained, moving his hands by his hair up to the nape of his neck and glancing at his grandfather.

“And they kicked you out of the apartment?” Makarov asked.

“No,” Laxus said, shaking his head. “I left. I was... a bit short-tempered,” he admitted.

“Well, you've argued several times with them. They know your temper, I wouldn't worry about it,” the man said. Evidently, he had already understood that it was another reason why Laxus was there, why Laxus was fretting. The blond evaluated the words before saying them, but he realized that there was no good way to do it.

“I also had a fight with Freed,” he admitted at that point. Makarov knew that he shared an apartment with Evergreen and Bickslow so as not to make the train ride to university every day, and he also knew that Freed had been back for a couple of months. Laxus had told him a few weeks ago, but he had refused to say more.

“Why?” Makarov asked.

“Because... I don't know,” he snapped. Makarov raised an eyebrow and Laxus turned his gaze to the window. He hated admitting it out loud. Freed influenced him more than he ever thought. Since three years. Indeed, for more than three years. It had always been like this, only... if he realized it late. When Freed had got on the plane and left to Germany. “Because he went away for three years without telling me anything. He didn’t warn me or greet me.” he snapped. He couldn't say anything else aloud, because if he had admitted it...

“Were you together?” Makarov asked. Laxus's eyes widened slightly.

“What?” he whispered. “No, we... we were just friends.”

“Friends who spent their afternoons making out?” Makarov asked. Laxus looked up at his grandfather, surprised and speechless. How the hell did he know? The old man smiled slightly. “Do you think I didn't know what you were doing in the upstairs room when I was leaving you alone?” he asked softly. Laxus remained silent and only after a while did he find his voice again.

“We were just friends anyway,” he repeated. That was true. Makarov frowned and peered into his face, evidently waiting for the sequel. Laxus sighed in annoyance. The old man knew now, besides, it wasn't that it could have been worse than that. He leaned back on the sofa and crossed his arms.

“Well, we made out. Very. And we acted like boyfriends. But only when we were drinking,” he specified. “It was… such a thing,” he added with a shrug. “We were drunk, we had some fun, and then we pretended nothing happened,” he explained. Makarov nodded thoughtfully.

“So, you never talked about it?”.

“No,” Laxus grunted. Then he thought about it. “Well, maybe once, but it wasn't a real conversation,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. Makarov waited for him to explain exactly what they had said to each other and the blond did. Even though three years had passed, he remembered it well. How could he forget something like that? Besides, it's not like they were drunk. Not that time. The more he talked, the more he realized that he had been an asshole.

But he tried to fucking fix it. He had filled Freed with calls, messages, and his friend had never answered him. He was gone without even wanting to try to solve. Maybe Freed was right. Laxus put his head in his hands and was silent as he finished throwing everything out. He dared not look his grandfather in his eyes, thinking he’d be disappointed.

“Look Laxus, you were a kid,” Makarov began. “And you were both young and stupid, you both acted stupid. But now Freed’s here, and now that he's here you should talk to him.”

“He doesn't want to,” Laxus grunted. Whenever Freed started, he walked away. He had left the first time he had set foot in the apartment, he had left the night before. Damn, he still hated him. And Laxus knew that he deserved it a little.

“Have you ever tried to do it calmly?” Makarov asked. Laxus was silent for a moment without saying anything. He hadn't done it. Because with Freed it was difficult to talk calmly, just having him around made him pissed off. He always felt that desire to throw a punch at him, to make him understand how he was hurt to know he was in Germany without a shred of greeting. Wanting Freed to feel as bad as he felt at the time.

“Look, the only thing that can help you is being honest about your feelings,” Makarov said. “If it goes wrong, never mind. But always better than staying like this”.

Laxus knew the old man was right.

***

Freed and Laxus still hadn't spoken to each other that afternoon. They had gone out together, had skateboarded around the park but never looked each other in the eye. They had also avoided touching each other, which was strange, since up until a week before they couldn't wait to be alone just to rub on each other.

Laxus jumped around the skatepark trying not to think about what Freed had done and said that morning, but it was hard. Damn difficult. He still remembered how Natsu had approached curious and how he had asked Freed if he was gay.

And Freed nodded.

He just said yes.

It still baffled Laxus. He knew, of course. Damn, it was obvious that he knew, they kissed every time they could, even if Laxus persisted in pretending nothing happened. But he didn't think he would admit it like that, in front of everyone, as if nothing had happened. He hadn't said anything about Laxus, but given how close they were, then people would start talking. And he didn't want to.

Besides, it's not like he had anything to say. He wasn't gay. He made out with Freed because he was a friend, friends did something like that, he... he was just confused. Bloody confused.

That's why when Natsu asked him the same question, Laxus laughed and said he was with Jenny. He wasn't with her, he hadn't seen her for quite a while and maybe his classmates knew it, but he didn't care. It was better that they thought he had been dumped by her, rather than the other way around. Rather than him… he didn't dare think about it.

Frustrated Laxus threw his skateboard aside and left the park, sitting on the ground and lighting a cigarette. He glanced at Freed still wandering around the park and immediately regretted it. He just wanted to go to him, grab him and take him to a place where no one could see them, then kiss him and hold him, and pretend it was all normal. Being with him and locking themselves in a room pretending the world doesn't exist. That it was just them.

He looked down at the grass and swallowed nervously. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop thinking about his friend? Why couldn’t he go out with Jenny or any other girl? Why couldn't he say aloud what Freed had said?

He was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice that his friend had approached him.

“Are you angry with me?” Freed asked standing in front of him, with the skateboard under his arm. Laxus shook his head but refused to speak and look up. “Listen... I won't tell either of us but ... may I know… what we are?” his friend asked and Laxus suddenly stiffened.

“What do you mean?” he asked with a dry throat.

“I mean... what we do...” Freed stammered.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Laxus said dryly. Freed froze. Laxus didn’t dare to look up, realizing immediately that he had been an asshole. He tried to fix it. “Look, what… what we do” he began, not daring to say aloud what they were doing “We do it just because we’re drunk, because when we’re drunk, we do stupid and senseless things. I mean, I don't remember half of the things we do and I don't… I'm not gay. I’ve nothing against you, but... I'm not like you. I'm with Jenny,” he said awkwardly, staring at the cigarette between his fingers. That's why he didn't want to talk about it. Because then he didn't know what to say. Because his words all seemed wrong.

Freed said nothing for several seconds. In those seconds Laxus felt he was dying, almost hoping that his friend would throw a punch at him and tell him to wake up. Or that he would hug him and tell him he understood him. But Freed didn't do any of that.

“Ok,” he only whispered.

Laxus then looked up, noticing how his friend was staring at the park in front of them. Just ok? Laxus had thought he wanted to know more, and now he didn't know whether to be relieved at that reaction. He wasn't. He would have preferred that Freed insist, that he insult him, or that he have any other reaction. Anything would have been better. Better than that word that made it clear that Freed wasn't interested in him that much.

“I'm going home,” Freed said and put the skateboard on the ground, got on it and pushed himself with one foot, walking away from there. Laxus didn't stop him, just watched as he sped off down the street, his hair fluttering in the wind.

***

As soon as he got home, Freed had shiny eyes and streaked cheeks. He had been running around town on his skateboard avoiding the busiest areas and getting to his apartment as quickly as possible. He ran up the stairs and as soon as he was inside, he locked himself in his room, throwing the skateboard on the ground and throwing himself on the bed.

Why? Why had he done it? Why had he asked Laxus what they were? What had he expected? That he declared his love for him? Kiss him and tell him they were engaged? He threw his head on the pillow and heard new sobs rise up. He hated him. He hated him and he hated himself. What had he been thinking? That just kissing Laxus made him his boyfriend?

He tried to control his breathing and turned on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. He was a fool. He had completely fallen in love with his best friend and now he had made it worse. As if it weren't bad already. As if kissing him every time they were tipsy didn't hurt him enough already. He had thought...

He had thought wrong, that's all. Laxus wasn’t in love with him. He didn't care. It was just a momentary release, just fun. Maybe he liked boys, or maybe it was just a stupid thing he did when he was drunk without thinking.

Why must he have fallen in love with Laxus with all people? Why he?

He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his eyelids so as not to start crying again. With a shaky breath he reached for the phone and took it, deciding he couldn't go on like this. That he could no longer see Laxus. He was too sick. He had to go.

He entered the chat with his father and reread the message he had sent him a few months earlier, sending him the program of a university in Germany. Perhaps that would have been the best idea. Starting a new life away from Magnolia. Away from Laxus. The very thought made him feel bad.

And then how would he tell him? He had planned all summer with Laxus, they had decided that one week Freed would go to Laxus' grandfather's country house. The next week they would go to the beach in Hargeon with Freed's mother. Then they would stay in Magnolia together for a while and then they would go camping together, and then...

Freed began to feel sick. He didn't want to get away from Laxus. Maybe he could do it. If they hadn't kissed again, if they hadn't seen each other as before, maybe he would be able to get over it.

He turned off the phone and put it aside. He would wait for school to finish and decide, based on how things would change with Laxus.

What he didn't expect was to see the blonde go out and kiss Jenny a few days later. The afternoons he and Laxus spent together dwindled more and more. Laxus no longer spoke to him as before, he was careful not to touch him too much, he always invited Jenny when they went out together. They kissed all the time and Freed couldn't help but feel his heart breaking every time he saw them.

Until the afternoons were just a memory, because Laxus apparently preferred spending time with Jenny rather than him. The last two weeks of high school were terrible for Freed, who couldn't wait to leave Magnolia forever.

As soon as the final year exams were over, Freed called his father who paid him the ticket to Germany. Freed couldn't even tell Laxus, he didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. He didn't even tell Bickslow, or Evergreen. Only a few days later he would write to Bickslow, and he would have blocked Laxus on all social networks.

Notes: With this chapter the flashbacks are over. From the next there will be only parts about the present (and I assure you that in the next chapters they will talk). I hope you continue to like it.

[geeks-universe]

Veritas Vos Liberabit III

The truth will set you free.

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Tag List: @the-british-koala @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman

You had been thinking on Sherlock’s deductions.

Not intentionally, mind you. Rather, you couldn’t get them out of your head.

More than that, though, you were stuck on his question. The past week and a half since you moved to London had been spent trying, and failing, to find something you were passionate about. You wanted to help people, to be someone that did good in the world.

Instead, you were stuck pacing your apartment with your curly-haired neighbor stubbornly refusing to leave your thoughts.

Three days prior, you’d invited him, along with Mrs. Hudson and John, over for dinner in the hopes that you could make friends with them. Instead, he’d interrogated you the entire time. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to dislike them. They were a bit odd, but you were a friggin angel living in London after you ran from your adoptive father, who was actually your brother, who just so happened to be the Devil.

So, on the odd meter of your life, they barely passed an LA morning. 

The shrill ring of your phone interrupted your inner monologue, bringing a frown to your face as you read the name.

Not Today, Satan.

There was a little devil emoji by the contact name you’d chosen for your father the day you discovered the long string of memes regarding that particular phrase.

You knew it wasn’t fair to ignore his call, as you had been doing since you left LA, but you still needed time to acclimate. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Truthfully, you were afraid. Your father had kept you with him in Hell until he decided he wanted to take a little vacation to Earth. It wasn’t like you’d never been apart from him, but he had never been this far away, and you’d never so blatantly ignored him.

Three texts from him lit up your phone immediately following the ignored call. Another buzzed a second later, though this one was from the contact rightly labeled Nancy Drew.

Knowing your father wasn’t always the easiest to deal with at the best of times, you opened Chloe’s text instead.

Nancy Drew: Just checking in. Lucifer is worried sick, let him know you’re okay. I know he’s overbearing at times, but he cares about you.

A smile tugged at your lips. Whether your father was ready to admit it or not, Chloe was good for him. She was so very human in all of the best ways, and was genuinely good. He’d known her for the whole of just over a year and already she was positively influencing him.

Realizing it was unavoidable, you opened your father’s texts as you walked to the door. You just had to reply, then you could get all of the fresh air you could need. Maybe, you’d ask John if he wanted to go for a walk too. You could really use the help navigating the streets.

Not Today, Satan: What’s the bloody point of having a phone if you never answer it?

Not Today, Satan: It’s been over a week. Why are you in London?

Not Today, Satan: If you don’t answer, you’ll be Maze’s next bounty. She doesn’t play nice.

An eye roll was inevitable. He really didn’t know how to speak to you like you were normal. Which, yeah, you weren’t, but still, it would be nice to have a good family dynamic at some point in your life.

Y/N: Spending some time away. I’ll be back eventually.

Your reply was quick and offered very little in the information department. It didn’t seem to satisfy Lucifer, as a series of dings signaled his many replies. You didn’t bother looking at them, pocketing your phone and exiting your new apartment.

At first, you made your way down the street, before reconsidering the idea of being alone. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to ask John.

A short bit of backtracking brought you to 221B Baker Street, only for you to be momentarily surprised at the lack of a closed door. When John mentioned his door was always open for you, you were expecting support, not an actual opened door. For a moment, you debated on whether you should enter. Curiosity eventually got the best of you, especially when hushed voices descended the familiar steps.

Something wasn’t quite right, and the feeling had your back straightening. Your wings fluttered from their position, still hidden to the eyes of others. The conversation that took place above you was tense, and you found yourself holding your breath and placing one foot cautiously in front of the other.

You were slow to climb the stairs, which seemed far larger than normal. As the scene came into view, you noticed that Sherlock looked far too confident for a very human man with a gun pointed at his head. John, on the other hand, was barely keeping a lid on his boiling anger. The gunman’s back was to you, though he was far closer to your position than either of the men occupying the room.

One misplaced step was all it took before a creak, which would otherwise be barely noticeable, but to the quiet of the room sounded more like a gunshot, resonated throughout the inhabitants. Sherlock and John didn’t move an inch, but their eyes moved to you immediately. The gunman was quick, far quicker than you were expecting, and had set his sights on you.

You blinked, shooting the two Baker residents a sheepish smile.

“I, uh, was going to ask if you could be my tour guide for a bit, John, but it seems you’ve got your hands full.”

John’s responding chuckle was tense.

“Your timing is impeccable,” Sherlock commented dryly.

Sighing to yourself, you took a step towards the gunman, only to stop briefly when he shoved the gun even closer, as if to emphasize the weapon in his hand.

“Stop moving!” He warned.

You ran your tongue along your teeth, examining the man from top to bottom. He looked collected, like he was professionally trained, though there was a hint of something manic in his eyes. His hands didn’t shake, so clearly he had killed before, and doing so again wasn’t a bother for him. A fresh pressed suit adorned his body, and by the looks of it, the sudden intrusion on John and Sherlock hadn’t been planned initially. They must’ve done something to piss him off.

“You don’t want to kill me,” you told him, flashing that sultry smile that oozed of a devilish charm you most certainly possessed.

“You don’t know that,” he countered, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

Briefly, you flicked your gaze to John, and then to Sherlock, hoping that you were relaying a message of pure confidence.

“You’re right,” you conceded, taking a tense step. “So tell me then, what is it you truly desire?”

The question bounced around in his mind, the power of the divine wrestling with the promise of free will in his expression, until eventually, divinity won out.

“I…”

He licked his lips.

“I want to be rich… to have whatever I could ever hope for.”

His eyes glazed over as you chanced a few more steps, closing in on his position.

“Greed, then,” you conversed, just barely out of reach. If you could just move forward another step, you could snatch his gun. “Of course it’s greed.”

“Money is power,” he insisted, so focused on his own musings he didn’t take notice of your new location.

“No,” you argued, just registering the brief flicker of surprise as you wrestled the gun out of his unsuspecting hands. You turned it on him, just as quickly, clicking your tongue when he tried to lunge forward. “Power is power.”

Whatever retort he’d been about to say was cut short when John swung his fist at him, knocking him out cold with a force to his temple.

“You’re not even frightened,” Sherlock observed, sparing the man on the ground barely a glance before his eyes found you again. Between the two, he found you infinitely more intriguing. “It’s not the first time you’ve had a gun pointed at you.”

John stepped away for just a moment, grumbling about phoning the police while he did so. You’d smiled pleasantly at him before turning your attention to his roommate.

“You’re not the only civilian consultant in the world, you know?”

He didn’t outwardly express anything at your statement, but you’d gotten considerably good at picking up on the smallest changes in expressions, and there was a curiosity growing in the man.

“My father helps an LAPD detective on her cases,” you explained.

Speak of the devil…

Your phone dinged again, and you didn’t even have to check to know it was your father once more. Probably using Maze to threaten you again. You wondered idly how long it would take him to realize that Maze was, and had been since you were a baby, utterly wrapped around your finger. You were her protege, in a way, and she’d been a close confidant. For all of his efforts spent on reminding you how scary she could be, Mazikeen would never hurt you.

“He’s also had people wanting to kill him since the dawn of time,” you shrugged, adding a gentle “literally” under your breath.

“What was that?” John had returned, and was gesturing vaguely to the area around your face. “With the ‘desire’ stuff?”

“An old trick,” you waved it off, not wanting to, nor knowing how to, explain it any further. John wasn’t satisfied by your answer, and he was fully intent on getting more of an explanation before Sherlock interrupted him.

“You are entirely unexpected,” he claimed, his eyes moving rapidly about your character, looking for some sort of answer only he could see.

“Yeah, well, I was here for John, actually.”

The man in question perked up, taking a step towards you. Clearly, he wasn’t going to let what just happened go so quickly, but he was also wondering what you could’ve possibly needed him for.

“You were?”

“I was hoping you could show me around,” you shrugged, rocking on your heels.

“I can-” he cleared his throat, and in the distance you heard police sirens racing towards your location. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“It’s settled then,” Sherlock smiled, clapping his hands together. There was a certain flatness to it, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re going for a little tour.”

“Not what I was going for,” you muttered, shooting a look at the man still slumped over on the ground. 

“The police will be here in one and a half- no, two- minutes,” Sherlock informed you distractedly, slipping on his dark coat with practised ease. “They’re getting slow.”

“Back to insulting, are we?” John grumbled under his breath, keeping a close watch on the man on the floor. It was clear, despite the aggressive hit he’d placed on the recent invader, he was still worried about him waking back up and going on the attack once more.

“Might as well help them, then,” you suggested, noting the tension John sported as you leaned down towards the unconscious man. Though he didn’t make moves to stop you, he did move in closer, to intervene should a situation arise.

“Maybe you shou-”

John stopped his sentence halfway through when you hoisted the man over your shoulder as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Even Sherlock looked perplexed at your lack of struggling. To be fair, you didn’t look like you could sling a man his size with no issue. 

“I’m just bringing him to the door,” you told them, hiding a smirk at their astonishment. So maybe you had inherited the need for theatrics from Lucifer. 

“Sure you don’t need any,” John paused, his mouth open as he watched you jog down the steps without any problems.

“Help,” he finished lamely, sharing a look with Sherlock.

At first, he thought Sherlock’s confusion with you stemmed from some hidden attraction his friend couldn’t understand. Now, though, he could see the merit of it. There were definitely some oddities about you.

“This your guy?” You called back up to the two men who had still yet to move. They were frozen in a state somewhere between confusion and awe.

That pulled Sherlock out of the stupor, and subsequently drew John down the stairs too. You were just standing there, your head vaguely gesturing towards the police car coming to a sudden stop outside. Sherlock couldn’t help the little laugh that crawled up his throat at the sight of someone of your stature carrying someone of this man’s stature with such ease.

“Uh, yeah,” John answered when Sherlock was clearly not going to. “That’s Lestrade.”

The Detective Inspector was making his way towards where you stood, doing a comical double take when he noticed the man balanced precariously over your shoulder.

“Cavalry's here,” the silver-haired detective muttered, laughing to himself. “You must be the new neighbor?”

It was a question directed towards you, despite his eyes still stuck on the man you were holding.

“(Y/N),” you introduced, “Morningstar. I’m guessing this is the person you’re looking for.”

“Uh,” he coughed awkwardly, his eyes stuck on you.

There it was again, that little flicker of desire- the allure of divinity. You breathed out a sigh, walking the man to the so-dubbed ‘Lestrade’s’ car. He was quick to follow you, opening the door and slapping cuffs on the unconscious man in one fell swoop. He shut the gunman in, still looking a bit dazed from your initial meeting as he did so.

“Talk about an exciting morning,” you enthused, running your tongue along your teeth when you felt the telltale vibration of a notification.

“You’ve been ignoring your text messages,” Sherlock commented, a challenging brow raised.

“I’ve been busy,” you shot back, turning to face the Detective Inspector. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

His eyes widened, and he briefly held a hand to his chest, as if to ask if you were speaking to him.

“I’m Greg,” he smiled then caught himself. “Greg Lestrade, the Detective Inspector.”

Each word was released quicker than the last, like he couldn’t believe he had let his introduction go unsaid in the first place. Your replying smirk was genuine, a friendly answer to his words.

“Don’t you have an arrest to make?” Sherlock cut in, startling you. Was being rude a personality trait? Because he certainly had it down.

“Always a pleasure seeing you,” Greg drawled sarcastically, though the eye roll was done goodnaturedly. “It was nice meeting you, (Y/N) Morningstar.”

You nodded, giving him a friendly wave. He didn’t linger long, returning to his car quickly to arrest the man in the back without so much as a question of how he came to be like that. Clearly, he’d dealt with Sherlock for quite some time.

“The tour,” Sherlock reminded you, surprisingly pleasantly. “Shall we?”

John shrugged, an expression that told you just to go with it, as he always had. At the very least, you didn’t have anything to lose.

And-

Another text came through.

Everything to ignore, apparently.

“We shall,” you nodded, letting him lead the way.