#especially when autumn/winter hits

[darlingpeasant]

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to be someone’s person. To be considered. To be held. To be kissed. To be loved. To be that one person who is everything to that someone. And sometimes I think about it a little bit too hard and I can feel my heart hurting real bad

Anyways

[flickering-chandelier]

It’s Cool, We’re Just Friends

Pairing: Azriel x BestFriend! Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader have been besties for years, until one night has them crossing into uncharted territory.

Warning: Steamy at the end whoops

Word Count: 2.8k

The rooftop garden at Rhysand’s townhouse was one of your favorite places in the world. It was one of the only places that you could often have to yourself when you needed some time for quiet reflection. You loved to lounge up there, especially at night when you could watch the City of Starlight come to life before your very eyes.

The only thing better than having the rooftop all to yourself was sharing it with your best friend, Azriel.

You smiled as he appeared, smoothly landing a few feet from you, his eyes sparkling, his shadows vanishing as he smiled at you.

He dragged the empty iron chair closer to you and settled in, stretching his wings out behind him, placing his hands behind his head, leaning back casually. He only sat this way when it was just the two of you, when he didn’t have to keep up appearances as the Night Court’s spymaster and shadowsinger.

“What did you do today?” he asked, looking out at the light and life of the city.

“Trained with Cassian. Hated my life,” you said, shifting in the iron chair to ease some of the soreness in your back.

Azriel laughed quietly, his eyes flicking to you as you tried to get comfortable. “Cassian always has that effect on me, too.”

You scoffed, lightly swatting at his bare bicep. “Don’t be mean. You love your brother.”

He sighed, smiling lightly at you. “Then what?”

“Mmmm,” you pondered, running through your day in your mind. “Oh! I finished my book!”

“The one about the forbidden love?” He lifted his eyebrow.

“Yes!” you squealed, excitedly. “It was so good.”

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice teasing in that way that he saved just for you. “They finally got together and lived happily ever after?”

“Yes! How did you know?” You teased.

He shook his head, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Not really,” you said, studying him. He was the only person you had ever met who actually wanted to know the answer when they asked you how your day was. “What did you do today?”

Azriel shrugged, looking out at the city again, the flickering lights below reflecting in his eyes. “Not much.”

“Are you kidding me?” You leaned forward in your seat, gawking at him, and he laughed. “I tell you everything about my boring day, and that’s your answer?”

His smile faded though as he leveled a gaze at you, his eyes sweeping over your face. “I wanted to spare you the details.”

Your blood turned cold at his serious expression. Azriel and you had been best friends for years, ever since you had fled your home in the Autumn Court. From your old home, you had gone north, nearly freezing to death in the Winter Court before the shadowsinger found you and gave you refuge in Velaris. The two of you were kindred spirits, hitting it off instantly. His brothers and his other friends had eventually told you that he immediately relaxed in your presence, even from the beginning, and that he had never seemed so comfortable with someone so quickly. You were honored to be his friend, thanked the stars every night that he had found you and saved your life.

He had been fiercely protective of you from the beginning, wanting to shield you from the realities of what his life was like outside of Velaris. You hated to admit it, but you did get squeamish thinking about what you knew Azriel sometimes had to do -- the torture, the blood, the screams. The thought of him sneaking around in dangerous territories, watching enemies, gathering intel on the in’s and out’s of their lives… it made you more worried than you could express.

But, you also hated not knowing what he was doing, if he was safe. It took months, but you eventually convinced him that you could handle at least the vaguest details of the missions he went on. You knew that he would never be willing to tell you the whole truth, knew that he didn’t want you to think of him that way -- the ruthless, unyielding shadowsinger.

“Oh,” you said finally. “Are you okay?”

Still, he would usually tell you something. So, if he was unwilling to tell you what he had been doing today… it must have been something very dangerous indeed.

His eyes softened as he gazed at you. “I am now.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sweet Illyrian before you. “You can talk about it, you know. If you have to. I’m here for you,” you reached across the space between you, gently taking his hand.

Azriel’s gaze landed on your hand clasped with his, his expression softening to barely detectable sadness that made you heart hurt. “I know you are,” he said softly.

You studied him for a moment, eyes trailing over that beautiful face that you had memorized. He was in his fighting leathers, tattoos peeking out from under his collar, trailing down his bare arms, his strong biceps that were the size of your head, his massive wings stretched out behind him.

And his rough, scarred hand gently holding yours.

You tugged on his hand gently, so his eyes met yours again. “Want to take me for a ride?”

He smirked, an expression that had taken months of friendship to unlock. “You sure you want to?”

“You seem like you could use a distraction,” you murmured.

Azriel held your gaze for a beat longer before he stood up and scooped you into his arms, only pausing for a moment to smile at you before he shot up into the sky.

Flying with your Illyrian friends had taken a long time for you to get remotely used to, and even now it sometimes made your stomach churn. But you knew it helped clear Azriel’s mind, and you liked the time you got to spend with him in the air, just the two of you.

He held you close against him, his arms wrapped behind your back and under your knees. You rested a hand on his chest, reveling in your opportunity to study him while his eyes were trained on his surroundings. No matter how much time you spent with your friend, his beauty never ceased to amaze you.

You could feel the tension in his body slowly loosen as he flew above his city, a light breeze gracing against your skin, running through your hair through the shields that he put up around the two of you.

Dipping his head, bringing his mouth to your ear, he murmured, “Thank you.”

You curled into him, resting your head on his chest. He tightened his grip on you slightly.

Sometime later, he landed back on the roof, setting you carefully on the ground. Despite his gentle touch, you winced quietly as the muscles in your back ached from your training this morning.

Azriel’s brow furrowed, his hands freezing at your waist, his fingers flexing against your body. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said, smiling sweetly up at him.

He arched a brow, not believing it for a second.

“It’s nothing!”

He simply waited, knowing full well that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut for long.

“Okay, fine,” you groaned. “My back hurts. A lot.”

His eyes swam with worry, before narrowing in accusation. “You haven’t been doing the stretches you’re supposed to be doing, have you?”

“Well…” you said, your voice rising a few octaves. “Not all of them.”

He growled your name, his frustration evident. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “They didn’t seem that important at the time.”

“What are you doing?” you squealed, trying and failing not to stare at your best friend’s glorious ass, which was now far too close to your face.

Groaning, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, heading for the stairs of the townhouse. You shrieked. In all of your years together, he had never done this.

“I’m going to help you solve the problem that you created, because you’re my best friend, and because you clearly aren’t capable of taking care of yourself,” he said, as he stomped unceremoniously down the stairs.

Scoffing, you said, “Is this really a necessary part of it?”

“Yes,” he countered, clearly amused.

You huffed, staying silent as he walked through the mercifully empty halls to your bedroom. He opened the door with his free hand, kicking it shut behind him, before tossing you onto the bed.

“Oww,” you groaned as your back hit the mattress.

The tough guy act faded as soon as you were in pain. His eyes softened. “Sorry.”

“I thought you said you were going to help me,” you grumbled.

“I am,” he said, stalking towards you, his eyes alight. “Lay on your stomach.”

You quirked a brow at him in question, but when he just silently held your gaze, you sighed and did as you were told.

Suddenly, you were very aware of how thin the material of your dress was, how the hem landed just above your knees. You were thankful that he couldn’t see the heat in your cheeks.

The mattress shifted beneath you as he climbed onto the bed. “What are you--”

“Shh.”

Your skin prickled as he settled his calves snug against your hips, straddling you. He remained hovering over your body on his knees. You weren’t sure you were breathing.

“Okay, what are you --”

The air was sucked out of your lungs as his hands found their way to your shoulders, kneading your back with his rough fingers, digging deep into you, working out all the tension that had been building in your muscles for who knows how long.

You weren’t sure if it felt good or if it hurt… both. Definitely both.

He remained silent as he worked out the knots in your back, gradually moving lower and lower, kneading and rubbing.

The lower his hands moved, the more you had to focus not to squirm. You felt the heat of his body, and the things his hands were doing… you couldn't help but imagine what those hands could do in other places.

It’s not like you had never thought about it before. You had always been just friends, but you weren’t blind. He was the most beautiful male you had ever seen. And he was always so sweet and kind and protective…

You couldn’t stop the moan that came out of your mouth.

His hands stilled for the slightest moment before he continued kneading your muscles. “You doing okay?” He asked, his voice thick. It made heat spread between your legs. The legs that he was currently holding down with his body.

“Mmhmm,” was all you could manage.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when he finally lifted his hands from your back. “Is that better?” he asked softly, not moving from his position over you.

You twisted around a bit, testing movements that had made you wince before. After a moment you turned to lay on your back, your body touching his in so many places as you did so. “You’re a miracle worker,” you said, your voice coming out raspy.

He continued to hover over you, his expression unreadable. He leaned closer, bracing his forearms on either side of you, his chest pressing against yours, his face only inches away.

“Az,” you breathed, unable to look away from the heat in his eyes.

His eyes sparked and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, twining a hand in your hair as the other gripped your waist.

Your body responded to his immediately, your hands cupping his cheek, wrapping around the back of his neck.

The kiss started out slow. Azriel was taking his time, and when you opened your mouth for him, his tongue slid in gently, exploring your mouth with such tenderness that you wanted to weep.

You gasped as he pulled away to leave a line of sensual kisses down your neck, his hands running over your stomach, your thighs.. “We should’ve been doing this the whole time,” you moaned, breathless.

He laughed into your skin, and you felt the vibration go through your whole body. You squeezed your thighs together and he groaned, nipping lightly at your shoulder.

“Yes, we should have,” he said, kissing his way up your neck. “We’re idiots,” he laughed before taking your mouth with his again, kissing you deeply.

“So stupid,” you said against his mouth and the shoulders you were clutching shook with laughter.

Azriel continued to kiss you slowly, his rough hand drifting underneath your dress, up your thighs…

“Is this okay?” he pulled his mouth back an inch, his eyes studying your face, his body attuned to your every reaction.

“Az, you’re my very favorite person. I trust you with my life. You can do whatever you want to me,” you said, your voice teasing despite how breathless he was making you.

His eyes sparked, his expression one of affection and disbelief before he smirked, his hand trailing up further. “Whatever I want, hmm?” he murmured, his eyes trained on yours.

You could only stare as his hand stilled, a fraction away from where you really wanted him.

“And what do you want, my dear friend?” he said, his voice velvety in a way you’d never heard before.

“Please,” was all you could manage.

He grinned, waiting a beat before he moved your underwear to the side, sliding a finger into your center.

The moan that you let out nearly rattled the walls.

His gaze was trained on you, watching how your body reacted to every move he made. Eventually you tugged his clothes off and he did the same to you, until you were moving together, skin to skin. He moaned your name as he slid into you, setting your body on fire.

He pressed his forehead to yours as he moved inside you, one of his hands holding yours, clutched next to your head, as he kissed your lips gently. He gazed at you when he pulled back, his every movement swimming with affection. “You’re my favorite person,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re the hottest man in the world,” you said just as quietly, your fingers scratching down his back, his wings rippling behind him.

The laugh that rumbled through him made your head spin, and his hips move faster. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he countered, smiling lovingly down at you.

“I was staring at your ass when you slung me over your shoulder,” you admitted.

“I stare at your ass whenever you leave the room,” he grinned, bending down to nip playfully at your neck, his hips not breaking his steady rhythm.

You gasped, swatting his arm. “You do not!”

“I do,” he laughed, kissing your neck.

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you said mockingly.

He looked at you pointedly, slamming his hips into yours more forcefully. The sound that escaped from your throat was filthy.

“I guess you’re learning a lot about me tonight,” he teased, his eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes playfully before wrapping a hand around the back of his head, twisting your fingers through his hair as you brought his mouth down to yours.

You didn’t speak again until some time later, when he was holding you close, your legs entwined, your head resting on his bare chest, his wings enveloping you in their warmth.

Idly, you drew shapes and patterns onto his skin with your fingertip. He shivered. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on your finger, moving to trace over his tattoos, too afraid to look at his expression.

His arms tightened around you and he kissed the top of your head. “I’ve been in love with you since I met you.”

Your gaze flicked to him, your eyes wide. He smiled softly down at you. “You have?"

He kissed you gently in response. “How could I not be?” he whispered.

Your bottom lip trembled and he ran his thumb across it. “Don’t cry,” he murmured.

That made you cry. He laughed, his wings wrapping tighter around the two of you, shielding you from the world.

“Such a softie,” he teased, lifting your chin to press a sweet kiss to your mouth.

You grumbled adamantly, burying your face in his chest.

The two of you laid in companionable silence for a while before he broke it. “You’re going to do your stretches from now on, right?”

“If this is the treatment I get when I don’t do them? Absolutely not,” you grinned.

[pretentious-blonde]

turning pages

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: making the most of the beginnings of autumn, steve takes his girl to a bookshop. only problem is, he is clueless as to what she is talking about.

warnings: none, steve being insecure?

a/n: today feels like the first day of autumn so I wanted to write something for steve being obsessed with his girl <3

The crisp autumn morning was a blessing after the oppressive heat of the summer. The wind carried with it the scent of fallen leaves and the familiar smell of burning wood, probably from a distant bonfire. Steve took in the beauty of the morning as he walked with you, practically glued to your side, matching your every step with his own. 

The sun shone bright above the pair, but did little to heat the two of you. Instead, it covered the trees in a warm orange glow, complementing the leaves that continued to fall. The colours only added to it—crimson reds and burnt oranges, scattered across the pavement you strolled down, giving a satisfying crunch as you both walked. 

Wrapped up warm next to him in her oversized jumper was his girl, clad in an old winter coat that looked like it could swallow her whole. Her cheeks were flushed from the chilly breeze, making her features appear even softer. He didn’t think that was possible. 

She took a sip of her hot chocolate, something she was so excited to finally have now the weather had cooled down. He was more of a coffee drinker himself, but he wouldn’t let her know that, especially when her eyes lit up as she ordered one for him too. Giddily handing it to him and watching as he took his first sip. 

For her, it would be his new favourite. 

He watched the way her breath came out in small clouds, the morning light illuminating her face and a few strands of hair that framed her perfectly. 

He couldn’t hide the smile from his face even if he tried; he thanked the coldness for hiding his own reddening cheeks. Everything about her mesmerised him, even more so today—the peaceful look in her eyes, the way she looked so snug in her layers, radiating warmth despite the dropping temperature. She had to fight him off that morning after he insisted on wrapping her up more, offering up his jumper collection for her comfort. Eventually, she gave in and didn’t fight when he draped his scarf around her neck, tying it up and tucking it into her jacket. 

He wanted her to always be comfortable. Always be happy. 

His own hot chocolate helped to warm his fingers, every sip reminding him of the sweet girl next to him. As the two of you walked, you could feel his gaze wandering to you, your eyes wide and sparkling as you talked about everything and nothing. Your laughter rang aloud at something he said and his heart leapt in his chest, he felt lucky for being the cause of it. 

Every now and then, he’d reach out and gently brush a stray leaf from your coat or adjust his scarf as you tell him off for fussing too much. You do it all with a small grin, he knows you secretly love it, and all he is thinking about is how he’d do anything to keep that smile on your face. 

As you continued to wander along the street, he felt you pause next to him before grabbing his arm with excitement. He chuckled as you dragged him in the direction of the bookshop, just happy to be in your company. 

“C’mon, I didn’t know this was here!” You tell him, practically skipping towards the entrance. 

“Neither did I, honey,” he says, keeping his tone upbeat so as to not dim your enthusiasm. This was not exactly his comfort zone and the last thing he wanted was for you to think you were dating some kind of fool. 

As you pulled him inside, he was hit with the cosy smell of old parchment, similar to the one that filled your apartment. Probably due to your overflowing bookshelf. The lighting was dim and inviting, flowing over your form as you began to wander down the aisles. He watched from afar as your brows furrowed in concentration, carefully inspecting each new book you spotted. It was clear you were in your element. 

The boy tried to act casual, leaning against one of the shelves, tucking his hands in his pockets. But internally, he was nervous. He knew nothing about books. Years of trying in class but failing miserably, his skills were more social ones, not academic. His mind started overthinking the entire situation. Maybe you liked smarter guys, men who could recommend you something, knowing immediately what you would like. Someone you could drink hot chocolate with and exchange reading materials while talking about obscure authors and their works. 

“This place is pretty cool, angel,” he said while pretending to look around. 

You tore your gaze away from the book in your hand, your smile bright. “I know right? I can’t believe we have never seen it here before.”

You carried on perusing the shelves, this time taking Steve with you, picking up a few classics that you have read previously. You held up a second-hand copy of Pride and Prejudice, your eyes glinting with excitement. “This is an absolute favourite. Elizabeth Bennet falls in love with Mr Darcy. He is so misunderstood in my opinion. It’s all about social class and personal growth—I love it. Real old school romance.”

He nodded enthusiastically as he listened intently to what you were saying. Mr Darcy, Bennet…right. Got it. His small smile never fell as he tried to keep up with your rambling. “Yeah, sounds great, honey. I mean—if you say it’s that great—I believe you.”

You laughed and shoved his shoulder teasingly. “My opinion is always correct. Okay, let me show you…” you scan the shelf to try and find another title. “This one,” you hold up a book with the author Shirley Jackson printed on the bottom. 

“This one is a bit of a psychological thriller. It’s about two sisters living in isolation, and it’s got this eerie, unsettling vibe. You’d probably laugh if I told you it’s a bit of a horror novel. I mean, I don’t exactly see you reading ghost stories.”

“I’m sure it’s super creepy. I’ll take your word for it.” He tried to sound convincing, but his mind was elsewhere. What’s a psychological thriller again? Fuck.

You continued to talk about books, stopping to tell him what you loved and what you didn’t about each one. Steve found himself more focused on how adorable you looked when you were passionate about something. Your hands gestured animatedly as you described the plots and characters, and he couldn’t help but be completely enchanted by your enthusiasm. His smart girl. 

He wanted to ask questions to keep you talking, but he was worried about saying something that might seem stupid. What if I ask the wrong thing? He didn’t want to seem clueless—god—if only he had paid more attention in English class. Maybe then he could at least try to humour you better. 

Instead, he just kept nodding, offering encouraging smiles and the occasional, “That sounds really cool.” Just hoping it was the right thing to say, wracking his brain to find a more exciting adjective than ‘cool’.

As you continued to browse, Steve’s eyes caught sight of a familiar cover on a nearby shelf, The Great Gatsby. He hadn’t thought about that book in ages, but he remembered reading it—pretending to read it—a while back in class and tried desperately to remember something—anything—from the plot. Trying to act casual, leaning over you as he pointed at it, your senses suddenly filled with the smell of bergamot and amberwood. 

“Hey, Gatsby. I, uh, liked it.” He ran a hand through his hair, an action that you quickly learnt he did when he was stressed or unsure, you could hear the hesitation in his voice. Steve regretted speaking up immediately. Everyone had read it, or at least studied it back in school. It was hardly impressive. He just wanted to contribute somehow. Wanted to share something with you that you were passionate about. 

You turned to him with a warm smile, clearly seeing through his nonchalant facade. “You’ve read The Great Gatsby? I love Fitzgerald’s work.”

Steve’s face turned a pretty shade of pink at your reassurance. God, you’re too sweet for him. 

“Yeah, I remember it being pretty good. I mean, it’s definitely one of those books that, like, sticks with you, right?”

You chuckled and gave him a playful nudge, the action alone making his chest tighten at your innocent touch. “Definitely. I’m impressed you remembered it. You’ve got good taste.”

Steve’s smile widened, his eyes filled with adoration, your response made him feel like he was doing something right as relief washed over him. He reached out, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just happy I’m with you, honey. I like you telling me this…stuff. You make it all sound so interesting.”

You beamed up at him, your eyes shining. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. As long as you’re ok with me talking your ear off.”

Please, he thought. He would listen to you ramble all day.

When you had finally finished looking around, you had narrowed it down to only two books you were going to buy, clutching them both close to your chest. Steve walked up beside you, grabbing the slightly battered copy of Pride and Prejudice along with the Shirley Jackson novel you’d had gushed to him about earlier. You glanced at him in surprise as he added them to the stack at the counter.

“Wait, why are you getting those?” you asked, tilting your head as he reached into his pocket, handing the cashier the cash. 

Steve shrugged casually, brushing off your question. “Because you like them, and I’m gonna read them,” he said with a confident grin, holding the door open for you as you both stepped back into the cold air outside, books in hand.

You blinked up at him as you stopped walking, shaking your head at the thought of inconveniencing him. “You really don’t have to, you know. I wasn’t trying to make you read them.”

He stopped when you did, giving you that soft, classic Steve look that always made your knees go weak. 

“Nonsense,” he replied, his voice full of affection as he held a hand up to your stressed face. “If you like them, angel, I’ll love them. Plus, I kinda want to know what you’re talking about when you get all excited next time you bring me here.”

Your heart melted on the spot. “You’re too nice, you know that?”

His confident expression faltered, now looking more bashful. He slipped his hand into yours as you continued your walk, not wanting it to get cold. 

“Only for you,” he said, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. “And I’ll read anything if it means I get to hear more of what you gotta say.”

You glanced up at him, a playful smirk playing on your lips. “Oh, really? Gonna give you a pop quiz and everything once you’ve finished them if that’s the case.”

Steve chuckled, feeling the pressure already with your teasing threat. “Quiz me? Uh, maybe let me get through a few chapters first, honey.”

“I’ll make flashcards for you and everything. You’ll be an expert on Austen when I’m done with you.” You giggle. 

He laughed, shaking his head at your antics. “If I suddenly become a literary genius, it’s all thanks to you, angel.”

You leaned closer to him, taking your hand away from his so he could wrap a strong arm around your shoulders. 

“I like you just the way you are.” The words fell out of your mouth with ease.

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide how he felt after hearing you say that. Your words would be replaying in his head for weeks to come. “Keep sweet-talking me, and I might even start quoting Pride and Prejudice just to impress you.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” you teased. “You as Mr. Darcy? Perfect.”

“At your service, Miss Bennet.” He said, giving you a small bow, he hoped he remembered names right from earlier.

You burst out laughing, feeling warmer thanks to the sweet boy next to you. He pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as you continued down the street together, tucked under his shoulder, hot chocolate now cold in your paper cups. Not that it mattered, he would buy you as many as you liked as long as he was with you.

[adoregojo]

he doesn't realise how lonely he is.

the birds nagging on the early morning was freaking annoying and made him wanted to block the window ten times more. he hated how his breakfast tasted, he added to much salt and now he keeps grimacing at every bite. the usual black stray cat on his doorstep keeps greeting him every morning, and all he could find to reply to it meowing was a frown. sunny days were nothing but a pain, the bright light hitting his face as if it was forcing him to like it. how vexing.

the difference shape of flowers peeking out from the next door store brings him nothing of a sense of joy, if anything he wanted to stay away from it due to it attracting the bugs. his coworkers never talk to him, not like he wants to talk to him. he never looked them in the eyes anyway.

he can clearly hear them, their whispers -that were too loud for him to hear- about him being likely an old grumpy grandpa in disguise, they even made bets on if he would smile one day. it didn't hurt him, he couldn't gave a good fuck for it, he just wanted this day to end so he could go home and never have to see anyone.

he doesn't take his shoes off when he's in the apartment, it was too much of a hassle and he doesn't get any visitors anyway. there's barely any food in his fridge, mostly leftovers. he just eats to survive another day. watching pointless tv shows that never truly entertained him, in fact he found them boring but as long as they kept him busy he didn't care.

winter was too cold, summer was too hot, autumn was stressful, and spring gets him a sick problems all the time.

he truly doesn't know where to enjoy anything in life.

well, until he met you.

all of a sudden, the birds melody doesn't sound so bad, so he opens the window for some fresh air. he stared to put afford in making breakfast, not his usual too slaty eggs it is now a fluffy pancakes with your guidance as you embraced him from behind. they weren't perfect, but the pleased noises you make after every bite made him proud. of course he doesn't forget to feed your cat, the same black cat that he claimed it was nothing but a bad luck.

he didn't realise of how much of a neighbours he had till he started coping how you greeted them, it was nice when they started sending you guys food. especially when you liked them and sometimes they'll send his favourite.

sunny days were welcomed now. especially when the bright light would hit on your skin causing a reflection that's making you a walking glowing star. maybe he liked the sun a bit now.

he made progress on talking back to him coworkers, instead of the silent treatment he actually looked at them knowledge them. he actually started looking at them when they speak to him because you told him it was rude not to. soon he was invited to lunch with them where he would show off his bento box you made for him, he was glad the whispers disappeared. he didn't get how much it bothered him till now.

the owner of the flower shop who was an old lady was now a common person he had to see every week, she remarked he was her most loyal client. he received a tones of advice and recommended flowers as well pinching his cheek as a farewell message. needless to say he always tried coming home -he stopped calling it an apartment- to you without an empty hand, having your favourite pair of flowers was a must now. as well taking off his shoes and putting it directly next to yours, this was it right place.

rethinking it now, winter may be still cold but at least he got the scarf you got for him warped up to his neck, if he buried his nose in the soft fur he could smell your cologne -a reason why it was his favourite one- summer was perfect for you two picnic dates, and every time he could kneel down and thank the sun for making you so blazing and sparkly.

autumn was where you would count the crunchy golden leaves, you sometimes warped yourself around it as if it was snow. it was his favourite memory since it made his heart beating fast. and in the end you were his spring, where his love would bloom for you again and again.

restaurants weren't a waste of money and time now. he has a prefers show and it was the one that made you laugh until the tears formed in your eyes, he honestly doesn't find them as funny but it makes you smile so he didn't care.

life stopped being meaningless afterwards, and he could finally say that he enjoyed living as long as it was beside you.

nagi, rin, sae, toji, choso, ushijima, kenma, diluc. kei, sakusa. you favs!

[sparkywrites25]

Perspective

Summary: You're struggling in the aftermath of a mission. Amid the beauty of autumn, Levi finds you.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Inspiration: Credit goes to @creativepromptsforwriting for some of the prompts that I used. Here is the post.

TW: descriptions of death and violence as well as symptoms and mentions of anxiety/PTSD especially flashbacks and panic attacks.

Taglist: @youre-ackermine @galactic3a @notgoodforlife @ladycheesington

Notes: If you like my work and want to see more then please join my taglist. Form is pinned on my blog.

Your footsteps crunch satisfyingly against the browning leaves beneath your boots. You enjoy the harsh, crisp sound as you march across the grounds to the thick woodland surrounding the base. Under the stunning rays of sunset, the forest shines in various shades of golden-brown, green and red. The leaves that drop to the ground are beautiful in their variety before they land with their comrades and disappear into the autumnal mulch of the earth, turning to bits under your weight. 

Huffing quietly, you lower your head and continue onward, a scowl twisting its way across your features. Away from the prying eyes of your comrades and commanders alike, you allow your feelings to fully settle over you. Your first ball into fists so tight that your nails scratch deeply at your palms and your shoulders are so squared that they ache already.

Each puff of air is sucked in and inhaled quickly, each one shallower than the one before. You let your stride increase, your anger pouring off you in waves as you retreat deeper and deeper into the forest. The colourful, bright ways of sunset begin to disappear behind the thickening shade of the trees. 

The scent of apples hits you immediately and your stomach surges in immediate, nostalgic delight. In those brief seconds, you are back home watching your mother serve up the family treat of apple pie, the apples produced from the family orchard. Or you’re running through the orchard with your friends, ducking behind trees and lying down flat behind brushes and bramble. Or you’re strolling under the trees with a basket, plucking down the ripest-looking apples and adding them to your basket, beaming with pride at the growing pile there and then comparing the collection to the ones sitting in your siblings’ baskets.

Back before you killed anyone. 

The thought brings you a stop and for a moment you can’t breathe as the images hit you again: comrades swallowed up in horrific, gaping mouths, riders racing towards their endangered comrades only for a surprise grab to pluck them out of their intentions and their lives, and the remains of bodies and blood streaming the plains around the titans. 

You reach out a hand to the nearest tree to steady yourself as the stench of iron and death overtakes you at once. You gag under it and bring your fist to your mouth at once. 

You’re a useless captain. You should have just taken the loss and focused on the mission. You should have protected your squad. Maybe you wouldn’t have lost half of them. 

It was so simple at the time; the possibility of saving the new recruits and minimizing casualties. It was a sick twist of fate that your decision had resulted in more casualties. 

You lean against the tree and slide down it until you have slumped onto the ground. You stretch out your legs and you feel your anger draining out of you as your intrusive thoughts take hold. Anxiety swirls like a maelstrom, filling up your body with a dizzying, queasy feeling of regret. The faces of your team, the ones who will never come home again, drift in front of your face, like their ghosts are taunting you. 

Why shouldn’t they?

You let out a shuddering breath, a strange, strangled sound escaping you when you think of Commander Erwin’s announcement this morning. The next mission would be delayed. There was talk of that being the last one before expeditions halted for the winter. You smile mirthlessly. Once upon a time, that would have irritated you. You would have been chomping at the bit to get out there again. 

Now titans are chomping on your team. 

You pass a hand over your face, closing your eyes as that weight falls over you again, the heaviness of responsibility, of the consequences of your decision. The same burden of dread and hindsight that hovers over you at night, sapping sleep away from you before it can land.

Your breathing is coming out in shallow, quicker pants. You stretch out your hands either side, feeling for the earth around you. Your left hand closes around the nearest object - something smooth and lukewarm. You turn your head to look at the smooth, round object in your fingers. Your see a chestnut, free of its spiky case, sitting in the lowest dip of your hand. You clutch onto it instinctively, hanging onto it steady firmness as you breathe deep.

On your other side, your fingers meet with the familiar shape of acorns. You trace the shapes of them with your fingers. The motion helps with the increasing struggle to breathe. You can feel some of the nervous energy disappearing into the movement and you gasp for breath, trying to take in more air. 

You’re so weak. You’re pathetic. 

How you ended up in this position, you suddenly can’t remember? Why did the higher ups think that they could trust you? What made them think that they could trust you? They made a mistake. That much is very clear. You can’t even breathe properly. 

You hold onto the acorns and the chestnut, focusing on the grip and trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as you can. Unfortunately this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this. You just have to wait. You keep your fingers moving over the acorns and then move your fingers over the chestnut as well. You feel some of the anxiety beginning to ebb away little by little. 

“Planning on camping here all night?” Captain Levi questions as he steps out from behind some trees to your left. You jerk at the arrival, cursing yourself for not spotting him. 

Too busy panicking about nothing, huh?

You swallow and look away from him, trying not to focus on how put-together he still looks after a day of training and official duties. Not even a hair looks out of place. 

“It’s not a crime to seek out some peace and fucking quiet,” you snap at him between gritted teeth, your fingers still trying to work off the worst of your feelings. 

The famous captain slowly strides over to stand in front of you, frowning at you as if he can’t believe that you’re actually sitting in the dirt. In fact, that’s probably exactly what he thinks, you muse. 

“You shouldn’t be on your own when this happens,” he reminds you.

“I don’t exactly get advance warning,” you bite back. 

“You’ve been stressed to hell all day.”

“So? I’m often stressed. I’m used to it.” You exhale, feeling your breathing beginning to steady at last. Your eyes flutter closed with the rising relief of the feeling of air actually settling in your lungs properly. 

“Hange told you to go and see them if you were this stressed.”

“Yeah because running to my superior officer every time I get pissy is a real good look.”

Levi crouches down, his kneecaps inches from the ground and his eyes, as grey-blue as pale slate, meet yours intensely. “Everyone needs to take a breather. That includes you.”

“Why should I when I don’t deserve it?” you question, your brows furrowing.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring into your eyes. He looks like he’s reading you. “You made a tough call. You did what you could. Sometimes it goes to shit. That’s not on you.”

“They would be alive because of me,” you whisper. 

“Not necessarily. If we’d advanced further, we could have run into another titan horde and lost even more lives.” Levi frowns at you. “You can’t know what would have happened. We’ll never know that shit. Once we make a choice, anything else is gone forever. All you can do is choose what you’ll regret the least.” Levi’s words are calm but firm at the same time.

You lower your gaze to the leaves between your legs. You can feel yourself steadying now that your breathing is returning to normal. You think about your options back then on the mission. Would you have regretted leaving the recruits to it? Would you be haunted by that instead of this? Was it always going to end with you sat in the woods having a panic attack?

You sit there silently, mulling over your thoughts. Levi remains crouched but he stops staring at you, gazing around the forest instead. It takes you a few minutes to realize that he’s keeping an eye out for trouble while you recuperate. You feel a swell of gratitude and something deeper at the thought. 

Eventually you clear your throat and your fingers release the acorns and the chestnut. You start to pick yourself but suddenly Levi’s hands clasp around your elbows and he hauls you to your feet. 

You’re unsettled by his strength and so when you are upright, your feet stumble, unprepared for the sudden weight again. You topple into Levi who catches you against his chest. Your face is instantly nose to nose with his and your heartbeat begins to quicken for an entirely different reason. 

He’s staring at you for a moment, his mouth ever so slightly open as his eyes dart down to your lips for a moment. His arms move around you, holding you to him. 

You don’t want to move. You want to stay there, wrapped up in his arms. You want to stay in this little bubble, out here in the trees away from titans and tragedy. 

Levi leans in a little, like he’s going to touch his lips to yours. Like he’s done so many times before already, in the darkness and in the privacy of his office or yours. Part of you wants him to, to linger here together a little longer. 

But your breathing is quickening again and Levi pulls himself out of the daze that holds you both. His arms around you shift so that his hands hold your elbows again. 

“Come on,” is all he says and you nod, getting your bearings and stepping back from the hold. Once he’s sure that you’re steady, he lets go and you feel the absence of his touch. 

Soon you’re walking through the woods again but this time, the rage and fear has calmed.

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

An hour later, you are settled in one of the chairs beside Levi’s fireplace, a large mug of pumpkin spice tea in your hands and the comforting presence of your little black furball, Sooti, in your lap. 

The dark little kitten snoozes happily against your stomach and you lower one hand to brush against her soft fur. The motion eases away some more of the earlier anxiety. 

You smile towards Levi who is working quietly at his desk behind several stacks of paperwork. His jacket and cravat have been put away and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. At last, a few strands of his hair are falling into his eyes. 

You say nothing to interrupt him, just reflecting on how lucky you are to have him, and all of the good things in your life. You’re grateful to be able to see that clearly again. 

After taking a sip of your tea, you turn to gaze into the firelight, feeling your body relaxing once again. The crackling of the fire and Sooti’s purring fill the air, and your heart with peace. 

[salparadiselost]

🍂🍁🎃 Autumn-Themed Batfam Fic Reccs 🎃🍁🍂

The season is getting a little colder and the season is turning towards winter. The nights longer and the need for hot drinks stronger. This is my favourite time of year and one that just invites curling up with some reading material. In celebration of my favourite season, I thought I'd recc my favourite autumn vibes Batfam fics.

These fics are all completed and available for free on AO3. They all lean horror (Halloween is fastly approaching! 🦇), with some of them being darker than others. I love horror so that's where I tend to stray. Hope you enjoy! Welcome to Beggars' Bones - Bridgesburn - Length: 143k - Genre: Thriller, "True" Crime, Kidnapping in a Creepy Small Town

"Welcome to Beggars' Bones" is the epitome of what I think of when I think of a perfect story for a bitter autumn night. It reads like an expertly crafted thriller and perfect for those who love a realistic horror story. The basic premise is that Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are on a road trip when Dick's car breaks down. He sends Tim and Damian to go get help and it goes absolutely horribly from there.

Mind the tags because the story hits on real themes and is intense. It draws to mind movies like "Silence of the Lambs" and "Misery" and makes you think twice about stopping in a small town.

Vrykolakas - @chemical-processes - Length: 34k - Genre: Horror, Monsters, Having Your Son for Dinner

My first recc was horror based in reality and this recc is horror based in all the things that go bump in the night. Timothy Drake is not okay. Timothy Drake is not safe. Timothy Drake doesn't have anyone to tell this to, especially not his parents. Read this one if you love a story about a terrifying monster and are not afraid of some gore. It's a bloody good time.

To Hear, To See, To Smile - @jube514 & @salparadiselost - Length: 8.6k - Genre: Light Horror, Monster Kids, Bruce's Horrifically Fierce Adoption Instinct

Is it too pretentious to recommend my own fic? Perhaps, but I'm not known for my humility. I wrote this fic with Jube and it's perfect for the Halloween season. The loose premise is that Bruce has acquired children in the form of eldritch horrors and he is well on his way of getting one more. Although his children are all monsters, it's on the lighter side.

when doves cry - @silk-scarlet-ribbons - Length: 13k - Genre: Grief, Death, When a Memory is as Fresh and Festering as a Wound

This is one of the ones that's making it in through autumn vibes. It's about grief and ghosts that form immediately after death. It's very psychological and a deep scrape into Tim's grieving head before he even realises he's grieving. The horror in this is slow and it sets in like the decay of a human body. It's so deliciously creeping and will have you shivering even if there's no ghosts except for the one's in Tim's mind. The Little Neighbor - @oberonbronze - Length: 27k - Genre: Horror, Vampires, a Little Grave in the Dark and Mysterious Woods

This one is the newest on this list because, well, it posted as I was making this list and I stopped to swallow it all in one go. This one features one Dick trying to bond with his new little brother, Jason, by exploring the woods behind Wayne Manor. Nothing could possibly go wrong! I would encourage you to read without getting too deep in the tags, because it sets you up for maximum twists. It's a true horror feature that reminds me of Hereditary and Rosemary's Baby, so if you like something along those lines just go in blind! it's life after death (roll the credits) & when the bodies hit the floor - nashequilibrium - Length: 6k & 7k - Genre: Supernatural Horror, Siblinghood, Spooky Stories Told Around a Campfire Two for the price of one! I recommend both of these stories for those who love lighter horror more in the vein of Scooby Doo. Both of these fics feature sibling pairs - Dick & Jason in one and Steph & Damian in the other - investigating some mysterious happenings. These are both fun little romps and the dialogue is excellent.

Finally...

Not quite a recc, but I know a lot of people like to know what I've been up to, me and @spookyprime have been working on a Batman fancomic together and we are about ready to start posting it. It's a medical mystery and a horror story set in 1910s Europe. We will be posting it here: @vivisection-of-a-surgeon-comic . I've written out a more in-depth synopsis in that blog and you can give it a follow if you're curious.

So happy reading and happy halloween! I hope your nights are bitter and spooky.

~ Kay

[capybonara]

The Zorca and their Migration Routes

Brain zoomies strike again but I wanted to add visual aid to these particular bits of story that have been running in my brain. Putting it all under a cut FOLLOW ME!

Spring: Lanayru Sea

Taking the events going on in @werewolfsister's comic, the relationship between the Domain and the Zorca have grown. Sardon, Cironus, Kaska ,and sometimes little Kaso, have become frequent visitors while their pod remains out in the bay and ocean area.

The water ways allowed Sardon and Cironus to get into all sorts of trouble when they were younger.

When they were just starting to test the limits of how far they could go from their pod, and small enough not to alarm other hyrulian races(mistaken for slightly taller zora boys) They came upon Kakariko Village by chance and during the late hours of the night raided a pumpkin patch and devoured everything. Not knowing they were the reason the present day Olkin is so protective of them. Maybe one day they can go back and make amends somehow…

The end of spring marks their next journey along with their big courting event!

Summer: Akkala Sea

As spring comes to a close, other pods start to converge in Lanayru so they can all make the trip together to Akkala. The main reason for this is for their courting event called Turning the Wheel. Which is a metaphor for life and death cycles, as well as their destination, the Rist Peninsula!

The younger zorca who are of age participate in a race to get to the end of the spiral at Rist Peninsula. But it's less about who gets there first and more about who they end up racing side by side with ("the treasure is the friends you make along the way!"). Older zorca take their time because they're socializing with old friends and previous partners. Those who participate in the game usually arrive a day earlier before the main group.

The pairings can come about unexpectedly! A zorca may hit it off with someone as they race. Or it can be planned, where partners agree to race together. There's no shame for anyone reaching the end without a partner though as they can try next season.

Non-zorca partners are allowed to participate in this event as well. Couples don't have to finish the race either, if they want to, they can break away and join the slower group, or head off together for more private entertainments. But a many enjoy reaching the end because once the entire group reaches the center of the peninsula they have their own party with food and singing to mark the start of summer!

Cironus and Sardon have played the game several times, and always reached the end solo. To avoid the matchmaking attempts by his grandmother, Sardon found a way to avoid courting by simply being faster than anyone trying to keep pace with him. Cironus enjoys the thrill of the game but no one has matched his pace either.

Once the summer of love is over its time to move on to...

Autumn: Necluda Sea

This is an especially important time for pregnant zorca! Their pregnancy can take over a year, so those who participated in last years courting event are ready for babies and need to be prepared for what's to come.

@werewolfsister's Domain of the Sunken Garden is located between the South East coast of Hyrule and Eventide Island. The Zorca have done gift exchanges with Oley and Tajin since the zorca themselves cannot reach the depths of their home.

Somewhere south of Eventide Island is where the Zorca perform their burial rites. When an individual passes, no matter the season, the pod travels to these waters to lay them down to rest in a whale fall event.

When the temperature shifts, and due dates are getting nearer its time to head on...

Winter: Faron Sea

Faron Sea is where the Zorca go to have their babies! Every baby born is a precious addition to their pod since the Zorca are so few in number. New and experienced mothers work over time with hunting and everyone else pitches in to help care for the little ones. The nursery is closely guarded, and anyone who doesn't have business there sticks around in the open waters.

Because the villagers of Lurelin fish in the same waters, the Zorca offer their assistance in any way they can, by helping them catch fish or chasing off monsters!

When spring rolls around again, they say goodbye to their friendly neighbors, and the newborns are strong enough to make the trip back to Lanayru to begin the seasons all over again.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Something just hit me, what do you think is Tolkien's "summer" in "kind-as-summer"??? Bcs Elrond is kind but.....summer??? Why summer? What is summer for Tolkien bcs I think "spring" - with the way he is usually characterized as "ever-kind-ever-wonderful" should be a better metaphor?

I live in a country that only has summer (and the occasional rain), no winter/autumn(unless u count the hotter dryer times)/spring, and I CAN'T SURVIVE WITHOUT AC!!! In four seasoned countries summer is beaches and vacations. But I don't see the joy in sunbathing when the sun is ALWAYS ON ME! Summer is humid and hot, no clouds to block the hot rays, sweat everywhere (not to mention being in a crowded space).

So "kind-as-summer". Summer is time with most sun, usually good for agriculture, but too much is too little rain, kills those greeneries. Maybe it actually means, Elrond is kind yea, but he sure as hell knows when to pull out his sword - he's knows his self-worth and knows how to not let ppl take adv of his kind heart.

(Love the idea that Elrond's - and Elros's - calmer/whimsical Sindarin roots are balanced with the Noldoran *cough* Feanorian *cough* fiery spirit : remember there's forest fire, but also candle-fire, camp-fire, and hearth-fire)

Hi!! Thanks sending this in! ^^

Ok so I feel like Tolkien was going from what he knew best - English summers.

Especially back then, the only months with truly warm temperatures where people could actually go out and have fun would have been summer months (June-August.) It was probably the only pleasant time of the year with warm breezes and the surroundings finally full of greenery. Idk much about agriculture but I think crops rely on the summer sun and dryer temperatures to properly grow. There’s more danger of a too wet summer than too dry or hot and it causes all kinds of problems. Generally summer is the most gentle and giving season.

Springs meanwhile are cold, stormy, and generally damp. It’s not warm enough for children to play or families to go out without precaution (coats, umbrellas, gloves even.) The sun doesn’t come out for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. The wind is cold enough to freeze you inside out for most of it. The days are still fairly short until May. Plants start growing and you see blossoms but most of them are short lived. It’s not a very kind season tbh.

(Ofc climate change and all that means weather’s going haywire so I’m going by early-mid 1900s England climate which is something I have briefly researched and would’ve been Tolkien’s experiences.)

BUT I love your analysis and it makes total sense for Elrond to be described as Summer for his fire too, hidden away but strikes hard and fast when needed as an all encompassing fire. Only takes a spark to start a forest fire right?

No matter how kind summer is, there’s an inherent fierceness and danger to it.

Just like no matter how kind Elrond is, if you push too far… well. You won’t like what you find. This guy survived some of the most dangerous periods of the First and Second Age for a reason.

(And I love your idea of the whimsical and fiery spirits encased in Elrond! The comforting fire of the Last Homely House, inviting people in away from danger and cold, mixed with the inherently joyous surroundings of laughter and playful teasing we see in the wood elves as a whole! And ofc the pure magical feeling that we definitely would’ve seen in places like Doriath to make that whimsical setting that takes all your stress away. Elrond’s infused it into his realm, he’s really the best mix of it all.)

[inkyquince]

so it turns out that every thought i've ever had about gale is true, and i am always right <3

characters. gale (baldur's gate 3)

content warning. Nsfw. gale gets baby fever and makes it everyone's problem. gender neutral reader, but they have the means to get preggers, either through due to race shenanigans or through other means, ahem. mention of mpreg, horny gale, implied baby trapping later on featuring angst. (2.6k words)

BALDUR'S GATE 3 SPOILERS

so basically, we'll start with the wholesome side. after the entire fucking hell hole of a time with the city of baldur's gate going to hell, Gale insists on bringing you back to live with him in Waterdeep. You need to see the place he showed you with the Weave after all. And meet his mother. Very important.

Gale is already showing off a few grey strands, but it isn't until a few more join his hair does he get smacked with the most intense baby fever known to man. To be honest, he never really thought about it (a lie, he thought about it a few times, but more to that later) but this is the first time he struggles to get through the day without dedicating many of his intricate thoughts to, say, the nursery, if Tara would do well with an infant in the house, how you would look, stomach swollen and in his shirt to sleep. Things like that. Not to mention the highly enjoyable activities that would lead to the conception, and how vigorous you two would be in the undertaking.

To go on a lengthy tangent, but Gale undertaking extra research the moment baby fever hits him? Amazing.

(I am so sorry, but im gonna alter lore here, @undead-merman and I have talked extensively about different breeding techniques of DnD races, I'm SO sorry.)

But Gale cracking open a book on tieflings, and finding out that all Tiefling sexes are able to get pregnant, since the Devils pass this ability down. Taking a moment, mug of warm tea halfway through his lips when he reads over that the only thing required for the non-females of the Tiefling race is a well known ritual and hey presto, deviled babies on the way. Goes home, and just zones out, Tara on his knee as you accept that your love is probably in his little thinky mode and get him some dinner.

Or how, while Driders can't breed, Lolth-blessed Drows are highly fertile, especially since the Underdark is quite the dangerous place, and its it would not do well if you lost your only child to an exploding mushroom. Seladrine drow have repoerted lower fertilties, but a member of the Society of Brilliance has recently reported that a simple tincture would kick up their fertility back to the rates of their red eyes cousins. That, and they have eerily similiar breeding techniques to spiders. However, if you refrain from eating him after sex, it should be good.

Wood elves have larger broodes than High Elves, and more likely to get triplets and twins. High Elves, however, seem quite unaffected by pregnancy, and seem to breeze through it. Both have seasonal mating rituals though, with Wood Elves prefering to have their children in the summer and autumn and High Elves prefering the winter and spring.

Not to mention, if you yourself can't naturally carry children. Doesn't lessen the baby fever at all. In fact, he gets his little intense glints in his eyes and spends time pouring over books. Wizards have been going into stranger and stranger things over the centuries, so obviously there's some books about pregnancy and how to stimulate the conditions to carry a child. Hopefully Elminster doesn't catch him while he's off guard. Nothing would ease the fluster Gale would find himself in if he was asked what he was researching and instead of saying anything like, "The Crown of Karsus" or "The Book of Thay", he'd instinctively reply that he's looking to get his partner pregnant.

Elminster wouldn't blink though. Old ass.

Anyway, that's all to say, he'd love reading up on the different races breeding techniques. Then comes the euphoria of fatherhood, but before that?

Slowly bringing up the subject, laying out all the plans oh-so meticulously. Any rituals? Planned in advance. Preparations? Set out. Only can have children at a certain time of year? He's got the calender out and has marked the dates where it would be ideal to do nothing but stay inside and... Well, fuck. Gale's baby fever is so bad at this point too. Instinctively goes out to touch your stomach, or tell you a fun fact you might not even know about how your people breed. No, Gale, you won't bite his head off after sex, stop bringing it up.

He suspends all appointments, regular meetings, even his own research. Gale is always more of a relaxed lover, worshipful even, but now he firmly takes charge. Has scheduled food and drink breaks, but those usually tend to end quickly. How could he resist? Fuck, shortly before the first time you two fuck, he was entranced by the sweat roll down your skin as you fought. Yet he's supposed to be a gentleman now? With you naked, greedily drinking down your cup of water, cum slipping from between your thighs, sweat gleaming like magic against your very skin? Gods help him. He whispers soft words to you each time you tighten around his cock and cum too. How you're the only one for him, how he loves you, how he can't wait to see you carry his child, even how you're the reason he gets to live properly, not as a student of the weave, but as a man.

Then, it happens.

He's always delighted by his child, no matter what. They'll always be at least half human, but the traits they carry over from you? Adorable.

His child snoozing, with little tusks peeking out from their mouth? He worries about the blanket getting snagged in them. Little horns, just barely nubs? He runs a thumb over their soft texture, knowing that with time, they'll harden. Little pointy ears and eyes that are so big and soft? Gently tickles them and laughs softly as they kick. Oh so small, they barely fill his forearm? Mans too worried to ever put them down, wears a sling to always carry them around. Scales? Mans gets weirdly paranoid about scale rot that occurs in dragonborns and dragon blooded sorcerers, and stays up reading about it, but it all vanishes when his kid makes a soft chittering noise when he gently massages the ointment into their scales to prevent dryness.

Gale insisting on being the one to feed them in the night. Spends his mornings, no longer pouring over books, but sitting shirtless at the table, trying to convince your child to eat just a bit more. His home is no longer messy with papers strewn across every surface, but toys. There used to be silence inbetween each note of the piano, but now there's your laughter as he gets misty eyed each time your kid hiccups. Pretty sure that the only person he lets near his kid in their early years would be Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira or Halsin. Not that Karlach gets to visit a lot but she still has to wear heavy gloves before ever holding them. Astarion agrees with Gale and stands way back, wrinkling his nose. The nicest thing Lazael says is that Gale's spawn is less wrinkly than the last time she saw it... Also Halsin's baby rights nearly get taken away when he suggests going into bear form and letting them sit on his back. Minsc is accidentally the best, with Boo at his side to tell him to hold the baby correctly. Shadowheart is not the best with your kid, but she tries, even as you have to correct the way she holds them each time. Wyll is uncle of the year easily and you'd say Jaheira is the grandmother of the century... If you didn't think she'd tell you off for saying that. Gale feverently hopes The Emperor never comes to visit for the love of everything magical, but don't worry. He'd never. Scratch is the best guard dog, snoozing by your baby's crib every night. You cried when Gale told you that the owlbear cub was very much an adult now, and should go free. Then you laughed when you saw him standing in the garden, looking a bit lost after you tried to urge him to go back to the wilds. Doesn't mean Gale lets you take the baby near him.

Sidenote, Gale officially takes back anything snide he ever said to you about your magic if you were a sorcerer, since now he has to deal with your child practically coughing up magic at this rate. Oh, his hubris.

To get less wholesome, what if his baby fever hits when you two are travelling in the first place? Every day a fight against the Absolute, every night a blessing that everyone got through it without dying. He doesn't know what triggered it.

Maybe its seeing the Tiefling children band together. Maybe it was just seeing a family in passing, the mother round with child and the father with his hand at her back. Maybe it was the paralazyed dwarf who cried out for his children as he ran from Auntie Ethel's basement.

He's a man living on borrowed time. For once, it's not just the Orb endangering his life. Each day could be his last.

Gale always had a thought he might have children in his future. But his future is black, endless as the maw that swallows every essence of the weave he feeds it.

Most cruel of all, he's meet the person he'd have loved to settle down with. Introduce you to Tara, meet his Mother, Elminster, everyone important in his life, because he wanted you ingrained into each second of every day.

Life is cruel. Mystra is cruel. Something he'd never think before this adventure, but now he knows it. This was her final act of spite. Letting him find the one, only to put a time limit on it.

The thought starts with accepting that he'll die. You may insist that you'll find another way, but the notion as settled on his soul, heavy and foul like the vials of acid those goblins won't stop throwing at him. Then the whispers at the back of his mind start. Not influenced by the Dream Visitor, nor the Absolute. His own deep worries. You were... Well... You. He knew the others had intentions on you, at least at the time of the first major win for the group, the Tiefling party.

Astarion had purred to you, slyly coming closer and cocking his head to make sure you noticed his silver curls in the firelight. Shadowheart had poured you a cup of wine, her dark eyes drinking you in. Wyll had gifted you his winning smile, stepping closer. Karlach had been loud and open about how fucking you would be definitely on her to do list for that night if you wanted. Lazael was... Basically salivating. Hell, even Halsin's smile turned toothy and sharp as you spoke to him. Fuck, even some of the Tieflings might have tried to shoot their shot. Ikaron, Alfira, Rolan, Guex, Gods knows who else.

You were just... That wonderful. But that word weighted heavily on his tongue now. What happened... When he died? How long would you remember him? How long would you mourn him?

Expecting you to never take another lover was... Insanity, even to his bleeding heart. You have your entire long life ahead of you. He would be a brilliant, bright mark on your life, of love, of lust, of truely connecting with each other. But so brilliant that you never kissed another person?

Gale knew he should be taking the higher road. To bow his head and acquiesce that you would move on, but be happy in the fact that what you two had would be real, would be pure.

He managed a single night.

He just couldn't. Maybe it was his hubris, the one that tarnished his relationship with Mystra, now rearing its head when it came to you. How long would the others wait till seeking you out? To comfort, to hold you close? Before taking the plunge.

You would forget him. Even as you snoozed against him, he lay, idly rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. You'd forget him. He knew it. The group would remember his sacrifice and raise a glass, but he couldn't bear the thought that one of their lips would curve into a smile against the rim of their mug, knowing that in the end, they had gotten you?

In the coming days, it happened too quickly. His soft thoughts about having a family with you in another life, collided with his fear that he would never linger against in your mind after a period of time.

You could have his child.

A part of him would live on. A part you'd never hate. Him and you, into one perfect child, that yes, he may never get to see, but one he'd love so fiercly that they'd always know it. That magic would always be there, even when his physical body crumbled into nothing. The others could and maybe would become intimate with you. Become your new partner. But Gale's baby would always be there, a symbol ofyour shared love, and the fact that he was your first choice. Despite everything. He was the one you wanted first.

So he whispers to you that he doesn't have much time left. Kisses away any of your insistence that you won't let him die. Holds you close as he pushes your trousers down, lips against your neck. Doesn't lead you away from camp to make love privately. No, this is for him and for you. The others would have to deal with it.

With every action, it was like he was hoping to brand your memories with nothing but him.

Branding your future.

Astarion could hold you close, skim his teeth against your neck with a drawled double entendre, but you would spend at least half your day in the sun, for the sake of your child. Lazael would bite your lips with each kiss, cunning fingers skirting under your shirt, grazing the bruises she left along your hips, but you'd never join her in the Tears, not when your child would never be accepted among her people. Shadowheart could be the one you curled up with every night, fingers intertwined and sharing slow, soft kisses, but its his soft eyes your child would have, not her dark ones he once so brazenly complimented. It doesn't matter if Karlach would spend her time with her new tentacled friend, or journeyed with Wyll throug the hells. You would not bring your child to the Mindflayers, nor Avernus. She'd visit, she'd hold you and make love to you and get your child to giggle themselves stupid, but she wouldn't be able to be with you all the time. Same for Wyll. In Avernus, with Karlach by his side, his mismatched eyes won't melt your heart. You two would have to wait years to dance again. Even as the Duke, he could lead you by the end to a soft, slow song, humming as he pressed kisses to your fingers and neck, but Wyll was the best man he knew. Every time he saw his dead friend's child, he'd feel a twinge. Just enough to sour the time spent with your baby. Halsin could fuck you senseless and cradle you afterwards all he wanted to, he could soften your heart with his effortless smile and hold you close, but he'd have to live with the fact that he came second. That you and Gale would have something that went deeper than what the Druid could offer. And your child was the perfect representation of that.

There was no proection that night. No love making while surrounded by magic and the Weave. Just you and him, getting only a partial rest as he held you close and fucked you deep.

So, imagine his delight when he got to live.

[purplesoulcollection]

When he sick

"Name... "

Lloyd's voice was so faint, almost pitiful, and had a whiny tone to it. I gently brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead; it was all tousled, unlike his usual neat style. Even though it was winter, he was drenched in sweat.

He kept his eyes closed, exhaling warm breaths. His cheeks were flushed, and he felt hot to the touch. It was clear he had a fever.

Sighing, I thought about how this was the result of his relentless work on a project during the late autumn. The temperatures had dropped significantly, yet he still pushed himself to keep going.

I had already urged him to take a break.

"Lloyd, it's time to stop for today! I understand how crucial this construction is and that there's a deadline before winter hits. But you hardly get any sleep, and I'm really worried that if you get sick in this cold, it will be tough for you to recover."

I tried to reason with him, especially since he was pushing himself so hard that he had a nosebleed, but he just brushed me off and continued sketching something I couldn’t quite grasp.

"I can't, Name… I can't afford to miss this golden opportunity for a tax deposit that will support my leisurely rich lifestyle," he replied, looking concerned yet still completely absorbed in creating the perfect apartment design. His concentration was unshakeable.

As usual, there was a contradiction in his desires; he wanted a life of ease and wealth, yet he was the hardest worker in the room.

Perhaps this is why he always seemed so busy when issues arose—he simply couldn't leave problems unattended and lounge around.

I understand, but you already look so pale, Lloyd. You should take it easy tonight. A little rest will have you back to health in no time to finish your project.

In the end, he just nods, but I can tell his stubbornness is getting the better of him, and now he’s unwell. His fainting in the middle of work really confirms my concerns from two days ago.

He brought this on himself!

Everyone can see that Lloyd isn’t well and they’re worried, but they can’t afford to stop working.

His parents feel guilty for not being stricter with him, so they’ve decided to take on some of his tasks, even though they already have their own responsibilities.

Javier isn’t here because he’s still overseeing the half-finished construction. I doubt anyone knows more about it than Lloyd, except maybe Mr. Bayern.

The villagers are also busy preparing meals. I should have lent a hand, but when I heard about Lloyd’s illness from Javier, I rushed over.

I’m really concerned for him; if he’s caught this illness, he needs to keep warm, full, and have to being nursed. And no one can drop to him, unless i bailed.

Everyone urged me to come because Mr. Lloyd hardly ever gets sick.

So here I am, alone in Lloyd’s room, and he’s holding onto my hand tightly, as if he needs someone by his side while he sleeps.

He let out his hot and shaky breath and his body is shaking also murmur something like mom, dad, don't, name, go. Is he having a nightmare when he's sick?

If he has any nightmare maybe I should woke him up?

"Lloyd?" I tap his cheek with my hand. Tried to gently wake him up, but he's not waking up. Is he sleeping that deep?

And then I shake his body. He let's out the grown before he finally wake up. He looks at me surprised and screamed. I taken back with his loud sensation.

"What's wrong with you Lloyd. Why are you screaming to me!! " I said that with worry plastered my face. Is he dreaming something bad to surprised seeing me when he's awake?

"N-name, I-i... " He looked below, his hand grips itself so hard in his blanket. Is it so scary to not wanting to tell me?

I placed my hand to his gripped hand. His hand is shaky before I grabbed his hand. He looks at me and I looked at his eyes too. He looks like someone in loss of someone, is my eyes wronging me?

"Is it so scary? You want me to read you the story to cast off the nightmare? " I said that with playful tone and eyes sharpened to see Lloyd's contemptible expression of my words.

"Who do you think I am, Name? A child, I am the Lloyd frontera." He's pissed by me, but he doesn't know I was more pissed than him. Then my hand grabbed his hand and pulled it towards me. His body is unprepared and leaning to me.

"You are also a patient who insists that he is healthy. Of course I'll treat you like a child who can't understand your own health is important." I shouted right to his face, mixed with my frustration and my worried tone.

He looks at me surprised. I know that I didn't take my anger to him. But what I am supposed to do...

I have to keep my pride as a good girlfriend but Lloyd make the job more difficult with his obnoxious act to not caring about his own health. If i don't speak here, he will never know what I'm feeling.

He fell silent for a moment, his face showing a mix of emotions. He rolled his eyes a few times, and I noticed more sweat than usual, a clear sign of his anxiety. His other hand, the one I wasn't holding, fidgeted restlessly as if trying to release some of his tension. "

Sorry—I'll try next time..." He gradually turned his gaze back to me.

I was taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes; he looked genuinely remorseful, his pupils locked onto mine. His intense stare made me feel a bit uneasy.

Is he really considering my advice and not brushing it off?

I felt a bit embarrassed by this unexpected side of Lloyd, so different from his usual self who rarely shows affection. He typically enjoys teasing me and isn’t one for sentimental moments.

"Really, you’ll listen to me next time?" I asked, my voice filled with disbelief.

"If I can find a moment to rest. This situation is urgent, you know; they can’t stay in the camp for too long, even with the heater. They need a permanent place to live."

"I understand, I'm not trying to make you halt the construction. I know how pressing this issue is, Lloyd, but you also need to take care of your health. We’d be in trouble if you got sick, and there’s no one who can fill your shoes here."

"I know..."

I hugged him. Even if he's smelly and moist because of all the sweat produced.

"Also i don't want you to sick, i already happy to seeing you work and happy with your antics if in the ends it's for the best. Don't leave me too fast, Lloyd." My mumble to him, i leaned my head to his shoulder.

He only stroke my back, I don't know what's expression he's showing. But his stroke is so relaxing for me.

After that i released Lloyd and say, "Okay, time to nurse you back Lloyd. Can you washed your sweat and change your clothes. I will change your bed sheets so it's comfy for you!"

He look blankly before he finally smile like a devil as usual.

"I can't Name, help me..." He lets out the weak voice, but i know from his obnoxious and his smile he's feeling opposite.

I only can huffed. Feeling annoyed with his antic already. But patient, he's still sick. I have to nurse him first.

"Okay then open your shirt!"

He obediently to open his sweaty shirt. I tried to not look at his body. I only tried to wipe his clothes. So i already prepared the water.

And then i swapped his clothes and bedsheet, make him eat porridge, and here we are, time to make him sleep again.

"Why do I have to sleep again, Name? I’m already feeling good." He complained. He looks perfectly same as the kid who sulky to having rest when he's sick with his mother.

"Absolutely not! You’re still under the weather and haven’t been getting enough rest. It’s time for bed."

Then his pouting session ended when he having an idea. "If I can’t say no to your suggestion, how about you sing for me?"

I look at him bewildered "Why should I sing when you can do it too, Lloyd?"

He facepalmed, recalling how things went when he tried to sing. "I really don’t have the talent for it; you’d regret listening to me."

"Is it really that terrible? So singing is your weak spot, huh? No worries, I’ll sing for you."

I think my singing isn’t the greatest; it’s pretty average, and I struggle to hit the right notes and run out of breath quickly. But it’s not the worst either.

And then I start to sing…

As I sing, I gently stroke his hair, watching him relax as he listens. Slowly, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Finally, he’s resting and not pushing himself too hard.

"Sleep well, Lloyd."

The end

[syndrossi]

Are there any characters you're excited about introducing or writing later in the story? Are there any non-spoilery scenes you're excited to eventually write for the story? What do you think is the closest equivalent they might have to Halloween in Westeros? Harvest festivals? Days to worship the stranger, maybe? Would they carve pumpkins, do you think?

There are three characters I'm excited about who will make an appearance much further down the line (I wrote a scene with two of them but opted to exclude it from chapter twenty-three). On the more obvious side, definitely looking forward to Corlys and Laena, and eventually bringing poor Rhaenyra back to King's Landing. (She's been in the character tags since the beginning of the story and has had one scene, and we very well might not have her join the fray until we hit 200K words... 😂)

I'm also looking forward to writing some of the various Lord Paramounts (and family) once we make it out of King's Landing. Larys is due to arrive in King's Landing within just a few days. I'm looking less forward to him, because he's a thorny fellow to figure out--I'm going with his book characterization rather than the show, because we have enough "this character loves Alicent" motivations for various other characters.

Non-spoilery scenes I'm excited about writing:

going to Runestone

Ser Perkins's eventual arrival and, uh, interrogation by Daemon

when the boys' belongings (which were left behind and discovered by men of the Bloody Gate) arrive

winter in either the Riverlands or the Vale!

the boys meeting Rhaenyra, Corlys, Laena, etc

the hatchlings' first dragonflame (and flame color reveal)

Rhaegar playing legos and Viserys

Jon recovering from his injuries and getting to show off for real this time

lots of gift-giving! but especially Daemon's name day

secret passage shenanigans

Spoilery scenes I'm excited about writing:

Tarth

when Laena asks [redacted] for [redacted] after [redacted] (this may or may not happen, still musing upon it)

when the cousins [redacted]

when Laenor [redacted]

the [redacted] tourney and later the [redacted] tourney

when Daemon [redacted] and the boys are terrified

Lots of stuff I'm forgetting, but those are what come to mind!

It's interesting if they are harvest festivals, because I want to know how the heck the growing/harvesting seasons work with the fucked up seasons of this world. Like. It seems that on average, each season lasts a year-ish. So you have a "harvest" season (aka before winter when crops die out) once every three years at a minimum. So I feel like when autumn does come around, there are festivities of some kind! The idea of something Stranger-related is also a neat one.

Pumpking carving must be a thing, since Cersei snarks at one point in the books about someone looking like a harvest-day pumpkin! And in Resonant, one of the knights Jon interrogates mentions placing in one of the melees of the Harvest Tourney some years before.

I guess if I have to write something into existence right here and now I would do:

A month-long period of festivities, kicked off by a festival and closing generally with a tourney in Viserys's time (he loves an excuse for a tourney)

Pumpkin dishes are a main feature of this time, since pumpkin carving is an event that children take part in to celebrate. Pumpkin soup, pastries, seasoning, cooked pumpkin on the side, etc.

There is, apparently, a specific harvest-day--perhaps one concluding the festivities. On this day, nobles who make the trek to King's Landing for an audience with the king engage in an exchange of gifts/favors.

Some symbolic gift from the Crown to the smallfolk of the city.

I like the idea of a masquerade, but it's an "exotic" practice that hasn't gained traction. Perhaps popular in Dorne?

Probably more! IDK if anyone else has a neat idea!

[2nd2ndalto]

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

__

(chapter 2 here)

Chapter 3

Nico’s hit by an unexpected jumble of emotions, watching the other man. Because yes, he’s appealing. There’s no question that he’s attractive. But Nico’s most surprised by the relief that he feels. It softens his shoulders and unclenches his jaw. Relief that Nico doesn’t have to do this all on his own. The nearly-forgotten joy of having someone to share this with. Someone, who, maybe, will hold this work just as close to their heart as Nico does.

November 1998

Will is pleased to find that he and Nico fall into a surprisingly easy rhythm over the next few weeks. Their days alternate between poring over files in the office, pinch-hitting for other departments, and of course, investigating their own possibly-paranormal leads. Nothing much comes of the latter over the next month, but Nico doesn’t seem deterred, simply moving onto the next hunch, scanning the newspapers spread over his desk, more than happy to answer whatever questions and arguments come to Will’s mind.

Will had expected Nico to be far more distrustful of a new partner, especially one ostensibly assigned to keep him in check, but that expectation dims steadily day by day until Will wonders why he thought it in the first place. While Nico can be almost comically close-lipped on personal matters, he’ll happily talk endlessly about case work. Will finds himself greeted at the door by on the daily, a cursory hello and then a run-down of whatever file Nico has pulled or news article he’s found, full of ideas and eager for Will’s input.

In between navigating his way around the stacks of files in the basement office and the endless trails of bureaucracy in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, autumn blurs towards winter almost without Will noticing. At some point, he realizes, he’s stopped the mental countdown to the end of each work week.

::

November 4th, 1998

The early-morning silence in the basement is broken by the slam of the fire door in the hall, and Nico glances at the clock and then the office door. Will’s right on time.

“Hey,” he says as his partner enters the office.

“Hey,” Will grins.

Will looks genuinely pleased to see Nico, despite the fact that they’ve begun most mornings with some variation on this exchange for the past almost-two months. Nico can’t quite make sense of it, and Will’s reaction is still a little jarring, every time. Not unpleasant, though.

Will’s gaze travels over the office. It’s undeniably in more disarray than usual; a messy stack of papers on Nico’s chair and another at his feet, drawers gaping on all four filing cabinets. Nico feels he’s in more disarray than usual as well, sweat beading on his forehead, shirtsleeves rolled, tie and blazer thrown over the top of his desk with his coat and overnight bag.

“This looks serious,” Will says, dropping his bag to perch on the edge of his desk, long legs swinging.

“Yeah,” Nico says, pausing to shove a hand through his hair. “It’s um – there’s a trial I have to testify at, in Richmond. I was involved in a murder investigation there last year. So I have to leave…” he glances at the clock again. “Well. I should have left already, honestly. And I’ll be gone until the end of the week, at least.”

“Oh,” Will says, visibly wilting a little. “I guess you don’t need a partner for that.”

Nico smiles. “No. I don’t think Reyna would go for it. Besides, it’ll be boring.”

Will nods, thoughtful. “Okay. That’s cool.” He’s still swinging his legs, but less energetically now, a quiet thump-thump of his shoes against the wood of the desk.

An unexpected rush of guilt dampens Nico’s momentum. “I should have told you I’d be leaving. I – I guess I’m still getting used to having someone else in here.”

Will shrugs. “That’s okay. Not a problem.”

But it kind of is a problem, isn’t it? Nico’s had partners before, occasionally. Those other partnerships hadn’t ended badly per se... but he can honestly say he never really missed any of those agents when they left.

It feels different, with Will. Like he fits here. He’s more invested than others Nico’s worked with, and Nico’s found himself warming to that without really meaning to. It’s like Will wants to be here.

Will has this knack for assessing a situation, understanding exactly what needs to be done, and just doing it. And that’s awfully nice, honestly. It’s reassuring knowing that someone else is always paying attention, that someone will remember to complete a task if Nico gets distracted, even when it’s something as simple as locking the door, or rescuing Nico’s coffee seconds before he knocks it to the floor.

And despite the differences in their backgrounds, Nico’s never had a partnership that felt so… collaborative. It’s sometimes even more like a mentorship, with Will still as green as he is, but it’s comfortable. Organic. Over the last two months they’ve become… maybe not friends, but friendly.

“Well.” Nico clears his throat. “I really should have told you. I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop next time.” He glances around, distracted. “You haven’t seen a notebook with a blue cover, have you? It was –”

“This one?” Will asks, leaning forward and seemingly plucking the thing from thin air. Nico sags with relief.

“Yes. Thank you.” He accepts the notebook, shoving it into his briefcase and grabbing his jacket from the desk. Nico glances around the chaos of the office. “I’ll uh… clean this up when I get back,” he offers, guilty.

Will’s mouth twitches.

Nico can feel Will’s eyes on him as he collects his things. “You’ll um… I’m sure you’ll be able to find enough to occupy yourself with, while I’m gone,” Nico says.

Will nods. “Yeah. No worries. Actually… I was thinking I’d reorganize the black filing cabinets while you’re gone.”

Nico gazes at the other man for a long moment, pained but trying desperately not to let it show on his face. The black cabinets, the case file cabinets… those are his. And the thought of one single file out of place makes him want to tear his hair out.

Will’s blue eyes are wide and guileless.

“Um,” says Nico, eloquent.

Will’s mouth twitches and he lets out a giggle.

Nico takes in a long breath.

“Sorry,” Will laughs, unable to maintain the facade a second longer. “You should have seen your face, though.”

Nico shakes his head, glancing back at his desk to make sure he hasn’t missed anything.

“I’ll keep myself occupied. Even if I’m not allowed to touch anything while you’re gone,” Will teases.

Nico huffs, embarrassed. “Not anything, just –”

“I know, I know. It’s okay,” Will laughs. “Drive safe, okay?”

::

November 10th, 1998

Nico leans back in his chair, stretching. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall. God. He’s only been here for an hour and already he thinks he’d rather listen to every single one of Will’s boy band CDs back-to-back than ever look at another expense report.

Sadly, he surveys the neat pile of documents he’s already completed – depressingly small – then the monster pile of random papers still awaiting his review.

It’s his own fault for letting it get to this point. Which isn’t consoling in the least. At least Will should be here soon. While that won’t make the work go any faster, at least it’ll be a good distraction.

With that buoying thought lingering, there’s the slam of the fire door, then a voice singing in the hallway. Something Disney. The tune is familiar now. Unfortunately. Will’s been raving over how good the acoustics are in the hall, even going so far as to drag Nico out there and listen. Nico shakes his head.

“Morning – oh.” Will closes the office door behind him, stopping short as he surveys the mess on and around Nico’s desk. And okay, there’s usually a mess on Nico’s desk, but Nico can tell from the way his partner’s face falls that Will recognizes this isn’t anything like a fun mess. Not a pre-road trip mess. Not a mysterious-lights-in-the-sky mess. Not even a Nico-misplaced-his-keys-again mess.

“Yeah,” Nico agrees, glum. “Reyna wants these expense reports by the end of the day.” He gives the papers on his desk a half-hearted shove. “ And –” he waves a hand disconsolately to a box on the floor next to him, “those case reports.”

Will grimaces. He sets down his bag and opens his mouth to speak, but then the phone on his desk rings. Will hurriedly steps over a banker’s box, misjudging the distance and making a somewhat ungainly leap. Nico winces as his partner catches himself on the desk corner, barely managing to remain upright.

Nico returns his attention to the soul-crushing mountain of reports. He realizes his teeth are clenched, and focuses on loosening his jaw. It’s going to be a really fucking long day.

Will replaces the receiver, turning with a sigh. “Apparently I’m going to Fairbrook,” he tells Nico.

“What’s in Fairbrook?”

“Shortage of medical examiners, it seems. Bodies. Possible serial killer,” Will says, tearing off a sheet of notepaper and neatly folding it before shoving it into his pocket.

“Well that sounds a lot more fun than this,” Nico pouts. Now he won’t even have company. He kicks at a banker’s box, stubbing his toe hard enough that tears spring to his eyes. He curses under his breath.

“A serial killer sounds more fun than paperwork?” Will grins, scooping up his overnight bag. His gaze travels over the depressingly bureaucratic landscape of the office. He sighs. “Yeah okay, you’re right. Sorry – I thought maybe I could give you a hand.”

Nico huffs. “It’s really not your problem, Solace. Just my own procrastination catching up with me. Happens about this time every year. I appreciate the thought, though.”

“Well,” Will says, grinning. “I’m not sure how you’ll get through without the pleasure of my company.”

“It won’t be the same without you,” Nico says, dry.

Will beams. “I know.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “See you when you get back,” he says, turning back to his desk. “Call me if you see anything spooky.”

::

Nico’s still at it just after seven pm. He’s hungry, stiff from hunching over his desk, his hand cramping from signing reports. But the stack of papers is shrinking steadily and it seems prudent to get everything over with tonight and make a fresh start tomorrow. Each time he finds himself in this situation, he swears this is the year he’ll stay on top of things, get everything filed the moment a case is done, instead of dropping random papers and receipts into the overflowing in-tray of doom. Once again, he makes this sacred vow to himself.

The office is silent, and Nico’s startled when his phone rings. He jumps up from his desk, sending a neatly stacked pile of reports cascading to the floor, and cursing as he digs in his coat pocket. He answers on the last ring.

“Di Angelo,” he says into the phone.

“Hey, Nico, it’s me.”

Through the speaker, Will’s voice sounds crackly and a bit uncertain. Vaguely, Nico’s surprised at how pleased he is to hear from his partner, whom he hadn’t expected to see until tomorrow at the earliest.

“Do you have a second?” Will says. “I’m sorry to bug you at home, but I wasn’t sure who else to ask.”

Nico makes his way back to his desk, attempting to gather the fallen papers one-handed, then quickly giving up. He drops back into his chair. “Yeah, of course. I’m actually still at the office. But it’s okay, I’m not busy. What’s up?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I performed two autopsies today. Two young women, both with the same cause of death - strangulation. Both deaths match the pattern of the murders they’ve seen here recently. The odd thing is, each victim was missing her pancreas.”

“That is odd,” Nico agrees, flipping over a discarded envelope to scribble notes. “The killer removed the organs?” He’s mostly listening to Will, but already scanning through his mental inventory of any historical case that might be similar.

“No, that’s what’s really odd. There’s no sign of the pancreas being removed,” Will says. “No scar tissue, nothing. It’s possible to be born without a pancreas, but it’s really rare, and there’s nothing about it in either woman’s medical history.”

“Huh.” Nico stares at the bookshelves across the room, trying to make sense of this. “That’s strange. Anything similar in the autopsy reports from the previous victims?”

“That’s actually what’s bothering me the most,” Will says, frustrated. “They won’t release the previous reports. I tried explaining that I can’t provide a comprehensive evaluation without information about the other victims, but they’re just being… I don’t know. Really obstructive. No one seemed the least bit concerned about the missing organs.”

Nico scrubs a hand over his face. “Major Crimes? Those guys can be really proprietary. And it’s always a rush to the finish line with them. But that would raise some red flags for me, too.”

There’s silence on the line for a moment. “Also the pizza here sucks,” Will mutters, defeated, and Nico laughs. They’ve gotten in the habit of trying out the pizza in every small town they’ve visited in the last two months, Will’s reasoning being that pizza may not always be good, but it’s almost always edible.

Nico leans back in his chair, thinking. “You know, I know someone in the PD over there. I’ll make some calls.”

“Yeah?” Will says, sounding brighter.

“Yeah. I’ll ruffle a few feathers, see what I can come up with.”

“I hate ruffling feathers,” Will admits. “I pushed as much as I could, but it was pretty clear that they wanted me to file my report and leave town.”

“I’m fine with ruffling feathers,” Nico says. “Let me take care of it.”

::

It takes several more hours in the office and a promise on his firstborn to file all future paperwork in a timely manner, but Reyna agrees to authorize the trip, sounding only a little irritated when Nico calls her at home.

The next morning, Nico’s on the road just before sunrise. He arrives in Fairbrook a few hours later, heading directly to the Super 8 on the edge of town and rapping on Will’s door, the thrill of a new mystery buzzing in his veins.

Will’s face brightens as he opens the door. His white dress shirt is pristine, his tie a bright blue that makes his eyes seem sharper. “Hey. I didn’t expect you until closer to lunchtime.”

Nico shrugs. “Early bird gets the serial killer.”

Nico closes the door behind him, toeing off his shoes and following Will to the table by the window. He pulls off his coat and blazer and takes a seat, scanning over the papers spread over the table’s surface.

“I’ve got a copy of the autopsy report from yesterday,” Will’s saying, digging first through his bag, then a stack of files on a chair. Finally, he extracts a file and passes it to Nico. “And I managed to talk to one of the other medical examiners this morning, the one who did the second autopsy. She was sympathetic, but not much help. It sounds as if her examination was pretty thorough, and she hadn’t noted any missing organs. I took some notes.” Will crosses to the bedside table, returning with a notepad emblazoned with the hotel logo, several small pages of neat handwritten bullet points.

Will sits back, shoving a hand through his hair. He looks tired in the bright light filtering through the sheer curtains, hair mussed and purple shadows under his eyes.

Nico takes a moment to skim through Will’s notes, quiet in the hotel room.

His partner stands after a moment, stretching. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Danish?”

“Please,” Nico says.

A moment later Will’s passing him a small styrofoam cup, the flimsy plastic lid already thoughtfully peeled back. He offers a cardboard box of pastries and Nico takes one gratefully, trying to keep his now-sticky fingers off Will’s notes. Four female victims, between the ages of 19 and 22. Each had gone missing after nights out with friends. Each one strangled, the bodies later discovered by passersby.

“Killer appears geographically stable,” Nico mutters, his gaze flicking over Will’s careful notes. The guy’s got really nice handwriting. Nico’s a little jealous. Sometimes he has trouble deciphering his own notes, after the fact.

“Murders all took place within a three mile radius. Strangulation…” Nico glances through the pages, trying to slot the pieces together. “Could be just convenience, I suppose. Maybe he didn’t have easy access to a weapon. Strangulation is cleaner than using a gun or a knife. Or the killer could enjoy the process,” Nico muses. “Choking can be used as a torture method – strangling the victim untill they lose consciousness, but deliberately not killing them. The killer likes the degree of control it affords them, straddling that line between life and death.”

There’s no response to this and Nico glances up to see Will looking pale. He shakes his head. “Sorry. Just thinking aloud. Anyway, Major Crimes’ll know all that already.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Will says. “That’s – important information to have. Isn’t strangulation often used in sexually charged crimes?”

“That’s right. No sign of sexual assault for any of the victims?”

Will shakes his head.

“That doesn’t rule out some kind of sexual motivation, but…” Nico shrugs. “Do you think they’re close to catching this guy at all?”

“No idea. But everyone’s been so tight-lipped. For all I know he’s already been booked and fingerprinted.” Will sighs, frustrated. “So what do you think? Are you seeing a paranormal angle on this one?”

“Well, I took a look through some files last night,” Nico says. “There are some cases of organ-harvesting cults, but this doesn’t really line up. In 1956 there were reports of an Air Force sergeant, reportedly abducted by a flying saucer…”

Will raises an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“He was found later in the desert in New Mexico, body drained of blood. His tongue, eyes and anus had been harvested with surgical precision.”

Will’s eyes go wide, horrified. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “And then there’s the Dyatlov Pass incident –”

“I think I remember hearing about that one,” Will says, nose scrunching. “In the 1950s?”

Nico nods. “Nine Soviet hikers. Found variously missing eyes, tongues and eyebrows.”

Will looks slightly ill. “Eyebrows??”

Nico shrugs. “Not all of them.”

“Not all the hikers or not all the eyebrows?”

“Both. Neither,” Nico says, taking another bite of danish.

WIll watches him, maybe a little disturbed that Nico can appreciate pastry at a time like this. He shakes his head after a moment. “But wait – that was an avalanche, wasn’t it?”

Nico shrugs. “Maybe. Or a Yeti. Government interference.”

Will’s fighting a smile. “Government eyebrow interference?”

Nico waggles his, and Will laughs.

“Well, I don’t think this is related,” Will says. “All the victims had their eyebrows. As far as I know.” He lets out a breath. “So. No obvious connection to historical X-Files cases. Paranormal angle to be determined. No one working the case wants to talk to me. And now I’ve wasted half a day in a bad mood, filling up on caffeine and sugar, and I’m no further ahead than I was last night,” he sighs.

Nico nods, deeply sympathetic. “We’ve all been there.”

“So what do we do now?”

Nico shakes his head, mouth full of too much danish. Will waits as he finishes chewing, his expression drifting towards amused as Nico finally swallows. “Sorry,” Nico wipes his mouth. “Those are actually really good. And I forgot to eat before I left DC.”

Will grins, reaching for the open box and passing it back to Nico. Nico takes another.

“How about you tell me what we do now,” Nico says, sinking his teeth into pastry and icing once more.

Will’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “Me?”

Nico nods. “This is your case. I’m here at your invitation. At your service.” He makes a little bow.

Will breathes out a laugh, meeting Nico’s gaze for a moment before glancing away, a light flush coloring his cheeks. “Um. I don’t know.” The uncertainty in his face combined with the freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks suddenly make him look impossibly young.

“Yeah, you do,” Nico says, patient.

Will’s gaze drifts to the table. He reaches for one of the autopsy reports, the most recent victim. “Can we – I think I want to talk to the family. Of the woman murdered on Thursday. If they’ll talk to us.”

Nico’s chest warms, a small surge of pride. “Only one way to find out.”

::

Half an hour later, they’re making their way towards a squat, red brick bungalow on a quiet, tree-lined street. There’s a misty rain falling, and Nico pulls his coat tighter around his shoulders. Will’s been quiet since they left the hotel, something somber in the set of his mouth.

Nico can never quite shake the twinge of guilt, the feeling that he’s intruding, when he approaches a family who’s recently lost someone. He wonders if Will is having similar misgivings.

“It’s okay,” Nico murmurs. “We’re just doing our job. We’re trying to help.”

Will nods, shoulders relaxing a fraction.

The woman who answers the door is slight and angular, with graying brown hair pulled into a low ponytail and a thick brown cardigan wrapped around narrow shoulders.

“Mrs. Johnson?” Will asks, and she nods. “I’m Special Agent Will Solace and this is Special Agent Nico di Angelo. We’re investigating your daughter’s death, and we wondered if we could ask you a few questions.”

The woman nods immediately. “Yes, of course. Please come in.”

The house is cozy inside, the walls lined with formal family portraits and innumerable candid photos of a brown-haired girl with bright, laughing eyes, her life told in pictures; a toddler riding a bike, a child grinning from her father’s shoulders, a teen standing on the front steps in a prom dress.

The interview goes much as Nico would have expected. Mrs. Johnson has already been interviewed by Major Crimes and her answers to Will’s questions have a practiced, tired cadence to them. Will’s tone is professional, but warm. Nico can easily imagine him at a patient’s bedside.

“And did Angela have any medical conditions?” Will asks.

Mrs. Johnson shakes her head. She dabs at her cheek with a kleenex. “No, she was healthy. She always had so much energy.”

“Was she taking any medications?”

“No, just vitamins.”

Will continues with questions about birth history and medical history, uncovering nothing out of the ordinary. Nico rises after a while, taking in the details of the room, all the trappings of a busy family life. When Will pauses in his questions, Nico asks, “Do you have any other children, Mrs. Johnson?"

“No,” the woman smiles sadly. “Angela was our little miracle. We tried to conceive for years before we had her. I had to have fertility treatments. But she finally came along – we were so happy.” Her face crumples and Will puts a hand on her shoulder, glancing to Nico, who nods.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Johnson. Thank you for your time. We can see ourselves out,” Will adds, when the older woman begins to rise. “Here’s my card,” he adds, placing it on the coffee table. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you think of any other information that might be relevant.”

They let themselves out and Will sags as the door closes behind them, running a hand over his face.

“Okay?” Nico murmurs.

Will nods, beginning to lead the way back to the car. “I couldn’t bring myself to go into specific detail about the autopsy. Do you think I should have?”

“Trust your gut,” Nico reassures him. “You’ve got this.”

::

Despite the fact that Will’s not sure he’s much further ahead than he was when he woke up this morning, it’s undeniably reassuring, having Nico here. Even if it’s only for the reminder that he’s on the right track.

Back in Will’s room, Nico unwraps his sandwich at the little table, making a careful barrier with the foil wrapper to avoid getting crumbs on the file he’s reading. “D’you want my pickle?” Nico asks absently.

“Yes, please.” Will reaches out a hand from where he’s stretched out on the bed surrounded by papers and his own lunch. He takes a bite of the pickle and hums in appreciation before leaning over the side of the bed for his drink.

Will takes a sip and makes a face. “I think I got your Dr Pepper.” Nico automatically reaches for the drink at his elbow and they swap.

The two men are still alternating between speculation and scouring files an hour later when Nico’s phone rings. Will drops his pen on the bed next to him, flopping down and stretching out his arms and legs, half-listening to his partner’s conversation. He yawns widely just as Nico drops the phone back onto the table.

Nico leans toward the bed, holding out a slip of hotel stationary. Will grabs it, blinking at Nico’s scribble.

“My friend from the local PD – he’s acquainted with a friend of Angela Johnson’s. The friend wants to help if she can,” Nico says.

Will pushes himself up, squinting at the paper.

“What do you think?” Nico asks.

“I think you have terrible penmanship,” Will says, solemn.

Nico huffs, snatching the paper back. “Jerk.”

Will grins. “We should go talk to her, though.”

The hotel room has gotten progressively messier over the course of the day, with the two of them working and eating in here; the tiny hotel trash cans overflowing, bags and jackets abandoned everywhere. Will feels a brief pang of annoyance that Nico’s room will still be freshly cleaned when he retires there this evening.

Will ducks into the bathroom, surveying his appearance critically, straightening his tie and doing his best to tame his hair. When he leaves the bathroom it’s to the sight of Nico looking around distractedly, pulling on a blazer that’s clearly too big for him.

Will pauses in the bathroom doorway, smiling to himself as Nico registers the too-long sleeves, shoulders much broader than his own. The sight makes something flutter in Will’s chest, involuntary, and he quickly tamps it down.

“This is yours,” Nico realizes aloud, and Will laughs.

“Yup.”

Nico hands the jacket over with a sigh. Will, spotting Nico’s blazer before he does, holds it up for the other man by the shoulders. Nico rolls his eyes, but allows Will to help him into the jacket.

“Much better,” Will says approvingly, a brief pat to Nico’s shoulder.

“It’s not nice to laugh at short people, Solace.”

“I would never,” Will says gravely.

::

Will’s feeling anxious as Bonnie Fletcher ushers him and Nico into her small apartment, but he relaxes by degrees as the meeting progresses. Bonnie’s tearful, but grateful for their help, and they fall into easy conversation. Nico seems more relaxed here too, Will thinks, and that helps. He finds himself relying more and more on Nico’s presence to smooth the rougher edges of situations such as these. There’s something about his quiet thoughtfulness that’s intrinsically reassuring.

Will lets his attention drift a bit as Nico and Bonnie discuss a concert coming to a nearby town, how both had tried and failed to secure tickets.

“They were Angela’s favorite band,” Bonnie says regretfully. “We’d seen them together a few years ago, in Philadelphia.”

Nico nods, sympathetic.

“How long had you and Angela known each other?” Will asks, taking the break in the conversation in what he hopes is a natural direction. He’s pretty good at interviewing patients for medical histories, he thinks, and this isn’t dissimilar.

In his periphery, he sees Nico settle back a bit. It’s the smallest movement, but Will takes it as a reassurance. That he can do this, that Nico thinks so too. It’s begun to feel like a dance sometimes; the two of them moving through the cluttered office together, through crime scenes and stakeouts. A dance in which the two of them feel more sure of the other all the time, an easy give and take.

Bonnie sighs, pushing dark blonde hair back behind her ears as an orange tabby winds around Nico’s ankles. He reaches down to scratch its head.

“We met in first grade,” Bonnie says. “We were fast friends. My mom had just gotten a new job and she was working nights - I ended up practically living at Angela’s half the time. Have you met her parents? They’re really lovely people. They were like a second family to me.”

Will nods, his heart sinking for this little constellation of humans, none of whom deserve any of this. “We talked to Mrs. Johnson earlier today. She was very kind.”

Bonnie smiles sadly, gazing at Will for a moment. “She really is. She said she’d spoken to some other FBI agents earlier this week. I offered to talk to them too, but I haven’t heard anything else about it.” There’s a sudden beeping issuing from the kitchen, a timer. Bonnie starts. “Excuse me one moment.”

Will glances at Nico. The other man is looking displeased, a twist to his mouth. Will raises an eyebrow, questioning.

Nico shakes his head, a brief glance in the direction Bonnie disappeared. “Seems as if they could have come and talked to her too,” he says quietly.

“Maybe they haven’t had time?”

“Could be.”

Bonnie returns a moment later, dropping something into a yellow medical waste container on a corner table Will hadn’t previously noticed.

“Damn vitamin injections,” she sighs, offering him a half-smile. “You said you were a doctor, right?”

Will nods.

“It’s such a hassle taking them twice a day. Unless I set timers, I forget, and then I feel like shit.”

Will frowns, diverted. “Vitamin injections? Like, B12?”

Bonnie grimaces. “Not sure, to be honest. All I know is the doctor prescribes them and I take them. Ever since I was a kid.”

Will’s mind is suddenly in overdrive, trying to make sense of this bit of information. Nico must notice, because he smoothly takes over the interview while Will sifts through his own thoughts.

“... but Agent Solace would know more about that than I would,” Nico is saying suddenly, and Will blinks, looking up. Both Bonnie and Nico are watching him expectantly.

“I’m so sorry,” Will says, feeling his face warming. “I completely spaced out there for a second.”

“The autopsy?” Nico prompts. “Bonnie was asking what you found.”

Most of the details have already been made public, and Will summarizes his findings, back on familiar ground for a moment, still puzzling over the injections in the back of his mind. It’s hard to sugarcoat the examination of a violent death, but he does his best to be succinct and kind. Bonnie simply nods, accepting, as if it’s nothing more than she expected.

“Again, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Will says into the silence that follows.

“Thank you,” Bonnie says, thickly. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Of course.” Will clears his throat. “This… isn’t related to Angela’s death and you’re certainly not obligated to tell me – but I’m curious about the injection you gave yourself earlier.” He can’t quite help himself. Even before he attended medical school, Will’s had a particular grievance with any medical provider whose practices are less than evidence-based, and this is troubling to him.

“Oh,” Bonnie says in surprise. “Actually, I suppose it could be related to Angela, at least somewhat. She took the same injections.”

Will feels a jolt of unease. “She did?”

“Yeah, we’d both been taking them for years. We weren’t the only ones – I have other friends who did as well.”

And then Bonnie’s up and disappearing into the other room again. Will and Nico share a glance, concerned.

“Here,” Bonnie says a moment later, returning and pressing a small vial into Will’s hands. “This is what I take. Angela, too.”

“There’s no label on it,” Will says, discomfort prickling, as he turns the little bottle over in his hands.

“Oh, that’s because Dr. Marcus gets it at a discount,” Bonnie explains.

“And you’ve been taking this twice daily? For years?” Will says, hoping he’s keeping his voice neutral.

“Yes. It’s a vitamin supplement, like I said. Dr. Marcus says it’s something to do with a deficiency particular to this area of the country.” Bonnie frowns. “I guess I never really thought much about it, I’ve been taking it for so long. Do you think I should stop?”

Will shakes his head immediately. “No, no. I’m not a practicing physician, and I’m obviously not your physician. This is…” he holds the vial up to the light. “This isn’t a treatment I’m familiar with, though, and I wouldn’t mind looking into it a bit more.”

Bonnie nods. “Sure, of course. You can take that with you, if you want. I just stocked up. And the doctor – well, he’s everyone’s doctor in town, really. He has an office on Third Street, right next to the Dairy Queen. If you wanted to ask him about it.”

Will nods. “Thank you.” At his shoulder, he sees Nico scribbling all of this down.

“What do you think?” Nico asks, a sidelong glance at Will as they make their way back to the car.

Will chews on his lip. “I’m not sure. Mysterious supplements? Twice daily for years? That seems awfully sketchy. I’ve never heard of any vitamin deficiency that requires daily injections.” He shoots a glance at Nico, who’s watching him, intent. “This might not have anything to do with the murders, but I’d really like to investigate further.”

Nico is quick to agree. “I trust your judgment. Let’s look into it.”

“It’s really odd that they’re not labeled at all,” Will muses as Nico pulls away from the curb. “On one hand, I’m all for making medication more affordable. If this doctor is playing the system somehow and getting all these people discount meds… I don’t want to be the one to mess that up for them.”

Nico hums thoughtfully. “That’s a valid point. And people don’t even always understand what their medication is for, right? I remember reading that it’s some really low percentage of patients who understand everything their doctors tell them. Maybe it’s not a vitamin deficiency at all. Maybe that’s how Bonnie understood it years ago and no one ever bothered to ask any more questions.”

“That’s definitely a possibility,” Will agrees. Maybe this is nothing at all, just random loose ends. He wonders about the utility of wasting their time and resources on a hunch. But he doesn’t think he can let this one go.

“We could go talk to this Dr. Marcus?” Nico glances at the clock on the dash. “It might be too late to catch him at the office, but we could swing by and check.”

Will turns the little vial in his hands, thinking hard. “I don’t think so. Not yet. I think… I think I’d like to find out exactly what’s in here before we go asking any more questions.” He makes a face. “What do you think? Am I being too paranoid?”

Nico shoots him a grin. “You can never be too paranoid, Solace. Nice to see I’m rubbing off on you.”

::

Three hours later Nico’s just finished today’s field report – on time, for once – when there’s a knock at the door.

He opens his door to the sight of his partner, clad in swim trunks and a soft green t-shirt, blond curls ruffled. There must have been a logo on the t-shirt once, but it’s faded beyond recognition, maybe something with palm trees. The shirt hugs the planes of Will’s chest, a pleasant stretch over pleasantly broad shoulders. Will looks glowy and sunkissed, despite the fact that they’ve had nothing but cold rain in DC for weeks. He’s got yellow flip flops on his feet and god, how are his legs so fucking long?

Nico cringes inwardly, feeling short and pale and overdressed, not to mention completely out of line for noticing any of this. Briefly, Nico wonders if Will frequents one of those tanning places that have popped up all over DC, then remembers that he’s been party to Will’s views on melanoma. Must be just good genes, then.

“Hey,” Will grins. “You up for a swim? I just checked the pool, it’s pretty empty. I thought I might do some laps, decompress a bit.”

Nico considers the relative merits of leaving his room and stretching his legs versus staring at the TV for a few hours until he passes out. It’s a tough choice. He was just about to put on his pjs.

“They have a hot tub,” Will says, light wheedling.

Nico huffs. “Fine. I guess. Meet you there?”

It’s almost half an hour before Nico leaves his room, most of that time having been spent trying to talk to anyone from Major Crimes who’ll tell him anything at all. He’s irritable and twitchy, half-considering just hiding out in his room – who knows if Will will even still be at the pool – but he forces himself into trunks and a t-shirt, then out into the corridor, shivering as the too-high air conditioning immediately wicks the all the heat from his exposed skin.

The pool area is visible from the hall as Nico approaches. It’s decent-looking, clean and bright, a red and blue spiral slide descending from near the ceiling. The water’s surface is smooth, untouched, a striped, inflatable tube floating serenely at the surface. Nico feels a brief pang of disappointment that he’s missed out on Will’s company. Kind of silly, considering they’ve just spent all day together. Considering they spend most days together.

But he hears voices raised in laughter as he pushes the door open, and a glance across the room reveals his partner, hair damp and even more tousled now, seated at a table in the corner with two others: a woman in a dark green hijab and a man with a mess of bright blond hair. Nico makes his way towards them, cautious at first, then quicker as he recognizes them both. All three faces turn and smile as he approaches, and Will nudges his chair over, making room.

“Hey, I didn’t know if you were going to make it,” Will grins, eyes bright. “I hear you already know Sam and Magnus?”

The man across the table rises with a grin, wavy blond hair overlong and falling over his forehead. He extends his hand to shake. “Agent di Angelo. Good to see you.”

“Agent Chase,” Nico says, then puts his hand to his chest and nods to Sam. “Agent al-Abbas. Small world.”

Nico takes the chair next to Will. He’d been looking forward to the hot tub, but this is good, too. Nico briefly worked with Magnus during his tenure at Violent Crimes, then grew to know Sam when Magnus was transferred and partnered with her. They’re good agents, thorough and thoughtful, both lacking the ego that seems to trail so many of his colleagues.

“You know I’ve been trying to track down someone from Major Crimes for the last hour,” Nico says, light. “Guess I should have thought to check the pool.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. It’s a conversation they’ve had before, and Magnus knows Nico means present company to be excluded from the complaint. “Yeah, they excel at making themselves unavailable.”

“Did you need anything in particular?” Sam asks, a quick glance around to make sure there’s no one to overhear. “Magnus and I have only been in town since yesterday afternoon, but we can try to help.”

The four agents share their findings with each other, Sam and Magnus managing a concise summary of the case thus far, much more informative than what Will had managed to cobble together from whomever had filled him in.

Sam and Magnus work so well together, Nico thinks as he listens to them. Seamless. One picking up the other’s thread, finishing each other’s sentences, affirming each other’s opinions and building a story, back and forth like a game of tennis. Something to aspire to.

They’re no closer to catching the perpetrator than Will had surmised, but it’s good to have confirmation from a closer source - and both Magnus and Sam agree that the mystery vitamin vials are worth investigating further.

“When I finally managed to talk to someone from the lab here, they said it would be at least three days for processing,” Will is saying, frustrated.

Sam nods thoughtfully. “You know, I might know someone who could get it done faster.” She glances at her watch. “It’s too late tonight, but I’ll make a couple of calls first thing tomorrow, Will. Check with me before you head out in the morning.”

::

Nico’s woken the next morning by a knock at the door. He’d been deep in sleep and it takes him a moment to make sense of the sound, then his surroundings. He flops over and squints at the clock on the nightstand. 5:57. Too early.

There’s another knock.

“Nico?”

Nico groans, throwing off blankets and pushing himself up, scrubbing at his eyes. “One second,” he yells, voice scratchy. He stumbles across the room, not bothering to turn on any lights. He’s pretty sure his breath is terrible, but that’s on Will for waking him at this ungodly hour.

Nico’s not sure why he checks the peephole, since he knows very well who it is, but there’s Will, distorted by the fishbowl lens and looking irritatingly wide awake. He’s fully dressed, tie and white shirt immaculate under his navy blazer.

Nico unlocks the door, opening it just enough to stick his head out, eyes watering in the sterile, too-bright light from the hallway. He squints one-eyed at his partner.

Will smiles, a teasing twinkle to blue eyes. “Hey. I know it’s early. They called me in for another autopsy.”

“Oh. Shit,” Nico croaks. He clears his throat. “They think it’s the same guy?”

Will nods. “Yeah, I got that impression. The examination’ll take me at least a few hours, so I wanted to pass this over to you in case Sam has any luck contacting a lab that can process it.” Will holds up the little vial they collected from Bonnie yesterday.

Nico grunts, accepting the bottle. “‘Kay. Got it.”

Will’s smile broadens, his eyes darting to the darkened room behind Nico. “Not a morning person, then?”

Nico scowls. “It’s not morning for at least another hour, you monster.”

Will laughs, far too pleased.

Nico squints into the over-bright hallway and then at the vial in his hand. “This is supposed to go to Sam, right? Why didn’t you wake her up at the ass crack of dawn?”

Will shrugs, unrepentant. “Dunno. Maybe just because you’re special.” And then his hand darts forwards and he pinches Nico’s cheek, grinning like an idiot.

Nico startles a half-second later, reflexes dulled by the early hour. “Did you just pinch my cheek?” His voice sounds aghast, croaky and incredulous in the mostly-empty hallway, but Will’s already gone, leaving nothing behind but a thread of laughter and the bright scent of the hotel shampoo.

Nico scowls hard, shoving the door shut with more force than necessary and scrubbing at his tingling cheek.

::

If there’s been another murder, that means there’s an active crime scene, and after contemplating this for another half hour in his darkened room, Nico finally gets up and heads for the shower.

The crime scene is flooded with agents. Nico lingers on the periphery, wondering where the fuck all of them were last night when he was desperate to get some information. With Will still mid-autospy, Nico’s caught a ride here with Magnus. They’d dropped Sam and the vitamin vial off at the university on their way.

Magnus gives Nico a half-smile as he lopes back towards him. “Victim was male,” Magnus says, planting himself next to Nico, hands in his pockets. “Twenty-one, murdered on his way home from his shift at the Kroger down the street.”

Nico frowns. “Doesn’t quite fit the profile of the previous victims. Interesting. Was he strangled?”

Magnus nods, his gaze on the mass of agents within the police tape a few yards away. The crisp morning breeze ruffles his shaggy hair. “From what I gathered, yeah. Guess we’ll hear more once Solace is done. How’s that working out, anyway?” Magnus asks, turning to Nico. “Your new partner,” he clarifies.

“Yeah. He’s…” He’s a pre-dawn cheek-pincher. He looks like a hot surfer crossed with a hot camp counselor.

He makes me happier to go to work in the morning.

“He’s a good guy,” Nico says, finally. “A decent agent. He’s still learning, but… so far so good.”

Magnus nods. “That’s good to hear. Last time we talked, it sounded like they were closer to shutting you down than adding a second agent.”

Nico nods. “Yeah. You know, I think they were hoping he’d discredit me. Seems like he missed that memo, though.”

::

Two hours later Nico’s back in his room, still no sign of Will. Magnus and Sam have been corralled into fingerprint processing, Nico having been made to feel superfluous by the onsite special agent in charge. He supposes he can’t really blame them; it’s not as if he was invited, and Will is only still welcome as long as the bodies continue to accumulate.

Feeling a little bored and useless, Nico stares at victim profiles for another twenty minutes until the words start to blur in front of his tired eyes. His eyes drift to the notes he took as they were talking to Bonnie. Dr. Marcus...

Nico’s up in a second, crossing to the desk, yanking open the drawer and flipping through the thin phone book. He finds the listing quickly, a quarter-page ad, black ink on yellow. Dr. Robert Marcus, M.D.

He hesitates. Maybe he should talk to Will first… but then again, time is of the essence. Nico pulls his phone from his pocket, dials the familiar number. The line connects on the second ring.

“Hey, Hazel. Is Frank around?”

::

There’s a knock on his door not fifteen minutes later. Nico scrubs at his eyes, embarrassed to realize that he was close to drifting off, and reluctant to be caught sleeping twice in the same day. A quick glance in the mirror next to the door tells him he’s presentable enough.

“Hey,” Will greets him, not waiting for an invitation before walking into Nico’s room and throwing himself down onto the bed, face up. He stretches long arms above his head, hands clasped. “My feet are killing me,” he announces.

Torn between telling the other man to get the fuck off his bed and dropping down there himself, Nico huffs, opting for the swivel chair by the desk. Will sighs, closing his eyes.

Nico clears his throat after a long moment, and Will’s eyes pop open, a cheeky grin.

“So?” Nico asks, impatient, “did you have any useful information to share, or have you just forgotten that you have your own bed three doors down?”

Will beams. “The second one.” He pulls up his legs, rolling onto his side and making himself comfortable.

Nico aims a pencil at his partner. Eraser first, because he’s feeling magnanimous. It bounces off Will’s shoulder harmlessly, but Will sits up, ruffling his hair. “Sorry,” he yawns. “It really was an early start today.”

Nico huffs. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Did you get the vitamin injection to Sam?” Will asks, suddenly all business.

“Yeah, she’s got a friend at the university. She was hopeful they’d get it tested today.”

“Amazing.”

“How was the autopsy?”

Will sighs. “Long. Interesting, though. So, Mr. Lucas Parsons, age twenty-one – he was in possession of his pancreas, but missing his spleen.”

Nico frowns. “Really?”

Will nods, reclined back on his elbows on Nico’s - Nico’s - bed. “He seemed to be in perfect health otherwise - aside from having been strangled to death.” Will yawns again. “The strangulation pattern was identical to Angela Johnson’s. And again, the spleen ��� just gone. No sign of it ever having been removed. No scar tissue, no nothing. Bizarre, right?”

“Bizarre,” Nico agrees. His phone rings and he reaches for it, glancing at the call display. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey. I just got the results from the lab. Okay if I come up?” Sam says.

“Yeah, of course. See you in a minute.”

“Sam’s got the results of the chem analysis,” Nico says, flipping his phone shut and replacing it on the table.

Will’s face brightens, like a fucking meteor.

“And get off my bed, Solace,” Nico adds, nettled. “Housekeeping was just in here and you’re messing it all up.”

::

“It was insulin?” Will says. “Insulin?”

“Pretty decisively, yeah,” Sam agrees, extracting a printout from her bag and pushing it across the table.

Will’s quiet for a long moment, scanning the report. “This dosage – Bonnie’s been taking 40 units, twice a day. She’s – she must be diabetic. And she thinks she’s been taking vitamins. And maybe Angela, too.” Will continues to gaze at the paper in his hand, brow furrowed.

Nico waits as long as he can stand it before speaking. “The pancreas has a role in insulin production, right? That’s about all I remember from my anatomy classes.”

Will nods, slow. “Yeah, the pancreas produces insulin. It regulates blood sugar levels.”

“So it makes sense – however bizarrely – that Angela would need to be taking insulin regularly if she didn’t have a pancreas.”

Will blinks, finally looking up. “Well, yeah. Definitely. If you have your pancreas removed – or, there’s a congenital condition called pancreatic agenesis – either way, the end result is diabetes. But you’d need regular, ongoing medical care. She’d need to be testing her blood sugar. It just doesn’t make sense that these women could be diabetic and not know about it.”

Sam takes the lab report from Will’s limp grasp, eyes scanning the page. “And what would happen if you regularly took this dose of insulin and you weren’t diabetic?”

Will shakes his head. “You couldn’t. It would make you very, very sick. Like, death-by-hypoglycemic-coma-sick.” His gaze flicks to Nico. “Bonnie – she said she’d been on these injections since she was a kid, right?”

“Yeah. And Angela had, too. And other friends, she said. Does that – could they all be missing a pancreas?”

Sam frowns. “That would be awfully strange, wouldn’t it? I mean, even just assuming all these folks were diabetic. How common is that?”

“Somewhat common in kids, I guess.” Will shrugs. “One in four hundred, I think?”

“Not common enough for half a dozen diabetic kids of the same age to all know each other in a small town though, right?” Nico asks. There’s a knot beginning in his stomach. “If these kids – what if the others are at risk, too?”

Sam raises her eyebrows. “At risk of what? Being strangled? You think someone’s going around murdering diabetics?”

Will looks uncertain. “The victim today had a pancreas. I double-checked. Although I suppose he could have been diabetic. I did a blood draw, but the results won’t be back yet.”

“Maybe there’s something weird in the town water supply?” Nico suggests.

“Causing diabetes? Or birth defects? I guess it’s possible,” Will says. “Though it seems like it would be more widespread.”

Nico wrinkles his nose. “I’m trying to think of something that would affect a portion of the population like that. It makes me of lead paint…”

“Or thalidomide,” Sam supplies.

“Yeah, right,” Will nods. “That’s…” he pauses, staring towards the window. “I want to talk to Bonnie again. And Angela’s mother. The doctor must have known. And… can we –” he turns to Nico. “Can we subpoena Dr. Marcus’ records? Is that going to take three days as well?”

Nico grimaces. “Yeah, it might. But I had another idea.”

::

Frank has come through as he always does, and when Will and Nico return to the hotel after dinner a few hours later, Nico opens his email to find pages upon pages of scanned documents.

Will leans over his shoulder, watching. Will smells like the fresh, misty air outside, with the accompanying lingering scent of the taco place they found for dinner. And as if that wasn’t appealing enough already, there’s this heat radiating off of Will like he’s some kind of freckly, portable furnace.

“How did you - this is incredible.” Will breathes. He leans even closer, his chest brushing Nico’s shoulder, and Nico gives up, having abruptly reached the limits of his personal space bubble. He lifts the laptop and hands it to Will.

“Are you sure?” Will asks.

“Yeah, of course. You can probably make sense of it quicker than I can anyway.”

Will takes the laptop carefully, perching on the edge of the bed and gazing at the screen. He abandoned his jacket and tie a couple of hours ago, the top two buttons of his shirt open, sleeves rolled. He’s focused, intent, and Nico can almost hear the gears turning as his gaze flicks over the computer screen. It’s a good look on him, honestly.

Not that that’s relevant in any way.

Nico’s hit by an unexpected jumble of emotions, watching the other man. Because yes, he’s appealing. There’s no question that he’s attractive. But Nico’s most surprised by the relief that he feels. It softens his shoulders and unclenches his jaw. Relief that Nico doesn’t have to do this all on his own. The nearly-forgotten joy of having someone to share this with. Someone, who, maybe, will hold this work just as close to their heart as Nico does.

“So we’ve got admission and graduation records from every college Robert Marcus attended,” Will murmurs, half to himself. “There’s… this is a listing of all the doctors licensed in Maryland, and the District of Columbia…” Will pauses, then his intense focus falters and he grins. “Hey, there I am.” He flips the laptop towards Nico, who leans forward to peer at the screen. He smiles when his gaze catches on Will’s name.

“William Andrew. Nice. Classy.”

Will laughs. “I think you mean boring. My dad thought it sounded neutral enough that I could be a doctor or a musician.” He turns the laptop back around, greenish light cast on his freckled face.

“Those were your options?” Nico asks.

A quick smile. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

There’s a story there, Nico thinks. It catches him off-guard to realize how much he’d like to hear it.

It can be a struggle, keeping people at arm’s length. Nico’s a bit of an expert, though. He can joke around, divert, enjoy people’s company. The trick is to know when to pull back. It’s a little lonely, sure. But it’s safe. Two months in, he can already see it’s going to be harder with Will. Will, with all his proximity and cheek pinching and open smiles. For fuck’s sake, they’d barely known each other 48 hours when Nico brought up Bianca. But he’s being more careful now. Nico can do this. He’s had years of practice.

“Criminal records, vital statistics, court proceedings, state malpractice registry… wow.” Will blinks up at Nico. “Do I want to know how you got all this?”

Nico shrugs, pleased. “Well. It’s all publicly available information. It just wasn’t obtained through official channels, in this instance. I happen to have a friend who’s… very skilled at finding those kinds of things very quickly.” Frank’s been a godsend for Nico’s cases on more than one occasion. He really needs to take the guy out for dinner again soon.

Silence falls, and Nico decides it’s as good a time as any to complete his field report for the day. Twenty minutes later he’s scanning over what he’s written, making sure he hasn’t omitted any important details.

“Nico?”

“Hmm?”

Will finally looks up from the laptop screen, a crease between his brows. “I can’t find any record of a Robert Marcus having graduated from the University of Central Florida.”

“Really? Could he have changed his name?”

“Maybe, but he’d have to have his current name listed in the physicians’ registry, and it’s not in there either. I thought maybe I’d just missed it, but I’ve been over it three times. Can you take a look? I feel like my eyes are crossing trying to read through all this tiny print.”

Will hands Nico the laptop back and crosses the room to drape himself across the loveseat, long legs dangling over the armrest. Nico takes note of the fact that Will does not collapse onto the bed this time, and feels the tiniest twinge of guilt for scolding him earlier.

Will’s got an arm thrown over his eyes, and after about fifteen minutes of silence, Nico wonders whether he’s fallen asleep. He clears his throat and Will immediately looks up. “Find anything?” he asks.

“No…” Nico frowns at the screen.

“And he definitely graduated in 1970?” Will asks, pushing himself up.

“Yeah. Hold on.” Nico reaches across the table for his legal pad, flipping through ink-smeared pages. “Yes, 1970,” Nico confirms. He holds out the notebook and Will crosses the room to accept it.

“University of Central Florida, class of 1970, license number 243209, M.D., Ph.D…” Will reads aloud. “Wait. We haven’t – has Major Crimes already spoken to Dr. Marcus? Where did you get this information?”

Nico blinks. “Um. Magnus gave it to me.” He and Will gaze at each other for a moment. “I can’t actually remember if he told me where he got it from. We were at the crime scene this morning talking to some of the other agents, and then Sam called for a ride… I guess I got distracted.” Nico checks his watch. “It’s not too late to call, is it?” But he’s already reaching for his phone.

“Hey, Magnus?” Nico says. “Yeah. Is it okay if I put you on speaker? It’s just me and Will.”

Over the speaker, Magnus sounds keyed-up, wide awake, and Nico and Will are treated to about ten minutes of crime scene recap and a side-rant about fingerprint processing policy before they can get a word in.

“Magnus, you gave Nico some contact information for Dr. Robert Marcus earlier,” Will says finally, when Magnus pauses for breath. “We were wondering – has Dr. Marcus been interviewed yet?”

“Oh.” There’s a moment’s pause, and then Magnus’ voice crackles over the line. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Nico and Will trade a glance. “Where did the information about his credentials originate?”

“Oh! It was on the first autopsy report.”

Will frowns. “It was? Why?”

“Did I not mention? Dr. Marcus conducted the first autopsy.”

::

Will feels absolutely wide awake, a dozen possibilities racing through his mind, but after an hour of shared speculation, Nico practically pushes him out the door, telling him firmly that it’s too late to do anything more tonight and they’ll pick up their investigation again in the morning.

Will forces himself into bed, but he’s buzzing with questions, staring wide-eyed at the dim ceiling, gaze tracing over the sprinkler head, the line of light seeping between the curtains. Magnus had made some calls after they spoke, finally able to discover that Dr. Marcus wasn’t asked to perform subsequent autopsies in this case because his initial report was “lacking in detail.” What does it all mean? Will eventually sleeps, but it’s in fits and starts, and at six am he decides he’s done for the night.

Half an hour later, showered and dressed, he’s burning to take another look at the documents he and Nico had been sifting through last night. Nico had forwarded the emails, but unfortunately Nico’s room is the only one with an ethernet port. Will grabs his laptop and heads downstairs to the business center.

He stops in at the continental breakfast on the way, stomach gnawing at itself. It’s a disappointing selection - the muffins and danishes look as if they’ve been there for a few days. But the doughnuts are tantalizingly fresh, plump and shining with glaze. Will grabs two in a paper napkin and heads across the lobby to the narrow room housing a few desktop computers and a tired-looking printer. He plugs his laptop in and waits for the machine to boot up, gazing idly across the lobby out the front door of the hotel, the sun just starting to cast the parking lot in pinkish orange light.

Finally logging in, Will sees the documents Nico forwarded and several new emails, too. He smiles to himself as he scrolls down to read the thread from the beginning. Nico, apparently unable to follow his own advice, had begun trading messages with his mysterious information-gathering friend nearly an hour after Will left his room. He scans through a few messages from a Frank Zhang, who promises to send Nico whatever he can find, and then – two new messages arrive as Will’s reading the previous ones, both from Frank, addressed to Nico and carbon copied to Will.

Found this, the message body reads. Wanted to call and get your reaction, but it’s early. Talk later, F..

Will waits anxiously for the painfully slow download, then opens the documents. He blinks, hardly able to process. He reads through them twice more before he’s made sense of what he’s looking at.

Three rejection letters from the University of Central Florida, each dated a year apart. An acceptance letter from the New Eden School of Natural Health and Herbal Studies the following year, then a record of Robert Marcus’ expulsion from the New Eden School only a few months later, for reasons of academic integrity violations, plagiarism, and inappropriate behavior. Then one final document, city records showing that Robert Marcus purchased the building on Third Street and set up his practice in Fairbrook a few months later.

When Will meets Nico in the hallway of the fifth floor, the dark-haired man is already dressed and looking frantic.

“Did you see Frank’s –” Nico begins.

“Yeah, I just saw –”

“So we get a warrant, right? Charge him, bring him in for questioning and –”

But Will’s already shaking his head, grim. “No, we can’t do that, not yet.”

“What? Why not? He’s committing a felony. He’s been committing a felony for decades!” Nico’s wide-eyed and frazzled-looking.

“It’s not a felony in the state of Maryland.”

“It’s not?” Nico asks, incredulous.

Will grimaces. “He’ll get a fine, but they can’t necessarily hold him on anything. And I’m not –” he glances up and down the hall. “Come on, let’s go to your room.”

Will barely waits for the door to close before he’s continuing the conversation, tension buzzing across his skin. “We need to talk to the families again, first,” he says in a rush. “What if –”

A look of understanding passes over Nico’s face, his eyes intent. “You suspect he’s got something to do with the murders.”

“Yeah,” Will admits. “I don’t know what, and I could be wrong, but –”

“No, I’m with you,” Nico says, immediately on board. “Something’s not adding up.”

“Or adding up too much.”

“Exactly.” And the tension in Nico’s face relaxes into a smile for the first time that morning. “Trust your gut, Will,” he says, his voice warm.

Will lets out a breath, anxious and caught out. Nico watches him for a moment longer, something pleased and proud that makes Will’s heart throb.

“Come on. Let’s go wake Sam and Magnus.”

::

There’s the sound of raised voices in the hall outside Nico’s room, and Nico trades a glance with Magnus where they're seated together at the table. Seconds later, Will and Sam crowd into the room.

“She had no idea she was taking insulin,” Will announces, disbelieving, before he’s even completely through the doorway. Sam shoos him the rest of the way into the room, casting a glance down the hallway before pulling the door shut behind them.

“Bonnie, I mean,” Will adds. He’s flushed, looking a little nauseous, Nico thinks. “None, no idea,” he says, his voice rising, incredulous. “For years, twice a day. Living her whole life with a serious medical condition and she had no idea. Fuck.” Will spares a glance for Sam. “Sorry,” he says, a half-laugh. “Sam’s been very patiently listening to me rant for half an hour already.”

“It’s all right, you’re entitled,” Sam says.

Will drops onto the edge of Nico’s bed, elbows on his knees. “I just can’t believe it. How did he hide this from his own patients? It’s just so incredibly irresponsible, so fucking unethical…”

Sam perches on the bed next to Will, glancing over to Nico and Magnus. “So that was our morning,” she says, dry. “What did you two uncover?”

Will’s eyes widen as he turns towards the two other men. “Shit, sorry. How did it go with Angela’s mother?”

“Well,” Magnus glances at Nico, who nods. “Much the same, I think. Angela had been taking… supplements,” Magnus grimaces, “for her whole life. Mrs. Johnson said they did some blood tests when she was born, and Dr. Marcus told her it was a vitamin deficiency – no big deal, but she’d have to take the injections indefinitely. The word diabetes was never mentioned. The doctor – Marcus, whatever – never said anything about Angela missing her pancreas. No relevant family history. Mrs. Johnson said she knew a few friends of Angela’s who were taking the supplements as well, never thought anything of it.”

“Jesus.” Will shakes his head. “Did you get the names of the friends?”

“Yup.” Nico rises, fishing in his pocket. “And we got these, too.” He holds up two little bottles of clear liquid. “This is what Angela was injecting. I guess we’d have to have it tested, but –”

“Can I –” Will rises too, plucking one of the vials from Nico’s hand. He pries off the little metal cap, then holds it to his nose and inhales. He grimaces.

“It’s insulin. Obviously it’ll have to be tested to be sure, but – see? Smells like bandaids.” He holds out the open bottle to Nico, who leans towards it, sniffs. Sure enough, it does.

Will closes the vial, looking unhappy. He drops back down beside Sam.

Sam clears her throat. “We advised Bonnie to keep taking the insulin,” she glances at Will. “And we told her we’d be in touch about next steps.”

“And we asked her not to mention the details to anyone for the moment. We don’t want Dr. Marcus getting wind of it yet,” Will finishes. “Sorry – Robert Marcus.”

“Oh!” Sam says, glancing to Will again. “And Bonnie said –”

“Right!” Will interrupts eyes widening. “I almost forgot. About –”

Sam’s nodding. “Right, about Amber.”

Nico frowns. “Amber Collins? The first victim?”

“She contacted Bonnie the week before she was killed,” Sam explains. “Bonnie said she hadn’t spoken to Amber since high school, she thought it was odd to get a call out of the blue – especially considering Amber was murdered a week later.”

“Shit,” Magnus says. “That’s… certainly a coincidence. What did Amber want from Bonnie?”

“No idea,” Sam says, frustrated. “They made a date to meet for coffee, but by the time that date came around, Amber was dead.”

“That’ll put a damper on coffee plans,” Magnus observes. “Wait – had she told the local PD about that? Or someone from the Bureau?”

Will lets out a sharp breath, annoyed. “Well she would have, but apparently no one ever came to talk to her.”

“Yikes,” Magnus says. “And oops.”

There’s a moment of silence in the room.

“Well, we’ve definitely got enough on Marcus now to get the big guns involved,” Magnus says.

“Will?” Nico prompts.

“Yeah,” Will says slowly. “I think we’ve done as much as we can from this angle. We should definitely be able to get a warrant to search his home and his clinic… probably make some charges stick, too.” He glances at Nico. “Yeah?”

Nico smiles. “Yeah.”

“Okay if I make some calls then?” Magnus asks.

Will nods, and Sam and Magnus rise as one. “We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” Sam tells the other two agents just before the door closes.

Will flops backwards onto the bed, then immediately sits up again, looking guilty. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to desecrate your freshly-made bed.”

Nico watches him for a long moment, then sighs, defeated. “You know what? Go ahead. Desecrate away.”

Will’s lips twitch. “Yeah?”

Nico rolls his eyes, hard-done-by. “Yeah. I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Will beams.

“Good work today,” Nico says, only a little grudgingly, and Will beams wider, dropping back on the bed again and rubbing his shoulders against the horrible bedspread like a cat on hot cement.

Nico watches, half amused, half horrified. “Gross,” he supplies after a long moment. “I’m sleeping on the loveseat tonight.

Will laughs.

::

As much as Nico likes ruffling feathers when he has the opportunity, he’d hate to do anything that might reflect poorly on Magnus or Sam, and thus all he and Will can do now is wait – either until they’re summoned by Major Crimes or told to go home.

Nico’s fully prepared for the next few hours to be excruciating – there’s almost nothing he hates more than just waiting around. But it’s tolerable, in the end. After leaving the hotel to grab lunch, he and Will return to his room together, both too twitchy to bear the silence and solitude of their individual rooms. Will paces, chattering and radiating nervous energy until Nico’s ready to make him into the sixth strangulation victim. But then they unearth a pack of playing cards in the drawer of the desk and they settle themselves at the coffee table, Will cross-legged on the carpet, Nico on the loveseat.

“Okay, what are we playing?” Nico asks as he shuffles the deck – okay, maybe showing off a little, using all the tricks Bianca taught him when they were kids. Will’s gazing silently at his hands, head tilted. It makes Nico feel off-kilter, and he fumbles the cards.

“Well.” Will clears his throat. “I know Go Fish. And Crazy Eights.”

“Are you serious?”

Will shrugs. “Pig?”

“What the fuck is that?”

Will grins. “When you get four of a kind, you put your finger on your nose…” Will taps an index finger to his freckled nose, then leaves it there, falling silent, blue eyes drifting out of focus. “Actually, I think we need at least one more person to play Pig.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “We’re playing poker.”

Will’s eyebrows rise. “I don’t know how to play poker.”

Nico grins. “Lucky day for me, then.”

Will grasps the basics pretty quickly, but Nico beats him again and again. “You have no poker face, Solace,” Nico groans as he wins yet another hand.

Will giggles.

Nico shakes his head. “I rest my case.” He drops his cards onto the table.

“No offense, but it’s kind of… a boring game? Don’t you think?” Will asks, hesitant, as he watches Nico re-shuffle the deck. “Maybe it’s more fun if you’re playing for cash,” he muses.

Nico pauses in his shuffling, quirking an eyebrow at Will.

Will grins. “Absolutely not. Hey, teach me how to shuffle, instead,” he suggests suddenly, seemingly unreasonably excited by the prospect.

It’s as good an idea as any, although it turns out Will’s hand-eye coordination isn’t any better than his aptitude for inscrutability, and half an hour later Will’s punch-drunk and giggly over his repeated failures to have the cards behave the way he wants them to. He masters himself enough for another attempt, looking exceedingly intent, tie thrown over his shoulder, lip bitten and brow furrowed. He splits the deck, lines up the halves. Nico realizes he’s holding his breath.

Will glances up, a long look at Nico. There’s a blond curl sticking up at an odd angle at the crown of his head. “You’re making me nervous,” Will says, finally. “Close your eyes.”

Nico huffs. Just as he’s about to comply anyway, the cards fly in an unlikely, spectacular explosion, landing on the floor, the loveseat and all over the coffee table.

Nico shakes his head, bewildered. “You’re a doctor”, he says, disbelieving. “I can’t believe they let you use a scalpel.”

“Well, usually only on people who are already dead,” Will grins, unabashed.

Will collects the cards from the floor, Nico grabbing the others within reach. Nico knocks the cards into a neat pile and reaches across the coffee table for the little box they came in.

“Wait, no, show me again,” Will protests, laughing. “I almost got it that time.”

“Absolutely not, You’re cut off,” Nico says, biting down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to maintain his own poker face. They’ve been shut up in this room for too long and everything is starting to seem unreasonably funny.

Will drops onto the carpet, dramatic, throwing an arm over his eyes. ‘When are they going to call us?” he groans. Then he drops his arm, looking up at Nico. “Hey, you wanna go to the pool while we wait? I can swim some laps and you can… soak moodily in the hot tub,” he finishes, trying and completely failing to maintain a straight face.

Nico’s just opened his mouth to splutter at Will, who’s fully beaming at him from the floor, curls spilling onto the probably-really-unsanitary carpet, when Nico’s phone rings.

“You should get that,” Will says, suddenly completely serious, wide-eyed and innocent.

Nico huffs, quickly rising and crossing the room to retrieve his phone.

“Di Angelo.” Nico raises his eyebrows at Will as he takes in what Magnus is telling them, and Will pushes himself up with a questioning look.

::

816 Third St. is a modestly-sized blue house with white trim, long since converted into a medical office, with a residence in the back. Will and Nico are very much not in the forefront of its ensuing raid, which suits Will just fine.

By five pm the agents from Major Crimes have surrounded the building with the intent of formally detaining Robert Marcus for questioning and serving a warrant to search the premises. Marcus puts up a bit of a fight – Will’s not sure if he hasn’t noticed the two dozen agents fanned out across the street or if he’s just that desperate – but he foolishly attempts to make a break for it, shoving aside one of the agents at his front door. Magnus, waiting at the bottom of the steps, is quick on the uptake, immediately giving chase and expertly tackling Marcus to the ground before the man reaches the end of his property.

Will shares a quick glance with Nico, impressed. “Nice moves,” Will comments under his breath.

Nico nods. “First in his class in defensive tactics. I sure wouldn’t want to jump him in a dark alley.”

With agents from Major Crimes assigned to execute the search warrant and conduct the interrogation, Will and Nico linger in the police station in the aftermath, eager for updates.

Will can’t decide if he’s hopelessly keyed up, exhausted, or a worrying combination of both. He and Nico have spent over an hour on speculation and terrible vending machine coffee when Sam appears from a hallway to their right, spotting the two and making a beeline towards them.

“He confessed,” she says quietly.

“Really? To what?” Will asks.

“To the murders.”

Will feels his eyes go wide. “Really? All of them?”

Sam nods.

“But why?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s not clear at this point. He’s refusing to say anything else until his lawyer gets here. I’m getting the feeling we won’t find out much else tonight.”

“And he confessed, just like that?” Nico asks.

“Pretty much. He folded pretty easily under questioning. He won’t give us any information about his medical background – or lack thereof – or the unauthorized treatments he was providing. But they’ve got enough to hold him now.” Sam shrugs. “So. Go team. Well done. Hit the showers.”

Will laughs.

“Actually a bunch of us are going out to celebrate in a couple of hours,” Sam adds. “That sports bar across from the Super 8?”

Nico nods. “Yeah, definitely. We’ll see you there.”

::

Nico’s feeling much more refreshed after a shower and an hour in his room during which he talked to absolutely no one. Will, on the other hand, is looking uncharacteristically unrefreshed when Nico knocks on his door, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Nico says.

Will pulls a face. “I don’t know. I’m actually kind of wiped. I was thinking of just heading to bed.”

“What? No, we caught the bad guy. This is the good part, Will. You have to enjoy it.” Nico focuses on the truth of this, rather than his own reflexive disappointment at the thought of celebrating without Will.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Will says, still sounding uncertain.

“I’m always right. Come on. Sam said she’d save us seats.”

Will disappears into his room, returning a moment later with his jacket, then kneeling to tie his shoes. They’re both still dressed for work, but it’s likely half the bar will be celebrating FBI agents, so no one really has any hope of blending in with the locals anyway.

“I don’t drink much,” Will says as they wait for the elevator, a glance over to Nico.

“That’s not a problem,” Nico says immediately. “Sam doesn’t drink at all. Magnus will stay dry to keep her company. We can too, if you want.”

::

That’s not quite what happens, as it turns out.

Magnus, Sam and Nico stick to soda, but at some point Sam decides it’ll be funny to buy Will shots. By midnight, Will’s flushed and even more giggly than he was during his ill-fated card shuffling lesson, and he and Sam are singing along to some of the most abominably poppy boy-band music Nico’s ever had the misfortune to experience.

Nico props himself up against the bar beside Magnus, a wry smile as he watches Sam and Will at their table singing heartfeltly into each other’s faces, Will with a salt shaker as an improvised microphone. They collapse into laughter as the song ends, Sam nearly as giddy as Will despite having consumed nothing but Diet Coke all evening.

“Your partner’s a lightweight,” Magnus comments.

“Yours is a bad influence,” Nico shoots back.

Magnus grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

::

They make their wobbly (on Will’s part) way back to the hotel after the bar closes. Will’s walking on his own, but he makes a random grab for Nico’s arm several times to steady himself.

“Ow, fuck,” Nico protests when Will grabs him for the third time, a bruising grip to his bicep.

“Sorry,” Will says, immediately chastened, eyes wide.

Nico sighs. “It’s okay, Solace.”

They bid farewell to the other agents on the second floor, Will hugging Magnus and blowing kisses to Sam as Nico rolls his eyes, propped against the open elevator door.

Then there’s an unscheduled detour back to the lobby when Will decides he needs a Gatorade. Nico leans against the doorway of the little vending machine nook and yawns, watching his partner’s bleary attempts to feed a dollar bill into the drink machine. Nico supposes he could have let Will manage this little expedition on his own, but supervision feels prudent at this point.

Nico finally huffs, grabbing the bill out of Will’s hand and jostling him out of the way. He gets the machine to accept it on the first try, turning to quirk an eyebrow at his partner. He’s rewarded with a soppy smile that makes his ears heat.

Finally back in the elevator, Nico punches the button for the fifth floor. Will leans into the corner, head tilted back, eyes closed. He startles when the elevator chimes at their floor.

“I should not have had all those shots,” Will groans.

Nico snorts. “It really wasn’t that many.”

“I’m not going to get in trouble for drinking on the job, am I?” Will asks, nose scrunching as he digs in his jacket for his key.

“You weren’t on the job, so no. But you are going to develop a reputation as the FBI’s cheapest drunk,” Nico says, dry.

Will giggles.

A grown man, giggling. By all rights it shouldn’t be appealing at all. Should it?

Well.

There’s nothing Nico can do about that.

“Make sure you drink the Gatorade,” he tells Will sternly, as the other man gets his key in the lock.

“Okay, mom.” Will gives him a wobbly smile.

Nico shakes his head, trying for disappointed and probably coming much closer to amused. He manages to pull up just short of fond, he thinks, if only by a razor’s edge.

“And hey,” he adds, as Will tilts into the door frame, a warm and somewhat drunken gaze aimed in Nico’s direction. “Good work this week.”

Will smiles. “Yeah. You too.” He reaches out, a gentle squeeze to Nico’s arm. “Night, Nico.” And he disappears into his room.

::

Nico ducks around the crime scene tape and walks up the stairs of 816 Third St., a paper bag under his arm. It’s breezy out, but mild for mid-November, wispy clouds drifting in and out of sunlight and dry leaves crunching underfoot as he makes his way up the front walk. He nods to a couple of the agents he recognizes in the front room, a core group of them still processing the mass of evidence at Robert Marcus’ clinic. Nico follows a narrow hallway to the back of the building, finding Will exactly where he expects him to be, blond curls just visible behind heaps of charts and boxes in the file room.

“Hey,” Nico calls as he enters. “I come bearing lunch.”

Will’s head pops up over the mess, and he pulls a lollipop out of his mouth to grin at Nico, lips tinted red. “You’re a godsend. I’ve been surviving on sugar-free candy for the last hour.”

Nico huffs. “I can see that. You sure those are safe?”

“I found them in the storeroom. Sealed box.” Will shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out. I don't think they had anything to do with any of Marcus’ home brews. I’ll let you know if my pancreas goes missing."

The team of agents has discovered, over the past week, that Robert Marcus spent most of his tenure in Fairbrook practicing as an amateur chemist. The insulin, mercifully, was straight from the supplier, but over the years Marcus has experimented with acne remedies, weight loss medications, and, most devastatingly, fertility treatments. The latter seem to have been the culprit of the missing organs and other congenital anomalies.

“How’s it going in here?” Nico asks. Will passes a crate of files into Nico’s arms, trying to clear a path for himself. Nico accepts it, adding it to the pile in the corner that Will’s already processed. “Any new insights? I went to your room to get you for breakfast this morning, but you were already gone.”

Will nods, shoving a box aside with his foot, lollipop still dangling from his mouth. “I wanted to get an early start,” he says, words distorted around the paper stick between his lips. “I know they’re replacing us with agents from the field office tomorrow, but I can get through this stuff quicker than they can, and I’m familiar with all Marcus’ secret codes now.”

It’s been hard work, making sense of Marcus’ notes. The guy had clearly tried to cover his tracks over the years. With some details grudgingly pulled from Marcus himself and the help of Will’s medical background, he’s managed to make sense of most of it.

There are half a dozen rolling shelves on tracks taking up most of the room, filled floor to ceiling with files. Much of the remaining space on the floor is now littered with boxes and bins.

There’s enough space for a makeshift picnic near the back of the room, however, and Nico and Will settle themselves with sandwiches on their laps, facing each other, backs against the mobile shelves. Will’s legs stretch almost all the way across the gap, Nico’s falling short.

Will reaches long arms above his head, hands clasped, then flops forward, groaning, fingertips grazing the toes of his shoes. He stays there for a moment, folded in half, eyes closed. Nico’s eyes catch on Will’s broad shoulders under his crisp white shirt, fabric heaving a little with every inhale.

“These shelves are locked in place, right?” Nico asks, a sudden need to fill the silence. He twists slightly, grasping the shelf behind his shoulder and giving it a shake.

Will pops up grinning, face flushed. “Yeah, they’re locked. You worried we’re going to be crushed? Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level,” he intones.

There’s a moment of silence. Nico blinks at him.

“Star Wars? No?” Will’s expression fades from teasing to appalled, blue eyes wide. “You have seen Star Wars, haven’t you?”

Nico frowns. “Maybe… maybe one of them? I honestly can’t remember. How many are there?”

“Oh my god. How have you not seen Star Wars?”

Nico shrugs, a little defensive under Will’s sudden, intense scrutiny. Despite his professional interests, he’s never really liked watching sci-fi. “I don’t know. I’ve been busy.”

“Since 1977, Nico?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Yes, Will, I’ve been busy since 1977.”

Will shakes his head, solemn. “Well. We need to remedy that.”

Nico snorts, reaching for the paper bag next to him. He passes Will his can of Coke, glancing at the text scrawled on the sandwich wrappers.

“Thanks.” Will pops the can open and inserts a straw. “You know the original trilogy is on TV all the time. You really have no excuse.”

Nico opens his own drink, forgoing the straw and lifting the can to his lips. It’s perfect; icy cold and sweet.

“How about next time we’re on an overnight? Star Wars marathon. You and me.” Will says around the straw in his mouth, bumping Nico with his foot.

“Fine. I’ll consider watching Star Wars.”

Will looks impossibly pleased at this and Nico forcefully pushes down the warmth in his ribcage. When did he become such a pushover? He unwraps his sandwich, still hot, condensation on the inner paper wrapper. He takes a bite.

“Isn’t there a Star Wars thing on the National Cathedral?” Nico asks, trying to remember the details. “A sculpture or something?”

Will’s eyes light up. “Yes! The Darth Vader grotesque. We can take a little detour on our way home tomorrow. I’ll show you.”

Nico nods, his mouth too full of sandwich to answer.

“Hey, I got two pickles,” Will says in surprise, staring down at his sandwich.

“Oh, yeah.” Nico looks up. “I just told them to give you mine. Since you always get it anyway.”

He reaches for his Dr Pepper again, then glances at his partner. There’s something unreadable on Will’s face, his head cocked.

“What?” Nico asks, bemused. “Is that not okay?”

“No,” Will says, soft, a bit uncertain. “No, it’s good.”

They finish the rest of their meal in relative silence. Will balls up his wrapper and tosses it overhand to the garbage can. Nico watches as the foil ball misses the can by a good six inches, skittering across the floor. He snorts.

“I’ll get that later,” Will says, dismissive. He folds his hands behind his head, letting out a sigh and leaning against the shelf behind him – and then sliding backwards as the shelf begins to roll with his added weight. Will’s gaze shoots to Nico, eyes wide and guilty.

“Not so locked after all?” Nico asks, suppressing a smile.

Will lets out a giggle, nervous, hopping up and carefully stepping over Nico’s outstretched legs. A second later Nico hears the heavy clunk of the shelf locking in place.

“It’s okay,” Will reassures him, sounding unconvinced. “People hardly ever get crushed in these things.”

Before Nico can come up with a retort, the door to the file room swings open.

“Hey, Solace?” Magnus’ voice calls.

“Back here,” Will says, and a second later Magnus’s face appears around the corner, followed shortly by Sam’s.

“Oh good, you’re both here,” Sam says, pleased. “We’ve got news.”

“The first victim, Amber Collins?” Magnus asks, hopping up to sit on the counter at the end of the aisle. Sam takes the chair at his side.

“It turns out she figured out what Marcus was up to,” Sam finishes, glancing to her partner.

Nico blinks as Will slowly says, “... oh. So then –”

Magnus nods. “So Marcus decided he had to keep her quiet.”

“Shit,” Nico says. He shakes his head. “Shit. What a waste.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I guess Amber was having some other health problems –”

“She went out of state,” Magnus supplies, “wasn’t happy with the answers she was getting from Marcus. Sounds like she was a pretty bright kid. She put two and two together and went to confront Marcus about it, told him what she suspected, threatened to go public. Marcus flipped out, lost it. Strangled her and then managed to make it look like it’d been a random attack.”

“Jesus,” Will says, with feeling.

“From what Marcus said, he was trying to mend his ways,” Sam says, sharing a skeptical glance with Magnus. “He told us he’d felt guilty about the fertility treatments for years, said he’d been doing his best to do things by the book, attending conferences and reading medical journals and everything.” She shrugs.

“Too little, too late,” Nico supplies, bitter.

“Doesn’t quite make up for the murders.” Magnus agrees.

“Anyway,” Sam says. “All that’s to say we’re pretty much wrapped up here. You gentlemen heading back to DC tomorrow?”

Will nods. “Yup. You too?”

Magnus nods. “First thing. We’ve got a department meeting right after lunch. Right back into it.”

“I have a plan for tonight, though,” Sam says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

::

Sam’s been asking around, apparently, and there’s a karaoke bar the next town over. So, against all of Nico’s better judgment, the four make their way over there later that evening.

The place is a hole in the wall - dingy and nearly empty mid-week, allowing Will and Sam mostly free rein over the small stage. Nico is opposed to karaoke on a spiritual level, and Magnus begs off too, claiming he can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Magnus and Nico have a beer apiece, but otherwise they all stick to soda, Will in particular fervently refusing any and all alcohol, citing slippery slopes. But he and Sam seem to have a certain effect on each other regardless, exponential and escalating, and by the end of the evening Nico thinks Will’s nearly as giddy as he was after four shots a few nights earlier. Nevertheless, he’s steady as they head back to their rooms at the end of the night, and they make plans for an early start the next morning.

::

The four agents meet in the lobby for one last continental breakfast just as the sun’s rising, and an hour later Nico’s easing the car back onto the freeway, heading west.

The quiet in the car is comfortable, wrapped in the freshness and sleepy peace of early morning, a blurry mist hanging over the fields on either side of the highway.

“Have you ever tackled anyone?” Will asks after a few minutes of silence.

Nico glances over, amused. “You mean like Magnus did when they arrested Marcus? Like, in a professional capacity?”

Will laughs. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know - have you ever tackled anyone in a personal capacity?” He quirks an eyebrow at Nico, grinning.

Nico can feel himself blushing. “Fuck off. Yes. A couple of times.”

He glances over at Will, who’s looking intrigued.

“At work,” he adds firmly. “For work.”

Will grins.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Nico shrugs, trying to will away the color in his cheeks. “Woke up the next day feeling like I’d fallen down a flight of stairs.”

Will nods thoughtfully. The sun’s properly risen now, a blaze on the horizon in the rear-view mirror. Wordless, Will leans forward in his seat, snagging Nico’s sunglasses from the dash with a crook of his finger and passing them over.

“Why,” Nico asks, “you wanna see if we can find someone for you to tackle, next case?”

Will laughs. “Nah. I don’t think it’s my thing. I can’t imagine it ending well.” There’s silence for another moment. “Did you ever play football?” he asks Nico.

Nico huffs. “Pretty sure no one’s ever asked me that before. Do I look like I’ve ever played football?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? I was just thinking about tackling.”

“I definitely did not. Why, did you?” Will looks like he could have, Nico thinks, with those broad shoulders, a gratifying sturdiness to him.

Will hums. “Not really. Mostly just with my older brothers and my dad. I sucked though. I usually wound up getting heckled. Sent to the sidelines to keep score.”

Will says this lightly enough, but Nico thinks he can hear the hurt under the words. It takes him by surprise, the way it makes his heart ache. Unbidden, his mind conjures a young Will, freckle-faced, tousled curls. Left out and heartsick. It’s hard enough navigating those slights as an adult, Nico knows. As someone with agency and experience.

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad,” Nico offers, not sure what else to say, but wanting to say something.

“Oh no, I definitely was. I didn’t just acquire my clumsiness as an adult.” Will laughs, light and self-deprecating. He falls silent.

Something twinges. Nico casts his mind back over the last week, sifting through his own words and actions. There’s a prickle of guilt when he remembers. “Sorry, I –” Nico clears his throat. “Sorry for teasing you about your… card-shuffling skills,” he says gruffly.

Will laughs, surprised. “Oh. No, it’s okay. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking of that. I don’t blame you, anyway. It was funny.”

But still.

It’s such a small thing, but it feels important to repair. Nico’s quiet for a mile or so, trying to put words to what he wants to say. “Sometimes cops… FBI… it can be kind of an old boys’ club. Which I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Nico tries. It’s a sharp pull in his chest, torn between needing Will to know, and needing Will not to know him.

“It can…” Nico trails off. “In cultures like that there’s that teasing going on where it’s presented as everyone having a laugh together, but really, if you don’t appreciate being the target of a particular joke, there’s no recourse for that.”

Will nods like he sees where Nico’s going with this. “Right. Like schoolyard bullies, all grown up. Everyone else piling on whether they want to or not. Then if you can’t laugh it off, you’re a poor sport.” Will sighs. “Yeah. I felt like that sometimes, as a kid.”

“Like it’s your fault if your feelings get hurt, because you can’t take a joke, right? And it’s not…” Nico frowns, “it’s just not kind. It’s not respectful. I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I never intend to behave that way.”

His face is heating the way it does sometimes when he rambles on about something that’s not directly related to a case. Something too close to home. “So if I ever come across like that, it’s not – it’s never meant to be hurtful. It’s just because I have terrible people skills,” he laughs, thin, too exposed. He wishes for a moment that they were driving back home in the evening, safe under the cover of darkness. “I know I can’t just issue a preemptive blanket apology for whatever idiotic things I might say in the future, but…” he shrugs, out of words.

A furtive glance over at Will shows Nico that same look on his face, the one directed his way when Will discovered two pickles in with his lunch. A smile, soft. A bit more certain now than it was over a foil-wrapped sandwich. Nico’s not sure he understands it. It feels warm in a way he’s sure he doesn’t deserve.

“I know you’re not like that,” Will says, gentle. “I know you weren’t trying to be a jerk.”

“I can be a jerk sometimes,” Nico says, eager to move onto firmer ground, somewhere he’s not in danger of breaking open. “I’m just not that kind of a jerk.”

Will breathes out a laugh. “Good to know. Me either, I hope. I can be too sensitive, I’ve been told.” He gazes out the windshield for a moment. “Maybe we’re the softer side of the FBI.” A quick half-smile twitched towards Nico.

Nico huffs. “That sounds about right.”

“Sam and Magnus too, I think,” Will adds. “I liked working with them.”

Nico nods. “Definitely. Me too. They’re good people.”

Will takes a deep breath, stretching, then reclining his seat by a few inches. There’s a lane closed up ahead, and Nico maneuvers around the barricade, slowing his speed. Neither of them speaks again until they’re past the construction zone and Nico nudges the car back up to speed.

“I was so relieved when you showed up,” Will says suddenly.

“Hmm? When?” Nico’s gaze flicks to the right where Will is systematically dissembling his empty styrofoam coffee cup, tearing off bits of the rim and dropping them inside.

“Last week, I mean.” Will scrunches up his nose. “When you drove out here from DC. I did that autopsy and then… suddenly things weren’t adding up. I felt like I was in way over my head.”

Nico considers this.

“You had it handled though, Will. You knew what to do. You took the lead as soon as I got here, and you saw it right through to the end. They wouldn’t have caught Marcus as quickly if it hadn’t been for you. He would have killed more people.”

Will still looks unsure. “Maybe,” he says after a moment.

“Not maybe,” Nico says, more vehement than he intended. He feels a little sweaty, off-balance.

Is this just how it’s going to be, with Will? Are they going to end every second case with Nico feeling as if he’s had all his internal organs extracted and gently squeezed a few times before they’re set back in place? The stupidest part is that the whole process isn’t nearly as painful as Nico would have expected.

It’s not exactly comfortable. But it’s not bad.

Nico swallows. “Anyway. You weren’t supposed to handle it all on your own. That’s what… that’s what teams are for, and partners. That’s why they pair us up.”

“You’ve been handling it on your own, though,” Will points out. “Isn’t that exactly what you were doing before I got here?”

Nico shrugs, eyes on the road, far too aware of the little space in the car, his heart throbbing in his chest.

He supposes he can contribute one more thing to this heart-to-heart before changing the subject. He hasn’t harassed Will nearly enough for his musical selections on this trip, for instance.

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah. But maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have been.”

December 1998

“This looks interesting. What are you working on?” Nico leans over the coffee table to get a better look at the papers Hazel’s got laid out in piles. It’s late Sunday afternoon and they’ve just finished dissecting Nico’s latest case.

“It is interesting.” Hazel reaches for her laptop. “I’ve been trying to hack into the Zoion Labs database. Last night I almost breached their mainframe. So close. I got booted out at the last second.” She shakes her head sadly. “Frank’s been putting in long hours checking in on their government contacts. We’re pretty sure there’s a story there. We just haven’t quite figured out what it is yet.”

Nico scootches closer to his sister as she pulls up a file. Hazel’s tried to teach him some elementary coding over the years, giving him at least a rudimentary understanding of the document she’s brought up on the screen. She leans back, giving him a chance to make sense of her work. Just then, Nico’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out, glancing at the call display.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he murmurs, jumping up with the phone to his ear. “Hey, thought you said you were taking the whole weekend off.” There’s a pause and then Nico laughs, loud. “I should have sent you straight to voicemail,” he says, his voice light and teasing.

Hazel blinks. There’s more laughter as Nico paces down the back hallway. He’s too far away for her to hear what he’s saying now, but his manner is so unexpected that it stops her in her tracks. Frank appears from the hallway a moment later, a confused expression on his face that Hazel thinks probably mirrors her own.

“Who’s he talking to?” Frank asks when he’s close enough not to be overheard.

Hazel shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

“Is he… seeing someone?” Frank asks. Because yes, that’s exactly what it sounds like.

“I – he hasn’t mentioned anyone.”

Frank sits down in the armchair with his own laptop and they share a glance, giggling. Hazel turns back to her own work, but half her mind is buzzing with questions she’s going to ask Nico the second he returns. The trick, she knows, is not to be too obvious.

Nico’s back a few minutes later, dropping onto the couch again, a half-smile lingering on his face.

Hazel clears her throat and glances over at Frank, who hides his face behind his computer.

“Everything okay?” Hazel asks her brother lightly. She notices Frank roll his eyes in her periphery, a smile tugging at his lips. He clearly knows she’s rather violently holding herself back.

Nico glances up. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just… seemed like an important phone call,” Hazel offers.

Nico shrugs. “Just work stuff.”

“Was it Reyna?” Frank asks and Hazel turns to beam at her boyfriend. Usually he prefers not to get involved in such discussions. She appreciates his support during this difficult time. Frank shakes his head, avoiding her gaze and grinning behind his screen.

Nico laughs, short. “No. Not Reyna.”

“And everything’s okay with Reyna?” Hazel cuts in, unable to help herself. Inquiring minds want to know, okay?

Nico frowns, blinking at his sister. “I think so?”

“Okay, that’s… good to hear,” Hazel says, a little desperate.

Nico tilts his head, clearly lost. He turns and grabs a sheet of paper from the coffee table, scans it for a moment and then holds it out to his sister. “Is this the company you mentioned earlier? Because I think they were involved in a case I was looking into last year.”

Hazel ignores the paper in favor of gazing at her brother, beginning to lose patience.

“What,” Nico asks, bewildered. “Why are you acting weird?”

Frank sighs, stretching out long legs to prop them on the coffee table. “Hazel wants to know who you were talking to,”

Nico blinks. “What, on the phone?”

“Yes, on the phone!” Hazel throws her hands up, exasperated.

“It was just Will – my partner. At work. I told you about him, right?” Nico asks, confused. “The forensic pathologist? The one they assigned to work with me a few months back?”

“Oh. That was Will?”

“Yeah, that was Will.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Hazel says, turning back to her laptop. Frank snorts.

“Okay, what is going on?” Nico laughs, tossing the papers he’d been holding down on the couch next to him.

“Nothing, nothing,” Hazel says breezily, clicking through a document. “Will is a… platonic partner?”

“Hazel, I just said, we work together.”

Hazel finally abandons all pretense. “And that’s all? Because it really sounded like something more than that.”

“What?” Nico laughs. “That’s what all this weirdness is about?” He waves his arms in their general vicinity. “He’s – we work together. He’s my partner. At work. Why would you think – we were talking about work.” Nico’s voice starts to go a bit squeaky, which Hazel privately thinks isn’t really helping his case.

“Work,” Hazel says. “On a Sunday?”

“He had some ideas about a case we were discussing on Friday afternoon. And he just called to get my opinion,” Nico says, defensive.

Hazel continues to gaze at her brother.

“What?” Nico asks again, louder.

“Nothing.” Hazel turns back to her screen.

Nico blinks at her for a moment. “Okay. Fine. Nothing. It is nothing. Tell me more about Zoion. I think I might be able to help. How did you guys first hear about–”

“It really didn’t sound platonic,” Hazel interrupts.

“Well it is,” Nico says, now sounding annoyed.

“Is he cute?” Frank asks unexpectedly from his spot in the corner. Hazel giggles.

And shockingly, like a gift from above, Nico goes completely red. Hazel’s eyes go wide with glee.

“Shut up,” Nico mutters to Hazel when she beams at him. There’s silence for a moment and then Nico groans, throwing himself back against the couch and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Shut up,” he says again when the silence in the room continues.

“Sorry,” Hazel laughs, reaching out to squeeze her brother’s knee. “Sorry for teasing. And prying.”

Nico sighs, his posture softening a bit.

“It’s just that your whole demeanor changed when you started talking to him,” Hazel says gently. “It just surprised us. You sounded really happy. Even Frank noticed.”

“Hey!” protests Frank.

Hazel shrugs. “Sorry, sweetie. You’re just not usually as in tune with that sort of thing.”

Frank looks pensive for a moment then shrugs, conceding.

Nico lets out a long breath. “Thanks for your concern,” he says. “And yeah, we get along really well. Better than I was expecting. But there’s nothing else going on. Okay?”

(chapter 4 here)

Notes:

1. Thanks as always to @rosyredlipstick for the beta! 2. The best thing about posting a chapter is I CAN FINALLY STOP EDITING IT 3. BWAHAHAHAHA 4. As much as I do love writing, I cannot deny that comments are incredibly motivating and I cherish each one 5. Sorry for any medical inaccuracies. I did my best. 6. vampires are up next!

[onceuponastory]

ghost story - the winter soldier x reader

Plot: As she got older, Y/N stopped believing in ghost stories. That is... until she finds one fast asleep and bleeding out on her grandma’s couch. The Winter Soldier was taught never to leave any witnesses, and he intends to follow his training... until he finds Y/N staring down the barrel of his gun. Pairing: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of death, kidnapping, violence, blood, injuries/wounds (nothing too graphic though), pain, nightmares, weapons, and everything Bucky did as the Winter Soldier, and had done to him by HYDRA, specifically how they likely didn’t feed him. Please use your own discretion. As always if I miss any triggers, let me know. Notes: This is sorta my alternate ending/continuation to CA:TWS. I’ve had this fic in my drafts for ages, and I finally finished it. I hope you all love it as much as I do. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

Turning up the drive, gravel crunching under her tires, Y/N soon spots her grandmother’s house as it looms out of the fog. It’s just as big and creepy as she remembered, especially as the trees turn bare and the nights grow colder and darker. When it’s like this, it looks even more like the stereotypical haunted house that everyone always said it looked like. But now that her grandma’s gone, and the house is all but abandoned, it’s even creepier. Stepping out of her car, the cold autumn air hits her, and does little to stop the fear from spreading throughout her body. Of course, when Y/N was a kid, she spent plenty of time ghost hunting in the house with her grandmother, and getting used to its familiar creaks and groans. But as she grew up, she realised the house was not haunted at all, and the ghost hunting game with her grandmother was just that: a game. Although... its spooky appearance and the endless forest surrounding it do little to help challenge its haunted moniker. 

As the chilly wind howls again, sending a shockwave through her entire body, Y/N shivers, pulling her coat and scarf closer around her. And then, she advances up the steps to the front door.

Almost two weeks ago, Y/N's grandmother passed away, and since she’s her only living relative, Y/N has to sort everything out. First, she has to clear out her house. Unlocking the door, Y/N steps inside. Immediately, the air is melancholic. She spent so much of her time in this house that not having her grandmother here to greet her with tea and her fresh baking is strange. Yet, something seems off. As if someone else is here with her, and that she’s not as alone as she thought. Maybe the ghosts are finally coming out to play. 

Y/N takes a few steps forward, her footsteps creaking on the floorboards and echoing through the house. As her brows furrow, another chill blows through the house. Her grandmother’s house was draughty, but never this bad. Maybe it’s just the house showing its age. Or at least, that’s what she hopes it is. But as she steps further into the house, something crunches under her feet. Shards of broken glass. Y/N sighs frustratedly. Damn kids probably broke a window.

Still, Y/N registers her heartbeat rising ever so slightly with every step she takes. She just can’t shake the feeling that someone is here, watching her every move. “Ghosts aren’t real. It’s just your imagination. It was always just a game.” She whispers, repeating it like a mantra to calm her down. If only it worked.

Warily, Y/N moves into the living room. Almost immediately, her eyes land on a sleeping form on the couch. Her heart jumps into her throat. Pinching her skin hard, Y/N hopes it’s just a dream, that her mind is playing tricks on her and there isn’t actually a random man asleep on her grandmother’s couch. However, no matter how many times she tries, the man is still there. 

And then, she screams, startling the man awake. He jumps up immediately, his blue eyes staring over at her. Within moments, he pulls a gun on her. 

“Who are you?” He orders. His voice is deep, and slightly Russian accented. Y/N holds her hands up in surrender, shaking. And this time, it’s not from the cold. She considers making a break for the door, hoping that if she runs fast enough, she’ll be okay. “No. Stay.” The man responds, as if reading her mind. He gestures with his gun, ordering her to come closer, which she does. Warily, she glances down the man’s body, staring at his enormous arms, both muscular and metal. Then, her eyes turn to all the other guns and knives strapped to him. Ones that she definitely doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of. 

“Who the fuck is this guy?”

“Answer me.” The man demands.

“I-I’m Y/N. This is my grandma’s house. I’m here to clear it out.” She gasps, hoping it’s enough to save herself. The man furrows his brows, continuing to stare at her. His metal arm whirrs, flexing slightly, which does little to quell Y/N’s alarm. “Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything or see anything. I promise.” She begs, tears already streaming down her cheeks. Briefly, something shifts in the man’s expression, and his features soften. Almost as if he feels guilty for the fear he’s caused. However, it disappears almost as soon as she notices it.

The Winter Soldier stares at the woman, Y/N, watching as she sobs and begs for her life. She’s terrified of him. Just like everyone else was when they found themselves staring down the barrel of his gun. HYDRA always taught him not to leave any witnesses, because anyone could destroy their mission if they saw something they weren’t supposed to. And the last thing he wants is to find himself on the receiving end of another punishment at the hands of his superiors. The various bruises and injuries he’s accumulated over the years throb under his tactical gear, a harsh physical reminder of all that he’s endured. After all, that’s why he ran away. He’s just so tired. Tired of being their personal punching bag, and of being tortured and punished time and time again, despite how much they all praise him and the work he does for them. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know how long he’s been running. He just had to get away from the pain, and from the faces and the screams seeping back into his memories. The memories that are also starting to fill with fresh faces, ones he’s sure he’s never seen before…yet somehow, they looked at him like they knew him. 

“Bucky?” A whisper of a voice echoes in his mind, but it’s gone before he can dwell too long on it.

Perhaps, deep down, he thought that if he ran far enough, he’d be able to figure himself out. Or at that he’d at least outrun his demons. 

After some time, he found this house. Abandoned and offering some solitude, he saw it as the perfect place to finally get some sleep. That is, however, until the woman’s screams woke him up. And now, here they are. Yet, something about her is different. There’s some kind of familiarity there with her, something he doesn’t know how to explain. What he does know, however, is that despite how much she begs for her freedom, he can’t let her go.

It hurts, but this is how it has to be. This is what he was taught. 

Leave no witnesses. 

But as the woman’s cries continue, for once, he wants to abandon his training. He doesn't want to kill her. In fact, he almost feels pity for her. Deep down, her cries are shaking him and his morals to their core. “Please, just let me go. I won’t say anything, I promise.” She repeats, her body shaking as tears stream down her cheeks. And then, he comes up with an idea. One to save them both.

“No.” Her face falls. “You stay here. With me.” 

“No, I can’t! I have a life, a-and-”

“Stay!” He shouts. The sudden volume makes her jump, and her tears intensify as she sobs even harder, her entire body shrinking away from him. As her cries sink into his every being, another pang of guilt strikes him again. This poor woman has done nothing wrong, and now she’s terrified for her life because of him. He steps forward, reaching out a hand to comfort her. Briefly, after being a mindless killing machine for so long, his humanity returns, and he considers letting her go. For a moment, Bucky Barnes returns. 

But then, just before he’s about to offer some reassuring words, HYDRA’s programming kicks in once more like a virus, seeping into his mind. And he becomes the Winter Soldier once more. Who says she’s safe, and that she won’t just turn him into HYDRA at a moment’s notice? And then he’ll be back to being tortured over and over again. Reflexively, his body tenses, and hot pain flashes through him once more. He can’t take that risk. So she has to stay here, with him. That way, they’ll both be safe. This is the only way, the best way that he can ensure his survival without killing her. She’ll learn soon enough. “Just…stay out of my way.” He grunts, storming out of the room and leaving her crying. 

Even though her tears still strike guilt into his heart.

From then on, Y/N stays out of the man’s way as much as she can. The last thing she wants is to make the wrong move and end up dead. Thankfully, since her captor seems to stay in just the one room all day every day, she has free rein of the house, and can clear it out just as she wanted. Although, Y/N knows she could be forgiven for being preoccupied with the weapon wielding maniac downstairs.

Yet, she can’t help but feel, in some small way… worried about the man she’s now sharing her life with. He spends all day, every day inside, just staring out of the window. His hand carefully rests on the various weapons strapped to him, almost as if he’s waiting for something or someone to attack. The sounds of her moving throughout the house don’t even phase him anymore. He just…sits there, like a statue. Or a hyper vigilant, intensively trained assassin. Whilst a small part of her appreciates how protective the man seems, his refusal to move or to even eat something strikes her as concerning. Something deeper is going on… something Y/N wants to understand.

However, despite her worry for him, she doesn’t speak to him about it. After all, he is holding her captive. So, she watches from afar, wondering when, if ever, she’ll be able to help him.

Later that night, Y/N falls asleep, calm and off in a dream world. That is, however, until an earth shattering scream sounds from downstairs. Immediately, she springs awake, sprinting downstairs. Judging from the scream, she’s expecting to find bloodshed, and the body of some poor soul who was at the receiving end of the man’s various weapons.

Yet when she makes it downstairs, she finds the complete opposite. Aside from them both, the house is empty. Nevertheless, the screams continue… meaning there’s only one explanation for who they’re coming from. Warily, she steps closer to the sound of the noise. The man is still laid out on her grandma’s couch, but yells out over and over, thrashing around in his sleep. For a moment, Y/N wonders just how much pain and torment he must have experienced for his screams to sound so anguished. “Wait! Calm down! It’s okay!” She calls, getting closer to him. The danger she’s putting herself in, and her previous apprehension doesn’t even cross her mind. All she wants is to see that the man is alright. Once he’s awake, he stares at her, blinking in confusion. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s just me. You’re okay.” She soothes. 

“I thought I told you to stay out of my way.” Although, after waking up to HYDRA agents every day for god knows how long, seeing Y/N is a welcome breath of fresh air. Yet, he knows he can’t get too close. It’s too risky. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” The words leave her mouth before even thinking about them. He frowns, almost as if he’s wondering why she cares so much, why she thinks he’s even worth helping. And it breaks Y/N’s heart. Sure, they didn’t get off on the right foot, but he’s clearly hurting, and deep down she hates seeing him so upset. But then his face hardens once more.

“No. Go away.” He repeats, shaking his head. Despite his orders, Y/N stands her ground, refusing to go. 

“I don’t want to pry, but… I want you to know I also want to listen, if you want someone to talk to.” She reassures him, taking a seat on the chair opposite the couch. “Your screams, they sounded... awful.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The man murmurs softly. “After what I did?” Y/N shrugs. Honestly, she’s not even sure if she knows the answer to that herself.

“I just want to help. That’s all. And besides, I was already awake when I heard you screaming.” She lies. Again, he furrows his brow, as if he doesn’t believe her. Yet, he stops telling her to go. The room falls silent, each looking at each other but unsure of what to say next. “Do you need anything? Some food, some water?” Y/N asks, breaking the silence. Another shake of his head.

“I’m not worth this help, Y/N.” Despite how much his self loathing hurts her, she can’t deny how, as she hears her name leaving the man’s lips for the first time, Y/N’s heart beats ever so slightly faster.

“Honestly, it’s okay. When I heard you scream, I got kinda worried about you. It sounded so painful…you really got spooked, didn’t you?” The man looks pained, yet still refuses to meet her gaze, almost as if he’s ashamed of her seeing him in this state. And that thought breaks her heart. He may have scared the shit out of her, but she wants to make sure that he’s alright. Sighing, Y/N moves closer. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. I just want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.” 

The Winter Soldier watches Y/N curiously, waiting for the caveat, for the violence that he’s been so used to for so long. Because nobody is ever just nice to him anymore, they only do it just so he can do what they want. Unsurprisingly, HYDRA didn’t care much about his health and wellbeing. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? I was staying for a while anyway, so I brought some stuff with me.” Y/N’s offer makes him even more confused. Even if she does genuinely want to help, why is she doing it now, when he told her to leave him alone? And especially since he’s kidnapped her? 

“Why?” Y/N shrugs.

“I don’t know. I just thought that it’s nice to share. And besides, we’re both stuck here, miles from the nearest town. This is all we have.” It’s only then that he realises he doesn’t know when the last time he ate was. Yet although something to eat does sound good, he still doesn’t trust her fully. After all, what if it’s poisoned? What if he wakes up back in HYDRA’s grasp?

“No.” He shakes his head. Deflated slightly, Y/N nods. As he goes to lie down again, he turns his body a different way. Suddenly a sharp, shooting pain strikes his side. Furious expletives and hissing fill the room, and curiously, Y/N peers over. She sees a deep crimson seeping through his tactical vest, and she gasps. 

“You’re bleeding. I should call an ambulance.” At the sound of the word ambulance, he gasps. 

“No.” He repeats. If he goes to a hospital, then there’s a chance HYDRA could find him and bring him back to the same life he spent so long running from. There’s no way he’ll let that happen.

“I know it’s scary, but it looks painful, and-”

“I said, no! No hospitals.” He clutches madly at his side, wincing and writhing in pain. As Y/N watches him, pity overtakes her fear. This man needs her help.

“Do you want me to look at that, at least? I can try to help stop the blood flow.” She asks, walking towards him. Immediately, he flinches away from her. Every other time he’s been in pain, all he remembers is more pain. He doesn’t heal, he survives. And he’s survived for this long by gritting his teeth and baring his injuries, so he can easily do it again. Even though he’s in so much fucking pain. 

“No.” He growls, clutching at his side and hissing. As his face contorts into a grimace, warily, Y/N steps even closer. “What part of no don’t you get?” However, his words don’t stop her. Although this man definitely looks like he could and would murder her, and was obviously very close to doing so… the sound of his pained cries still sting, and she wants to help him.

“It looks bad. I’m not much of a nurse, but it looks like you’re in a lot of pain. And honestly, if we’re going to be stuck here together, I’d rather not have you bleeding out on my grandma’s couch.” She chuckles awkwardly. He peers over at her, his brows furrowed. Yet, Y/N still stares at him, the same soft smile on her face. Why won’t she just leave him to go through this in peace, like he deserves? But then, the pain strikes him again, and he groans, realising he doesn’t have much choice. Maybe this time, he needs to heal. And so, he nods.

First, Y/N takes off every layer of clothing until the wound is visible. As she unbuttons and unbuckles every article of clothing, her fingers gently brushing against his exposed skin, he feels a strange, new feeling inside. He doesn’t understand it, but he does know that he likes it. Y/N's breath hitches in her throat as she stares down at his bare chest. God, this man is attractive. Or at least, his chest is. But then, she notices various other marks and scars on his body, some recent, but most faded. Pity fills her veins once more. Whoever this man is, it looks like he’s been through the wars… and has been for years. “So….” She trails off as she works on his wound, completely unsure what to say to this incredibly attractive man who’s also holding her hostage in her grandma’s house. As she cleans the wound, he hisses, and angry Russian curse words fill the room once more. “Sorry! I’ll try my best to be gentle, but it will probably sting a lot.” 

Silence falls as Y/N continues working on the wound. Although the experience is painful, there’s an unfamiliarity to it. And something about that unfamiliarity feels comforting to him. His eyes look over, staring as Y/N wraps a bandage around his side. The moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating her face, and the strange feeling from before returns. Although this time, it makes him feel all warm inside. Maybe this is how it feels to be finally cared for after so many years of pain, nightmares, and torture. To have someone actually give a shit about you. However, before he can think too much about this feeling, Y/N speaks up.

“Can I ask you something? What’s your name? I feel weird that you know mine, and yet, I’m helping you and I don’t even know yours.” His brows furrow. Nobody has ever asked him his name before. And he doesn’t even remember it anymore. As he struggles to remember, Y/N’s face falls. “Does he really not know his name? God, this guy really has been through it.”

“Bucky!” The same whisper echoes in his mind again. Maybe this is it. Maybe his mind is starting to remember. 

“I-I think it’s Bucky.” Y/N smiles. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.” Bucky. That does sound right…especially when Y/N says it. As she finishes up, Bucky takes his turn to ask something.

“Why…did you help me? After what I did?” Y/N frowns, shrugging again, as if it’s obvious why she would.

“Well, you were in pain. And besides, you haven’t killed me yet.” She laughs awkwardly. “For some reason, I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. Do you….” She trails off, and Bucky already knows where this is going. “Do you mind if I ask you what happened?” Memories flash through Bucky’s mind, hazy, choppy memories. Of guns and knives and pain. Oh god, so much pain. Too much pain. 

Seeing how worked up he’s getting, Y/N interrupts him by placing a hand on his metal arm, pulling him out of his panic. Reflexively, Bucky flinches, jolting it away. “I spooked you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” She soothes. And for a moment, both Y/N and Bucky realise how much they liked that sensation of being close to one another. “That’s you all done, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll um. You probably want to be alone, so I’ll leave you in peace now.” She murmurs, walking towards the doorway. Bucky feels his stomach rumble, and he sighs. She treated both his wounds, and him with kindness. Maybe he is safe. For now, anyway.

“Wait.” He calls, and Y/N turns around. “Can…I please have some food?” He expects her to say no. After all, HYDRA rarely, if ever, fed him. He doesn’t expect her to either. Especially after how he snapped at her. Yet, Y/N’s face softens once more. 

“Of course you can. Do you want a sandwich?” Bucky nods, and she leaves the room. Bucky's face stays imprinted in her mind as she heads towards the kitchen. His eyes were almost pleading when he asked her for food, almost as if he expected her to say no, and that he would understand if she did. The multitude of scars and wounds covering Bucky’s torso enters her mind again. Even though he’s keeping her locked away in her grandma’s house, Y/N still feels bad for him. If someone’s been treating him like that for god knows how long, who’s to say that they haven’t been malnourishing him too? Poor thing. And besides, he hasn’t killed her yet. Maybe he’s not so dangerous.

“Where the hell could he be? He could’ve gone anywhere.” Steve sighs, glancing at the screen. He must’ve looked at the same spot on the map for hours now, just looking for anywhere Bucky could be hiding. That is, if HYDRA didn’t get to him first.

“Steve. Don’t stress yourself out. We’ll find him.” Sam reassures, and Steve sighs. 

“I hope you’re right.”

Meanwhile, Y/N and Bucky sit together, eating. Well, one of them is still eating. Bucky wolfed his down almost as soon as he got it, strengthening Y/N’s belief that wherever he was kept, he must not have been fed. She considers asking him about it, but then she remembers where she is, and the circumstances that led to this moment. And besides, that’s a weird thing to ask anyone, let alone the guy who’s essentially keeping you prisoner. So, she keeps quiet.

“Thank you. For the food.” Bucky mumbles, and Y/N looks back up at him. A small smile graces his features, and immediately Y/N smiles back at him, feeling heat building and settling on her cheeks. He has a lovely smile. She was right. He’s kind of cute.

“No problem.” An awkward silence descends on the pair once again. Both look at each other, each wanting to say something, but still unsure of what to say, neither knowing what would be the right thing to say in this circumstance. 

And so, they sit together for a while, just sitting in silence. Y/N’s brain feels like it’s going a mile a minute with thoughts of Bucky, and how sorry for him she feels, despite everything that’s happened. In another life, she’d like to get to know him. 

Little does she know, however, that Bucky is going through the exact mental turmoil as she is.

After some time, Bucky lays back down on the couch, his breathing stilling. Warily, Y/N tiptoes over to him, peering down. Bucky’s asleep again. When he’s asleep, he looks dead to the world. Clearly, he must really have needed this rest. Yet, she keeps a watchful eye on him, just in case he has another nightmare. Or in case he tries to kill her. 

Once she’s sure that Bucky is asleep, Y/N opens Google on her phone. The soft light of her screen illuminates the room, and for a moment she worries the light will wake up Bucky. However, when she glances over, she sees he’s still fast asleep, so she lets out a sigh of relief. Opening the search bar, she types in Bucky’s name. Hopefully, this generates something to help: a post from his family or friends, or even a news article about his disappearance. Someone must be missing him. 

Once she hits search, her screen is immediately filled with results. To her surprise, though, the results are nothing like she expected.

Various pictures of Bucky without his tactical gear pop up, including ones of him in an army uniform. An ancient looking uniform, one that looks like it’s from the 1940s. Y/N frowns, even more confused about the sort of person he is. She scrolls down further, looking at the headlines, which confuse her even more. 

“Bucky Barnes: The Howling Commando.”

“The Howling Commandos and WWII.”

“Bucky Barnes: The Life and Death of Captain America’s Best Friend.”

One word stands out. Death. Y/N’s eyes widen. The guy who’s sleeping on her grandma’s couch, the one who showed up out of nowhere with a gun, is supposed to be dead. He’s a ghost story. Warily, Y/N looks over at Bucky, watching as his chest slowly rises and falls. 

If he’s a ghost story, who’s to say she won’t be the next one? Maybe he will kill her after all. 

Suddenly far too scared to go to sleep, Y/N sits in the armchair opposite the couch, scrolling through the articles on her phone and learning everything she can about her new houseguest. He fought in World War Two alongside Steve Rogers, his best friend. Of course, she knows who Steve Rogers is. After all, she’s seen enough pictures and videos of him in his Captain America uniform, wielding the shield and saving the world. It turns out Bucky fought by his side for most of the war. At least, he did until his ‘death’. And now he’s here, sleeping beside her and very much alive. She glances over at him once more, just to make sure she’s safe. Bucky looks so peaceful when he sleeps, his lips slightly parted and his long hair falling in his face. For the first time since she’s met him, Bucky finally looks relaxed. In fact, he doesn’t look dangerous at all. As she watches Bucky, a strange feeling settles in her stomach, and her fear dissipates a little. 

If Steve Rogers, Captain America of all people, trusted Bucky to fight alongside him…maybe she’s safe around him after all. And besides, if Steve Rogers can come back from the dead, who’s to say Bucky hasn’t either? 

And besides, he’s pretty cute when he sleeps.

Suddenly, Bucky shifts a little in his sleep, and for a moment, Y/N jumps back, expecting him to awaken and notice her staring. To her relief though, Bucky just turns around, his back to her. Smiling softly, Y/N sits back down in the armchair opposite the couch, curling up.

Some time later, she opens her eyes, wincing slightly at the sunlight streaming through the window. Her fingers touch something soft, and she frowns. As she sits up, she realises she must have fallen asleep. And she’s still here, still breathing. Y/N’s fingers continue to brush against something soft, and she realises a blanket is haphazardly draped over her. Bucky sits, watching the world through the windows. Just like he always does. Yet now…it seems different.

“Morning.” he grunts without turning around. And for once, his voice doesn’t scare her. “Sleep okay?”

She almost asks him then, asks if he took care of her in the night. Asks him to confirm if he’s really the kind soul she thinks he is, instead of the monster he thinks he is. The monster she used to think he was. But then she remembers the current situation, and the circumstances that led to them being there. So, she doesn’t ask. Besides, how can she ask something like that after everything they’ve been through? “Yes, thanks. Did you?” She knows it’s a dumb question before she even asks it. Even Bucky seems to think so too, judging by the look he gives her.

“It was okay. Thanks.” He nods.

“I’ll um. I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Figured it would be best if we still stayed out of each other's way. For now anyway.” For a second, when Bucky opens his mouth, Y/N wonders if, or rather hopes that he’ll tell her to stay. That he wants to be around her, to have some human contact. 

But he simply nods. “Yes, that’ll be good.” Sighing, Y/N disappears upstairs, hoping Bucky doesn’t notice her disappointment. Yet, she doesn’t notice how Bucky watches as she leaves the room…or how his eyes linger even after she’s gone.

Bucky and Y/N have no idea that miles away, the Avengers still are trying to track Bucky’s location.

Or at least, Steve and Sam are.

“Steve, I’ve got an idea. If he took this route out of the city, he’d have hit some woods and farmland. It’s really remote, you could go for miles and still not see a single farm house. I’m going to send Redwing out, see if there’s any abandoned barns or houses nearby that he could hide in.” Sam explains.

“That sounds good.” Steve nods. Yet, Sam notices how his friend’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey, we’ll find him, okay?” Steve sighs. 

“I hope so.”

A few hours later, Y/N sits in her grandma’s old bedroom, surrounded by various boxes and photo albums. She flips through a few pictures, laughing as she reminisces on the memories inside. The more pictures she looks through, the more emotional she gets. And soon, big tears are streaming down her cheeks once more. She misses her so much. If only her grandma could see her now, and who she’s sharing her house with.

But maybe, if she knew just how much pain Bucky’s gone through, and how kind he’s been treating her recently… maybe she’d like Bucky. Or at least, understand him a little.

“Are you alright?” Bucky’s voice startles her. He peers into the room, concern filling his features as he realises she’s crying. “I um. I thought I heard you crying, so I wanted to check on you.” Quickly, Y/N wipes at her eyes. Strangely, despite how much she sobbed in front of Bucky when they first met, now she’s embarrassed by him seeing her crying. Although, she still notices the way something flutters deep down inside when she realises Bucky abandoned his post, the only thing he’s done all day and every day, to come check up on her. For once, she’s more important to him than his mission.

“Yeah. Sorry, I was just sorting some of my grandma’s things. Didn’t realise it would make me so emotional.” She laughs awkwardly, wiping at her eyes. Nervously, Bucky comes closer, too scared to hurt her again. But he’s already seen her crying once, and felt powerless to help. Now, he wants to help. She’s been so kind to him, especially when he didn’t deserve it, and he would like to repay that kindness any way he can.

“May I sit?” Y/N nods, and he does so. He peers over her shoulder, looking at the photographs clutched in her hand. “Is this her? Your grandma?” The tone of his question makes her laugh a little. But it’s not a mocking laugh, not in the slightest. Bucky sounds like a curious child, excited to learn about the world around him. 

“Yup. And that’s my mom. She died when I was young, so my grandma took me in for most of my life. We had a lot of fun together. Especially in this house.” Y/N smiles fondly.

“She’s beautiful.” Bucky glances over at Y/N, smiling softly. “I can see the resemblance.” Y/N feels herself smiling at his words, and heat settles on her cheeks once more. Despite everything that’s happened, being called beautiful by Bucky feels nice.

“Thanks.” Y/N giggles, sniffling.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky sighs, and she frowns. “For everything. For scaring you, a-and for keeping you here. It’s just.” He takes a moment to breathe, as if bracing himself for his next words. Bracing himself to tell her the truth. “I don’t remember a lot about my life, but I do know I was being held by HYDRA. People who weren’t very good to me.” Y/N’s mind goes back to the wound on his side, how eager he was to be fed… and his horrible, anguished screams. Now it all makes sense. Y/N’s face softens, and she leans in closer, listening attentively. “I don’t want to go into too much detail about it, but they messed me up a lot. And now, I know they wiped my memories too. I at least know my name now, and bits about my past come in here and there, but that’s about it.”

“Bucky…I’m so sorry.” Y/N gasps. Now his childlike wonder makes sense. She can’t even imagine how that feels, to know nothing about who you are or where you come from. To be a nobody. Her memory goes back to the night before, when she stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, googling Bucky and his past. Her stomach twinges. Bucky doesn’t even know that most of his life story is out there online, free for anyone to read… whilst he doesn’t remember any of it. She can’t not tell him the truth. To her surprise, though, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s me who should be sorry for keeping you here. It’s just whenever I tried to escape, they’d bring me back and torture me even more. So when I finally did leave, I was terrified that you’d try to bring me back, or if you went outside and someone saw you, they’d find me.” He scoots even closer, the edge of his fingers brushing lightly against hers. As their skin connects, Y/N feels a small spark and registers her breath hitching in her throat. Even this, something so small as this tiny skin to skin contact feels so intimate. So different. It’s like there’s a meaning behind it now, something more than just an accidental touch. And it registers something within Y/N, a feeling deep within her gut. 

She never noticed how blue his eyes look, and how much they sparkle in the light. When she’s up this close to Bucky, she can see that he has freckles too, ones previously hidden under his bruises and scars. They seem to be healing nicely. He looks healthier too, calmer at least. Obviously, the food she gave him did the world of good. 

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?” He whispers, so quiet she wouldn’t have heard him had he been sitting next to her. Despite everything that he’s been through, and the way he used to scream and shout at her, his voice is so soft. So… human. Rather than the monster she thought he was. But now she knows the truth: he’s a victim. And he deserves the truth. She owes him that.

“I have to tell you something. About your past.”

He takes it well. Or at least, better than she expected someone to do when you tell them that most of their life, one that was so cruelly ripped away from them, can be summed up via a Wikipedia article. When she mentions Steve and the other Howling Commandos, there’s a flicker or recognition there, which makes her smile. It’s small, but at least a start. 

“Thank you for telling me.” He murmurs, and she nods. Yet, neither of them know just how much is missing from that page. Happy memories spent with family or friends, the little things Bucky enjoyed - his favourite song, the food he loved - all gone, with no way of knowing if they’ll ever come back. Without even thinking, she scoots closer to him once more, wordlessly telling him she’s there for him. And little does she know, but Bucky appreciates her presence more than he could ever say.

“Steve.” Sam begins, causing the blonde to look up. “There’s an old house near where Bucky could’ve went, and it seems occupied. We could go in and ask if they’ve seen anything.”

“Worth a try.” Steve nods. Again, Sam can tell how unsure Steve feels about this, given how many leads they tried to chase that suddenly turned cold. And Sam also knows how worried Steve is about finding Bucky, no matter the cost. But before he can say anything, Steve stands up, straightening his jacket. “Come on then. Let’s go.”

Later that night, Y/N passes over another steaming hot plate of food, which Bucky quickly devours. Despite the food spraying everywhere, Y/N is glad to see him eating so much. Especially since she’s noticed how Bucky isn’t pausing before beginning to eat as much as he used to. It seemed as if he was waiting to see if he was going to be fed, rather than a cruel prank by his captors. To her, it signifies his recovery, that despite how much they tried to take it away from him, Bucky Barnes is coming back.

And then, there’s a knock at the door. 

Immediately, the two are on edge. Especially Bucky. Y/N notices his metal arm tensing, and she stands up quickly.

“I’ll get it. It’s okay.” she insists, trying to calm Bucky’s nerves whilst also trying to ignore how fast her own heart is beating. As she braces herself to open the door, Y/N wonders just how much her life will change once it does. Obviously, the people who tortured Bucky and wiped his mind probably won’t be as courteous enough to knock on the door, but it’s still the major fear coursing through her by now.

Reaching for the door handle, Y/N takes a breath… and opens the door. 

Two men stand on the porch. For a moment, she registers a look of disappointment on one of the men’s faces. Almost as if he was expecting someone else. But he soon smiles, clearing his throat. “Good evening ma’am.” He speaks. Y/N recognises them both almost immediately.

Captain America and the Falcon are standing right in front of her. Right away, her fear dissipates, replaced by hope. Bucky finally gets to go home with his friends. With people who love him. 

“You’re Cap, and you’re the Falcon.” She gasps. Steve chuckles, but before he can say another word, Y/N continues. “You’re here for Bucky, aren’t you?” Their faces change immediately. A mix of shock, wonder, and excitement. She stands inside, letting both men in. 

As soon as they step into the house, Bucky charges out in front of them, his presence immediately threatening. 

“What do you want?!” He demands. “I’m not going back there!”

“No! Bucky no! These are your friends. Sam and Steve! Remember?” Making eye contact with Steve, Bucky lowers his hands. In an instant, he’s back to the calmer, quieter person he was before.

“Steve.” He murmurs as the memories soon start to come back.

“Hey Buck. You remember Sam, right? And what happened? We’ve come to take you back. We’ll keep you safe.” Bucky still looks confused. He doesn’t know if he can trust him. She can see it in his eyes. And it breaks her heart. 

“He’s right. Remember what I told you? About your past?” Y/N whispers, gently prompting Bucky. “That’s them. Once again, Bucky’s brow furrows… yet after a moment, he nods.

“Steve.” He whispers, smiling. And Steve smiles back. But then it’s as if he remembers that Y/N’s still there.

“So, who are you if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve asks, and Sam sighs.

“Steve.” Sam hisses.

“This is my grandmother’s house. I came here to clear it out after she died, and I found Bucky here.”

“Well, hopefully he wasn’t too much trouble for you.” Sam chuckles. She glances over at Bucky, still watching over her protectively despite being reunited with his best friend. And a small smile crosses Y/N’s lips.

“No. Not at all.” 

“Well.” Steve clears his throat, standing up straighter, looking exactly like the Captain he is. “I’m glad to hear you helped him, ma’am.”

“Y/N.” 

“Hm?” 

“Her name is Y/N.” Bucky speaks up. “And she’s treated me with nothing but kindness since she found me here. Thank you.” Y/N’s smile grows even wider, and Bucky smiles too. A big, warm grin that overtakes his entire face. And something in Y/N’s stomach flutters. Despite the tumultuous start to their relationship, she’s really enjoyed her time with Bucky, and getting to know the real him.

But then, Steve’s next words bring her crashing back down to earth. 

“Come on then, Buck. We better go. Thank you for your help, Miss, but we can take it from here.” And there it is. Honestly, a part of Y/N was expecting to be invited along with them. To spend more time with the soldier who captivated her from the beginning. Maybe they’d even get closer. But she can’t. Because despite how much time they spent together, growing more and more comfortable with each other until their lives practically intertwined, she doesn’t fit into his life. His real life. His life where he’s best friends with two Avengers, and a WWII hero. Maybe she never fit into his life. Disappointment twinges deep in her gut. She won’t see Bucky again after this, won’t be able to see how far his recovery goes, and what he remembers.

“So…that’s it then, huh?” She sighs, not even bothering to hide her disappointment. “Well Bucky, it’s been great to meet you, despite everything.” She chuckles. And Bucky realises that he doesn’t want to let her go either. He can’t. And so, he speaks.

“Don’t you think Y/N should come too?” His words stop the rest of the group in their tracks. Steve and Sam both raise a brow, whilst Y/N just looks surprised. 

“What?” she gasps.

“Well, HYDRA are probably still going to come looking for me, and what are they going to do when they find Y/N here alone?” Y/N registers her blood chilling. Honestly, she hadn’t even considered that. She’s been so used to having Bucky here, protecting her, (albeit in his own way) that she never even considered what happens on the other side, with her safety system gone. Yet, Bucky’s protectiveness over her makes her heart beat just that little faster, and she registers the heat settling in her cheeks.

“Bucky, we stopped HYDRA. They’ve fallen, they won’t-”

“We can’t take that risk. I was there for years, and I know how they operate. I’m not leaving her here to be hurt, or worse, especially after how kind she’s been to me.” She’s never seen Bucky be so determined, so forceful…especially not about her. After Bucky’s impassioned speech, Steve and Sam start whispering to each other, and Bucky comes back to stand beside her. “It’ll be okay.” He whispers. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. Once more, Bucky’s hand softly brushes against hers. The same spark from before returns, this time so strong that it consumes her every being. And again, Y/N starts seeing Bucky in a new light.

“No. You’re right, Buck.” Steve nods. “We should go, now.” With a determined nod, Bucky looks over at her. And still, he smiles.

“Ready?”

Part two, anyone? 👀

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[serenescribe]

Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

[shadowqueenjude]

"But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her." "She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.” Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves.

I think it's interesting that Elain is constantly associated with roses/Spring Court. Tamlain shippers use this as justification for their theory rather than Elucien, but I have a different one:

I think 100% Lucien is going to be spending some time at the Day Court to discover his heritage, but the Day Court already has a ruler, we can't move around that (unless Helion is killed off). And Lucien also says this: And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said. “ He thinks of the Spring Court as his home. And this describes Tamlin: It seemed like a cold, lonely position to have, especially when you didn’t particularly want it. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so much. Tamlin said this: “I claimed Lucien as my own—named him emissary, since he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people, while I … can find it difficult. He’s been here ever since.” Because Tamlin hadn't been prepared to become High Lord, he relied a lot on Lucien to whom High Lord shit came easy. And of course, this: “I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.” A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?” One thing is almost certain in my mind: Lucien will be becoming a High Lord in his book. But while most people are certain he'll end up in Day, I'm not. The Spring Court is the court that's the most in shambles, the one that would benefit the most from a guy like Lucien. Secondly, this is not a hit on Tamlin fans, but Sarah has explicitly said that she hates Tamlin, so unfortunately for you guys I don't think he will be getting a redemption arc. I'm not sure if SJM will kill off Tamlin or make him abdicate and roam around in beast form forever, but either way I'm almost certain Tamlin is the one who will get replaced. Sarah likes Helion so I don't think she will kill him off. I'm not certain of this though, Sarah hates creating healthy father-son relationships. Also, Lucien is in a unique position because he possesses abilities characteristic both of an Autumn Court ruler and a Day Court ruler; I think this unique mix would mean it makes more sense for him to rule over neither court and rather the Spring Court. And of course, Elain would be his High Lady :))) Would not mind him ending up in Day at all, though. He looks hot in Day Court robes.

[saphirered]

I saw your autumn/winter prompts

It’d be cool for you to do some fluff with Ashton for either cold nights or thunder and lightning

Love your stuff!!!

More prompt requests incoming! 😘

Miserable. This weather feels absolutely miserable. Ashton is uses to the rain and thunder but now it’s fucking cold. Freezing, frigid cold and fuck does it hurt. They can feel it in their bones, their entire body just hurts, more so than usual. The jungle is fine, perfect even. It’s like home. But they’re far from home. The heart in the jungle, lies far beyond sight and perhaps even mind. This fey bullshit is something else entirely and Ashton doesn’t quite like it. The weather seems to hate them especially. If there’s some asshole watching over them making this all happen, he’ll personally see to it that there’s a nice and comfy spot in the earth about six feet under. Fuck. 

All of those emotions disappear though. A burst of light illuminates the skies and with it your face. You look up at the sky and admire the tendrils flash before the disappear as quickly as they came. You’re a beautiful sight- It is a beautiful sight. Fuck. You’re beautiful. They’re in deep. Once upon a time Ashton thought this was fun while it lasted. A little teasing and flirting never hurt anybody but the line had blurred a long time ago. Ashton caught feelings and it’s very few times they’re unsure about anything. Your lips move but your voice is drowned out by the sound of crashing thunder. 

“Hah?!” Ashton leans in closer to hear as the ground shakes once more. 

“I said we should find some shelter!” You all but shout pointing at the sky and take their hand. So much for venturing off on your own and having a little voyage ‘back in an hour’. You hope the others have the mind to find shelter too. You send them a message just in case as you pull the genasi along through the trees and rocks until you stumble upon a cave. You’re not taking any risks and the lightning is getting closer. From here you’d be safe with cover, and still able to witness nature in all it’s grandeur. 

Letting himself be dragged along Ashton isn’t opposed to the shelter you’ve found because with his track record he wouldn’t put it behind any mischievous fey to set the gold in those cracks to attract the lightning. On the other side they too are a little curious to see what would happen… Maybe another time. Ashton curls and uncurls their fingers, rotates their wrists when you let go and take a look out at the oncoming clouds hiding the moonlight, or dusk-light should be more appropriate. You stay at the mouth of the cave to watch another rumble hit the earth in a cacophony and the lightning, quick as it passes makes this cave all the darker. Ashton can’t see shit and in an attempt to find a wall loses their footing. A crack, that’s luckily hidden by thunder saves most of the hit to his pride. But then fire glow appears in the palm of your hand. 

“Why are you on the ground?” You hide a chuckle as you watch Ashton give up on, life, existence, everything laying on their back, legs bent at the knees and groan. 

“I just wanted to be one with my element.” They speak as casually as they can but your brow furrows and you take a tentative step closer, and another and another. You kneel down and help Ashton sit up. Groans are not just a casual annoyance at this place, but something of discomfort. You caught on. Shit. 

“I can give you two a moment if you’d prefer but I don’t think that’ll do you much good.” 

“There’s room for one more. Plenty of the earth to go around.” Ashton jokes. 

“I was hoping there’d be plenty of you but I can settle for the rocks beneath my feet.” You jest and Ashton scoffs though the attitude is quick to slip when your arm hand touches their back. Even through their jacket, the warmth offers such a relief. “You doing okay?” Again your brow furrows. 

“Yeah. Yeah sure.” And so the comfort disappears. You pull back and just sit on your knees, hands gathered in your lap. Disapproval crosses your features. 

“Sure.” You deadpan and grab onto Ashton’s wrist, uncurling the fingers gently and clasping his hand between yours. You bring it to your lips and blow warm air. It doesn’t take much to see the instant relief cross their features. 

“Okay maybe I’m not entirely okay.” The look you give them is much akin to ‘ya think?’ and it hurts to admit to the way it makes Ashton feel inside. Then your features soften. You look out towards, the oncoming storm, to the lightning reaching out, and the wind rustling through the trees picking up. 

“Sit with me.” You simply say. It’s not quite a question as much as it is an order and Ashton does feel like they have a choice. It’s just a very tempting one despite their disdain for authority and following orders. You shift from your knees until you’re comfortable, looking out over the horizon. Everything seems so much easier when he looks at you. Everything is. You make it so because any doubt falls away. Ashton knows they’re on the right path because you’re there and as long as you walk it with them they’ll keep walking with you. 

Ashton shifts and sits next to you. He bumps your shoulder with his. You chuckle and bump back, though much likes the rock around, they don’t budge. The cold pain creeps up again and almost as if you know exactly what to do, you wrap an arm around their back, slipping your fingers under the jacket and lean your head on their shoulder. Just your sheer presence, and a little magic manages to numb the pain and that’s more than Ashton can say the majority of people they’ve had in their life have ever been able to do. 

“You’re so fucking confusing.” Ashton speaks before they think.

“Wow, so much affection.” You scoff but pull closer. 

“You are.” Ashton doubles down. “You’re a fucking disaster waiting to happen.” 

“But I’m your disaster.” You poke a finger at his chest. 

“Are you?” Again, speaking before thinking but that seems to be the right track. You take a deep sigh and Ashton’s heart stops, their breath stops. Time stops. There’s not but anticipation, both joy and dread loom overhead and they’re just stupid fucking feelings because end of the day you’re just you and you’re fucking amazing. That’s what you are. You’re fucking amazing. 

“I don’t know. Am I?” The both of you look at another lightning bolt striking close by. Ashton gives it a moment, letting the trembles of the earth fade and the light too, not but the dim orb behind the two of you offering the littlest of light. 

“Maybe you are. If you think you can handle it.” He looks down nudging your head from his shoulder. 

“First off, rude-“

“You’re the one using my shoulder as pillow, find a rock or something.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Will you now?”

“Yeah. A nice and comfy one.” You’re unreadable. That’s dangerous. Next Ashton knows you’re on your knees at their side, back facing the exit of the cave, your warmth has disappeared from their back but settles on their shoulders. It takes everything to not lean into the touch. Not that they have to because you lean closer. 

“This one seems plenty comfortable.” You close the gap, press your lips to Ashton’s. While you’ve shared your flirty kisses before they were just that. This kiss is different. This kiss is a lifetime unfolding however long it might last. This moment is as bright and beautiful as the flashes beyond the cover. You’re like a warm fire in the cold dead night and are simply a relief. You’re a certainty in their life when they have known so little. This might not be eternity but this is certain. You’re certain because you’re just fucking you and that’s all you’d ever need to be. Cover from a thunderstorm isn’t so bad out here.