#just wanted to quick update because it's so easy for me to go ages without saying

[polarisbibliotheque]

Survivor's Blood (Leon x Reader) - Chapter 4

Survivor's Blood

Pairing: Leon x Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (you are here!)

Summary: After Raccoon City, Leon became the only Government agent with that kind of expertise. With relentless training, he was now a Special Agent - again, on his first day in the job. He just didn’t expect to live Raccoon City all over again… Maybe Leon was fated to always have the worst first-days-at-work ever.

Age Restriction: 18+. It’s horror, so expect a lot of graphic violence and blood dripping from this. I mean, VERY GRAPHICAL VIOLENCE. Nothing we haven’t seen on RE, but still. Yee been warned

TRIGGER WARNING: There are explosions, fights and the reader gets considerably injured - broken ribs, glass stuck in skin... That sort of thing.

Author's notes: It took me a while for this update - thanks so much for waiting! My health has been going through some ups and downs, but I'll always be back to posting ;)

This time, we have a little shorter chapter, but hey, you're meeting Mr. Kennedy himself! And beating some zombies with an umbrella.

Chapter 4

Magical Donuts, April 29th, 2001 – 21h43

During all your life in New Setosa, you never felt so happy to see the Magical Donuts in the distance. Of course, you loved its sweets. But the perspective of meeting Leon – and finally having a useful gun – amidst that apocalypse made you happier than being able to eat a dozen guilty free donuts.

You hadn’t called each other for a while: Leon focused on his path and you did the same. Luckily, you didn’t have to test the utility of the umbrella as a weapon yet, but you couldn’t say the same for him – Leon had to waste a few bullets, even if he didn’t want to.

Also differently from you, Leon was already inside the diner: a wide place, with its decoration arguably cute and sugary, contrasting with the blood smeared on the walls and the floor as well as the dead people and the zombies Leon had to waste ammo to kill. He was careful enough to clear the kitchen and bathrooms, just to be sure you wouldn’t have any kind of surprises when you two met.

You, in the other hand, walked quietly through the streets, firmly holding the umbrella. You managed to lose all zombies along the way, but you saw a few right ahead – roaming flaming cars, continuously hitting store fronts – which wouldn’t be as easy to leave behind. At least, not on the path you were making.

“Ok…” You took a deep breath, holding the umbrella with both of your hands. “It’s showtime.”

With resolute steps, you marched towards the undead, in an obvious route towards the Magical Donuts. The intention was to hit the very first one who saw you and then run as if there was no tomorrow – Leon had better be there already, because he hadn’t talked to you in a while and all you needed at the moment were a few well-placed shots.

You just weren’t expecting to be caught off-guard by a zombie who threw itself towards you from a little dark street by your side: hands reaching out and mouth wide open, ready to get you.

“Shit! Get off!” As you screamed, you managed to dodge and slipped on your own feet, falling without even letting go of the umbrella. That drew all the attention to you; the zombies already dragging themselves to your direction. “Ok, then! C’mon!”

Quickly back on your feet again, you didn’t think twice before hitting one of the undead on the face with the umbrella. Its blood flew on the streets, staining your tank top while the zombie crumbled to the floor like rotten fruit.

As soon as he heard your scream outside and all the zombie commotion, Leon turned his attention to one of the big windows of the Magical Donuts. He was ready to help you when you took your faithful umbrella and started smashing zombies, unrelentingly.

Leon didn’t want to admit, but that scene was at least a little funny, considering the situation. He couldn’t stop himself from furrowing his eyebrows and letting out a quick laugh.

“’Cmon’? Really?” He asked himself while checking his ammo and leaving the shop. “Y/n’s crazy, huh?”

But you were fearless with your umbrella, avoiding attacks as you could and slowly, but surely, approaching the donut shop. Hitting another undead and pushing it on the others, you turned around.

“Leon!” And you couldn’t stop yourself from opening a big smile of relief when seeing him in that apparent world’s end. Even if you didn’t know him, that guy could only be Leon.

“Y/n!” He readied his handgun, already aiming at the zombies behind you. “Get down!”

You didn’t think twice. Before getting up again, you heard two shots, running towards Leon right after. You were so close to the diner.

One of the undead, though, suddenly sprinted towards you, entangling its bony hands on your hair. You screamed and let go of the umbrella, fighting to get rid of those claws, avoiding the bloody teeth that searched for your neck at all costs. Leon screamed something you couldn’t understand at the moment – and continued without understanding even after you got rid of that creature and threw it with all your might in a nearby car, engulfed in flames.

All you were able to understand was a loud explosion while your body flew in the air, hitting a police car almost on the other side of the street – luckily, though, almost next to the door of the Magical Donuts.

“Y/n! Son of a bitch!” Leon managed to scream as soon as he saw you in the air. He had to get rid of the remaining zombies and, now that you were injured, he wouldn’t save ammo to do so.

With a few shots, Leon killed almost all of them, missing only two. You tried to get up from the floor, your feet slipping in the dirt while you moaned and held the left side of your ribs. That had definitely caught you by surprise, but you didn’t hesitate when Leon offered you his hand.

“Hold in there, y/n!” When his hand held yours, harsh from the tactical gloves, Leon pulled you up with a single swift movement, making you moan in pain while you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. With one of his hands firm against your waist, Leon only stopped to shoot the last remaining zombies – with Matilda back in the harness, he helped you find a safe spot inside the Magical Donuts.

He was careful enough to find a seat that wasn’t dripping with blood so you could sit down. As you did, you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, still keeping pressure on your ribs.

“Hey, y/n. Everything ok? Talk to me.” Leon kneeled in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. Your head hanged low, and it looked like you were everything but fine.

“It’s spinnin’. And my right ear is ringin’.” Your answer was a little slurred, but more centered than he initially expected. He had to make sure you didn’t have any serious injuries on your head.

“Ok. Deep breaths, stay like this for a while.” While he spoke, Leon took one of his hands to your head, caressing your hair in search for blood or any kind of serious injury. That, though, helped you ground a little quicker. “Hmmm, it looks like you didn’t hit your head. Anywhere around here is hurtin’?”

“No.” And your speech wasn’t slurred anymore, even if you kept your eyes closed. “Not in the head. Only down here.”

Leon turned his attention to your ribs, where you signaled the pain. Indeed, he didn’t want to say it out loud, but he could see a stream of blood flowing between your fingers. He just had to know if that blood was yours or from one of those things you bravely fought against with your mighty umbrella.

“I’ll have to take a look, can I…?” Leon’s hands approached your injury as he lifted his eyes to yours. Opening your own eyes, you focused on his face for a while, observing Leon in order to make sure your vision wasn’t going to turn blurry again.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you, Leon Kennedy.” Your answer came with a little smile on your lips, making him mirror your expression.

“It’s nice to meet you too, y/n. What a way to meet, huh?” He spoke casually, distancing your hand from your shirt. He found a bloodstain filled with glass shards and, upon touching it, Leon realized it could be a little worse than he first thought. “Hmmm… I need to lift your shirt to see how it looks down there, ok?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You sighed in return, resting your elbow on the table nearby and using your hand to rest your head while watching Leon carefully working on you. He was surprisingly gentle for such a badass looking guy. “I’ve had better days here at the Magical Donuts.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” His laugh had nothing of amusing in it while he remembered thinking the same thing upon walking through what was left of Raccoon City. With your shirt up, Leon found a considerable bruise that promised to get worse, aside from the glass shards – probably from the police car’s window – that bit your skin and made you bleed. Carefully, he ran his fingers where your bones would be, and where the bruise looked worse, making you flinch for a moment. “Look, best scenario, you got one hell of a hit and you’ll get a nasty lookin’ bruise. Worst scenario, you got a broken rib.”

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You had pure desolation in your eyes, making him give you a sad smile as an answer. Your look immediately turned around as you pointed back at him with resolve. “Don’t even think about getting rid of me. Patch me up and let’s get moving before it’s too late for the survivors at the hospital.”

Leon rested his hands on his own legs, sighing while shaking his head.

“You’re quite the stubborn little thing, huh…?”

“Yep.” You allowed yourself a little smile, curiously watching Leon as he prepared his first aid emergency kit scattered around the pouches on his belt. Very practical to carry things he found around, something he learned the hard way. “I need to be headstrong to end the reign of terror of companies like Umbrella.”

“You need to be brave.” Even if you had humor in your voice, Leon’s correction was serious as he had already started cleaning the glass shards from your bruises. You wrinkled your nose and did your best not to complain about the pain. “To get all the way down here with a tactical team, you already have to be brave. With an umbrella, then?”

As he mentioned the umbrella, you exchanged a quick look and started laughing. Indeed, that wouldn’t be quickly forgotten.

“Can you imagine if I had chosen the stapler?” You gave Leon a side look, making him laugh even more. “Maybe it would’ve been a good idea, I could’ve clipped one zombie on the other and ran like hell.”

“With ideas like these, I just might make you the team’s tactical coordinator.” He raised one brow, making you shake your head while smiling. It was good for you both to relieve some of the tension: clearing the glass shards would be a lot easier if your head thought of something else. “I bet Chris would love the idea of clipping zombies together and then beating the shit out of them.”

“Claire’s brother?” As you asked back, Leon nodded while taking a little hydrogen peroxide bottle from his first aid pockets to clean the blood. “Oh, they told me he’s becoming one of those gym bodybuilders, is that true?”

“Yeah. At this rate, soon he’ll be able to punch a boulder in half.” Leon even laughed a little upon imagining that, but he didn’t doubt his own joke; he had a weird feeling that could come to happen, especially if it meant ending Umbrella once and for all. But he stopped thinking about it when you hissed as he started wiping the blood away from the wound. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s alright...” And you rested your head on your hand once more. “It isn’t the first time I get hurt in the field.”

“Hmmm, it looks like your occupation isn’t the calmest out there as well.” He was doing his best to keep you distracted, already readying the gauze to wrap you under your shirt and stop the bleeding. The lesser the blood, the lesser the smell of fresh meat to attract the undead outside.

“I don’t get in trouble quite often, but I already had to deal with a few complicated situations. Specially when the people in power positions don’t want us poking around and asking questions.” You closed your eyes, waiting for him to finish. Although you were in pain, Leon was incredibly gentle while patching you up. “But I like it. There’s a huge trend of hiding big crimes in conflict zones under the rug. Someone has to bring those things back to the public eye.”

Leon observed you for a while and you only didn’t notice it for your own eyes were still closed. You weren’t that different from each other: Leon started as a police officer precisely because he wanted to bring criminals to Justice. He ended up as a Special Agent, but that was still a good perspective – as long as he knew how to use that position to do what he originally wanted, not only sit around giving orders.

“Why didn’t you try to be a cop? Or tried the FBI, maybe?”

“There’s too much corruption.” A little sadness could be heard in your tired sigh as you opened your eyes again. “That’s what I originally thought when I got into college. But as I finished my studies, a lot of corruption scandals started pouring like water and I lost all hopes. I didn’t want to defend just the interest of those rich or powerful enough to get a good lawyer, you know? It’s like I said before… Do you think no one in Raccoon knew about Umbrella?”

Leon fell silent while on the finishing touches. He remembered very well Ada’s FBI ID as they met for the first time – and he also remembered the bitter taste when he found out she was a mercenary who only used him to steal the G-virus and sell it to the highest bidder. Or, at least, that was what he preferred to believe, even if he knew that, in the end, she would never kill him – and that Leon could never fully trust Ada, even if he tried to.

“A lot of people knew about it. And a lot of people got a good amount of money to shut up too.” He shook his head, finishing his job and lowering your shirt carefully. “Well, everything ok down there for the time being. Can you get up?”

As soon as he asked, Leon got up and offered you his hands to help you, making you raise one eyebrow.

“Of course I can, I’m not that bad, cowboy.” And, naturally, you made sure to stand up on your own, even if you had to use one of Leon’s hands as leverage when you realized you needed a little help. Of course, he wouldn’t annoy you about it; Leon was certainly happy seeing you able to watch over yourself. “But thanks.”

“Hey, no worries. You already did me a huge favor with the broadcast, it’s the least I can do to help.” With that, he took a few steps back, watching as you moved your arms and legs in a little warm up to see if you could still move properly. “How’s the pain?”

“Bad, but it could be worse, I think.” Your answer was honest, with a humorless laugh. “I can manage it. I think that is the best answer.”

“Hmmm… Take one of these.” He gave you a white pill from one of his many pockets. “It’s for the pain, it’ll help you at least until we get some proper medical assistance.”

“Thanks again.” You bit the pill, feeling the bitter taste take over your mouth. It wasn’t the best way to take a medicine, but that’s what you had for the moment. “We’re going to the hospital now? If we take too long, we won’t get there on time.”

“Yeah. Can you shoot?” You nodded as he asked, making him flash a small smile. Leon gave you a handgun, alongside a flashlight that would be quite useful in all that darkness. With that, he offered you some ammo. “Here, three mags for your gun. I have more if you need them, you just have to ask. I’ll lead and you’ll give me back up. Ready?”

As soon as Leon gave all instructions, you checked the ammo, loaded the gun, pulled the lock with a click and looked back at him. Leon tried to stop himself from smiling – a little impressed, if he was going to be honest.

“Ready, Kennedy. I know my way around guns.” You winked back at him as a joke, making Leon follow you towards the door of the Magical Donuts, shaking his head while smiling.

You had better be ready, for things were just about to get complicated.

[kpopsexstories]

How I write my smut short stories #2: More insights

Last week I showed you my dashboard and how I plan, organize, draft and schedule all the k-pop smut stories I post on this blog.

Since then, I've really gone all-in to improve the dashboard I've built, and added some new cool features to it :D To be honest, this week I've spent more time on this than on writing – because it's so much fun to me to organize a project like this!

So, in this post I wanted to show you some of the additions I've made. This is nerdy, a bit weird, and probably not something anyone other than myself care about, but it is fun to me and some of the screenshots in this post will give you more insights into what is yet to come on the blog ;)

So, strap in and let's go! Maybe you'll see your bias?

Series Overview Pages

I've redesigned the pages for each specific series that I'm running on the blog. Currently, those series are Most Memorable Sexual Experiences of NCT (as seen in the image above), Quick Fix Dirty Kpop Imagines and Mixed One-shots. Each of these have their own dedicated page to manage all the stories that belong to the series.

With the new design, this page gives me easy access in the top left to the work I need to continue doing (stories that I've yet to finish writing), which allows me to quickly see and jump into what story I should be working on right now. It also gives me more information that I previously needed to look up on Tumblr, without having to leave the dashboard. It's all there, on a single organized page! :)

More Story Details

On the main dashboard I have a section that shows all published stories regardless of what series they are from. I've added more details and information that I can get from this section.

As you can see in the image above, published stories now also show things like "On Fire" which means that the story received more likes than most of my other stories on Tumblr, and "Quick Read" or "Longform" which has to do with the word count of the story.

Idols Database

The biggest new addition to the dashboard is the "Idols" section.

The Idols section features an individual page for each member of the groups I've written about – or considered writing about. It currently includes more than just NCT, TXT, BTS and RIIZE, which are the only four groups I've ever published a story about. (I won't tell you which groups though).

From the main view of all the idols you can read quite a few things: the name and image of course, but also their age (which is automatically updated on their birthday), nationality (relevant to some stories) and how many stories I've published about the idol. I try to spread things out so I don't just write about my bias all the time.

As seen above, I can click a menu to change how I view the idols. For example, I can get an alphabetical list or sort them by their age, or by how many likes they've received on average among any and all stories I've published about them. This is useful information to find out who you want to read about the most ;)

The second image above shows the "By Total Word Count" view. I've set a goal to try to write 10,000 words about as many different members as possible, and the little circle to the right shows my progress for each member.

Idol Pages

If I go to an individual idol I will see all the stories I've written about them. Here I can also view ideas that I've added as stories but not yet finished (or even started) writing, and scenes that I've written but later removed/deleted because I wasn't happy with them.

Notice the three buttons at the top: If I click them I create a new story on the dashboard that is assigned specifically to this member, so I don't need to manually create and assign a new story each time I have a new idea about a specific member.

Idol-specific Writing Prompts

This is where things maybe get a bit weirder :P Remember the Random K-pop Smut Writing Prompt Generator I wrote about? I've incorporated it into the Idol pages. If I scroll down past my stories and ideas for the specific idol I'm viewing, I'm met by what you see in the image above.

Each time I refresh the page the prompts change. But, unlike in the actual writing prompt generator (which is a separate page from the dashboard), the idol/member stays fixed. This is great, because it means that if I know who I want to write about but not what I want to write about them, I can just go to the member and open their page :D

Several yet-to-be-announced Quick Fix stories that I've already written have started this way. While I don't follow the prompts by the letter and want to make each story feel like it was made for that member, I LOVE the prompt generator and how it inspires me!

So, that's a little more insight into how I work and run this blog. Am I going totally overboard with this setup? Absolutely! Am I ashamed of that? Definitely not! I love organizing projects and building dashboards like the one I've shown here, and this smut blog has given me a new project to do so around. I'm having a lot of fun with all of this :D

+ Read part #1 about my dashboard here.

+ Learn more about the K-pop smut writing prompts here.

And don't worry – lots more smut is on the way too!

[algernongirl]

might be slow updating , gonna vent real quick so if you don’t want to read it’ll be below :) it doesn’t have triggering content or anything

-

I’ve been an artist ever since I was 11, and posting since that age too. I never got any interactions on my posts, which were usually on amino and stuff, but I figured that was because my art skills weren’t great. I wanted to keep trying, hoping to get more engagement.

And yeah, engagement isn’t everything. But keep in mind that I was in the 6th grade and didn’t have many friends at the time. Any I did have didn’t really… acknowledge me? If that makes sense. Like we talked but they never complemented me or said I was good at anything. My parents were going through hard times with my mom being sick with something I won’t disclose here. Also, at the time, I auditioned for the school plays. I also didn’t get lead roles, just bg ones. I figured that since I wasn’t really a good actor I didn’t get good roles, so once I was better I would get better roles. So like my art I just kept trying.

But with both my art and acting, as middle school progressed, I didn’t get any engagement or good roles. Still didn’t have many friends, and since I was struggling with mental health at the time I often hid my real feelings from those true friends I did have. I thought it made me weak. I had gotten better, and was posting frequently and stuff, just never got more than 5 or 10 likes. Didn’t get any roles but that was probably because my drama teacher was a real piece of work lol. Anyways self esteem blah blah

Not going to go anymore into that bc I don’t wanna think abt it but I just got waitlisted for a college, and rejected from basically everyone that I applied to. Mind you I had a 31 act (I studied for like weeks). And idk, I’m just. I don’t know if this makes sense, but it just feels like my whole life I’ve been fighting and fighting for things that the universe just doesn’t want to give to me. Maybe it’s bad luck or something, but it feels like something in my life is always dragging me down and I gotta fight against it.

And it sounds selfish, but other people don’t have to fight and I want that so bad. One of my good friends at school is also the daughter of an immigrant, and I’m so jealous of her because she has so many things that I want. Her parents are loving and supportive, and while mine are too she gets to be in the art class while I have to take all academic classes ‘for my future’. She’s so pretty and she has a boyfriend, and I just feel so weird. And it’s not that she hasn’t had a hard life, though we don’t really talk about our pasts. It’s just that so many girls at school and around me are pretty and good at stuff and I just feel like I have to keep fighting and fighting for what I want, and if the universe decides to give it to me it isn’t going to be without any pain on my part. I just want things to be easy for once. Plus today I also posted some art I was proud of, but got no engagement (not on here). I’ve been posting frequently and reworking my account, hoping to be able to draw to get some side money when I’m in college, but now I’m not going to any of the colleges I want to go to and no one knows or likes my art and I just. I guess I just want the universe to cut me a break for once. I don’t get why I have to fight like a dog just to be happy, why I can’t just sit back and let it come to me for once. Why the world still made me fight when I was a little girl. Why it insists on making things hurt.

Idk just a rant ig

[skysometric]

dev commentary time! yes, even the credits get dev commentary.

purposefully crusty, as all memes should be.

gotta be honest, i put off making the credits cutscene until the very end – not because i didn't know who all would be in the credits, but because i thought it would be challenging to time everything to the song. the original plan was to make all the credits fly in from the side on the beat, but the main credits list was too long for that, so i made it a standard credits roll instead. this greatly reduced the complexity, making it so that i could, you know, actually finish the credits in a timely manner. so it wasn't so bad!

something i learned from making this is that juggling three credits lists as live, updated documents – one of which is a pre-baked image, like this credits roll – is kind of tedious and should be avoided at all costs. i was still adding stuff at the end of development, after all! but next time i do this i think i won't bake the image until everything else is finished and the credits are finalized, and just use a placeholder instead if i need to block out the credits in advance.

internally, the entire credits roll is one single, giant "custom enemy."

the credits level itself is a plain old grassy plain, mostly to make it easy to lay out the cutscene and make sure the credits themselves took up the maximum possible real estate on screen. one potential idea i had early on was that Mario would walk back through little snippets of all the levels, but Mari0's cutscene system is too brittle for that – if Mario got stuck anywhere, he'd stop walking entirely and the camera would keep going without him! instead, this idea got repurposed for the warp zone.

speaking of the warp zone, i never did get to talk about that, did i? and there's not much else to say about the credits, they kind of speak for themselves. so let's hijack this post and talk about the making of the warp zone!

seriously i haven't thought about this meme in ages, i don't know why it came up for this post specifically.

the very earliest iteration of the warp zone, back when Retrush was just 12 levels, was a grid of horizontal pipes with some text and extra platforms. this was simply meant to be an easy way of accessing the levels after you beat the game, with no frills or extra features. the pipes were color coded using the pipes from the original level, which was a neat touch!

each world is sorted by column; worlds 2 and 3 are off to the right.

once the remixes rolled around, the idea for accessing them was that you could press a switch to push the pipe back into the wall, and then going in would take you to the remix. pipes in Mari0 are based on position, so changing where the pipe is can change where it takes you!

static images, because there's no animation for this. it would've used the same tech as the pipes at the end of each remix.

once i added an extra world, this warp zone was too small to accommodate all 16 levels, so it needed a refresh. i was envisioning a credits level around this point too, so i knew i wanted to represent the levels with little organic snippets instead of just pipes! but i procrastinated hard on updating it, since some of the levels weren't done – so the new warp zone wasn't actually started until this year.

you know how i've written a few times now that i had to redo some level or another from scratch and i was super intimidated by it, but when i actually sat down to do it i did the whole thing in a single evening? i thought this was going to be another quick refresh like that… and it ended up taking me a week straight of working on nothing but the warp zone.

first i had to lay out the main levels in each world, showcasing as much of their level design as possible in a way that flows from one to the next. this was challenging enough and probably took me two days to finish all four worlds, but i was super proud of it when i was done!

did you notice that the warp zone wraps around the edges so you can get around more quickly?

then i had to find a way to do the same for the remixes without it feeling stale. i decided that the remixes should be the same layout in reverse – and bear in mind, there's no "flip horizontally" button in the level editor. i did all this by hand, again, for all four worlds of the remixes!

sadly i couldn't time the two gifs to be in perfect sync. it's pretty close, at least.

next up was some technical work to make the pipes function. warping to a level is super simple, but having the level take you back is not natively supported by the engine; i had to add special handling for every single level that takes you back to the pipe you came in from. for the main levels, that also meant ensuring that clearing the level in a normal playthrough takes you to the next level, but clearing the level from the warp zone takes you back to the warp zone. it was no small feat!

following that, i wanted to make the warp zone for Marshmallow Mash-Up and Wasabi Wrap-Up extra special, so i made several dozen animated tiles that glitch out as you walk by, for that special touch. i did not have to do this whatsoever and it took a few more late nights than i would've preferred in order to make all the tiles, but i love how it turned out and i wouldn't have it any other way!

the tiles get a little messed up if you move around in the same place too much, but that just adds to the glitch aesthetic.

finally, i wanted to add some extras and notices to the warp zone, so i added an Options section above the lobby with a toggle for disabling checkpoints and a way to watch the credits again (which only shows up if you've already seen the credits, of course). altogether this was mostly a lot of technical polish, but it's an important part of what makes the warp zone special!

i still wish Mari0 had some kind of autosave...

and indeed, there's one important thing the warp zone and the credits have in common – that being the joy that blossomed in my heart when i finally finished them and started walking around the warp zone, or started playing through to the credits for playtesting. both times, i said out loud:

"Oh my God, this is like a real video game. Retrush is a real video game! Retrush is real!! I can't believe this is actually real and not just some random ideas floating around in my head!!!"

in other words, the warp zone and the credits are both the bow on the whole Retrush package, elevating the entire level pack beyond just a collection of levels into something truly special. so of course they get dev commentary – i'm as proud of them as i am of everything else!

Credits | Retrush

That's all, folks! Here's a list of everyone who helped make this mappack possible – it's surprisingly long! I guess that's what happens when you use so much custom music...

[mamamittens]

Masterpost!

quick and dirty banner, lmao, but it does the job. In theory, this will provide a guide and links to all the different major posts I've made and some rules/info about myself! If hyperlinks don't work, let me know. I don't exactly do these often.

Warning, it is a little long, but I wanted most information to be found here for easy reference.

Current avatar was commissioned from @cebwrites !

Commissions are [OPEN]

Me: I'm currently 26 years old, and I usually prefer female pronouns, but I really don't care if you call me casual nonbinary/masculine pronouns either. I've been a casual anime fan for years, starting with Sailor Moon and Pokemon. I'm pretty easy going in general. I'm also double-demi and no, I will not debate it with you, this is not a democracy.

Rules: I am perfectly fine with people asking questions or requests, all I ask is that you don't be a dick and if you send me private messages instead of an ask, understand that I will block you if I think you're just a bot. So try to avoid saying "Hello" and nothing else for a whole day.

I don't do role play, please don't try to get me to engage in it.

If you ask about +18 subject matter, like the 12 days of Thirst Trap event I did for Christmas, I expect you to be at least 18 and with your age in the bio, assuming you're not asking anonymously.

I do write fanfiction (I have an AO3). I'm primarily into One Piece, Undertale, My Hero Academia, Legend of Zelda, and I'm stuck in the first season of JoJo (don't ask me unless you want very long rants) at the moment. I also make art, usually just jewelry for characters (digital, I don't make physical jewelry), and am willing to do requests for specific characters.

Any +18 content will have the tag "Hand Lingerie", reblogged, if I ever do, will have "second hand lingerie" until Tumblr makes it illegal. Now just some variation of "Smut" because somehow Tumblr never learns. Might bring back "Hand Lingerie" but idk.

I can and will reject requests if I'm not comfortable with them, and I will block you if you try and push me to do it anyway. I'm doing this for free, so I have no obligation to complete these requests if I don't like them.

Any asks about when I will update pushed back the chapter (once finished) by a day. Rude asks about when I'll update the next chapter pushes back the update by a week. This effect does stack, so better hope you're the only one and I don't forget I had a completed chapter unreleased.

But if you'd like I have a Kofi!

No go's, hands down, anything involving bodily fluids often found in toilets. Sexual content explicitly involving minors. I will add to this list at will.

Jewelry posts

One Piece

Ace

Marco

Thatch

Sanji

Jinbe

Sabo

Buggy

Shirahoshi

Whitebeard

Unrelated

Demisexual/Demiromantic

OC request

@secretsnailor OC

@jordan-star OC, OC Art 2

Misc Art

OC Requests

@animeangsteng Night Out

Unrelated

Nikia OC Alt Fruit

Ambitious 3 SI Friend Group

Nikia Character Reference in OP

Nikia Work Uniform

Nikia startle (for fun)

NikiaXThatch

Headcanons

One Piece

(One Bed)

Marco

Ace

Luffy

Sabo

Road Trip

Roast Sessions

Thatch (One Piece)

Nami (One Piece)

Teach (One Piece)

Ace/Marco (One Piece)

Tony Stark (MCU)

Shitpost headcanons where I thought too hard

One Piece

Can Ace get Drunk

OP Hot Ranking is canon to me

If Ace and Mustang were fused

Where are their nipples

Marineford crack

Honey Slime Thatch (One Piece)

Ace is a Gremlin Ready to Fight

Luffy Awakened Devil Fruit Thoughts

Mystery Flesh Pit Is Good Actually

My Writing

Confess (One Piece Thatch)

The Red Lady (OC without plot in One Piece)

Exquisite Control (Ace is Scary)

OC Character Design and World Building

When the Sun Goes Down (One Piece)

Powdered Sugar (Thatch/(OC/SI)) Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

@secretsnailor To The Letter (Whitebeard/SI)

@marco--the--phoenix Count Us Lucky

Wanted Woman AU (F!Ace) Pt. 1, Pt. 2

A Lone Melody (ongoing), also available on AO3

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Complete), AO3

OC Experiment Blog (One Piece)

+18 under tag, minors DNI

12 Days of Thirst Trap 2021 (One Piece)

Day 1 - Thatch

Day 2 - Nami

Day 3 - Law

Day 4 - Perona

Day 5 - Marco

Day 6 - Robin

Day 7 - Ace

Day 8 - Alvida

Day 9 - Izo

Day 10 - Tashigi

Day 11 - Sabo

Day 12 - Hina

Day 13 Raffle winner @wildfandom - Katakuri

Extra Gift for @secretsnailor - Whitebeard

December Event 2022 (mix of SFW and NSFW)

One Piece Smut

Cream of the Crop (Thatch) - Pt. 1 gender neutral Reader, Pt. 2 Female Reader

Calm Waters (JinbeXAFAB Reader)

Aloe Kisses (SaboXAFAB Reader)

Always, High or Low Tide (WhitebeardXAFAB Reader)

Firework (AceXGN Reader)

Serene Waters (JinbeXAFAB Reader)

Riptide(Yandere!JinbeXAFAB Reader) Pt. 1, Pt. 2

Put on a Show (BuggyXGN Reader)

Shake Date +500 followers

Masterlist

Spooktober 2023

Masterlist

Spooktober 2024

Ko-Fi anyone?

[author-a-holmes]

Hello Moshke!

First of all, I'm glad the people I credited in the copyright was useful to someone else!

Secondly, I know I'm a bit late in responding (Sorry about that!) but I hope you're feeling better now too <3

And finally, Newsletters! (And blogs)

I'm going to caveat this by saying I don't know if I'm doing it right *shrugs* but this is what I do...

I took a look at "The periodic table of content marketing" and decided that what I was able to offer was my writing. I'm also working on the theory that if readers sign up for my newsletter it's because they like my writing.

So I knew I wanted to give readers updates on my progress, and then also samples of my writing.

Idea 1) Create A Reader Magnet

A Reader Magnet is a short story, a map, artwork, free chapters, or some other form of free, bonus content, that is exclusively available to your newsletter subscribers. The idea is that it tempts and entices people to give you their email address in exchange for the freebie.

For me that ended up being a 12,000 word prequel story for my trilogy, called "Whatever Happened To Madeline Hail?". It has no spoilers for the series, but it does give the readers insight into what happened when Maddy went Missing that Lizzy doesn't have at the start of the book.

Once the Fey Touched Trilogy is complete, I'll make WHTMH available for sale in paperback format, but the ebook will always be available for free via newsletter signup, and then the "reader magnet" I used to tempt people onto my mailing list will change to be linked to/tie into my next series.

Idea 2) Figure out an email format/layout so you can save the template and reuse it, saving yourself time.

What held me up with making a newsletter for ages was; What the heck do I say? I'm talking into a void!

Ultimately, what you do to trick yourself into this is probably personal, but the way I write my newsletters is I pretend that my best friend and I haven't spoken for a month and then I write out what I'd tell her in a quick email if I knew I was going to meet up with her for lunch the following week. So just enough to give her context, without going into all the details I'm *going* to tell her at our lunch date.

This breaks down into 3 headers for me

The Intro (Hello, how are you, I'm fine/not fine/major life events. Are we ready to talk about writing, let's go then...)

What I've Done Since My Last Email (Any progress reports. Word count progression on current projects. Any art commissioned, any editing done, any covers purchased, have I been working on formatting, etc)

What I Plan To Get Done In The Next Month (These are the plans I hope to complete. The following month under the "what I've done since my last email" heading, I'll inform everyone on whether I was successful... or not! Sometimes I don't make my goals, and that's okay too. I'm honest about that)

Idea 3) Figure out what, if anything, you want to send in addition to your basic updates.

This is going to be personal and dependant on your skills and time too. Some months this is going to be easy. Cover reveal months. Blurb reveal months. Preorder dates. those sorts of things can all come in under this section. It's the quieter months that are harder when you're busy outlining or editing, or drafting.

For me, I decided to make this an exclusive piece of flash fiction. I can usually write a piece of flash fiction in one 20-minute sprint that averages around 500 words.

So every newsletter I have readers vote on a selection of 6, seasonally appropriate prompt words, and then I write the winning prompt with a 20 minute timer going and it get sent out in the *next* email.

Idea 4) Book Reviews! you don't have to be an anyone, or a professional, or even have an audience to tell people about what you'ree reading and whether you'r enjoying it, but I also understand not wanting to ARC review (If you do want to give it a try Booksprout and Booksirens are free for readers to sign up so you can go grab a book and give it a try)

Idea 5) And finally this isn't so much an idea as a resource that I've heard touted about on basically every reputable writing group I know of.

Newsletter Ninja by Tammi Labrecque

It's supposed to tell you EVERYTHING you could possibly need to know about building a successful author mailing list. I can't speak to it personally as I've not been able to afford it yet, but it is sitting in my Amazon basket waiting for me (Or possibly black friday!)

Hope some of that helps!

I made so much progress in figuring stuff out today! Like when I want things to be released (2025 seems reasonable for Cold Iron and Blade of Ice, end of this year for my middle grade story). I started designing a website! I’ll put it up next month when I have the money to order banners for all my upcoming stories.

(Side note but thanks so much to @author-a-holmes because I discovered so many relevant resources just from those mentioned on the copyright page of Changeling!)

Anyway. I feel really weird today, and I’m hoping it’s a poor reaction to fasting yesterday and not actually getting sick, so all this might be phrased weirdly. But: @ anyone who actually has an author newsletter or blog, what do you write about?? All the advice I seemed to find reads like “No one wants to hear about your writing but don’t forget to mention your writing,” Which confuses me. How much is ok vs is just for tumblr posting? What else about your life do you say? Especially when you’re not important enough to like do ARC reviews for other writers and such, but without seeming boring and selfish?

Ok some of these worries might be me projecting my insecurities because I lose some control when I feel this bad. We took our cat to the vet today (just for a checkup) and even though I usually do all the in town driving my partner had to because I was too unsteady. So that’s where I’m coming from.

But it is a genuine question. Everyone says a newsletter is important, and a monthly thing seems doable, but all the instructions for it are too vague for my autistic brain to parse in relation to myself.

[highqueenofelfhame]

An: I’ll add tags later, i just wanted to get this posted because I’m like pretty happy with it, it’s alright. So i hope you guys enjoy! I’ll also attach links and stuff later, I’m posting this from my iPad and i just am too lazy for the tagging process. Me wants to sleep. This is part of the Disney au! Shoutout to @tangledraysofsunshine and @punkassbookjockey26 for the help on this one! This is mostly fluff (i know, how wild) but don’t worry i’m working on some angst for you soon. Fafs update soon too! I’ve already started on it and I’m going to keep working on it as the week goes. Thankfully it’s an easy chapter for me to write bc i have plenty of OG stuff to pull from. Okay, anyway! Enjoy!!

With every second that ticked by, it was getting harder and harder not to rummage through his belongings like she lived there. Even worse was that Rowan was sneaking glances at her with a smirk on his lips like he knew she wanted to. It made her scowl, a frown line appearing between her eyebrows as she glared into his back.

“I’m making you dinner, and you’re still finding a reason to be unhappy with me?” He asked her, putting down the spatula and turning to lean against his counter. The man looked criminally good in an ivory cable-knit sweater and dark jeans, an outfit combination that Aelin had never seen him in before. Thinking back on it, she was positive that when he wasn’t in a costume at work, she had only ever seen him in jeans and a t-shirt. There was also the single flannel he’d worn on Halloween, but all of that was simply incomparable to how he looked now.

“You said dinner would be ready ages ago.”

“I said it would be ready in half an hour when you got here, which was twenty minutes ago. I still have ten minutes before you get to hound me about lying.”

“Maybe if you’d prepared an appetizer…” she teased, hoping with every cell in her body that he knew she was kidding. When Rowan had said he wanted to cook her dinner, she’d been floored. The only meal that she could successfully make was breakfast, and the options were limited. Additionally, she couldn’t remember the last time a romantic interest had cooked for her at all. Probably Sam several years earlier, and it had been so bad they’d relented and settled on drive-thru burgers instead.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed at her, and she knew she’d missed the mark with her joke. The date had been going well so far; not much could have been ruined. He’d kissed her hello once, or four times, then told her to make herself at home. Rowan even had a beautiful arrangement of kingsflame at the table in the dining area. Their banter had ensued as it always did, casual teasing comments. Until she went too far. Obviously.

He turned his back, and Aelin tensed, moving across the kitchen to get to him. Just before she touched him, he turned back around, eyes widening almost comically when his elbow nearly hit her temple. Without her boots, her footsteps had been near-silent on his hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, fingers brushing her temple where his sweater had grazed her face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” With their dinner sizzling in the background, she was sure that he could hardly hear the soft whisper of her voice. That didn’t seem to matter because Rowan leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, short and sweet and leaving her wanting more. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Rowan’s brows knit together, green eyes tracing over every feature of her face before settling to meet her gaze.

“Being… me? Teasing? I don’t know. This is a date, and you’re so nice to be making dinner, and I shouldn’t be--”

“Aelin,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t busting my balls for something. I don’t think we would be us.” At the mention of them as an item, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth to ward off the embarrassingly large grin that was threatening to take over her face.

“That doesn’t mean I can be rude,” she grumbled, earning another smile from the man in front of her.

“You aren’t.” Rowan turned away from her for a brief moment. When he faced her again he held half of a cookie in his hand. “You just get hangry.”

She stared at the small offering in his hand before accepting it with a smile. Not only was he making her dinner, but it seemed he had also baked her double chocolate chip cookies. It made her heart squeeze in an almost painful way, but she took the cookie and nibbled on the corner. Whatever recipe he had used was perfect. It only made the rumbling in her belly worse, but she was determined to finish it without chocolate smeared all over her mouth.

“I’m almost done with dinner. Go snoop. I know you’re dying to.” Aelin wrinkled her nose, and Rowan was quick to kiss the tip of it, despite her failed attempt to swerve. Not that she wanted him to miss, really. Aelin wanted to beg him to kiss her until she was physically sick and couldn’t stand to feel his mouth on her body ever again.

The apartment was simple. It had one bedroom and an open living and kitchen area. Rowan had a small table that could seat four between the two rooms. It was sparsely decorated but had a few personal touches here and there that provided a glimpse into Rowan’s life. She walked around the living room, noting the pile of books stacked neatly next to the TV contained some of her favorites. She hadn’t pegged Rowan as an avid reader, but she realized that despite working with the man for the past two years, there was still so much she didn’t know about him.

And she realized, more than anything, that she wanted to know everything.

Furthermore, she’d been right about the books stacked on the coffee table. They were travel books, some of them with tabs and post-it notes sticking out of the sides. With a sly glance to the kitchen, she perched on the edge of the couch and pulled the biggest of them with the most annotations toward her, flipping through the pages to see what all he had bookmarked.

One of the first pages was a map marking all the parks and their major attractions. It seemed Rowan had a key for himself, little stars, triangles and squares marking various locations.

“The stars are my favorite places I’ve been,” Rowan said, pulling her gaze from pages of mountains and canyons and over to his green eyes.

“Is this what you do when you aren’t working?” Aelin closed the books and restacked them neatly on the table. Rowan was carrying two plates of stir-fry over to the table. In a few steps she joined him, sliding into the seat beside his.

“When I can, yes.” She was so hungry that she merely nodded, taking a too-large bite of food and meaning at the taste. Rowan’s eyebrow quirked while he took a bite of his own, and to avoid speaking with a mouthful she gave him a thumbs up.

“So good,” she reiterated after she swallowed, clearing her throat.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“It’s food. I like food. And you baked cookies,” Aelin reminded him, popping another bite in her mouth. The tickle she seemed to be developing in her throat worsened, forcing her to clear her throat again after she swallowed. Actually, the tickle was becoming an insatiable itch that she tried to chase away with water. She had no luck. “Is your um— is your throat itchy?”

“No…?” Aelin tugged on the collar of her shirt, nodding her head instead of responding. Rowan leaned over to brush his fingers along her cheek, worry settling in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Gods, my mouth is itchy,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, while she downed the rest of her water so quickly a drop slipped down the side of her chin.

“Aelin. What are you allergic to?”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” she insisted, despite the way her tongue felt undeniably too big for her mouth. Rowan had already left the table, though, disappearing through a door off the living room and coming back with a small white bottle. His phone was also now in his hand and the numbers his thumb was pressing looked a lot like 9-1-1 from her vantage point.

“Take these,” he said softly, holding two pills to her lips that she opened her mouth for and downed with Rowan’s full glass of water.

“That’s dramatic.” She nodded at his phone. “I can breathe fine. My mouth is just itchy. And my tongue is a little too big.” To prove a point, she stuck her tongue out. Rowan’s eyes were saucers and he was ready to hit the call button.

“Your tongue is twice the size it usually is!”

“Did you do this on purpose? Is this getting me back for the syrup?” Aelin was kidding. Half-kidding, maybe, but kidding all the same. When she spoke, drool dribbled down her chin that she wiped at with the collar of her shirt. The whimper that sounded in the back of her throat wasn’t voluntary. It was their first date and she managed to drool on herself in front of him. Aelin Galathynius was the epitome of cool.

“This is not getting you back for the syrup.” Rowan’s voice was sharp, if still soft around the edges while he watched her carefully. His thumb was still dancing over the call button, but Aelin refused to be carted out of his apartment on a stretcher. She took his phone, locked it, and held it hostage in her lap while he fussed and mumbled about how big her tongue was. “What are you allergic to?”

“I didn’t know I was allergic to anything,” she swore again, grabbing his water for another long drink.

It went on like this for several minutes: Rowan listing the ingredients for the stir-fry that she may not have had before, or maybe she’d not had it in such a long time she forgot she had a mild allergy to it. MSG, soy, celery, sesame, carrots, on and on. He ran through everything twice before Aelin asked him to please stop, she had no idea and listing them over and over wasn’t going to spark a memory or knowledge she didn’t have.

The signature frown he wore most of the time was all the more prominent the droopier her eyes got; the effects of Benadryl were hitting her harder than she cared to admit, but her throat wasn’t as itchy and her tongue was feeling closer to normal. Rowan held both of her hands and guided her to his bedroom. Aelin wanted to make a joke about how this wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she was too sleepy to find the words.

Rowan undressed her, pulling her jeans off before guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. The duvet was softer, fluffier than she’d anticipated him to sleep on, and she wanted to burrow down into it as he replaced her shirt with one of his own. When he pulled back the blanket, she crawled under and didn’t settle until he laid down with her. His sweater was soft beneath her cheek and she felt like she was cuddling with him on a cloud. Gods, his bed was so comfortable she wanted to sleep in it forever.

“I’m sorry for ruining our date,” she mumbled, tilting her head back to look at him beneath heavy lashes and heavier lids.

“I’m sorry for accidentally almost killing you.” Despite the way his lips were turned down, there was amusement hidden in his words. Aelin smiled and tilted her head back enough for him to take the hint: she wanted to be kissed. A half smile spread across his lips and he kissed her gently, fingers brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

“This isn’t how I imagined our date ending,” she grumbled, ducking her face down into his sweater. Rowan chuckled and Aelin knew that it wasn’t what he had in mind, either. “I thought I would end up in your bed but not to sleep. I mean, maybe after you fucked me senseless, but I didn’t think we would be skipping that part altogether.”

“I didn’t think I would make something that had flare up an obscure allergy you didn’t know you had, either. So I guess we’re both surprised.” Aelin snorted, sitting up enough to tug on the side of his sweater. Rowan took the hint, sitting up to pull the sweater and his shirt over his head. While in the process of undressing, he stood and pulled his jeans off, too, tossing them over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room. Aelin swallowed, eyes dipping over the expanse of golden skin he’d exposed.

Her eyes caught on a scar on his lower abdomen, zeroed-in on the trail of hair that disappeared into his briefs. It dawned on her then that she hadn’t seen him completely naked. At work, they saw each other in various stages of undress while changing costumes, but the only time they’d had sex had been a quickie in Lorcan’s bathroom. They’d both been mostly clothed for that. She was making it a goal to see him entirely naked in the next twenty-four hours, because he looked so good like this it was unfair.

“Maybe I’ll feel better when I wake up,” she said, breathlessly. Rowan grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek that she didn’t see often enough.

“I’m counting on it.”

[imaginationintowords]

Folklore [song series]

my tears ricochet

Modern Day AU! Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers x OC!Reader

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s life throughout the years

[warnings: death, and funeral]

word count: 4829

[a/n: sorry for such a long wait. I've been busy. I thought once I was done for the semester I would have a lot more time to work on my stories, but if anything my summer break has been more hectic. Just because I haven't been posting, doesn't mean I haven't been working on them. Just know that I am working on the new chapters for this and for TKWBA, just need a bit of patience from you all. Also thank-you for the continue love and support on all my work]

Series Masterlist

Tag list info here [if you want to be tagged please read this]

Age: 21

Year: Sep. 2015

Location: Brooklyn, NY & Stanford, CA

Elizabeth was sat at her desk doing her homework. She was anxiously waiting for Steve's call about the baby arriving. He had called her two hours prior to let her know that Natasha had gone into labor, and they were at the hospital. Steve told her that he'd call her as soon as he heard the news. She tried her hardest to focus on her homework, but she found herself constantly checking her phone for any updates.

Suddenly her phone started going off. She instantly picked it up and answered the call.

"Is the baby here?" She immediately asked.

"Liz," Steve choked out.

"Steve, what's wrong?" She could hear the distress in his voice.

"Natasha, she," he tried to say but the words got caught in his throat, and she could hear the soft cries.

"Steve, breathe," she tries to calm him down the best she could without actually physically being with him.

Elizabeth was simultaneously trying to keep herself calm, and not rush into any assumptions.

"She died," he said after calming himself down enough to tell her what happened.

"She died?"

"I guess there were complications, he tells her, still unsure of what exactly happened.

Steve hadn't thought to ask further into what exactly happened when Bucky's mom called to tell him the devastating news. He couldn't wrap his head around what she was telling him. He just never imagined that this would be the outcome of his best friend welcoming his first child into the world.

Steve clears his throat trying to force the lump back down.

"I'm catching the next flight out to New York," he tells Elizabeth, "I just gotta be there for Bucky."

"Yeah, of course," she says, completely understanding.

"I know you can't exactly fly out now, without letting your professors know, so as soon as I find out all the funeral," his throat catches at the word, he takes a small breath, "all the funeral information I'll let you know."

"Okay that works," she agrees.

"Okay. I haven't to pack real quick and get to the airport within the next hour," he tells her.

"Okay, I'll let you go."

"Wait, Steve," she calls out before he could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," she says with a shaky voice.

"I love you too, so much," he says, "I'll text you when I board the plane."

After one final goodbye, Steve hangs up the phone.

The flight seemed like Steve's longest one he's ever been on. As soon as he landed he quickly grabbed his carry on, the only thing aside from his backpack that he brought with him. Elizabeth had messaged him letting him know that she could bring more of his stuff once she flies out.

Steve made his way out of the airport to find his mom waiting for him by her car. He quickly made his way towards her and wrapping his arms around her.

On the drive to Bucky's apartment Steve sent Liz a text letting her know he landed. He then called Bucky's mom to let her know he was on the way.

"Thank-you for coming out Steve," Winnie thanks him, "The baby is just about to get discharged, we should be at the apartment before you get there."

"Of course, I'll see you guys soon," he says hanging up the phone.

Steve then sends a quick email to his boss and professors explains his absence and why he'll most likely be gone for a couple of weeks.

An hour later Steve's mom was stopping outside of Bucky's building.

"Let them know I'm here if they need anything," his mom tells him before he exists the car, "I'll come back at noon with lunch for everyone."

"Thanks Mom," he says leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Steve exists the car leaving his bags with his mom. He takes one final breath before walking to the front doors. Steve presses the call button for Bucky's apartment and was immediately buzzed in.

As soon as he reaches Bucky's door, he knocks quietly. The door opens and he's welcomed by Rebecca. He takes in the sullen face on the teenage girl.

"Hey Bec," he says.

"Hi," she quietly says, as they hug each other in the door way.

When they pull apart she steps aside letting him inside.

"It's just my parents and I here. Bucky didn't want to deal with a lot of people right now," she explains to Steve.

"Steve," he hears from his left, Keith, Bucky's stepdad makes his way out of the small kitchenette over to him, and embracing him, "Thank-you so much for coming. We know you're a very busy person."

Before Steve could respond Bucky's mom Winnie walks into the living room.

"Oh Steve," she immediately wraps her arms around him.

"Thank-you so much for coming on such a short notice," she says. Steve could hear the shakiness in her voice. He could tell she was trying to keep it together. No doubt the last 12 hours being the most stressful and emotional she's ever been.

"There's no need to thank me. This is where I need to be," he tells them.

"Let us at least pay you back for the flight," Keith says.

"No, don't worry about that," Steve waves him off, "I had a lot of miles that needed to be used."

"Well, thank-you again," Keith nods his head, understanding where Steve was coming from.

"You can go on ahead Steve. Bucky is waiting for you in the nursery," Winnie tells him, giving him an assuring nod, he nods back making his way towards the nursery.

The short walk seemed like it was much longer. Steve has never felt so nervous in his life. When he approaches the closed door, he softly knocks on it.

"Come in," Bucky calls from inside.

Steve walks in, closing the door behind him. He's immediately greeted by Bucky sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, feeding his newborn daughter.

"Hey," Steve softly says, not sure what to say.

"Hey," Bucky greeted Steve with a sad smile.

It had been 12 hours later and it still didn't feel real to Bucky. The hospital had even offered the chance for him and Poppy to stay a couple of days, but all Bucky wanted to do was to go home and get away from the hospital. But now being back in the apartment without Natasha was surreal. He was trying his best to keep it all in, at least while the baby is awake and needs him.

He was determined in being the one that cared for her, even when his mom offered to take care of her for a few hours while he gets some rest. He assured her that he needed to do this. He had to do it alone, because he knew that soon enough it would just be him and Poppy.

Bucky was very grateful when he heard Steve was flying out. He felt like Steve was the only one he could really talk to about everything going on.

Steve was still standing by the door, just watching his best friend be a dad for the first time. He had no idea what to say in this kind of situation. The words were caught in his throat the moment he actually saw Bucky.

"Thanks for coming," Bucky says breaking the silence. Steve immediately looks away from the baby to meet Bucky's eyes.

"You would've done the same thing," Steve says, "And like I've said before, I'll always be here for you."

"I don't care how far, I'll always be on that first flight to you," Steve continues, he glances down at the now sleepy baby, "You're my brother Buck."

There was a moment of silence between the young men. Both understanding what the other one means with such few words.

Steve watched as Bucky gently placed the sleepy baby on his shoulder to burp her.

"It suits you," Steve quietly remarks.

"What?" Bucky looked up at him confused.

"Fatherhood, it suits you," Steve says again, stepping closer to his friend.

"You think?" Bucky looks back down at the now sleeping baby.

"Yeah. I know it's only been less than a day, but you look natural. Make it look easy."

"Thanks," Bucky smiled, getting up for the he chair and walking over to the crib to gently place Poppy in.

Steve walked over, standing next to Bucky, watching the little one sleep peacefully.

"What's her name?" Steve whispered, realizing that he hadn't found out what the name of the baby was.

"Poppy James Barnes," Bucky proudly says.

"That's cute," Steve commented, he placed his right hand on Bucky's left shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Bucky looked over at Steve and they both nodded their heads in agreement, before falling into an embrace.

"I am so sorry," Steve quietly says.

"It happened so quick, she barely even got to see the baby," Bucky quietly cried into Steve's shoulder, "I never even thought of this would be the outcome. I never imagined I'd be coming home solo with the baby."

Steve tightened his embrace on Bucky, just listening to his friend.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this Steve. I don't know how I'm going to raise her without her mom. I'm trying to keep it together to not worry my mom, but fuck Steve, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm scared I'll screw this all up. I'm scared I'll screw her up.

"I'm so scared Steve," Bucky cries.

"It's okay to be scared," Steve tries his best to comfort Bucky, "I'd be more concerned if you weren't scared. This is entirely new territory for you. You're raising a child, a child who unfortunately no longer has her mother. That alone is a fucking terrifying thing to go through.

"It's not going to be easy. There's no point in lying to you, and saying it will. You and I both that won't be the truth. But if there's anyone I know who could do this, it's you Buck. You're the strongest person I know. Whatever has happened before this doesn't matter. The only thing that matters now is that little girl. And I know damn well you're going to give her the best life she will ever have," Steve pulls away from Bucky and holds onto his shoulders.

"And you're not alone in this. You have a lot of people who care about you, and now Poppy. You will never be alone. You'll always have someone to call, someone to help you. You're crazy to think we would ever leave you to do this alone. We're here, and we're not going anywhere. You and Poppy will never have to be alone. She might not have her mom, but she's got you, and I know damn well you won't ever let her wonder what being without one parent truly feels like.

"You've got this Buck," Steve assures him, "And we're here every step of the way."

"Thanks Steve," Bucky sniffles, wiping the tears away.

"No need to thank me," Steve smiles, "Now why don't you go take a nap. Get some rest. We're here if Poppy wakes up."

"Yeah I could use some sleep," Bucky yawns, his adrenaline from the last 12 hours fading away.

Steve walks Bucky to his bedroom and watches as he gets into his bed, and quickly falls asleep. He quietly closes the door behind him, with the baby monitor in one hand checking to make sure Poppy is still asleep.

He walks back into the living room, placing the monitor by the tv for everyone to see and hear.

"They're both asleep," Steve announces to the room.

"Oh thank goodness," Winnie sighs, "James hasn't taken a moment to rest since everything happened."

"Knowing Bucky, we'll probably have to be forcing him to rest for the next couple of weeks," Steve says.

"I just got off of the phone with Natasha's father," Keith said walking back inside the apartment.

"What did he say?" Winnie asked.

"He said that the funeral is all up to us," Keith sighs, "Something about how Natasha made her own path with getting pregnant, and that once she left she was no longer his responsibility."

"He really said that?" Winnie asked mortified.

"I'm afraid so," Keith sighed, "I tried reasoning with him saying we would handle everything financially and he can come to the funeral but he said no."

"What kind of father doesn't show up to his own daughter's funeral," Winnie shakes her head in complete disbelief.

"Explains why Natasha was the way she was," Rebecca whispered, so that only Steve could hear her.

He reluctantly agrees.

Two weeks later

Elizabeth was helping Steve with his tie in his childhood bedroom. She had flown in yesterday for today's funeral services. Elizabeth had gotten in late last night, so she still hasn't seen Bucky or Poppy yet. She was a let to get a week off of work and her professors gave her an extension on her assignments when she explained to them what happened.

"I still can't believe Natasha's dad isn't going," she says as she straightens out Steve's tie.

"Bucky's mom is still holding out hope that he shows up," Steve says.

"What does Bucky think of it all?" Elizabeth asks.

"He's not worrying about it," Steve explains, looking over himself in the mirror, "His only concern right now is Poppy and only Poppy. If Nat's dad shows up then he does. But as of now Bucky has made the decision that he will not be in Poppy's life. Not until he proves himself."

"That's very mature," she says grabbing her purse.

"This Buck is like a whole new one you've never seen before. Fatherhood has made him a thousand times more grown up these last couple of weeks."

"That's good."

"Ready to go?" Steve asked her, grabbing the keys to his mom's car.

"Yup," Elizabeth says following Steve out.

Bucky had asked Steve to pick him and Poppy up, and Steve had of course agreed.

They arrived to Bucky's apartment in fifteen minutes. Walking up to Bucky's door they could hear a lot of commotion coming from inside. Steve used the key Bucky gave him to let himself and Elizabeth in.

As soon as they walked in they were greeted by the sounds of a baby crying.

"Buck?" Steve called out.

"We're in here," he calls from the nursery.

They go to the nursery to find Bucky looking frazzled while trying to change Poppy's diaper.

"I'm so sorry. I'm running so behind," Bucky tells them, glancing over his shoulder quickly,

"Poppy didn't sleep well last night. And nothing I've tried has been working."

"It's okay Buck, just take your time," Steve calmly says.

"I still need to shower, shave, and get dressed," Bucky rambles, "She's going to need another change of clothes because she spat all over herself, and my mom only bought this one outfit for today."

"Hey Bucky, calm down," Elizabeth calmly spoke up, placing her hand on his back, "Take a breath."

Bucky felt the warmth and comfort from Liz's touch. He listens to what she says and takes a deep breath.

"Okay good," she says, "now you go get ready. Steve and I got this."

"Okay," he nods his head, handing the baby over to Elizabeth, "thank-you."

"Of course," she softly smiles at him, "now go get ready."

Bucky quickly makes his way out of the room and into his own to get ready.

Elizabeth looks down at the small baby in her arms. She could see so much of Bucky in the baby with hints of Natasha. It was a little strange for her to be holding Bucky's baby and it not being her baby as well. Not that she ever wanted to get back together with Bucky, because she didn't. There was just a little voice in her head, that of her teenage self, saying how it was supposed to be them, doing this together.

She quickly shut the voice down.

Elizabeth was incredibly sympathetic of Bucky's situation. All she wanted to do was be there for him, as a friend. She wanted Bucky to succeed as a father, and she would do what she could to make that happen.

Steve silently watched Elizabeth watching Poppy. He couldn't really read her expression. He hates to admit it to himself, especially with everything going on, but he was slightly worried about how Liz would react to all of this. He had faith in their relationship, of course he trusted her immensely. But he still couldn't help but feel like she might decide to leave him for Bucky. Elizabeth turned around to see Steve looking at her with a distant look in his eyes.

"You good?" She gently asked, breaking him from his self-destructive thoughts.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah," she nods her head, handing the baby over to him, "I'm going to try and find her a new outfit.

"Okay," Steve says sitting down with the baby.

"I love you," Liz quietly says to Steve, knowing what could possibly going through his mind, if hers was also wandering.

"I love you," Steve replies back, finding himself relaxing at just hearing those three words, any doubt slipping away.

30 minutes later Bucky was ready to go. He walked out to the living room where he found Steve and Elizabeth sitting with each other holding the baby. He paused for a moment taking in the scene in front of him. He felt a sense of warmth and low flow through him as his closest friends admire his daughter. In that moment he knew he had made the right decision in what he would tell them next.

Steve glanced up to see Bucky leaning against the frame of the hallway.

"Ready?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, but I actually wanted to ask you two something before we go," Bucky says walking over and sitting on a chair next to the couch.

"Sure, what's up?" Steve leans forward, leaning on his knees, giving Bucky his full attention.

Elizabeth tears her eyes away from Poppy to also give Bucky her full attention. She smiles at him, letting him know he could continue on.

"I first and foremost just want to thank you Steve, for what probably is the hundredth time," Bucky says, "I know you have a lot going on with work and school. So I really appreciate everything you've done for me and for Poppy. And you too Elizabeth, I know you're incredibly busy especially with law school prep. And with everything that's happened between-"

"Don't," she stopped him, "What's past is past."

"Well anyways, thank-you," Bucky says, "Now here comes what I wanted to ask you two. There's no other two people I wouldn't trust more with Poppy. So I wanted to ask if you would be her godparents?"

"Really?" Elizabeth asked taken back by Bucky's request.

"Yes," he nods his head, "There's no one else I wouldn't trust with her if anything happens. It'll help me sleep better knowing she'll have two people who'll love her like I would. Two people who have so much love between them, that I know will always be together."

Both Steve and Elizabeth were taken back by Bucky's last statement. They knew Bucky had accepted their relationship, but to actually have him not only say it out loud but to practically give them his blessing, it meant the world to the couple.

Steve and Elizabeth both share a look with tears glistening in their eyes. Elizabeth nods her head.

Steve turns back to Bucky, "We'd be honored to be Poppy's godparents."

Elizabeth and Steve stood up to hug Bucky. All filled with a wide range of emotions. Bucky felt a huge sense of comfort after asking Liz and Steve to be Poppy's godparents. He knew he made the right decision, and he knew he could now sleep better at night knowing his daughter would be taken care of. And by two people he knows can love her the way he does.

After what happened with Natasha, Bucky just wanted to make sure Poppy would be taken care of. If she couldn't have her parents, then she would have the closest thing to having parents. And Bucky knows Steve and Elizabeth would be amazing parents.

That alone allowed him to be at peace for whatever may happen.

Arriving to the funeral location Bucky felt his nerves start to spike. He sat in the backseat looking out the window at the familiar faces walking into the chapel.

"You okay?" Elizabeth asked turning in her seat, after Steve parked the car.

"I don't know if I can do this," he mutters, glancing towards the sleeping baby in the car seat next to him.

"We'll be right next to you along the entire way," Liz calmly says.

"If you feel too overwhelmed we'll leave whenever you want," Steve tells him, "We won't stay if you absolutely can't handle it. No one will hold it against you."

"Okay," Bucky takes a deep breath.

"Stay here, I'll get the stroller out," Steve says, getting out of the car.

"No one is expecting you to be brave, Buck," Elizabeth says, "You're allowed to be vulnerable. You're allowed to show emotions."

He nods his head, taking in what she's telling him.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small necklace. Clutching onto it as if his life depended on it.

Elizabeth catches the small 'N' on it, realizing that that was the necklace Natasha wore everyday since she was 13.

Bucky takes one final deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

"Okay, I'm ready," he tells her.

"Okay, let's do this."

Bucky was grateful that they arrived only minutes before the service started. Everyone was already seated in the pews.

He slowly walked down the aisle pushing the stroller, Steve and Elizabeth walking right behind him.

Bucky tried his best to avoid any eye contact with everyone. He couldn't bare to look at the pity in their eyes.

He caught sight of his family siting in the second row. He also noticed a man sitting alone in the first row.

He instantly knew who it was.

Once Bucky reached the first row, the man made to movement to greet Bucky.

Bucky cleared his throat, "Mr. Romanoff."

The older man looked over at Bucky, then at the stroller.

"James," he stiffly said, turning his attention back to the front.

Bucky awkwardly sat down placing the stroller next to his legs, away from Natasha's father, while Steve and Elizabeth sat next to Bucky.

The service was going smoothly up until the priest announced that Natasha's father would be making a speech, catching everyone off guard.

Bucky looked at the older man as he walked up to the stand. He turned around to face his mom, "Did you know this?" he whispered.

"No I didn't," she shook her head.

Right as Mr. Romanoff was about to start speaking, Poppy began to cry. Bucky quickly went to get her out of the stroller, while Steve quickly went to grab a bottle to help him out.

As soon as the baby calmed down Mr. Romanoff began to speak.

"First and foremost, I want to thank everyone for coming," he begins, "I really appreciate it. Natasha would be eternally grateful for all of you."

Bucky started to get annoyed by the beginning of Mr. Romanoff's speech. As if the man didn't turn down the invitation for the last two weeks. Now he's trying to act like the perfect father, as if he didn't kick her out and cut off his pregnant daughter.

"Natasha was a kind hearted person. Only wanting the best for those closest to her. She was the most selfless person you would have ever met," he continued on with his speech.

Elizabeth couldn't help but be confused by Mr. Romanoff's speech. She hated thinking ill of the dead, but that man had no idea who his daughter truly was.

"Natasha was so smart, earning her way into Yale. She was only months away from graduating. I was so incredibly proud of her. If only we would've gotten the opportunity to watch her walk across the stage.

"Other than leaving an everlasting impression on all of us, she also left behind a part of her. Her last moments on Earth was spent bringing in another Romanoff," he says.

Bucky's head snapped up to Mr. Romanoff, then towards Steve.

"Romanoff?" Bucky whispered, "This man has the fucking nerve."

"Ignore him," Steve whispered back, trying to calm Bucky down, "He's just saying all of this to make himself look good."

"Natasha brought her daughter into the world," Mr. Romanoff continued, forcing fake tears to fall, "I remember being by her side as she was in labor."

Bucky clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to call Mr. Romanoff out on his lies.

"As she was dying," Mr. Romanoff paused for dramatic effect, "Her only request was to name her daughter after her."

Steve paled his hand on Bucky's shoulder, trying his best to calm him down. It was too late, Bucky was already placing Poppy in Steve's arms.

"What a fucking lie," Bucky stood up shouting at Mr. Romanoff, causing everyone to gasp.

"James," Mr. Romanoff said through gritted teeth, as a warning.

"How could you just lie to all these people?" Bucky shouted, "How could you lie as if you didn't disown Natasha months prior when she told you she was pregnant. Or when my parents kept inviting you to the funeral, you kept saying no and how Natasha's decisions led to their death. How dare you say you were in the delivery room. As if you didn't have her number blocked.  My mom and I were there when things took a horrible turn. We were there when the doctor walked out and told us Natasha didn't make it. Not you! Us!

"Then you go on to make some shitty story about Nat's last words. Which is completely false. Natasha never wanted to name the baby after herself, you'd actually know that if you were actually present in her life. But you weren't. And you sure as hell will never be a part of your granddaughter's life."

Bucky turned to Steve and Liz, "Let's go."

They nodded their heads and helped put Poppy in the stroller. They followed Bucky as he walked out of the chapel.

After leaving the funeral services, Steve was able to calm Bucky down. Winnie had called Elizabeth to let her know that the burial services the next day were officially going to be private. Liz agreed that that'd be best for everyone involved. Especially with what happened during the funeral services.

The burial service was only attended by Bucky, and his family, along with Elizabeth and Steve.

Everything went along smoothly. Everyone giving Bucky the safe space to grieve.

After the burial, everyone gave Bucky a few moments alone at the grave site so he can say his final goodbyes.

"Hey Nat," he pauses taking a deep breath, "these last two weeks haven't been the easiest. But boy have they been amazing. I may be more exhausted than I've ever been, but boy is she worth it.

"She may only be two weeks but I can already tell she's going to be the most amazing person ever," he softly cries, "You would've loved her so much. But like I promised back at the hospital, she'll never not know who her mother was. I will always make sure she knows who you were. Always."

"Goodbye Natasha," he whispered, before walking away to join his family waiting.

Age: 26

Location: Brooklyn, NY

Year: 2020

"Daddy, what's this?" Poppy calls out to her father from his bedroom.

"What's what petal?" He asked walking into the room, finding her surrounded by boxes, as they prep for their move uptown.

"This," she holds up the small necklace with the 'N'.

Bucky kept that necklace in a small box in his nightstand. He kept it at the bottom of his nightstand for safe keepings. Planning on one day to give it to his daughter. He always planned to wait until she was 16, but he figures now is as good as ever.

"That was your mommy Natasha's," he said walking over to her, and sitting next to her on his bed, "She got it when she was 13, and wore it every day up until when she died."

"It's pretty," she says admiring it in her hands.

"It is isn't it," he smiles at his little girl, "It's now yours."

He grabs the necklace from her little hands. He unclasps it, then gently moves her dirty blonde hair to the side. He places the necklace around her neck, and clasps it shut.

"Thank-you daddy," she smiles brightly at her father, admiring the necklace that now lay on her chest.

Bucky smiled at his daughter, watching as she kept admiring the necklace. It was a little big on her, but he knew she would grow into it.

"Anything for you baby," he kisses the top of her head, "Anything."

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 56 - Calm of Night

Title: Irreverent Pt. 56 - Calm of Night

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~9K

A/N: My weekly posting schedule has become more like biweekly because of work. Sorry!

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You're seated in Pierce's office, dressed in a suit from the bag that had been dropped off by an Interpol agent a few hours back, returning your belongings that had sat in a safe house in Philadelphia the past few days. Upon receiving the bag, you'd dumped out everything and gone through your belongings with a fine tooth comb, searching for any surveillance or tampering. Knowing everything you did now about Clyde and his long and twisted history of watching you – well, it only felt appropriate. Derek had raised an eyebrow at you while Emily helped you sift through everything.

With the suspicion that Pierce was the mole, firmly in place, Garcia had been able to look over all of Pierce's properties and holdings in more detail and there was already a team, led by Derek and Rossi that was deployed to his country home, after satellite imaging revealed some odd structures in the back lot. Anderson had updated you when Pierce left his home and had alerted you that he was on his way in.

The team had already worked out the best way to confront him. Pierce wasn't privy to the day to day of Jansen's operation, however it was safe to assume that he knew of a potential connection to you. You'd only met the man personally once, and it had been entirely unremarkable at the time. In hindsight, you'd looked at his appraisal of you standing next to McKinney during a project update with new eyes, taking note of the way his eyes had brushed by you entirely in a way that, to be quite frank, you weren't used to.

You're used to unwanted attention from men. No attention, not even a casual look up and down, that was hardly cause for concern at the time. Looking back, it had stood out, however, and ultimately helped seal the deal for you when you'd concluded that he was the best fit for the profile. When you'd told the team this, they'd all agreed with you, knowing from experience that child predators were unlikely to be interested in appropriately aged women.

So here you sat, awaiting Pierce while the team watched from another room, having already set up cameras and recording devices in the room.

"Testing, confirm you can hear." Aaron's voice comes in through the comms piece in your ear, and you nod and reply in the affirmative. It felt really good to be working a case with him again. With him, you never had to worry.

From the operations room, Aaron watches the screens in front of him, John seated in the chair beside him while Reid kept a line of communication open with Dave and Morgan, working with them to oversee the mission into Pierce's other home. Reid was in prime form, easily directing Morgan towards anything that might be on interest, and Aaron notes how much more at ease he was, leading from afar. He makes a mental note to explore that with Reid during their next conversation.

On his other side, Garcia is keeping tech running for both operations, though he can tell she's far more concerned with your piece despite you still being in the building. She'd obviously felt awful for bringing up the video to you in her excitement at having you back, not having realized that you didn't know what they'd seen yet. He knows it was his fault for not warning you. Having you back, the last thing he'd wanted was to cause you any more distress, but he should've known better. Had it not been Garcia, it would've been someone else.

He could see how much of a toll watching you go through that, had on the team. Already, he'd seen how much more careful Morgan was with you. The casual jostling and elbowing – a dynamic you'd attempted to fit back into with him, was strained. Sure, he'd laughed along, but he didn't dare shove back at you, for fear that he'd hurt you. It was a long road ahead before any of them started to treat you with anything less than kid gloves.

Prentiss and JJ are standing and watching the other cameras, awaiting any sign of Pierce. For him, it should feel like a regular day walking into the office. They both have their headsets on and are leaned back, waiting for Garcia to alert them to Pierce's entrance into the building.

Beside him, John appears far more at home amongst the team than any detective they've worked with over the years. He has a headset on as well, eyes trained on you on the screen in front. From what he's been able to glean thus far, John appears to be a D.A. from the same mold as him – incredibly hands on. He hasn't hesitated or been thrown by any of the research or surveillance activities that the team has embarked on, showing an easy familiarity with the terminology and procedure.

"He just badged in," Garcia alerts them, Prentiss and JJ both turning to their screens as they watched Pierce go through the gates and then to the elevators towards his office.

On the screen, you start, following along to JJ's play by play of Pierce's location. With a moment's beat, you stand up from the chair you'd been sat in across from his and smooth out your suit.

"What is she doing?" Prentiss asks from behind, as they all watch you walk around the desk, and then place a hand on Pierce's chair to swivel it around to face the back wall. You find one of the cameras that was in the room and throw a quick wink towards them that has Aaron shaking his head as he realizes what you're doing. You sit down in Pierce's own chair facing the back wall, awaiting his arrival.

From beside him, John mutters, "You always have to be dramatic, don't you?", rolling his eyes.

His words have your mouth twisting into a smirk, eyes shining with mirth. "Admit it, you'd be bored if I wasn't."

John shakes his head, his mouth unwillingly turning up into a fond smile as he watches you settle in and cross one leg over the other, tugging at your suit jacket until it sits in place. He's aware of Aaron next to him, and there's a part of him that's nearly waiting for things to be awkward or uncomfortable with you three. John's been around jealous boyfriends before and Aaron is nothing like those guys. Those guys would be rankled by their girlfriends' ex teasing them. They'd be bothered by how easily you and him move around one another, hands grazing casually – soft and familiar touches that come naturally to you both. Without being told, John knows that you and Aaron had some sort of deep understanding when it came to him, because Aaron is entirely unphased despite seeing and noticing everything.

"Incoming." JJ's crackles onto the mic right as you hear the door open to Pierce's office.

You hear footsteps and you can feel someone else in the room as Pierce enters and then shuts the door behind him, not having noticed your presence yet. On the screen, the team sees him turn and walk towards the desk, the high back of his chair preventing him from seeing you immediately.

It's then that you turn, the chair swiveling around slowly to face him, your face set – emotionless and unyielding.

"Hello Alexander."

The hint of a Russian accent seeps into your voice as you greet him, hard eyes trained on the man in front of you, who had startled at your movement, his briefcase nearly falling from his grasp before his hand goes to his gun holster and then pauses as he sees who it is. Eyes widening, he withdraws his hand from the holster and walks closer to the desk, watching you apprehensively as you sit in his chair like its your throne.

"Have a seat."

Your voice left no room for argument as Pierce lowers himself cautiously into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. You give him a moment to draw his wits about him. Pierce wasn't stupid. He had to know – or at least think he knew – why you were here.

From the room, Aaron watches, enraptured as he always is when you go undercover or into an interrogation room. You're a wonderful profiler, no doubt. However there is something about you when you're confronting someone that plays to your strengths in the best of ways. You thrive on knowing the power you hold, leaning into your role. It's never quite Good Cop/Bad Cop with you. No, you do best when you merely play yourself – compelling, mysterious, alluring. Unsubs – especially men – lower their guard around you without meaning to. The darkening eyes and curve of your mouth as you smile at them with an all-knowing regard. You draw out a near primal need to perform for you, please you, show off for you.

Aaron can see it here now as Pierce sits straight in the chair across from you, the shock of walking into his office with you waiting for him starting to wear off. He adjusts and unbuttons the bottom button on his jacket, easing into the chair as though he hadn't nearly wet his pants at the sight of you mere seconds prior.

"How can I help you?" he asks, the hint of cockiness bleeding into his tone. This was a man who had actively provided information on intelligence agents in exchange for children. The thought alone was enough to draw revulsion.

You appraise him quietly, allowing the seconds to tick by. In the surveillance room, no one breathes, allowing you your silence. After a few seconds have ticked by, there's the flicker of uncertainty that passes over Pierce's face. That's what you'd been waiting for.

"I spoke with Jansen," you say, the barest hint of a smile on your face. "You'll be reporting directly to me, from here on out." You're banking on Pierce being removed enough from the day to day operations, as to not know that Jansen had a bullet in his head, courtesy of a certain unit chief. The goal was simple: get him to admit to it all.

Pierce appears to think for a moment before speaking. "Is there any particular reason for the change in procedure?" he asks, trying to maintain an air of casual ease.

"I've decided to take on a more active role within the organization." You don't offer any further explanation. Simply wait for Pierce to nod that he understands, before you continue. "Obviously, I can't have anything traced back to me. I've invested a significant amount of time and effort into this cover," you tell him with a motion towards your own badge. Most everyone also knows that you're with Aaron - the dissolution agreement was strictly on paper alone and hadn't had enough time to become anything more. Strauss was many things, but she certainly was not a gossip.

"What is your current process for delivering the intel?" you ask, your tone all business. "I might want to make modifications."

"I obtain the information into the program from Eric Seaborn, the Marshalls' liaison," Pierce tells you, being far more forthcoming than you would've been in his position. He'd already provided you another name to go after. In your ear, you can hear Aaron directing Garcia to look into Seaborn and put out a warrant for him to be brought in immediately. With any luck, he'd be the root of the leak. "I then contact Jansen via the online forum and we set up a time and place for the drop."

You nod at his explanation, making a show of thinking it over. "What about the payment?"

At this, Pierce pauses and looks at you critically. Jansen might have given into his payment requirements. You – well, you might not be as accommodating. "Will that be a problem?" he asks, being purposefully vague.

You shake your head slowly. "No. I merely wish to ensure that we are both satisfied with the arrangement. To that end, packages should continue uninterrupted," you assure him, being just as vague as he was.

"We need him to admit to the kids," Aaron reminds you, sharing a look at Prentiss, the two of them knowing that without proof of the kids at Pierce's country home, a full on confession was the only thing that would get him convicted. That, and possibly anything Seaborn would cop to.

Knowing that Pierce might be just a little uncomfortable with you – a woman – than he was with Jansen, you loosen up a little, dropping your shoulders and settling into the chair just a little more as you allow an easy smile to appear on your face. "I have to say," you start, your eyes fixed on Pierce, "I definitely appreciated that we don't have to worry about a paper trail with you. I cannot tell you how much of a pain that can be, especially with agencies like the Bureau getting better and better with tracking down the finances," you share, with the hope that confiding in Pierce and making some small talk will force him to mimic your demeanor around the subject.

He eyes you carefully for a moment before mirroring your stance and smile. "Well, lets just say that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement," he offers, his words and tone drawing a shiver through you that you force yourself to suppress. In the comms channel you can hear Garcia and JJ both commenting on how entirely creepy Pierce sounded.

You give it a beat, before you decide to stand, making as if you were done and wanted to leave. Pierce stands with you and watches as you come around the table. On a whim, you smile and walk up to him carefully, mindful to make sure that the mic underneath his desk would catch your next words.

"Out of curiosity, what do you do with them?" you ask, betting on the one piece of the predator profile that was the most debated amongst the team. Predators like to show off. They like other people to know what they do to their victims. It gives them a power rush. However, it was a 50/50 when it came down to it – some of them act ashamed given how their actions are perceived in society. However, due to how blatant Pierce is regarding his proclivities, you reckon he is anything but shameful. He'll take pride it. Brag.

"I take care of them," he answers. "Little girls need someone to care for them and I ensure that they are – taken care of."

From the comms line, you hear Aaron's voice. "We have enough."

"You mean, you rape them. Is that how you take care of them?" you press, ignoring Aaron.

Pierce's eyes flash angrily at your accusation.

Before he can say anything in response, you continue. "Did you know, that if you are being charged for treason, they pretty much do away with due process?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, despite your severe face leaving nothing to question. You hadn't stuttered.

Your mouth twists into a dark sneer as you respond. "I mean, if you think they don't like child predators in prison, you can only imagine what they do with them in Gitmo."

At that, the door to Pierce's office opens once more and you see Aaron and Emily entering, not giving Pierce the opportunity to respond or retaliate as you walk past him, your heels clicking against the floor.

*------------*

There was seemingly no end to the confidentiality paperwork the Bureau was insisting John sign due to his involvement with everything. You were sat in the bullpen with the team, while John and Aaron went through it all upstairs in Aaron's office.

"So, Hawthorne," Emily begins, the curl of her lips hinting at how much she'd likely held back all of her choice commentary on John and Aaron and you – that whole dynamic. The fact that, out of everyone, she's still the only one calling John by his last name, does not escape your notice. You file that away to explore with her at a later date.

You bite your lip to prevent the smile that threatened to break at her predictability as the rest of them moved in closer as though Aaron or John might overhear from all the way upstairs.

At your nod, she continues. "I am going to charitably bypass the freakish similarities between the two of them," she says, smirking at you while Penelope nods along eagerly, "and focus on the fact that he is way more than just some guy I used to see." Emily's allusion to how you'd initially described John way back when has a grin appearing on Derek's face too, while both JJ and Spencer sport matching teasing smiles.

You shrug. There wasn't much to really say. Of course you had been friends with them all back then, but that didn't mean you were about to disclose your entire relationship to the team on the way back from a case. You didn't talk about John. It had been easier to not talk about him.

"We like him," Derek admits in the wake of your silence. "Guy dropped everything and came as soon as Hotch called him." Anyone who'd do that for you was alright in his book.

"Not to mention the fact that he's a total babe!" Penelope gushes, her voice breaking into a squeal that has Derek scowling in distaste.

You chuckle at his reaction. "Oh come on Derek. You know you're still her number one."

He shakes his head at you, though his mouth moves into a small smile despite himself.

"Yeah, you're still my favorite hunk of chocolate," she reassures him with a caress of his bicep, before turning back to you excitedly. "But really though, that's still the best ass I've ever seen."

"Squats," you respond sagely, remembering the number of times John managed to drag you with him to his far too long gym sessions. You'd end up collapsing on the side halfway through and just watch him finish up on his own. He did always buy you ice cream after to make up for it, though.

"Huh," she comments, an almost dreamy look on her voice before she continues on, her voice taking on a comically floaty quality. "You know, if we all got together – entirely objectively – as like, a country, and voted on best ass, I think he'd win. We can't all agree on one guy for president but that ass – that ass is America's ass."

The laughter around you felt like you'd never left. Emily and JJ were supporting each other from falling over, both of them clutching their stomachs as they watched Derek and Penelope debate the semantics of the entire country voting on some guy's ass, while Spencer chimed in with possible logistical solutions to get around the current voting technology being behind the times when it came to properly allowing voters to compare the merits of one ass versus another.

As you wipe a tear that has escaped you as your giggles subsided, you all see Anderson making his way towards you.

"Pierce is finished being processed," he informs you as he approaches. Everyone nods at Anderson. They'd all been surprised at how much you'd leveraged Anderson on the ground, as he'd never once made it seem like he was too busy to help the rest of them or hinted that he was on the special assignment with you.

"Thank you," you nod at him, watching as he goes to his desk to grab his stuff before making his way back to you. "I told them they can wait for your signature on the paperwork till Monday. Pierce can hang out in holding till then."

You smile at that before nodding once again. Anderson hesitates slightly, as though there was something more. "What else?" you prompt, figuring you might as well hear it all.

"Agent Easter also sent a request for on the ground support from the Bureau to help with the clean up of your base of operations outside of Philadelphia, now that Interpol has retracted all of its support. I took the liberty of informing him that the Bureau was far too overextended to be of much assistance to him. Now or at anytime in the future."

It was clear to see that Anderson's stoically calm words hid the fury of a thousand suns behind them when it came to Easter. You felt your heart clench ever so slightly at that, not having expected this protective streak from him.

"Thank you Grant."

He nods at you a soft smile on his face, pausing slightly with some hesitation, before leaning down and brushing a quick kiss to your cheek, pulling back quickly. "I'll see you all on Monday," he says to the group, slightly flustered, before making his way to the elevators.

"So Interpol already backed away from Easter, huh?"

You look up at Derek with a shrug. "Sure seems like it."

"Good."

From behind you, you hear a throat being cleared and turn to see both John and Aaron standing at the landing.

Aaron meets your eyes, and behind them you can see the sheer exhaustion that has caught up with him. "Let's go home."

*------------*

You, John, and Aaron were sat at the dining table with the remnants of a pizza in the middle. Mrs. Avery had had to drop Jack off with Jessica due to a preplanned family event that she was attending. While you'd been disappointed to come home to find he was gone, Aaron had reasoned that it might be best if you slept a little bit and were able to cover up some of the bruises and scrapes before you saw Jack. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely wrong about that.

John had indeed kept a ledger of every single one of his and Julian's bets and you'd been forced to write him a check for the amount, which had amused Aaron to no end. You and John had just finished telling him the story behind another bet in the book – one which had ended with both John and Julian being picked up by the local sheriff's office for drowning the Dean's vintage Jaguar to the bottom of the school pool. Suffice to say, neither of your parents had been amused at having to write the Dean a hefty check in recompense.

As the three of you sober up, you see John look up oddly and try to catch Aaron's attention, the two of them having a nonverbal exchange that you weren't privy to, before they both turn to you, the mood significantly more somber than a moment prior.

"What's up?" you ask them both apprehensively, taking another bite of the slice of pizza in front of you. It was getting cold fast, the dough and cheese felt like a lump in your mouth, but you force yourself to swallow knowing that Aaron wanted to be sure you ate something at least.

It appeared they'd decided that John would ask, because he's the one to speak up. "What's the deal with you and Richards?" he inquires, Aaron nodding along to the question, his hair flopping down onto his forehead.

You roll your eyes good naturedly, surprised they'd gone even this long without bringing it up. Though, given that interaction between them just then, they'd obviously discussed it with another.

"Remember the Peterson Accords?" you ask Aaron, who had just taken another bite of his own, so he nods in response.

The Peterson Accords had been a snafu the CIA had been involved in a year or so ago. One that was entirely avoidable, had they been more forthcoming with information with other agencies.

"Well, when I first started working with McKinney, he had me tag along to a meeting at Langley. Somehow, the accords came up and I ended up offering Richards an entirely unsolicited opinion on it."

Aaron chokes slightly, realizing the implication of what you meant. At John's confused look, he takes a drink of water, washing down the bite before explaining. "The Agency messed up and there was a big PR issue with the Peterson Accords. Mostly the Bureau just avoids talking about it even though we all know that had the CIA just been upfront, the entire problem wouldn't have happened at all."

John snorts. "Let me guess, you told him as much?"

"Yeah," you admit, coloring ever so slightly at the memory of your nervous outburst. "McKinney wasn't thrilled. But Richards thought I had balls. A week later he asked me to drinks. It was the same day that Jack fell and broke his wrist," you tell Aaron, effectively explaining why mentioning this to him had slipped your mind. You'd been thoroughly panicked – if Aaron had thought you were overbearing when he'd been in the hospital, that had been nothing in comparison to how you'd been when it was Jack.

"I thought that would be it. Drinks only lasted like forty minutes before I got the call about Jack. But then a couple months ago, he caught up with me in Paris and asked me to dinner. Said he wanted to mentor me and help me develop further – offered me the job."

"Will you tell McKinney that?" Aaron asks, appraising you carefully from above the rim of the can of soda that's half way to his mouth.

You shake your head. "No. If he wants to fire me, let him. I'm not going to influence that decision with this. I'd rather not work for him if the only reason he keeps me is to prevent me from working for Richards instead."

"Where did he take you to dinner?" John asks, having caught something when you'd quickly mentioned Richards asking you to dinner in Paris.

Your eyes flash up at him, as you silently curse the fact that he knows you far too well and sometimes it was simply annoying.

"Benoit."

John snorts while Aaron merely looks puzzled.

"Benoit is like the most expensive and romantic Parisian restaurant," John explains in response to Aaron's raised eyebrow. "It took me six months to get a reservation there for Cece's birthday. Of course the Director of the CIA can just waltz in," he grouches, an amused expression catching him midway as Aaron processes Richards having taken you out to Benoit – the man had been trying to woo you in the most impressive of ways.

"Should I be threatened?" Aaron asks, a light teasing note in his voice as he looks back at you, finding the thought of the CIA Director taking you out for what – on the surface – reads as a romantic dinner date, highly amusing and frankly, not at all out of character. The man should be so lucky.

You smile, shaking your head once more. "We have a dinner invite with Director and Mrs. Richards whenever we're both next available. He's eager to meet you as well."

*------------*

You've just finished getting ready for bed, both John and Aaron having insisted on cleaning up what little mess there was. You'd agreed, if only because you'd missed the water pressure in the shower at home. After exiting the shower, you're quick to pull on pajamas and head back to the bedroom, allowing yourself to finally slip fully into the comfort of being home.

You're still reeling somewhat from the turn of events of the last two days, Clyde's betrayal still fresh in your mind. However, despite Clyde's accusations and Pierce's involvement, the most staggering thing is still the bizarrely civil – almost friendly – manner in which both John and Aaron seem to comport themselves around one another. Emily had commented on it briefly, filling you in on how the two of them had worked incredibly well together. How quickly Aaron had called John in, not wasting a second when he realized that would be the best way forward.

Sitting up on the bed, you grab the lotion from the nightstand drawer and start to slowly work it into your skin, the muscles aching still despite the hot water earlier. Dinner had been surprisingly nice. Rossi had offered to cook for everyone at his place, and while you'd appreciated the offer, Aaron could tell you just wanted to go home and had politely declined on your behalf.  

You hear a shuffling at the door and look up to see John, walking up to the entrance, having already changed into pajamas. From outside, you can hear the rattling of the garbage cans as Aaron makes to move them to the curb, no doubt. At least one of you had remembered that tomorrow was trash day.

"Hey," you smile and beckon John in, scooching inwards to the bed and patting the spot next to you.

He walks in, settling down at the edge, his nose crinkling at the familiar scent of lavender – you'd brought him the same lotion back when he'd been having trouble falling asleep and while he'd been skeptical at first, gingerly rubbing it into his hands that first night, he'd slept like a baby and been a convert ever since.

"So," he starts, leaning forward and grabbing some of the lotion for himself, "you actually gonna marry this one?"

You roll your eyes lightly, used to this question from pretty much everyone. Penelope couldn't wait to see you and Aaron properly hitched as she put it. "What makes you think he's even going to ask?" you counter.

"I think I'm uniquely qualified to know what a man looks like when he wants to marry you," he quips back, the hint of a tease in his voice letting you know that he was mostly joking.

You laugh lightly, handing him the container of lotion to set on the nightstand beside him. You suppose he would be uniquely qualified for that. He'd been there for Matthew's proposal, and while you had no concrete evidence, you'd also spent an afternoon with Aunt Vivian, going through her vault of Hawthorne family jewels, as she had you try on every ring imaginable, paying extra close attention to the ones you liked and fit you well.

You sigh, settling in against the pillows propped up in front of the headboard. "I don't know."

John's brow furrows at your expression. "Why?"

You sigh once more, unsure how to quite explain this feeling you had. You're never able to articulate it very well and thus you've stopped trying, letting most people simply think what they may. "He's…been there…done that. It didn't work out," you tell him, the hint of sadness seeping into your voice before you can catch it. "Don't get me wrong, I think if I asked, he'd say yes," you're quick to assure him. Aaron wouldn't deny you anything, especially not if he knew how badly you wanted it.

"So why don't you?" John asks. You were hardly a stranger to going after what you want.

You know why you don't bring it up, despite everything. It's the one thing you've never broached with him. Planning a future together, talking about kids, being Jack's guardian in the event something happens to him – all things the two of you have talked about fairly easily. However, marriage, somehow you've skipped over that entirely. You know why, really. On some level it feels like a foregone conclusion. The two of you are as good as married. You've bought real estate with the man. Signing a piece of paper with your names side by side wasn't exactly a foreign concept to the two of you. But, how can you explain to John that you don't truly care to marry Aaron just for the sake of marrying him. Because of course you'd love to marry Aaron but as it stands, marriage – a government document stating that he was yours and you were his, till death do you part – it would hardly change anything for the two of you. It would, however, change things with Jack. Make things easier. Being married to Aaron would mean you no longer would have to introduce yourself to Jack's teachers as his father's girlfriend. All they saw when you told them that was a tarted up younger woman, poaching one of the few hot single dads. They thought you were temporary. You still remember the time Jack's teacher had called Aaron regarding a permission slip that you'd signed, saying she was calling to verify, because typically they only allow parents to sign those. Aaron had brushed it off, and not that you'd ever admit it to him, but it had stung. You'd made sure that Jack only ever got his father to sign forms after that.

You can feel John watching you while you think through what exactly you should say to him. You look up, meeting his deep blue eyes, filled with so much love and concern, it was nearly suffocating to maintain eye contact with him. "Because," you mumble, fidgeting with the corner of the pillowcase, "I want him to marry me, because it's what he wants. Not because he thinks it's what will make me happy."

John looks at you, and you know he's suppressing some choice words before deciding on his next ones. "Tell me this," he starts, shifting to better face you, "You were engaged before and that didn't work out. Will that really keep you from saying yes to him when he asks?"

You feel your throat fill with emotion, your heartstrings tightening painfully at the thought – the image – of Aaron bent down on one knee in front of you. You ignore John's lack of use of the hypothetical – when he asks. Not if. When.

"No, of course not."

John smiles at your heavier voice and gently drags your hand into his, weaving your fingers together. "Exactly. Just because it didn't work out with one person, doesn't stop you from believing it'll work out with him. Plus, I don't really know the guy all that well but he's pretty gone for you. Don't think I saw him crack a single smile till after we got you back. I was just glad he knew how."

You release a small breath of a laugh, tucking yourself closer to him. You can feel yourself get lighter, the longer he's around. "I forget you're actually smart sometimes," you joke, poking at his stomach.

"You know what, Harvard…," the rest of his sentence is lost in your combined laughter.

*------------*

Aaron finishes cleaning up the downstairs, and after putting the garbage cans outside for trash collection, heads upstairs to go to bed. He's glad that John had decided to stick around for a bit once everything had wrapped up, if only to keep an eye on you a little while longer. You seem softer around him, more playful. He knows that you're far more serious with him than you are with everyone else, but it was nice to see John bring out the younger, more fun side of you that he gets only glimpses of here and there. Even John had commented on it, in a roundabout way. How you seem like you've grown up quite a bit in the past few years.

As he arrives to the entrance to the bedroom, he can see John half laid back against the headboard, legs splayed out in front of him. You're tucked into his side, with a death grip on his arm, eyes closed shut. You look peaceful for the first time since he'd got you back.

At Aaron's arrival, John starts slightly, careful to not move too suddenly for fear of waking you. He mouths a quick apology at Aaron, then makes to extract himself from your hold. As he tries to delicately remove your fingers from where they're clutching at his arm, you begin to shift, grumbling lightly in your sleep, and Aaron is quick to halt John, shaking his head to stop him.

John looks at him quizzically as Aaron warily makes his way past the bed and into the bathroom. When Aaron reemerges, having changed into his pajamas as well, John is waiting for him, eyes fixed on the door where Aaron stands.

Aaron can see how entirely peaceful you seem – untroubled, tucked in your own bed once more. He looks up from you, to meet John's puzzled look, both men at a loss at what to do next without disturbing you. Neither one of them wanted to be the one to wake you. Not after everything.

While Aaron hadn't thoroughly thought through signaling John to stay, he was now forced to contend with it. He wasn't going to ask John to move for fear of waking you. On the other hand, he wasn't about to leave and go sleep in the guest bedroom while John slept in your bed beside you. It was out of the question. With minimal options available, he quietly walks over to the other side of the bed, merely shaking his head at John's continued perplexed countenance as he cautiously pulls the blankets over himself. Without speaking, he reaches for the remote on the nightstand by his side of the bed, flipping the television on to some late night infomercial at a low volume.

You're still tucked into John, nearly hanging off of him like a koala bear. Aaron's waiting – waiting for that flicker of jealousy. The tight clench of his heart that he feels whenever someone flirts with you, touches you. He's self aware enough to know that he hasn't evolved past jealousy. He's been waiting for it pretty much since the moment you and John were first reunited. It hadn't come then, and he'd chalked it up to the external circumstances of the moment, with Garcia accidentally spilling that they'd all seen the video. There had been more pressing matters than your ex lover hugging you. Then, however, he's seen the two of you joke and do that teasing thing that feels friendly rather than flirty, but if he were being honest with himself, that had never kept him from feeling a flare of envy here and there when you and Morgan bantered with one another in the same manner. He'd spent a dinner with just you and John, without the rest of the team there as a buffer, while John poured you a glass of water and you handed him a napkin to get the bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth. Nothing. Now, here you were, practically straddling the man, and yet, while he hadn't quite felt comfortable simply leaving the two of you alone in the room all night, he's not jealous per se. No, instead he thinks you look quite adorable and it's the first time he's seen John look calm since the moment he'd arrived.

So yeah, maybe it was weird. He knows it is weird. If it wasn't, him and John would talk instead of facing the television, the both of them pretending to be fascinated by the many capabilities of the NutriBullet. Yet, as you sleepily mumble something, Aaron can't help but feel the barest of smiles upon his face as he settles in further into the pillows. He doesn't have to look over to know that John has a similar expression on his face.

*------------*

You wake to the sound of voices as your head is tucked against Aaron's chest, arms wrapped around his waist, the smell of Irish Spring surrounding you. The sun is beginning to peak in through the curtains, casting the room in a golden glow. You don't want to get up yet. This is the most rested you've felt in what must be months. You don't want to get up. Not yet. Now if only he could be quiet and let you sleep.

At your softly slurred shut up you feel Aaron's chest rumble against you, his large hand leaving your back to come play with your hair, his attempt at lulling you back into sleep. You let him, relishing in the feel of his fingers brushing through you hair, his warmth all around you. Your mind begins to drift once more, eyes still shut tight as you press your lips to his chest in thanks. You're just on the verge of falling back asleep, when something stops you. You'd heard voices. Not just Aaron. It had certainly not been the television, unless Aaron had begun having conversations with Oprah to keep himself entertained. No…

You're suddenly very aware that the legs which you've got yours tangled with – the legs you'd thought were Aaron's – are not in front of you where he is, but behind you. Which meant that there was someone –

You blink awake, barely suppressing a moan at the feel of Aaron's fingers dancing through your hair, turning in his arms, and meeting exceedingly sparkly blue eyes, peering over at you and growing wider as they meet yours.

He'd stayed.

He'd stayed to make sure you were alright.

He'd stayed – in your bed. With Aaron, also in your bed. Aaron had…let him stay.

"Hey." His voice is still cloudy with sleep as he blinks at you from across the way.

You can't help how your eyes fill up at the sight. At his voice.

You'd missed John. You'd missed him.

"Hey," you respond, your own voice coming out rough as you clear your throat, shifting so that your legs move away from him and you and Aaron are both on your side, facing John, with your body half propped up against Aaron's as he wraps an arm around your waist. You're quick to drape your arm over his own, both of your hands coming to rest across your stomach, fingers intertwined together.

You're still warm and sweet, the haze of early morning floating around you. You reach out with your other and find John's arm, needing some form of confirmation that he's really there.

It's quiet, the only sound coming from the birds starting to wake, chirping outside. The house settles around you, the groan of nineteenth century wood beams shifting awake with the dawn.

You close your eyes, trying to savor this. You can feel Aaron, solid as ever behind you, holding up half your weight as though it were nothing. Your fingers, woven together with his, the drag of his thumb against your skin, moving back and forth soothingly. You know your dreams had been less than pleasant during the night by the way his arm keeps you close to him, you know he's already aware of the terror you will face for many more nights to come. John stays laid on his back, arm stretched out towards you. Through the fabric of his shirt, you can feel the heat coming off of him, the slight twitch of his muscle under your hand, his head turned towards you. The blanket still covers all three of you, and nestled in your bed with both of them there, you can feel a sense of calm wash over you. You already know this will never happen again.

You're the one to break the silence, knowing that they were waiting for you to speak. "What time is Jack's game?" you ask Aaron after clearing your throat to remove some of the fullness there.

You feel him squeeze you painstakingly tenderly. He's been incredibly careful with you. He still hasn't said anything about the bruises he'd undoubtedly seen, spanning your entire body while the two of you had showered together, merely helping you get clean as gently as he could. You can sense his hesitation, that slight pause he has before he puts a hand on you, an arm across you. You've had to initiate every kiss. If he'd really seen that entire video, part of you understands. The other part tries to quell the small fear that he'd heard something, learned something, that now gave him some amount of pause. Some little barrier that maybe now existed after he'd learned about –

"At eleven," he answers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, causing a flutter in your stomach.

You nod, nearly forgetting that John was still there, reminded only by the sight of him in front of you, a small, knowing smile on his face.

"You should meet Jack," you tell him. You want him to stay.

He nods, allowing the three of you to fall back into a fuzzy silence.

You're trying to decide how odd this is. You wager Aaron feels at least somewhat awkward. John too. Now that you're starting to emerge from the fog of sleep, you find it more amusing than anything else. You've woken up between the boys before. Ambrose didn't consider a night out successful unless it resulted in either him bedding someone, or in the four of you passed out in one bed together, far too gone to make it back to your individual apartments. But John and Aaron – you would've never bet on waking up between the two of them. For a guy that didn't share…well, you'd have to ask him later on how exactly this happened. Last thing you remembered was sitting up in bed while John talked about his move to the DA's office.

John can see the small grin gracing your face, the humor dancing in your eyes as you slowly come to terms that this was indeed how you'd woken up that morning.

"What?" he asks, narrowing his eyes and already groaning internally because he regrets asking. He doesn't have to hear what you're going to say. The look in your eyes had said it all.

You hum, the small grin breaking out into a full faced one as your nose crinkles with amusement at the situation. "Oh nothing," you say, your voice laced with that sing song quality that has Aaron paying closer attention. "Just that, pretty sure I've had a dream like this before," you joke, your eyes flitting from Aaron to John and back again, the intention behind your words incredibly clear.

"Aaaand that's my cue."

You watch, the giggles overtaking you as John hauls himself out of bed and walks out the door without a look back, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like you just had to ask.

You turn to face Aaron, his brow scrunched, pulling his forehead together, an entirely unamused expression on his face, in stark contrast to the wide smirk adorning yours.

"A dream?" His tone implies that he didn't find the notion nearly as funny as you did.

Luckily, you had a solution for that as you move in closer, covering his lips with your own, any thoughts regarding you and him and John in a bed together, dream or reality, long forgotten.

*------------*

By the time you and Aaron shower and get dressed, John was already downstairs in the kitchen, having made himself useful by making breakfast. The smell of chocolate chip pancakes wafts through the air as the two of you enter to John flipping the last of the stack onto a plate.

"You have no food in this house," he informs you, pointing his spatula in your direction. "You expect to keep a man with an unstocked pantry?"

"Looks like you managed to make do," you retort, grabbing plates for all three of you while John settles into a chair at the island and Aaron heads over to grab coffees for you and him. John already had a mug in his hand.

You take a seat at the chair kitty corner to John while Aaron grabs the seat on his other side after placing your mug in front of you. Breakfast was a relatively quiet affair while you all ate, the TV playing the news with a report of the findings from the Philadelphia investigation. You share a look with Aaron, knowing that's something you'll no doubt be dragged into the second you're back at work. There would be some PR spin about the Bureau catching the parties responsible, ensuring the safety of the republic once more.

"Why don't you go with Aaron and grab Jack," you ask John, grabbing all of your plates despite their protests. They'd cleaned up yesterday. "I'll run to the grocery store. Make sure I can manage to keep a man." While you might have wanted to go grab Jack yourself, you're still figuring out how this thing with the three of you works. You weren't sure groceries was a two man job and a part of you felt slightly odd about Aaron going to get Jack by himself while you ran to the store with John. You want to play this right.

With a chuckle, John nods, going upstairs to grab a jacket, leaving you and Aaron to share a quick kiss goodbye as he points you to the grocery list you'd written last time you'd been home. You grab the list, quietly wondering what it was still doing there, before adding a few more items to the end.

*------------*

It was a long drive to Aaron's sister-in-law's place, the beginning of which had gone by fairly quickly, with the two of them chatting about Jack and what positions he liked to play on the soccer team.

"I'm thinking I might coach next season," Aaron reveals, a tender sort of smile on his face that reminds John of his own father. His father might not have coached the soccer team, but growing up he'd always been present for all of his games, which was a far cry from Julian's parents. It was only as an adult that John had a true appreciation for how much more his parents had been around compared to yours.

"I think that's a good idea," John agrees. "I know I always liked having parents that were involved more. Makes more of a difference than we think it does."

Aaron nods, allowing the conversation to fall into a comfortable silence while he fidgets with the CD player. A familiar song comes on, one that John faintly recalls blaring from your room many a time while he'd been over to hang out with Julian.  

Clearing his throat, John gets Aaron's attention, who looks at him briefly before facing the road once more. There's the latent hesitation that lingers in the back of his mind lending credence to his doubts about voicing this, however, steeling himself, he barrels on. He can't not ask and this might be one of his last few chances. "What video was Penelope talking about?"

Aaron's knuckles go white around the steering wheel, his jaw tightening and John almost regrets asking. Almost.

Nearly thirty seconds pass in silence while John watches Aaron work through exactly how to answer him. He can see the turmoil his question had caused, no doubt bringing to surface the memory of what that video had been exactly. John has a hint – Penelope had mentioned Easter and waterboarding and torture and you. He knows it was bad. He needs to know how bad, because he's not sure that letting Easter just get away as easily as you had, was good enough.

After a while, Aaron explains from the beginning. How they'd all stumbled across the video in their search for you. How Easter's lackeys had hurt you, tortured you, beat you. John can tell he's getting the CliffsNotes version, Aaron being careful to not be too graphic or too detailed and John resists the urge to ask for everything.

"She was pregnant." The whispered words leaving Aaron's mouth have his heart in his throat. You'd been pregnant.

"She'd miscarried before – before they took her."

John can hear the conflict in Aaron's voice – the dissonance between grief and anger, both wrapped together tightly with the strings of love that were so very evident to anyone who saw you and Aaron together.

"She's not going to want to talk about it," he infers, knowing that if past experience is anything to go by, you'll do your best to pretend it never happened, while simultaneously blaming yourself.

Aaron nods. He knows you just as well, if not better in many capacities.

"Don't let her get away with that. It might work for the time being, but it'll mess with her later. You're allowed to grieve too. She owes you that."

Aaron looks briefly over at him once more – for the first time since he'd begun to explain everything that had transpired in that video – and John can see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. A quick, curt nod. That was it.

"Did you know about van Doren?" Aaron asks, his eyes trained fast on the road ahead.

"Not for sure. She'd never confirm it. But I had an idea."

Aaron nods once more. He doesn't have to ask John to not say anything to you about this. It goes unsaid.

As he pulls into the driveway, John can see a beautiful blond haired boy bounding out the door. Aaron parks quickly, getting out of the car and grabbing Jack into a hug before bringing him around to John.

"Jack, this is Uncle John."

John's widen slightly at how easily Aaron bestowed him the title. He feels his stomach flip as he kneels down to get to Jack's eye level.

"How's it going dude?" He offers up his fist and Jack is quick to bump it with his own, paired with a smile that feels awfully like yours.

*------------*

The drive back to your home was quick enough, Jack chattering in the back about the upcoming field trip, where he wanted to go for lunch after the game, and asking John who his favorite Avenger was. They both decided that Captain America was obviously the best one. First is best.

They walk into the house to see you putting away the groceries, and Jack breaks into a run towards you. John watches as you drop down to your knees, immediately swooping the little boy into your arms and hugging tight.

"Oh I missed you baby." Your words are lost against Jack's ear as you hold his little body close to yours. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There had been a very real part of you that had feared you might never see him again. His mumbled I missed you too settles into your ribs and feeds your soul.

"Alright, let's get you ready to kick some butt at the game, huh?"

John watches as you keep Jack in your arms and he allows you to baby him a little, wrapping himself around you as the two of you make your way upstairs, laughing all the way up the stairs. He'd always known you'd be a good mother, but it was a whole another thing to see it manifested in front of his eyes. He's heard both you and Aaron refer to Jack as your kid, but seeing it live was something else altogether. There was no doubting anymore – you were that kid's mom.

As he settles into the couch with Aaron, awaiting your return, he can't help but be in some awe at his surroundings. The house, adorned with some of the last of Julian's water color series. The man seated beside him, whose eyes shone only when you were in the room. The kid whose excited voice trailed all the way downstairs. This was your home. This was your life. It was real. It was yours.

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 3

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: A trip to meet the newest Beaumont isn’t off to the greatest start.

Author’s Note: So, since it has been ages since I updated this story, I feel like a quick recap is in order. Drake and Riley are in Cordonia to meet Savannah and Bertrand’s new baby girl, Caroline. They just met Liam’s new girlfriend, Iris, and her innocent questions about their postponed wedding made it clear that Drake is very frustrated by the fact they aren’t married yet. To catch up/jog your memory fully on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Drake groaned as Riley reached forward to start scanning across the radio stations.

“What?” she asked. He noticed her give a tiny shrug out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back after settling on a Greek Top 40 station.

“I knew it. I swear you pick this one just to annoy me, Liu.” Drake had made the mistake of complaining about this particular station on one of their first trips back to Cordonia, right before she’d gone back to university. It was all over-produced and sugary, and the DJs were just fucking obnoxious. Of course, that last point probably didn’t actually bother Riley, since she couldn’t understand a word they said.

“Maybe I just like this station.” 

Drake glanced over and took in the giant shit-eating grin plastered across her face and just rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Let’s ignore the fact that this station plays a ton of songs in Greek.”

“I’m just trying to broaden my cultural horizons.”

“Says the woman who refused to watch Parasite because it has subtitles.’”

“If I wanted to read something, I would pick up a book,” she said, but she did lean forward again to flip over to a different station. 

“Thank you,” Drake said, clicking on the turn signal as he switched into the right lane.

“You make it too easy sometimes,” she said, Drake noticing that she shrugged a little out of the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t act like that station was pure torture, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it so much.”

All Drake could do was shake his head. “You know, some people might not be so open about liking something out of spite.”

“No, it’s not spite.” Drake glanced over and raised his eyebrows at that, so Riley elaborated. “Spite is mean-spirited. I know you like my teasing too much for it to be spite.”

“Really.” Drake deadpanned, although he wasn’t able to hold back his grin and fully play along.

“Uh huh. What other explanation is there for you hanging around me after all these years?”

“I can’t think of a single one,” he said, earning him a flick of her fingers against his shoulder.

“Well I guess I will have to keep teasing you then. Otherwise I might have to settle for a guy who would have made me get up before six this morning.”

Drake looked over at her at that. Even after years together, her ability to jump from intensely sarcastic to gently sincere in an instant still amazed him. Last night, Maxwell had called and offered to pick them up from the palace after dropping off Mom and Aunt Leona at the airport, but they had a very early departure time. Drake had turned him down, feeling like it would be a shitty move to force Riley to wake up early on vacation, particularly since she never complained about using her limited vacation days to visit his family. Yet here she was, appreciative of his gesture that cost him nothing.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to spend two hours in the car with Maxwell.”

She let out a laugh at that. “Well, at least I rank as better company in your book.”

“Always, Liu. Always.”

“Seriously though, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Her left hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze at that, but she didn’t say anything else, just glanced out the window as Drake turned off the main road and onto the smaller one that led to the Beaumont’s estate. Within a few minutes, they were pulling onto the driveway. As they climbed out of the car, they heard an excited little voice calling from the direction of the estate’s entrance. 

“Uncle Drake!”

Drake closed the driver’s door and pivoted around quickly, crouching down and extending his arms. Bartie ran across the drive and threw his little arms around Drake’s neck, laughing as Drake scooped him up and hugged him tightly. 

“We saw your car diving! I wanted to go out. Say ‘hi’ like Mommy or Daddy. Uncle Maxwell said I had to stay inside. Had to stand still ‘til you stopped,” Bartie rambled off, barely taking time to take a breath. 

“Thought that a little toddler darting in front of the car might not be the best start to your visit,” added Maxwell, strolling over to their car. “Hey, little blossom,” he added as he hugged Riley.

“Oh, you don’t get to just ‘little blossom’ me after you convinced Liam to keep me away!” she chuckled as she gave him a playful shove. “What happened to me being a Beaumont and always welcome here?”

“He told you guys?” Maxwell asked, turning to glance at Drake.

“Of course he did!” Riley said, drawing Maxwell’s attention back to her. She laughed a bit and shook her head before walking around the car to Drake and Bartie. “Hey, Bartie! Wow, you’ve gotten so big!” Drake passed Bartie over to her, watching as she gave him a squeeze, but Bartie started squirming in her arms, clearly wanting to be released from the obligatory hugs.

Riley placed him down, and he turned right back to Drake, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. “Uncle Drake, come see my new playhouse!” he said, attempting to drag Drake along after him as he started moving back towards the estate.

“Hey, my favorite dude, do you remember why Aunt Riley and Uncle Drake are here?” Maxwell said, crouching in front of Bartie. 

Bartie kicked his foot against the driveway before he answered. “Everyone wants to see Caroline. But she’s boring. She doesn’t do anything!”

Drake was trying to figure out the best way to deal with his nephew’s clear jealousy, but Riley stepped forward and bent down next to Maxwell. “I would love to see your playhouse, Bartie.”

“What do you say?” added Maxwell. “Why don’t we show Aunt Riley while Uncle Drake goes to see your mom and dad and sister?”

Bartie was silent for a few moments, but then nodded, grabbing Riley and Maxwell’s hands and heading inside without a glance back. Maxwell chuckled, twisted around, and called out to Drake, “You remember where the nursery is, right?”

Drake nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgment, taking the time to pop the trunk and grab their luggage before venturing inside himself. He went straight upstairs, pausing only to place their bags in their usual room, before heading down the hall, turning to the left and entering the private quarters, making his way to the small room located all the way towards the end of the hallway, the last door on the right.

It seemed like just yesterday he was building a crib in there for Bartie when Savannah was moving in. The room looked much the same, the walls still a pale grey, the furniture all pure white. The layout hadn’t changed much, with the crib placed against the far wall beneath a painting of stars shining over a lake with a squid waving a tentacle in the air, the changing table right next to it, and the dresser next to the rocking chair in the corner. The only thing that looked different, as far as Drake could remember, was the sheet tucked around the crib mattress. Back when this had been Bartie’s room, the sheets were covered in a variety of zoo animals, the only splash of color in the otherwise greyscale nursery. Now, they were a black and white check, much more subdued.

Laying in the center of the crib, wrapped tightly in a light pink blanket, was a sleeping baby. Drake didn’t have a lot of experience with infants, but even he had heard you never wake a sleeping baby, so he stepped further into the room carefully, trying not to make a sound. When he reached the crib, he couldn’t help but stare. This was Caroline. His niece.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just taking her in, but eventually Savannah’s voice caught his attention.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s a bit creepy to just sneak into someone’s home and watch their child sleep?”

Drake turned his head to look over his shoulder. His sister was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow cocked. “Hey, Sav. Maxwell sent me up here.”

“I should have known,” she said, walking over to join him by the crib, wrapping an arm around his waist as she gave him a half-hug. “I see you’ve met Caroline.”

“She’s beautiful,” Drake said, looking down again at the little baby in the crib, a few fine brown hairs covering her head. His niece. She was so tiny. It was kind of overwhelming, seeing her like this. When he’d met Bartie, it had been such a total shock that he even existed. Plus, he had been so much older than this. “Congratulations.”

“You can pick her up, you know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

Savannah let out a few little chuckles. “She is the one who disturbs everyone most of the time. Besides, she’s just about due for a feeding.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Drake. Just go wash your hands, and then you can hold her.”

And so a minute later, Drake found himself being handed his niece, so small and fragile-seeming. “Is this okay?” he asked, trying to make sure he walked the fine line between being gentle and holding her firmly as he tucked her against his chest.

“You aren’t going to hurt her!” Savannah laughed out.

“I just… I’ve never held a baby this little before. I don’t want to mess this up,” Drake said. Caroline felt so light in his arms. She was blinking, slowly becoming more alert after being shifted from her crib. Her bluish-grey eyes finally seemed to lock on his. “Hey, Caroline,” he said, “I’m your Uncle Drake.” But before he could think of anything else to say, she opened her mouth and let out a piercing wail.

Drake glanced over at Savannah. “What do I do?”

She laughed again. “God, what is Riley going to do with you when it’s your kid? She’s a baby, not an alien. She’s either hungry, sleepy, or has a dirty diaper.” But before she could poke fun at him any further, she reached over and shifted Caroline into her arms. “And since she’s hungry, I’m really the only one who can handle that.”

“Oh, do you want privacy or should I…”

Savannah shrugged. “I use a nursing blanket since Barthelemy walked in on me and made things real awkward.” And with that she settled onto the rocking chair, adjusting her top, positioning Caroline, then tugging a little cover over herself.

“What did Barthelemy do?” Drake asked as he moved to the side wall, leaning against it.

“Just acted real weird about the whole thing, talked to Bert about reminding me how a duchess should comport herself.”

“What a jackass.”

Savannah let out a sigh. “Bertrand was very apologetic when he relayed the message. But using a nursing blanket is not a big deal, and if it makes things easier for Bert with his dad…” She trailed off, staring down at Caroline, reaching under the nursing blanket to adjust something before she spoke again. “Having him around here has not exactly been some big happy family. I don’t know if his illness changed him, or if my memories of him were just fuzzy, but he’s an odd duck.”

Drake glanced over to the doorway. “Uhh, Sav. Not that I care, but the door is wide open and-”

She laughed and shook her head. “He’s at his rehab and physical therapy appointment this morning.”

“Ahh, gotcha. Any more talk of him trying to regain the title of duke?” Back when Barthelemy had returned to the estate, Sav had confided that it seemed like he was hinting that Bertrand should renounce his title and return it to his father. But since their wedding, it had seemed like most of that talk had died.

“No, he and Godfrey laid on the pressure after the honeymoon, but as soon as we announced the pregnancy, he backed off. His new mission seems to be to convince Liam that either Bartie or Caroline should be appointed as heir to the throne, which is crazy to think about, but it keeps him busy, so…” Savannah tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, letting the thought just hang there in the room. 

Drake was bothered by the implications of that statement, but he knew that pressing Savannah on it would not really get him anywhere. As inappropriate and concerning as he found the implication that Savannah and Bertrand weren’t shutting Barthelemy down completely with that shit, he knew voicing his objections now would not solve anything. Discussing this all with Liam would make much more sense. So he just filed the statement away and moved to change the subject.

“Is it easier this time around, knowing what you are doing?”

Savannah smiled before glancing down at Caroline. “I think it’s more that I have a support system. And yes, I know it was my choice to not have one before,” she added before Drake could interject. “I guess in some ways at least I know what to expect, but Caroline is way more cranky than Bartie was at this age. Besides, I don’t think any parent ever really feels like they know what they are doing.”

“Nah, you seem to have it down.”

“It’s just a lot of trial and error. You’ll see when you guys have a baby.”

Drake ran his hand across his jaw, glancing down and watching his toes nudge into the baseboard. “I have a feeling that’s gonna be a while for us.”

“Oh come on! Don’t you want your kids to grow up with their cousins?”

Drake swallowed before taking a breath. “Of course I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Well, getting married to start.” Shit. “Not that I think people have to be married to raise a kid or-”

“Relax, Drake,” Savannah said, cutting off his apologetic ramble. “It’s not like Bartie was a planned pregnancy.”

“Neither was Caroline,” he thought, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk offending his sister or make her feel like he was judging her and her family. 

“I know you have an old-fashioned streak-”

“Hey!” Drake interjected, but Savannah just kept on going.

“-but I think you guys should think about having kids soon. You were going to be married by now anyway! And isn’t that the modern, New York thing to do?”

Drake didn’t know where all this was coming from. Why she was so insistent about something that didn’t involve her. But man, he wished she would move on to any other topic of conversation. Because what could he say? That he was ready to be married with kids? That he would have no problem starting a family with Riley tomorrow? He couldn’t share that with his sister, at least not without sharing things about Riley he was pretty confident she would never want Savannah to know.

The fact that she had decided on a birth control option that would last for three years made it pretty clear where her head was at with the whole kid thing. She wasn’t really ready, not by a long shot. And until she was ready, there was really nothing he could do about it. Drake was just going to have to wait until she felt like the time was right, whenever that might be.

Maybe it was just that he was four years older than her. Maybe that’s why he felt so ready to take those next steps when she seemed so unbothered, so willing to just roll along. And to be fair, it’s not like they were ever going to be a couple like Hana and Catherine, who had timelines and life plans and five year goals. But deep down, Drake couldn’t help but wonder why Riley seemed so ambivalent about them getting married and starting a family. Was she unsure about something in their relationship, unsure about something with him?

It’s not that she didn’t want kids ever, as far as he knew. She’d mentioned wanting kids before. And they’d planned that first wedding without issue. But now it seemed like she was stuck. No rush to get married. Not thinking about having kids for years. And Drake didn’t know how to approach the whole topic without seeming like he was demanding things. Putting pressure on her. He was happy. They were happy. It was something his younger self would have never thought possible, and it should definitely be enough. But maybe he was selfish, because there were times where it just didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe it would be helpful to talk to someone about this, but that would feel like violating Riley’s trust. He knew Riley had her therapist she talked to, and he was sure their relationship was a topic of conversation there, but that was different. The therapist wasn’t someone who knew Drake, who was his friend or family. Anyone Drake would feel comfortable talking about this with knew Riley. Knew her well, quite frankly. 

So for now, he was just going to have to keep moving forward. Keep hoping that Riley would start to feel ready soon. And at the moment, that meant sidestepping his sister’s questions and prodding.

“Geez, Sav! We haven’t even been here for an hour, and you are laying it on really thick.”

“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s not my business! If it makes you feel better, it’s not just with you. Kiara also told me I needed to back off when I started asking her about when she and Oliver were going to have kids right after their wedding.”

“Wait, when did Kiara get married?”

“Oh, Drake! At least you have an excuse for not knowing all the news now that you live abroad.” she said, shaking her head. “They eloped maybe… four months ago?”

And then Savannah was off, filling Drake in on tons of gossip he didn’t give two shits about. But it made her happy, and it was a safe topic of conversation, so who was he to complain?

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

Riley sat crossed legged on the floor in Bartie’s room at a little table, Maxwell seated across from her. Meanwhile, Bartie was hard at work at his toy kitchen set, organizing pieces of plastic food on plates. He wanted to show off and make “lunch” for them. Riley supposed that this was probably a common way for a three and a half year old to want to play, not that she had any such memories from her own childhood. What wasn’t common, she was sure, was the formal table setting Bartie had carefully placed in front of each of them, the perfectly pressed white apron he’d asked Maxwell to help him tie on, or the fact that he was arranging his plastic lettuce, eggs, and meat on actual china.

“Looks excellent, my favorite dude,” said Maxwell as Bartie carefully carried over several plates to the table. “What’s on the menu?”

“Steak tartare with a fresh greens salad,” he said before turning and heading back towards his little kitchen.

“Wait, aren’t you going to join us?” asked Riley, trying to keep from bursting out in laughter at the thought of a preschooler preparing such a meal.

“Aunt Riley, no aprons at the table!” he said his eyes wide as he turned back to face her.

“Yeah, come on Aunt Riley, where are your manners?” Maxwell winked before twisting to look over at Bartie. “You need any help untying your apron there?”

“No, I can do it,” Bartie ground out, tugging on the ties without much luck.

“Okay, well I’m right here if you do need help,” Maxwell responded. Within five seconds, Bartie was back, standing right next to him.

“Thanks, Uncle Maxwell!” he said, happily pulling the apron off and jogging over to hang it up nicely once Maxwell had it untied.

“You’re working hard to maintain your title as best uncle.” Riley said.

“Every time you guys come to visit, he suddenly wants to go fishing and camping instead of having dance parties with me.”

Riley laughed at that. “We’re new and exciting, what can I say.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the favorite aunt by default.”

“What does default mean?” asked Bartie, plopping down on the floor next to them.

“It means no other choices, dude.”

“Oh,” Bartie said, nodding before picking up his silverware, pretending to cut into the plastic in front of him with surprising coordination.

“So has Uncle Maxwell been hanging out with you a lot since your sister came home?”

Bartie shrugged. “I guess.”

“We’ve definitely been seeing some jealousy,” Maxwell said with a nod. “I kind of thought this might happen, so I made sure to clear my schedule for a handful of weeks around the due date.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

Maxwell tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Hey, I’m favorite uncle for a reason.”

“Uncle Drake is my favorite,” said Bartie, causing Riley to burst out laughing.

“Dude, that wasn’t the deal! You’re gonna pay for this,” Maxwell said, leaning over and wiggling his fingers. “The squid’s about to attack.” With that, Maxwell started tickling Bartie, triggering wild giggles and Bartie rolling backwards on the floor.

“Bartie!” Bertrand’s voice cut across the room. Riley twisted over to find him standing in the hallway, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him. “We don’t make our guests sit on the floor, do we?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Bertrand, it’s fine-” Riley started, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“What do we say, Bartie?”

“Sorry, Aunt Riley.”

All Riley could do was nod, accepting an apology from a toddler that felt entirely unnecessary.

“Good,” said Bertrand, “Now go wash your hands and get cleaned up for lunch.”

Bartie scampered out of the room, turning to his left in the hallway.

“I offered to play with him, Bertrand.”

“Well, he was told that you were coming to visit Caroline. He should have known better than to monopolize your time.”

Riley opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell grabbed her wrist and shook his head. 

“How are you, by the way? I apologize for not being there to greet you and Drake.”

“I’m good, Bertrand,” she said as she pushed herself up on her feet, walking over and giving him a loose hug. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Yes, thank you. Drake and Savannah have Caroline in the private lounge if you want to go meet her. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check and make sure Bartie isn’t making a complete mess in the bathroom.”

And with that, Bertrand was off, following the path down the hallway that his son had just taken.

“Yikes,” said Riley as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Maxwell, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction. “That is another reason I made sure I didn’t have any need to be on set or in LA for any writers meetings for a few months.”

“He’s more of a tight ass than ever.”

“I think he’s very anxious because he missed this part of Bartie’s life. The amount of research he did and the number of parenting books he read is insane. But any time any little thing isn’t what he expects, he flips out.”

“What does Savannah think about that?” Riley asked, following Maxwell down the stairs.

“Either she’s too sleep deprived to notice, or she’s just pretending not to see it. I decided to give him two months to settle into things. If he’s still snapping at everyone then, well… I guess I’ll have to stage an intervention or something.”

“Wow. Well at least you’re here to look out for the kid.”

“Yup, figure I can keep things normal-ish for him. Though I will say between watching Bertrand spiral and hearing Caroline’s shrieks, any faint consideration I might have given to parenthood has gone straight out the window.”

Riley laughed, prompting Maxwell to keep going. “I’m serious! I know I told you I was pretty sure I was good being the fun uncle, but these past few weeks have really locked in that decision. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Bartie is right - Caroline is boring. And loud. And I am so glad she is not my responsibility.”

All Riley could do was laugh more. “Do you need me to make up an excuse for you so you don’t need to be in the same room with her?”

Maxwell nudged her with his shoulder. “Oh, laugh it up! I don’t have any issues with her. She just confirmed that fatherhood is not for me, no matter how cute she is when she isn’t screaming her head off.”

At that point, they entered the lounge, so Riley dropped any further teasing she had for Maxwell. “Hey, Savannah. Congrats!” she said, walking across the room and giving her a hug.

“Thank you, Riley. It’s so good to see you!” Savannah replied as they pulled apart. Riley moved to sit down next to Drake on the couch, who was cradling a baby against his shoulder.

“This must be Caroline,” she said, watching as Drake tapped his hand against her back lightly.

“Either that or I have a lot of explaining to do,” Drake said, glancing over at her. Riley just smiled and nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“Drake, why don’t you let Riley hold her?” Savannah asked. “She should get to meet her aunt, too.”

“Do you want to?” Drake asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” said Riley, reaching over and helping him peel the tiny little girl off his chest, nestling her into her own arms.

Caroline was awake, her eyes roving around as Riley shifted back onto the couch more fully to try and get comfortable. After a few seconds, they seemed to settle on Riley’s face. All she could really do was stare back, taking in this child, this baby girl who might not have been planned, but would certainly be loved by so many.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stranger right now. But in a couple of decades, I’ll be the one you come to when you want nightclub recommendations in New York City.”

“Hey, I want in on that invite,” said Maxwell as Savannah let out a few chuckles. Riley glanced over at Drake, expecting him to be rolling his eyes or shaking his head, but instead was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. He was staring at her holding Caroline with such passion, such longing, she felt almost exposed. All she could think to do was drop her eyes back to the baby, not wanting to dwell on what that meant at that moment.

Unfortunately, Savannah must have noticed Drake as well, because she said, “Oh, I see that look. ‘A while’ my ass. I bet you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year.”

Drake let out a sort of sputtering cough at his sister’s comment, but before he could say anything, could so much as get a word out, Riley felt her own mouth opening. Her own response spilled out so glibly, without a second of thought. It was almost like she heard someone else saying the words, even as she knew she was the one speaking.

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

She felt Drake stiffen beside her, saw Maxwell shifting in his seat, and heard Savannah mutter out a little apology, but all of that was just background noise as her brain screamed at her. How could she have been so fucking stupid? What possessed her to say that? Or at least to phrase it like that? There were ways to shut down Savannah’s prying without implying that Drake had baby fever and she wanted no part of it.

The uncomfortable silence in the room was broken as Bertrand and Bartie entered. “Lunch is ready in the dining room,” said Bertrand, gesturing to the door behind him. Bertrand then stepped over to Riley. “I can go put her down,” he said, gesturing at his daughter still in Riley’s arms.

“Oh, sure thing,” said Riley, passing him Caroline before standing up. Savannah, Maxwell, and Bartie had already left the room, but Drake was still seated, his eyes locked on his knee that was bouncing up and down.

“Drake, I-” she started as soon as Bertrand had stepped out, extending her hand to help him to his feet. But Drake ignored the gesture, pushing his hands into the cushions of the couch instead.

“I’m hungry. Let’s just go eat, Riley.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-.”

“It’s fine, Riley, Really. We can talk later” He nodded at her and started walking towards the door, leaving Riley to follow after him. And more than the brush off, more than his refusal to hold her hand, the fact that he’d not called her ‘Liu’ let her know that she had made a huge fucking mess.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @twinkleallnight @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff  

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know  @iplaydrake

ICWAM: @thequeenofpixels @sunnyxdazed @sammie0220​

[themanip]

yellow roses

⤳ blurb: lee felix and his seven friends are chosen to go to america and attend a private high school. with only three able to speak english fluently, they get assigned another student to help them navigate american high school. they quickly come to realize that the sweet girl who speaks korean is much more than who she shows during school hours.

⤳ pairing: lee felix + willow arroyo ⤳ genre: romance, coming of age, drama, fluff, eventual smut, very angsty ⤳ warnings: chan being super sweet, cursing, mentions of bullying, not much to worry about this chapter ⤳ word count: a little over 3.1k 

"Can you turn that music down, please?"

Ronnie tapped her shoulder softly, which surprised the young girl. Swiveling around and yanking a headphone out of her ear, she crinkled her eyebrows at the balding man. "Sorry?"

"Can you turn it down? It's so loud I can hear it," her manager stared at her with blank eyes, and she nodded gently. Pulling her left hand from the swamp of dishes and dirty water, she dried her hand on her apron, and clicking the volume button to a lower setting. "I get it, Winnie. It's not the greatest job in the world, and you wanna listen to music and your grumpy manager is being an ass," she let out a soft chuckle at his words.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be an ass, I'm just exhausted."

"It's alright, I get it. I worked like you did when I was your age, and I know how much it sucked. It was just better for me because I got paid double what you do," he smiled softly, clapping his hands together.

"Minimum wage is no laughing matter, Ronnie. I eat one-fifth of a lemon bar for lunch everyday," she eyed him fake angrily, and his eyes softened. "Really?"

"No, what the hell," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Usually it's a bagel or something,"

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking his cap off and running his hands through his hair. "If you wanna close up a bit earlier, I can come in at five instead of seven,"

Her hands halted as she scrubbed a plate, and she smiled gently. "No, it's okay," she finished washing the last dish, and set it on the drying rack. "You have Eliot now, and I'm sure Olivia isn't getting much sleep without you home during the night, so go home, and take care of your son,"

She melted at the thought of his newborn son, and how beautiful he is. She wasn't extremely good with children, but babies made her absolutely swoon. She also knew how hard newborns were to deal with, and having Ron not home to help probably made things hell for his wife, Olivia.

"You sure?"

One solid nod and a tired grin sent Ronnie on his way home, knowing he would recieve a full night's sleep. Despite the intense amount of work, she loved the diner. It was always warm, she always had at least one plate of food if she needed it, and Ronnie cut her a lot of slack.

She dried her hands off on her apron once more, and headed to the front of the restaurant near the island of stools. It was past midnight now, and occasionally there were some older customers who came in drunk, or just got off work. It seemed to be a quiet night, so she figured it wouldn't be too bad if she took a quick pee break.

On the other end of the diner were the restrooms, and she scrambled over there. Her footsteps and the dark shadows in the bathrooms often creeped her out, she went in, did her business, and left. Once she opened the door, she spotted two bewildered teenage boys at the front door, looking around with wide eyes.

"Hey, are you guys open? I saw it said twenty-four hours but—"

He had an Australian accent, and it made Willow purr on the inside. "Yes! Yes we are, I'm sorry," she sighed in embarassment, and rushed to the front of the diner. Her boots, which usually help her feet with the consistent standing, are now a nuisance as she stumbles across the floor.

"Oh no worries, we know it's kind of late,"

As Willow stumbled next to the boy, who she now saw another boy standing next to him with red cheeks. His accent was beautiful, she thought. He was also inhumanely good looking. The one who'd spoken to her had darker brown hair, on the wavier side. He had a larger nose, and his lips were quite full. He was beautiful.

The other one stood silent, and Willow smiled and held menus. "Booth or do you wanna sit at the island?"

"Uh, booth please," the brunette spoke up once more, and she silently led them to a booth that was clean and somewhat in the middle of the restaurant. Gentle background music filled the silence, and all that was heard was soft scuffling as the two boys followed the only girl working.

She sat them down, and the other blonde boy smiled sheepishly. "Here are your menus, can I get you something to drink first?"

"Can I get a coke, please?"

That time, it was the boy who'd she never heard speak. His voice was deeper, almost curiously soft.  The brunette spoke once more, "Do you have tea?"

"Of course, sir. Unsweetened or sweetened?"

"Oh, sweetened please," he nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "I will be right back with your drinks, take a look over the menu and you can let me know what you want at your earliest convenience," Willow smiled genuinely, and she bowed slightly. She didn't even mean to, she just felt odd alone, at midnight, with two teenage boys in her diner.

"She called you sir, Chan," the blonde boy whispered to the one opposite him, this Chan character. "She's really nice, we have to leave a good tip," Chan responded, and that's all Willow managed to hear before she started making their drinks.

The next hour or so dragged on, with Chan, Willow, and the other figure, whom she'd learn is Felix, and her coming back and forth to collect orders, serve seconds, cook said seconds, and giving refills. Each time, Chan would apologize for inconveniencing her as if it wasn't her job, and she would smile softly. She could tell that he would never be rude to fast food workers or people just intending to do their job.

Usually, there would be a chef, or at least someone who can cook, and at least one other person working. The past few weeks had been Willow mostly by herself, picking up extra shifts, and as long as it wasn't busy, she could manage cooking and waittressing. She got paid double time, and she picked up overtime on days where Ron did not want to come in early. He also didn't want to burden Helena, one of his other over-nighters, who'd just gotten back on her feet after a house fire.

She wasn't a bad cook, and she was quick on her feet. She could hold down her own, and Ronnie knew that. Hence he trusted her with his entire diner, on most nights, and to hold the fort down. She would now easily bring home paychecks over a grand, with taxes taken out every week. As her two very cute customers continued eating their seconds, she scribbled messily on her notepad on the counter.

She stood on the inside of the island counter, and was counting expenses. She had a lot of shit to worry about, bills included. Gas, electric, dog food, groceries. She could take maybe three hundred dollars off her bill fund thanks to her mother, but it still didn't help in the scheme of things.

Frustrated, she scribbled out her list. She had to worry about this later, there was no need to worry before she got her paycheck. Her eyes felt heavy, and she tried to rub the sleepiness from them. She had at least five more hours before she could even think about leaving, and she still had to clean this place from top to bottom.

"Do you think we could get the check, please?"

Chan's timid voice broke her from her daze, and her face reddened in embarassment. She had forgotten they were here. Setting her pen down hastily, she shuffled over to grab the printed out receipt, and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zone off like that," she set the check down, and took notice of their neatly stacked plates with silverware crossed on top. Her cleanup would be very easy, and she absolutely loved when she had customers like this. "Oh, no worries," Chan smiled and eyed the check. "Is it okay if I take these?"

Pointing towards the stack of plates, the other boy, Felix, quickly grabbed them and handed them to her. Underneath the plates, their fingers touched briefly. A sheepish smile followed from both, and she quickly scurried to put the plates in the dishwasher. All she had to do was get them checked out, clean the three plates, clean the milkshake cups, the soda cups, and sweep. Some general maintenance, and if nobody else came in, she was in for a decent night.

"Hey, you didn't charge us for the milkshakes," Chan mentioned softly, slight accusatory tone. "They're on the house," Willow smiled back from the bar island, and Chan cocked his head in confusion, "if that's okay,"

"That's really kind, thank you," once again, a gentle, dimple-filled smile from Chan, and a sheepish, red-cheeked one from Felix. She wished to hear the blonde boy speak again, his voice so rich, so deep. He seemed sweet.

Her first thought was that they were boyfriends. It angered her, but only in a way that two of the cutest guys she'd possibly ever seen were together. It was adorable, to say the least. Little did she know, they were definitely not together.

Willow came to collect the money, and Felix stared up at her. "Are you from around here?"

Her eyes widened, and her mind went blank. That was usually how someone asked if she would be missed had she been kidnapped. "That sounded really creepy, I'm sorry," he clarified, and she loosened her shoulders a bit, "We are new to town, and we don't know where Glarien Avenue is. We just moved in, and can't find our way back. The GPS says the street doesn't exist," he finished quickly, and she nodded gently, deciding on whether or not to tell him.

"Oh, uh," she bit her lip, "the street got a new sign on accident, and the GPS or whatever national database that programs the information never got updated, I guess. If you pull out of here, take a left and go forward like three-ish blocks. There's gonna be a bright yellow house, and once you see that turn right, and then take a sharp right again and if you just keep going down you should see Glarien. If you get lost, just come back,"

It took only five minutes for the two Australian boys to clear out, and for Willow to finally take a breath. As she took care of all of the dishes, she went for the check last. Their total was somewhat cheap, twenty-three dollars, for two full meals, two sodas, a sweet tea, and extra sides of fries.

As she counted out the money, she was thoroughly confused. There were two twenties, and two fives. There was fifty dollars here, and their meal was less than thirty. On the check was a small note.

Really good food, really good service. We hope you have an amazing night, and whatever is left after our tab is paid is yours. Thank you!

An exasperated sigh left her mouth, and she sat in the booth where the two boys sat. Staring at the money in front of her, her chest felt heavy. All of her emotions poured out, and the thought that a strangers kindness' brought her to tears was shameful yet elating. That would be three less hours she would have to work, three more hours of sleep, or soccer practice, or studying. More time to not stress over bills.

She sat there for a few minutes, breathing in and out, as deep as she could. Wiping her face of any tear remnants, she stood up, collecting the money in hand. As she eyed the clock, she sighed inwardly. It was only 2 AM.

A little less than five hours later, she was walking into the doors of LaPrine High School, with at least two hundred other students. For seven in the morning, teenagers were pretty damn annoying. Squeals and loud murmurs was everything that she could hear, and it made her turn her headphones up louder.

For a private school full of snobby inbreds, there were some okay kids there. Most of them were the scholarship kids, who'd had their fares paid for, like Willow. If someone found out that you were a scholar student, you'd immediately be laughed at and taunted. She managed to keep hers a secret, though. She excelled, and she made sure to throw in an occasional snicker when needed to prove she was just one among the bunch.

She wasn't popular by any means, but everyone knew her. She was a suck up, that was for sure. Every teacher liked her, her grades were impeccable, and she was an all-star soccer player. She managed to have better stats than Ian Rewns, the past all star soccer legend, and he wasn't even a midfielder.

She also was known to stay pretty quiet, and to herself socially. She had a few casual friends, some classmates she talked to, but nobody really close. She was okay with that, she was pretty busy anyways. She had school from eight in the morning to three, then soccer practice from four to six-thirty, and if there wasn't a game, she'd go home around seven, and at eleven she would go work the graveyard shift at the diner. On average, she'd get four to five hours of sleep. Friends, or a social life, just take away from that time.

As she stopped at her locker to pull out her textbooks, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Ms. Arroyo," it was her principal, Mrs. Samson. "Can you come with me, please?"

It was only two weeks into the school year, so there wasn't much she could get in trouble for. Maybe it was to rearrange her classes? No, every class she had was only alotted for that specific hour, there was no way. Her tuition? God, she hoped not.

"How are your classes so far?" as they rounded the office hallway, Mrs. Samson was making casual conversation. The clicking of her heels intimidated Willow a bit, but she'd known her for over a year. She wasn't as scary as everyone made her out to be. "They're good, I just finally settled in,"

"I know this year seems like it may be hard, but by the looks of your GPA next year, I think you'll be satisfied with it." Praise made Willow purr like a kitten, and her entire body tingled at the realization that this probably wasn't bad.

"Me too," she replied softly, and Mrs. Samson held the door to her office open for her, and they stepped in. Her office was tidy, shades of light blue and gray, and was a little too cold for Willow's liking. "Come and take a seat, hun,"

Unsure still, she took a seat. Her back didn't touch the seat, her anxiety from not knowing why she was there overtaking her comfortability. "You're not in trouble, don't worry," the older woman smiled at her as she took her own seat opposite her desk.

"So, I know you are a busy girl," she looked at her with eyes of compassion, and a soft smile decorated her face. "I have a proposition for you," she continued.

"Do you happen to remember when you did student tours for the incoming freshman?" Her first year at LaPrine, she was allowed to do student tours as community service hours for NHS. She was actually so good at it, and the organization of it, that she got to do it again this summer, and handled it all by herself without any staff. It was pulled off effortlessly.

"Of course, this year too," Willow nodded in agreement, and she waited for the woman to continue. "Well, if you agree to help me for a while this year, I will make sure all of your community hours are taken care of, and anything else you need help with will be considered done,"

Willow wanted her to get to the point.

"What is it?"

"Remember on your National Honor Society resume, you said you're bilingual and speak more than just English? You weren't lying, right?"

Willow laughed so hard she nearly bust a lung, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Mrs. Samson, my last name is Arroyo. But of course, I can speak more than just Spanish, though,"

"You listed Korean, correct?" she eyed a piece of paper, which was most likely her aforementioned resume.

"Yeah, I can speak it somewhat fluently, and I can read Hangul well, I sometimes have trouble writing it, though. I don't imagine I'll be writing Korean letters, will I?" Willow's Hangul was absolutely preposterous, any native Korean would agree.

"No, that's silly," The elder crossed her hands together, and leaned forward. "Starting tomorrow, we have eight foreign exchange students coming from Korea, and you are an exemplar student who also happens to speak said language. One is a native English speaker, and two others speak it fluently. The rest can manage only a conversation or two, so you can understand our worry. I'm sure it would be nice for them to have a friend as well,"

"For the rest of the year?"

"Yes, but I'm sure that they'll manage to speak more fluently as the year progresses," and Willow shook her head, "I'm not worried about the language, I just don't know how that would work,"

"How so?"

"Well, are they all girls? Are they boys? Is it a mix? And won't their classes be much different than mine?"

"They're all boys, ranging from sophomore to seniors, and they're super sweet. Very respectful boys, from what I hear. I promise you, I will make it worth it if you help me out, and at least be a friend and reliable student to these boys. And no, they will not all have the same classes as you, but it will probably be courses you have taken, save for the seniors."

"I will also put in a good word for you to Mr. Ramirez, and how that head position on the team should be an exemplar student and player," she mentioned the soccer coach, and Willow cringed inwardly. She hadn't spoke Korean, in full length sentences, in over a year. She could remember it, but she'd be rusty.

"Okay, but you owe me one. No, more like eight; you owe me eight, Mrs. Samson."

"Deal. Come in tomorrow early if you can, and you can give them the tour. I will be here as well, so if you want to meet me in the cafeteria, I will bring you coffee."

"I like my coffees with extra creamer and sugar."

"Done."

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 04

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m sorry i’ve taken so long to update, i’ve started my online internship and for the past 24 hours i’ve been looking at papers about various medicines so i had to give myself a break 😂 hope you enjoy this one xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Sebastian hated to miss the opportunity to see Y/N go through a whole lot of various dresses, however, working with clueless idiots meant he had to drive straight to his place for an impromptu meeting. It was boring to say the least and at the end of it, he didn’t feel like getting dressed up with a silly mask and host a ball in the reception of some sleezy hotel. However, appearances mattered and although most people had known he was bethroted prior to before him even knowing him, he still had to parade around with Genevieve as if they were the happiest couple on Earth. They weren’t and they would never be.

For starters, Sebastian despised the tactics applied by the Forrests when running their business with absolute trust in everyone who worked for them. Additionally, both his prior encounters with Genevieve had been awful and none of them were really interested in keeping the facade of happy couple behind closed doors.

However, he had to admit that having Y/N parading around as a direct consequence of his future wedding was no bad thing. He had a sly smile as he sat against his chair, thinking about her. He found her delightfully naive and extremely sheltered for someone who followed Gwen around like a lost puppy. There was something extremely captivating in seeing a woman who was untainted by the environment she lived in and due to his extremely good sharp-eye he had mostly memorised her reactions. How she would bring her hand up to only her left cheek when she felt embarrassed, the constant lip bitting which on its own could possibly attract all the unwanted attention in a room, the constant pulling and smoothing of her clothing fabrics whenever standing next to someone of power ... If it was an act, well, then she was a very good actress.

He would’ve probably been stuck in the mindless act of thinking about someone who’d probably run to the hills at the mere thought of being intimate with him, had it not been for the clock in the wall showing that it was already time for him to possibly get ready.

Sebastian got changed out of his suit into a new one, grabbing the mask on his way out and proceeded to pace the floors of his living room expecting Gwen. Of course, part of him was only pacing the floors and not in the car because he wanted to take a quick peak at his fiancée’s handmaid but he wouldn’t admit that to himself. At least out loud. This was quickly thrown out the window once he saw Gwen coming down the stairs in her red gown, black satin mask in place, followed by her bodyguard and not by Y/N. 

     - I see your shadow is missing. - he asked in a teasing manner, something Gwen didn’t take too lightly, rolling her eyes as per usual. 

     - Y/N is getting ready. Can we please go to the car and get this charade over and done with? - the heiress huffed, holding the fabric of her dress slightly up so she wouldn’t trip on it. Sebastian decided not to comment on it, thinking that poking the lion would only make it for a worse evening, so he ordered one of the countless bodyguards he kept in his penthouse to drive Y/N. The man nodded, as men usually did whenever he gave them orders and with that Sebastian left with his bride-to-be. 

Y/N on the other hand had finished setting her hair in place, sliding in a few star shaped pins onto her hair which had been a gift from Dan once she graduated from university along with Gwen. She extremely cherished them and thought there was no better occasion to wear them but tonight. 

Her eyes slightly gazed onto her reflection in the mirror, thinking she looked exactly like what she used to believe princesses looked like in fairytales and couldn’t help but slightly smile at the sight. Once she stepped out of the room, ready to supposedly join the rest of the people downstairs, she was met with another bodyguard who gestured for her to follow him. 

    - Did Gwen leave already? - she questioned, her instinct of making sure her friend was safe on the back of her head screaming at her. 

    - Miss Forrest and Mr. Stan left early. - he replied in the usual monotonous voice that didn’t leave room for many questions. - We shan’t take too long. 

Meanwhile, Sebastian was having a tedious time. Wherever he turned to there were either people trying to lend money from him, talk business with him, or congratulate him on his engagement, all things that made him want them removed from his inner circle. Yet again, he can’t just get rid of people because they’re a nuisance, usually they have to give him a reason, which after some time they always do. 

He knew exactly what he had signed up for when he agreed to this ludicrous show off party, he had signed up for a night of fake kissing and fake laughing all while wearing a stupid last minute Phantom of the Opera mask he had from the last time he’d seen it. It was a pretty boring night except for the champagne flutes that luckily seemed to find him whenever he felt like putting a bullet into someone’s head for talking too long. 

Contrarily, Genevieve seemed to thrive in these functions as shown by the way that she was introducing herself in several conversions and, very unprofessionally, flirting with various mob family’s bodyguards. It wasn’t like Sebastian really cared, having a unfaithful wife wasn’t something new, however he still would like her to be at least respectful. 

His eyes roamed over the crowd, champagne flute in hand, as he noticed the commotion that settled at the entrance of the room. From the door emerged one of his bodyguards and in front of him Y/N. He couldn’t help but stare at her, his brain explaining that behaviour by telling him he could do so as he had paid for the dress. She stood slightly smaller than the crowd due to her constant habit of looking down but he could still see her perfectly clear in a ankle length beige dress covered in lines of pearls which matched her equally beige shoes. Just like everyone else she had a masquerade mask wrapped around her face with a bow made of black ribbon. 

The moment Gwen set her eyes on her friend, she was pulling her into her own social circle leaving Sebastian to observe her. As per usual, she didn’t speak much unless addressed and even when addressed she would bounce the conversation to someone else, hands always slightly tucked in front of her stomach, and a look that told him she probably disliked this party more than she did.

Social gatherings weren’t Y/N’s cup of tea, despite going to at least more than a hundred of them in her life time. She always thought them to be extremely fake with people putting on several different personalities throughout the evening in order to entice various upper ranked mobsters. 

     - We must discuss business someday, Miss Forrest. - one man pulled Genevieve away from Y/N leaving her by her lonesome. Her fingers drew over the top of the champagne flute looking around at everyone. Some people she knew, some were men close to Mr. Forrest with their new wives, some their sons. There were some people she had seen from hit lists and others from birthday presents. Her eyes laid on Mr. Stan and his perfectly tailored navy suit. His posture screamed power, dominance and authority without even trying, even with that matte white half mask. 

She cleared her throat, turning her head to face the opposite wall once her gaze was met by his. Y/N couldn’t stare at him, he made her nervous without saying a single word. Funny thing was, she did not know why he made her nervous. Sure he was a mob boss with probably a few kills under his belt but she had grown up around that type of people, yet he made her nervous. He made her feel like digging her own hiding hole whenever he look slightly in her direction. 

    - Miss Y/N ... - came a voice from behind her, making her drop the flute on the ground. Despite the noise, no one turned their head, too busy in their own conversation. - Didn’t mean to frighten you.

    - Mr. Sta... Sebastian, good evening. - she took a step back, noticing how close he was to her. He was close enough she could smell his cologne, the type of smell that made a girl want to wrap herself in a guy’s scented clothing. - I spoke with the saleswoman and she said I could return the dress later. 

    - It’s a gift, angel. You should keep it, it suits you. 

    - This is the type of gift you give to Gwen, not to me. - she smoothed over the fabric of her dress.

    - Miss Forrest has enough dresses as it is. Speaking of gifts ... - his hand went to his pocket, pulling a golden chain. - I believe this is yours. 

    - My necklace. - her heart swelled up as she saw him hold her golden necklace. Mindlessly, she wrapped her arms around him, taking him by shock. Normally, he’d have the head of whomever tried to hug him. - I can’t believe you found it. 

    - You dropped it on the club. I’ve been meaning to return it but it passed my mind. - he handed it over to her who like an over excited child getting a new piece of clothing for Christmas, immediately wrapped it around her own neck. However, it was slightly hard for her to clasp the necklace herself which automatically and mindlessly led Sebastian to hold both ends of the chain in his hands, her hand slightly grazing his as it left the clasp and rested upon her abdomen. 

It was a rather easy clasp leading the moment to be over in less than a second if so, however his hands instead of returning to stand politely over his pockets, he instead left them softly against her warm shoulders, a stark contrast to his cold ones. This contrast did not go unnoticed by her, her skin trembling and shivering at the touch that seemed to last a whole millennium.

    - Uhm ... - she cleared her throat, slowly turning around to face him. - Ho...how are you enjoying your evening?

    - I would rather be doing anything else, Miss Y/N. - he chuckled darkly, grabbing another flute as a tray passed by. 

    - You should call me Y/N if I’m to call you Sebastian. - she walked alongside him, through crowds of people which like the red sea to Moses would part so he could pass through. - It’s only fair.

    - Fairness isn’t exactly my strongest suit, angel.

tag list: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance, Chapter 3: Boundaries and Text Messages

Regular weekly update! Look at me go! This one took me ages to write for absolutely no reason, and then ages to edit because the AO3 text editor kicked my ass. Hopefully the formatting isn’t a dumpster fire, and hopefully you enjoy! Sidenote: you are always welcome to scream about Hotch, nsforwork or not, in my inbox.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Summary:  You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 3, Boundaries and Text Messages

Chapter Summary: You discover that the unsub isn't what he seems, and overstep some boundaries you probably shouldn't have.

Words: 2291

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Back in Hotch’s hotel room, the three of you were sitting on the ground, surrounded by textbooks and torn-out pages covered in the seemingly mindless scrawls of the suspect. Well, you and Morgan were on the floor; Hotch was at the desk chair. Hotch wasn’t really a sit-on-the-floor type of person.

Morgan groaned and rubbed his temples for the third time in an hour. “It means nothing, man. He researched all this shit so he could commit the crimes in a way that would fuck with us.”

Hotch sighed and nodded in agreement. “It certainly seems that way. That explains the inconsistencies in the profile. However, we can still understand the subject by the signatures he chose.” He pointed to a scribbled note in a textbook section about the psychology surrounding different methods of murder: “Slashing throat? Effective + easy.”

He looked at you. “What can this note tell us about our subject?”

“Um, it doesn’t sound like the cause of death is important to him. Like it’s just something he needs to do. A necessity. Right?” you responded, somewhat unprepared for this sort of pop quiz.

“Exactly. And this tells us more about him. This isn’t about the kill; it’s about what he does beforehand. It’s about the rape,” Hotch said. “Don’t be so humble. You know more than you think you do.”

Your face felt hot, and you looked at the floor - an increasingly regular occurrence around him.

Morgan spoke up, still visibly exasperated. “If he spent so much time trying to throw us off, why did he pick victims that were so easy to tie to him?”

“He’s an idiot?” you offered before you could stop yourself.

Really professional. Holy shit, please shut up.

The faintest trace of a smirk graced Hotch’s face. “You’re not entirely wrong. He isn’t particularly intelligent, based on the information we’ve gathered so far. Not nearly as complex as we initially assumed.”

“Yeah, well, either way, he’s a nut. And Gracia can’t find anything about where he might be, and I’m starving,” Morgan said, standing up. “I’m gonna pick something up. You guys want anything?”

“Get me whatever looks good,” replied Hotch, focused on whatever written ramblings he was currently dissecting.

“You?” Morgan asked you.

“Just get me whatever you get him,” you said. “Thanks, Morgan.”

Morgan nodded and grabbed his jacket. “Be back soon.”

He closed the door, leaving you alone with your boss that you definitely didn’t have an erotic dream about the night before. You tried to focus on the textbook, but the words swam. After a few minutes, you huffed and set the book down.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for him right now instead of reading his weird psychobabble?”

Hotch looked up from his work with a raised eyebrow.

You continued, “I just mean, isn’t it more important to stop him from killing again? We already know he did it based on the stuff he wrote in the books, we don’t need to fully understand his motivations to confirm that.”

“Yes,” Hotch said, “but these offenders rarely cease their behavior out of nowhere. His appetite is alarming; he took three victims at once. We don’t know if those were even his first assaults or kills. Given that Garcia couldn’t locate any family or friends, we have no idea where he might be, so our time is best spent learning how to predict his actions and respond if someone else goes missing.”

He was correct, of course, but it just didn’t feel right - like you were sitting and waiting for something terrible to happen before you could do anything. Hotch must have sensed your frustration, because he leaned forward towards you, elbows resting on his knees, and continued in a slightly softer tone, “I know you feel helpless. We all do in situations like these. But trust me, we’re accomplishing more here than we would be trying to canvas the entire city.”

“I know,” you mumbled. “You’re right. It’s just, seeing the photos of those girls, knowing the type of person that’s out there, it’s hard to convince myself I’m doing enough just sitting here.”

“You’re not just sitting here, and you know that,” Hotch said, sternly. “You’re doing your job. People will die with or without us; our job isn’t to save them. It’s to catch the people that kill them.”

“But how do you deal with it?” you asked, growing more bold than you probably should be. You weren’t just asking about this case anymore, and you weren’t sure whether or not you wanted him to understand that. You wanted to ask him how he did it - how he woke up every morning alone, how he suffered an unimaginable loss at the hands of some of the purest evil society could produce and went back to the job that showed him more of that evil every day.

Judging by the hard set of his jaw, he knew exactly what you were getting at.

“I do it because I have to,” he said. Every word sounded measured, like he was explaining something he had dozens of times before.

“You don’t,” you whispered, but you knew you were wrong, at least to him. You knew he felt it was his responsibility to shoulder the burden so other families didn’t have to experience what he did. You had a background in psychology, and this was pretty low hanging fruit. A therapist would have a field day with him, but you weren’t a therapist, and you certainly weren’t in any position to tell your boss, a leader with decades of experience in the field, that he shouldn’t be taking all of this on.

He evidently didn’t find your comment worthy of a response, as he went back to picking through the pile of evidence. You’d hit a nerve though - his posture was more rigid, his almost-permanent scowl even more pronounced. The tension built with every second of silence, and you suddenly wished you could go back and erase the conversation.

Thinking better of trying to repair the damage you’d done, you kept the subsequent conversation focused on the profile. By the time Morgan got back, you had a fairly good idea of the suspect’s psychology, and after a quick break for fried rice and a video chat with the team, JJ set up to deliver a press conference from the police precinct in Vegas. Hotch switched on the news on the hotel TV, and you sat back to watch.

“The man currently suspected of committing the triple homicide that left bodies here in Vegas, in Phoenix, and in San Diego is an obsessive sexual predator,” JJ said to a waiting crowd of reporters and police. “He displays characteristics of a stalker, and women who interact with him may describe him as creepy or off-putting. Though murder is not his ultimate goal - in fact, he may not be completely comfortable with the act - he views it as a necessary step to dispose of his victims post-assault.”

“Do we usually do this?” you whispered to Morgan, “Release the whole profile publicly?”

“Nah, but with this guy, we want him to know we’re onto him,” he said back, trying not to disturb Hotch, who was watching JJ’s address intently. “He put so much effort into throwing us off, we gotta let him know we see through his bullshit. It’s the only play we got right now, considering we got no idea where he is.”

You turned back to the screen, where JJ had moved on to talking about the suspect. “His name is Ellory Matthews,” she said, holding up his ID photo. “He’s a 24 year old white male, about 5’9” and 200 pounds. We have strong reason to suspect he is involved and currently trying to evade the police. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous, so if you see him, please do not approach and call 911 immediately.”

Hotch, apparently having heard enough, stood up and turned off the TV. “Hopefully someone has seen him and can tell us where he is. If not, this should be enough to scare him into making a mistake.”

You tried not to think about the fact that a mistake still probably involved someone being hurt or killed.

“Get some rest. I’ll clean up here. Morgan, before you head to bed, call Garcia again and see if she’s found anything that can point us to where he might be.”

“Got it, I’ll let you know. Night, Hotch,” Morgan said.

You echoed Morgan and headed back to your room.

____________

After getting ready and tucking into bed, you found yourself completely unable to fall asleep. The conversation with Hotch kept replaying in your head - how resentful he’d looked when you asked him how he does his job, knowing that you were asking about it in relation to his family members’ deaths. He was a reasonable man, and you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong on the surface, but you shouldn't have pushed it, especially since the events you were referencing had been relayed to you by JJ in private. You weren’t even sure he wanted you to know about what happened to his wife and kid.

Shit, I might have really fucked up.

You rolled over and yanked your phone off the charger, and before you had time to convince yourself it was a bad idea, you sent him a message.

Me: Hey, sorry to bother you, I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize if I offended you during our conversation earlier. You’re an incredible agent and boss and I didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t be in the field for any reason.

You scrolled through Instagram mindlessly, waiting for his response, but he texted back almost immediately. Knowing him, he hadn’t even made an attempt to go to bed; he was probably still up reviewing the case.

Agent Hotchner: I understand. No need to apologize. I knew you’d hear about what happened sooner or later, and it’s natural to question my judgement, considering. I hope my actions in the field haven’t done anything to lend credence to that concern.

A weight lifted from your shoulders at his response, knowing he wasn’t angry with you.

Me: No, not at all, Sir. You and the team have been incredible and I’ve already learned so much. If I ask a question, please know it’s for my own learning rather than questioning your decisions!

Agent Hotchner: I’m glad to hear that. Please always feel free to ask questions.

Me: Thank you so much! Will do!

Satisfied with conversation, you set the phone back on the nightstand and rolled over. A few moments later, though, it buzzed again, and you looked at the screen.

Agent Hotchner: “Sir” is a little formal for text messages though, isn’t it?

You blinked, struggling to process the tone of the message. Was Aaron Hotchner making a joke? You messaged him back hesitantly.

Me: Can never be too formal! :) Is there something you’d prefer?

Agent Hotchner: Oh, I’m sure you can figure something out.

Your eyes widened at that, and you sat up in bed, staring at your screen. If you thought he was messing with you before, this was more; this was almost… flirting.

Ok, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, you thought, trying to calm your embarrassingly high heart rate. He’s older. Way older. He probably doesn’t text that much, and he probably doesn’t realize how that came off.

Me: I’ll let you know when I do.

Agent Hotchner: Please do. Sleep well.

You placed the phone back on the bedside table, almost shaking with adrenaline. What was wrong with you lately? First you have a sex dream about your boss (who’s old enough to be your parent, you might add), and now you’re freaking out because he texted you something that could possibly be, in some interpretations, construed as flirting.

Hotch was attractive, of course. You’d have to be an idiot not to admit that. He was handsome in a way you didn’t see often - not the obvious, in-your-face stunning like Morgan was, or even the adorable, put-together look that Reid gave off. Hotch was old-school handsome, like he should be in a black and white movie smoking a cigarette while his doting wife made him dinner.

Or something. It’s not like you’d thought about this before.

But even if he was handsome to such a degree that seeing him with two buttons on his dress shirt undone nearly gave you a heart attack, leaning into this fantasy you were unconsciously creating where your relationship was anything more than boss and intern had the potential to destroy your career. Hotch could read people like a book, and if you were unable to conduct yourself normally and effectively at work for any reason, your internship and aspirations would be tossed out to the street.

Time to stop being an idiot.

Sometime during your mental dissection of the text conversation and its implications, you must have fallen asleep. You were awoken to a still-dark room and someone gently squeezing your shoulder, saying your name.

“Wha- oh, it’s you. I’m so sorry, did I miss something? What’s going on?” you asked, still not fully conscious.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hotch replied, standing over you. You were suddenly thankful for the dark room and the blanket that were covering your lack of pants. “I tried calling you and knocking, but you didn’t respond. I figured you’d forgotten to turn your ringer on.”

“Shit, yeah, I did. I’m so sorry,” you said, sitting up. “What did you need?”

“It’s Ellory Matthews. Police caught him trying to kidnap another girl. He’s in custody.”

[purplesauris]

Bottled Delights

Higher Vampire Jaskier has taken my heart AND my only remaining braincell, sorry. It’s also my very first chapter fic, so hold on for the ride! I’m going to update every tuesday until all four chapters are out!

Read it on AO3 here!

Jaskier was beginning to age. Geralt hadn’t noticed over the years that they’d traveled together, but Yennefer had pointed out wrinkles that weren’t there before, and Geralt had found himself looking. A spare glance while they sat around the fire, when Jaskier was plucking at his lute and humming some silly tune. Stared when Jaskier walked backwards, grinning wide and talking animatedly about a monster fight Geralt had let him watch. They were around his eyes, crows eyes from smiling so much, so bright, and Geralt didn’t think that they were really anything bad. Enough for Yennefer to tease him about, sure, but Jaskier didn’t seem to care much about them, and it made Geralt all the more aware of how truly human Jaskier was. For years he’d seemed ageless, content to walk along before him, but now he lingered sometimes, slowed down to take in a sight like it’d be the last he saw and then hurrying to catch up.

It was enough to get him thinking- how long did humans usually live? He’d seen many older people, but when he’d asked their age they hadn’t been much older than Jaskier. Jaskier, when pressed, insisted it was just good genetics. Geralt hadn’t stressed the issue, but he found himself watching Jaskier when the other man was at rest. His face evened out, and Geralt swore that sometimes he looked as youthful as he did the day they first met. Humans were impossible to figure out.

Geralt gives up on the idea of figuring out just how long humans lived, instead deciding not to worry. As if thinking about when Jaskier would leave him didn’t leave a gaping wound in his chest he wasn’t sure how to fix. It keeps Geralt awake at times- makes his already slow heart stutter in his chest, but Geralt’s only hope is to keep him safe. He doesn’t let Jaskier go on hunts if he can help it, and is quick to stop any fights that Jaskier might start. That he starts frequently, with sharp words wielded like a dagger with the intent to protect Geralt. He’s in one such fight now, dragging Jaskier and another man apart as easily as if lifting two misbehaving cats.

“Enough, Jaskier.” Jaskier’s eyes are cyan bright, shining with excitement, and he hangs by the back of his collar, blood trickling from a split lip. The other man is worse for wear, eye swelling already and at least one finger broken from where Jaskier had grabbed and wrenched.

Geralt deposits the other man on his feet and though he sets Jaskier down, he doesn’t let go of him. “Geralt, let me go-”

“I said enough, lark.” His tone is low, a warning, and Jaskier finally raises his hands and relaxes. Geralt glances at the other man, flicking his fingers back toward town. “Go get patched up. Don’t bring friends back later. I don’t want anyone to die.”

The statement is simple, but the other man eyes the swords on Geralt’s back and spits blood in the dirt before hurrying away. That makes Jaskier jerk forward, but Geralt has a hand on him still and he grabs the back of Jaskier’s neck instead of his shirt, not wanting to rip the delicate fabric more than he already has. Jaskier sags in the grip immediately, and Geralt ignores the feeling that flops in his stomach at the sight.

“Why do you do that?” Jaskier grumbles, brushing a hand over his chin to wipe away blood and licking at his lip. Geralt only grunts in reply, turning and letting go to take Jaskier’s chin in hand. Jaskier starts, frowning, but Geralt sniffs lightly, scenting the blood in the air and peering at the cut on Jaskier’s lip. It looks better than he was expecting- Jaskier must not have gotten hit as bad as he thought. He holds Jaskier a moment longer than necessary, finally letting go when Jaskier gently jerks his head back and pulls from his grip. He drops his hands quickly, hiding a frown.

Geralt takes a few steps back, putting space between them while Jaskier straightens his clothes and stoops down to get his lute. It’s safe in its case, and Geralt knows Jaskier set it down long before the fight broke out. Jaskier looks it over anyway, making sure the strings are still in place and no cracks have appeared within the wood. He plucks a couple strings, listening closely, and Geralt finds himself listening as well. He doesn’t hear a thing out of the ordinary and neither does Jaskier it seems, because he tucks it back away with a sigh. Jaskier makes his way back toward town and their things, Geralt trailing a few steps behind to watch for someone coming back despite his warning. They make it to the stable first for Roach, and the smell of hay calms the odd flopping of his stomach.

“Why do you stop me, Geralt?”

Jaskier rounds on him, arms crossed, and Geralt can tell he’s angry, though he feigns careful indifference. He’s not entirely sure what to say, but Jaskier is patient this time, waiting until Geralt finally talks to let him step inside the stables.

“Don’t need anyone getting hurt.”

“I’d say you were a tad late for that, wolf.” Geralt looks at the bruising on Jaskier’s lip and firmly looks away again, nudging past Jaskier with a decided calm and going to get Roach’s saddle blanket. Geralt is almost done saddling Roach when he finally speaks again, and his voice is quiet enough that he doesn’t think Jaskier will hear him over the sound of Roach munching on hay.

“I don’t deserve someone fighting over me.”

Jaskier’s eyes blaze, and Geralt smells the sharp metal tang of Jaskier’s anger. “Yes, you do.”

Jaskier storms out of the stable then, as if too angry at Geralt to even stay, and Geralt tries to hide the hurt confusion swirling in his head. Geralt uses the time alone to recollect his thoughts, and by the time that he leads Roach from the stables and toward the inn Jaskier is already outside, bags by his feet and arms crossed. Geralt stoops without a word to hoist the bags up onto Roach’s back and get them secured, spending a moment longer than needed to hopefully let Jaskier calm down. He can only tie for so long though, and he takes the reins gently, tugging Roach into motion. Jaskier follows along behind, silent, and they leave out of town before anything else can get complicated. Jaskier doesn't talk to him for the entirety of the day and Geralt pretends not to mind. The silence is something he hasn't had in weeks, and he finds it nags at him more than he would like.

They set up camp that night quietly, without Jaskier's usual complaints, and Geralt finds his nerves frazzled, making him jump at any noise. He goes about sharpening his blades as a desperate attempt to calm himself, and the long, slow scrape of whetstone on metal helps. It keeps him from jumping when strings on a lute are plucked, stopping him from looking up in astonishment when Jaskier begins to hum. Geralt finds his shoulders relaxing, drooping the longer that Jaskier plays, and he ducks his head to hide the small smile he can't hold back. Jaskier might still be mad, but not enough to continue in sullen silence, and Geralt is grateful.

When the two finally retire for the night Jaskier collapses onto his bed roll, back facing Geralt. Geralt knows Jaskier prefers not to put his back to a fire and he adjusts where he sleeps accordingly. Geralt closes his eyes, listening to the soft pattering of rabbit feet and steady thumping of Jaskier's heart. At some point through the night Jaskier shifts, letting out a shuddering breath that Geralt recognizes as him being cold. He reaches out without thought, half asleep, and pulls the man back against him. Jaskier tenses in his arms, as if debating, but he relaxes and presses back, stealing whatever warmth he can. Geralt huffs softly once Jaskier finally settles again, and falls back into a dreamless sleep.

When Geralt wakes with the first beams of the sun, he does so slowly. Jaskier is still curled up beside him, fast asleep, and Geralt gingerly works his arm out from under Jaskier's head. His hair is soft in Geralt's hand, and for a moment he debates staying for a minute more, but he has things to attend to and can't be distracted. He smooths Jaskier's hair down before he gets up, knowing that Jaskier will gripe and moan if his hair is a mess later. And that's not something he wants to hear early in the morning. He goes about stoking the fire again and putting his things away, moving silently around the camp so that he won't wake the bard sleeping peacefully. His armor and swords go on reflexively as soon as he's fully awake. The last thing he needs is to be caught unaware and disarmed. After… well, he's been putting it off for a while, and he desperately needs celandine and wolfsbane, so he pads off through the forest in search of the yellow and purple flowers. Celandine grows like weeds in this area, easy enough for Geralt to pick, but the wolfsbane is trickier- he spends longer finding good stalks of it, and by the time he's done the sun is well above the horizon and animals have begun to wake up around him. As he gets closer to camp he hears Jaskier, singing in the early morning and moving through the camp in odd, shuffling steps.

Geralt realizes with a jolt that he's dancing. To his own singing. Geralt steps into the small clearing they'd claimed and watches, amused, as Jaskier dances with an invisible partner. He moves to tuck the flowers away in his satchel for use later, and blinks when Jaskier calls his name.

"Dance with me!" He says between lyrics, and Geralt shakes his head automatically.

"I don't dance." Jaskier raises his brows, comes closer, and raises an arm. Geralt's goes up automatically, palm brushing Jaskier's as he mirrors the other man's stance. Jaskier's grin is delighted, and he continues singing, moving through each step and goading Geralt into continuing. It's a dance that Geralt hasn't seen done at any ball in at least half a century, but the steps are more akin to the way he uses his blades and well… he thinks of it as practice, can imagine a blade in his hand if he wants, but Jaskier is close and very, very happy. The sunshine warmth of his happiness reminds him of freshly baked bread, and Geralt breathes deep to take it in.

The song reaches its crescendo, and Geralt's hand slides over Jaskier's abdomen as the man twirls into his arms, singing cutting off in lieu of laughter. "For all you say of not dancing, you make for a skilled partner."

Geralt can feel heat rising up his neck, and he forces the feeling down so he won't rub at the back of his neck. "That dance is old."

Jaskier's face fills with surprise, and he whirls in Geralt's arms, stepping back to get a better look at him. "You recognized it? You weren't just following my skillful lead?"

"No." He replies wryly, corner of his mouth twitching when Jaskier scowls. The expression doesn't last, and soon he's smiling again. "The last ball I went to, before you- it was popular then."

"And you learned it." Jaskier is still a ball of delight, and he claps his hands together, looking at him as if a thousand ideas have sprung up in his head.

"I'm not going to more weddings with you, Jaskier." He wants to nip that thought in the bud now, before Jaskier forces him into more silk, but Jaskier only laughs and gives him a look as if to say you never know. "How do you know it?"

Asking a question of Jaskier is risky, Geralt knows, but he'll allow his own curiosity this once. "Ah, I had dance lessons as a boy. I’m proficient in any dance you could think of through the last century. That one is a… guilty pleasure. It flows nicely, even without words in the music."

The excuse at the end seems flimsy, but Geralt can put pieces together. It means something, or meant something more to him at some point, and the memory seems painful. Geralt doesn't press, instead wordlessly moving to pack up camp. Jaskier extinguishes their fire, and Geralt raises an eyebrow to inquire about breakfast, but Jaskier tosses him a strip of jerky and an apple and nods toward the road. Or close to where the road is. Geralt merely shrugs at that, tearing a bite from his jerky and whistling to get Roach moving.

Jaskier is in a grand mood all morning, and when they stop briefly in Lyria for more supplies, his mood dampens. Geralt isn't sure what's wrong, but Jaskier doesn't say a word when Geralt tilts his head in silent question. They leave Lyria as quickly as they came, and they're an hour outside the town when Jaskier slows to a stop at a crossroads. A farmer passes them in a cart, swearing at them for being in the way, and Jaskier gestures rather colorfully before turning to Geralt. This time he doesn't need to give a look before Jaskier is talking.

"It's fall, Geralt. If you don't turn back now you won't make it to Kaer Morhen in time."

"I'm not wintering in Kaer Morhen." Jaskier frowns, staring as if waiting for a joke.

"You always winter in Kaer Morhen. If you aren't, dear witcher, then where are we going?"

Geralt's heart picks up at Jaskier's inclusion of himself, and he curls Roach's reins around his fist. "I- have a vineyard. In Toussaint."

"You realize I was nearly beheaded in Toussaint?" The bard's voice is dry, unamused, but Geralt pays it no mind.

"It's a good thing I hadn't planned to invite Her Highness, then. Just you."

"This is an invitation?"

"You wanted flowers?" The banter brings something warm to Geralt’s face, and he watches as Jaskier sniffs, tilting his head and somehow looking down his nose at Geralt. Despite it, his eyes are vulnerable, and Geralt isn’t thinking straight.

“They would have been nice.” Geralt sighs, shaking his head. He turns around, digging through his satchel for something. Jaskier watches curiously, eyes widening when Geralt turns around, a single celandine flower in his hand. He holds it out, glancing down at the ground when Jaskier reaches out to take the flower. Their fingers brush, Geralt’s eyes snapping up, and there are tears glimmering in Jaskier’s eyes. He wants to step forward, to hold him close and beg him to come, but Jaskier laughs wetly and tucks the flower behind his ear.

“Come with me. Please.” His voice is terribly soft in his ears, thick with emotion he tries to swallow down, and he watches as Jaskier’s whole face softens, shoulders relaxing and a warm, dusky scent filling the air between them.

“Even a please? You’ll make me cry, you big oaf. Obviously I’m going with you.” Geralt feels something in his chest go slack, and he allows a small smile to show through. “I believe you mentioned something about a vineyard, and where there’s grapes there’s wine.”

                                                         -*-

The trek to Toussaint is infinitely better than the frigid trek up to Kaer Morhen. When Geralt had told the other witchers of his plans, they’d been more enthusiastic than he expected. They’d asked him to bring Jaskier to the keep someday, so they could finally meet him, but Geralt didn’t think he could do that yet. Not because he liked to part with Jaskier in the fall and miss him all through the winter, feeling like he was missing part of himself. No, it was because he didn’t know what he would do if Jaskier didn’t survive the journey up. It’s a thought that hollows his chest out, claws its way up his neck until he chokes on it at night when Jaskier is asleep and he’s left to his thoughts. Geralt tries not to think about it much, especially as they pass through a forest thick with vegetation and teeming with life.

The closer they get to Toussaint the louder the noise gets, the more the birds sing, preening and flying from branch to branch. Geralt watches two blue jays chasing each other, looking over to find Jaskier watching as well, wonderment written all over his face. Jaskier sings to the forest, mimicking the bird cries as best he can and beaming when the birds call back. The trees fade away as they break out into the view of verdant hills, wild grasses swaying in the wind and all shades of wildflowers blooming along an entire hillside. Jaskier goes jogging ahead of him, looking around as if this were the first time all over again, and Geralt wonders what he sees now, years later. His lips itch to ask, but instead he leads Roach to a patch of grass that she can graze and allows Jaskier time to take in the sights.

The sun is warm on his face, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back to enjoy the feeling. Toussaint is hot even in the winter months, and Geralt basks in the sunlight. The smell of grass is sweet, the flowers even sweeter, and Jaskier’s soft lavender scent is right at home here. Geralt is enjoying the sun a bit more than he should he thinks, because he doesn’t notice when Jaskier comes back to him, touching his shoulder lightly and making Geralt blink his eyes open. The sun does wonders for the gold within the amber of Geralt’s eyes, and he looks most alive here, among green grasses and peace.

“Resting your old bones?”

Geralt snorts, rolling his eyes and nudging Jaskier back a step. “Waiting on you.”

Jaskier bumps their shoulders together, grinning, and Geralt doesn’t push him away this time. They head south, further into Toussaint following the main road and passing by person after person. They pass by a vineyard, grapes running wild along trellises, the people farming and chatting amongst themselves. All raise a friendly hand to Geralt as he passes. A few of them cheer even, and Jaskier raises a brow at that.

“You’re popular here.”

He shrugs, hurrying his pace to try and get out of the vineyard a bit faster. Jaskier keeps up with his pace easily, and he pokes his elbow into Geralt’s side. Geralt growls softly, nudging him with his shoulder, and Jaskier does it harder until Geralt sighs in irritation. “I won the Tourney years back.”

“Glory seeker, eh?” Geralt scowls, and Jaskier pulls his lute around himself to pluck at the strings.

Oh witcher-witcher, White Wolf of the North, Grand Champion of the South -

“I was trying to save a knight.” Geralt cuts in, trying not to scowl. Judging by Jaskier’s amusement it isn’t working, and he rolls his eyes, huffing. “They had a Shaelmaar.”

“A what?”

“It’s a large beast, covered in stone. They live underground, and have no sight. Their hearing is incredible.” Geralt relaxes while talking about the monster- it’s much easier to recite facts than tell a story that Jaskier will twist into a song later. “They had captured one and strapped bells onto its tail to hinder it.”

“Are they violent?”

“Not usually.” Geralt hears Jaskier mutter something about cruelty under his breath, and he nods in agreement. Jaskier doesn’t seem surprised that he heard, and Geralt continues when Jaskier prods him again. “Guillaume, he wanted to prove his love to one of the Duchesses ladies in waiting. He was doing well, overconfident, but skilled. The bells came off.”

“Taking away the beast’s handicap.” Geralt nods, losing himself in the memory of dancing around the huge mountain of a monster.

“The shaelmaar knocked him flat, and I- threw myself into the ring without thinking. Broke a couple ribs in the fight, but I was the only one left standing, so I won.”

Geralt mentally shakes himself, drawing back from the memory of the way the stadium had shaken when the beast collapsed. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill the beast, had told them to release it back to its home and leave it be. The landscape changes rapidly around them, and Geralt smells the river long before he sees it. A bridge comes into view, with a large inn plunked right next to it. The sun has begun to set as they come up to the waystop, and Geralt lets out a breath.

“Stopping for the night?” Jaskier looks curiously at the inn, reading the name on the sign and laughing quietly.

“Unless you’d prefer to travel through the night to Corvo Bianco.”

“I could use some rest and good ale.” Jaskier admits, and Geralt sends him inside to secure them a room while he gets Roach settled in for the night. When he ducks inside, bags over his shoulder, Jaskier is backed up against the bar, a hand around his throat and the bard’s hands up in surrender. The knight’s bald head shines with sweat in the evening heat, and Geralt growls loudly.

“I distinctly remember Her Highness telling you to stay away.” Geralt sees fingers dig into Jaskier’s skin, and Geralt snarls, moving through the crowd quickly. His grip is iron on the man’s shoulder, and relief is plain on Jaskier’s face when Geralt’s fingers dig in, making metal groan. The man looks back, and the sneer on his face quickly morphes to something of begrudging respect. “Geralt.”

“Damien. Let the bard go. Now.” His voice is razor sharp, shaking with the growl that’s built in his throat. Jaskier is released immediately, and Geralt sees a shaking hand come up to touch at his throat. “He’s with me.” He adds quietly, dropping his hand from the knight’s shoulder. Geralt sees Jaskier’s eyes narrow at the dents his fingertips have left in the shoulder of the breastplate, but Geralt doesn’t care.

“Did the duchess send for your services again?”

“No. I’m wintering here.”

Understanding blooms on Damien’s face, and he takes a step back as Geralt slides to stand defensively in front of Jaskier. “With him?”

“With him.” Geralt agrees, and he sees a questioning look cross Damien’s face as he looks between the two of them. “We’re staying the night before we push on to Corvo.”

“Ah, your vineyard.” Geralt nods, and he feels one of Jaskier’s hands press between his shoulder blades. He doesn't know if it’s for support or comfort, but Geralt subtly leans back a bit to let him know he isn’t going anywhere. “Word of advice, Geralt. Get him out of the inn before morning.”

Geralt doesn’t move until after Damien backs off and goes back to his table, and it’s only to glare at the barkeep until a key is handed over. Geralt takes hold of Jaskier’s wrist, dragging him along and up the stairs. He stayed here once, years ago when he was hunting the Beast of Beauclair. It reeked of the river then too, and Geralt tries the key he was given until it opens a room overlooking the river, Geralt ushering Jaskier into the room in front of him. Their bags are deposited haphazardly, and Jaskier sucks in a breath when Geralt’s hands come up to cup his cheeks. He tilts Jaskier’s head back gently, looking his neck over. Angry red marks mar the smooth skin, and Geralt can feel the growl build back up in his throat. A hand comes down to slide over the marks gently, as if Geralt could wipe their existence away, and he startles when Jaskier’s hand comes up to gently hold his wrist.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt says immediately, going to pull back, uncomfortably aware of the intimacy of the moment, but Jaskier holds him tight, searching his face.

“Thank you.” He doesn't know what Jaskier is thanking him for, but Jaskier lets him go finally and he takes a couple of steps back, tucking his hands at his sides. “I could have been beheaded for real this time.”

Unbidden, Geralt chuckles, and Jaskier laughs with him, as if chasing away the potential horrors of what could have happened. “Somehow I think you’d charm your way out of it again.”

“Ah, I’d be nothing without you, wolf. Saving the day, as usual.” Jaskier winks, and Geralt grumbles despite how ‘saving’ Jaskier makes him feel pleasantly warm. “Shall we retire early? I’d like to heed Sir Damien’s advice and be gone before anyone wakes.”

He sets about getting ready for bed in response, lighting a couple of candles so Jaskier can see easier. He wants to have a bath, considers ordering one, but his home is only a few scant hours away and he resigns himself to being patient. The bed is big enough for the both of them to sleep comfortably, but Jaskier snuggles up to him as if he were about to fall, and Geralt pretends that his heart doesn’t thunder in his chest at the casual closeness. Geralt spends the night holding Jaskier close, but he can’t bring himself to sleep. He knew that it would be a gamble to bring him here, but he hadn’t expected Jaskier to be recognized, at least not that fast.

Jaskier shifts in his arms, tucking his face into Geralt’s neck and breathing deep. He hugs Jaskier a bit tighter, unable to help himself, and thanks whatever god might be watching that Jaskier is asleep. Jaskier is a fan of casual touches, but when they’re asleep is the only time that Geralt allows himself to touch back, to hold Jaskier close and pretend for a while that Jaskier could love him back. He touches his nose to the top of Jaskier’s head, scenting him lightly to make sure he isn’t having a nightmare before he finally allows himself to drift off. He slips into a meditative state easily, not quite sleeping but not quite awake, and stirs when the sun begins to color. He wakes Jaskier with a shake to his shoulder, and Jaskier grumbles the entire time they get dressed and prepare to leave. Geralt leaves the keys and a few coins for payment in a cup behind the bar and saddles Roach.

Jaskier sways on his feet the entire time, yawning and eyelids drooping. He’s still half asleep, and Geralt watches him nearly fall over before sighing sharply. “Up.”

Jaskier stirs at his voice, letting out a sleepy ’hmm?’ before Geralt is using a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back to usher him up and into the saddle. Despite his apparent fatigue he swings nimbly up into the saddle, and Geralt keeps a close eye on him as they cross over the bridge and head east. Jaskier nearly slips out of the saddle twice, and only Geralt grabbing at his thigh and digging his fingers in enough to wake the bard keeps him from taking a nasty tumble. They come up on Corvo Bianco as the sun slips over the horizon, washing the vineyard in splashes or orange and pink and gold. Jaskier is awake now, staring breathlessly at the rows upon rows of grapevines and the distant olive trees in full bloom. Upon their arrival workers hurry to take Roach to the stable and usher him toward the house, which sits above them on a hill. The white paint is as fresh as when the house was first renovated, and Geralt leads Jaskier up the small hill to the door.

Jaskier is still looking around at the grounds in wonder when the door opens, a bald man in spectacles stepping out. “Master Geralt! I was beginning to wonder if you’d return to us.”

“Barnabas-Basil, good to see you again. Is the guest room ready?”

“Always, sir, follow me.” The bald man turns, arms tucked behind his back, and leads them into the house. The wood inside is a deep mahogany red, and Jaskier drinks in the sights of all the opulence. It…. doesn’t seem like Geralt’s style at all, but there are armor stands adorned with various sets and weapons all over the wall, and Jaskier knows that’s all Geralt. They stop briefly in the kitchen to see a kind older woman who smiles wistfully at Geralt and draws him into a tight hug. Much to Jaskier’s surprise, one of Geralt’s arms goes around her frail form and he’s smiling when they pull away.

“You look good, Master Witcher. Eating well?”

“Better now that I’m here.” Jaskier sees Geralt wink, and the older woman swats his shoulder lightly and waves him off with a warning to be down for breakfast on time for once. Jaskier is in shock, witnessing the difference in Geralt’s demeanor, but this is his home it seems, in a way different from Kaer Morhen. There aren’t any memories of torturous training, merely happy people who seem devoted to serving him even in his long absences. He's more awake now than when he was on the way over, and he follows Geralt and Barnabas-Basil up the stairs. He isn't expecting much of the guest room, but the bed is sinfully plush and there are two different dressers to store his things in. The majordomo stands near the stairs, watching them expectantly.

"Is there anything else you require, sir?"

"How is the vineyard?"

"Flourishing, Master Geralt. The vines began producing some three years back, and the first vintage of Sepremento has aged beautifully. Would you like a bottle to accompany dinner tonight?" The majordomo puffs up with pride, and Jaskier stares incredulously at the fond way Geralt inclines his head.

"Please. Thank you B.B." The man bows at the waist before retreating down the stairs, and Jaskier feels something hot and ugly rear up in him. He tamps down on the feeling, keeping the biting edge from his words.

"When you said you had a vineyard, I didn't expect this. It's gorgeous here, Geralt." He's pleased to see the way that Geralt avoids his gaze, embarrassed by the compliments. His eyes are still fond when he looks at Jaskier finally, and Jaskier feels his heart give a traitorous leap in his chest.

"It is. B.B helped this place rise again. It'll be good for him to have…"

"Have what?" Jaskier asks, curious.

"Someone else of higher tastes." Jaskier can feel himself grinning, and he sits on the edge of the bed, pleased at the way he sinks down into the bedding a bit. He's never going to leave this bed if he can help it.

"Ah, a man of class, hmm? He does seem rather refined." Jaskier muses, letting an edge bleed into his tone that implies many, many things. He doesn't know if Geralt even hears the small growl he lets out, but Jaskier does, and it pleases him immensely. Geralt may not feel the same as he does, but he's protective at least, and Jaskier's poor heart will take what it can get.

"Do not sleep with my majordomo." Geralt warns, scowling when Jaskier laughs. The thought leaves an ugly feeling in Geralt's stomach, and he stares until Jaskier sighs dramatically.

" Fine, Geralt. But, if I am to be so woefully chaste, I expect my own bottle of wine. I've heard stories of Sepremento."

“That’s all?” Jaskier flops back on the bed, stretching and groaning as Geralt pads closer, looking down at him. “Breakfast isn’t for another hour, if you wanted to sleep.”

“What would happen if I were late?” Jaskier’s lips curl in an amused smile, and it widens when he hears Geralt laugh softly and glance toward the stairs.

“Marlene has dragged me from bed more than once.”

“How do you know her? You two are familiar with each other.” Jaskier tries not to let the bitterness he feels slip through, and luckily Geralt doesn’t seem to notice.

“She was cursed as a young woman, and lived for a while as a spotted wight. I broke the curse and brought her here to be cared for.”

“And let her stay, it seems.”

“She had nowhere. She watched her family die, and she refuses money. All she wants is to cook.” Geralt eases himself down beside Jaskier, not laying because of his swords, but sitting close. Jaskier can feel the heat of his thigh but not the touch, and he debates shifting closer.

“Why was she cursed?” Jaskier catches the dark look that flits over Geralt’s face, and he sits up, tilting his head to try and get a better look.

“That’s her story to tell you.”

“It isn’t pleasant, is it? It rarely is.” Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s knee, and he sees the way that Geralt’s shoulders jerk minutely.

“Some would rather I have kicked her out.” Is all that Geralt will say in return, and Jaskier leaves it alone. Geralt reaches, touching his fingers lightly against the back of Jaskier’s hand before slipping from his grip and standing up. “Rest a bit. Come down when you hear the bell.”

Jaskier wants to tell Geralt he isn’t tired, or better yet to tell him to stay, but the words hide in his throat and he just nods. He doesn’t bother getting under the covers, instead sprawling out on top of the sheets and closing his eyes. Geralt heads back downstairs, trying to shake himself from the weird stupor he feels himself sliding into. He stops briefly by his room, shedding his armor and weapons. He won’t need them while in the house, and even if he did, there are plenty placed strategically throughout the room. B.B. comes back in, gwent deck in hand, and Geralt grabs his from his pack. They’re deep in a game when the breakfast bell rings, and Geralt hears Jaskier’s heart give a jerk as he wakes up. B.B. abandons the game quickly, sweeping his cards up as Geralt does the same. They don’t have much time either, as Marlene begins piling dishes on the table in front of them.

Geralt stands, taking plate after plate, finding a space as best he can. His head twitches just barely when footsteps scrape on the wood stairs, and he doesn’t turn as he places a plate of glazed ham on the table.

Geralt hears the sound of skin on skin, and he looks up to see Jaskier holding his hand as Marlene shakes a finger. “Go wash up young man, then come back to my table.”

Jaskier shares an outraged look at being scolded like a child, but Geralt raises a brow and inclines his head toward the kitchen. Jaskier scoffs, disappearing into the kitchen to do as Marlene insists. B.B. takes as many plates as he can carry to the servants quarters, and Marlene disappears to help as well. Jaskier comes back smelling of herbal soap, and Geralt motions for him to take a seat. Jaskier looks around warily, as if Marlene will reappear, but Geralt shakes his head, seating himself.

Neither of them say much of anything, instead digging in and enjoying the heavenly taste of good cooking. Geralt watches in amusement as Jaskier takes some of everything, from eggs to ham to some of the more regional dishes. He samples it all, and Geralt sits back to sip at a bitter tea that Marlene insists is good for one in the morning.

“We’re going out after breakfast.”

Jaskier glances up from his plate, tilting his head. “Where, dear witcher?”

“A graveyard. There’s… Someone I want you to meet.”

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader 

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

X

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

[shuahoonie]

you [tom holland] - eight.

PAIRING: tom holland x female!celebrity!reader

SUMMARY: ah, to be young and in love. it sounds great if only you and tom were actually dating out of pure love and not for the sheer reputation of your careers. it also should be great if you two actually got along, but life isn’t that easy.

WARNINGS: mostly swearing! some fluff here, some angst there. it’s haters to lovers / fake dating au so take that information as you wish! also, their relationship is improving yall 🤧

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

SONG INSPO: mxmtoon - used to you

A/N: surprise! I actually updated after five/six months??? a lot of things have happened during the time that I was gone. most of it revolved around my mental health and uni. not a great time to have a career crisis whilst living in the middle of a pandemic lmao. 

the last time i updated, i gave you guys the gift of fluff. maybe i should tone down a bit? or maybe not? i’m also sorry if this took ages. had an awful writer’s block. oooh, also i wrote an interview excerpt for this chapter. i added a link if you wanted to read it but no pressure! it’s just a lil’ sumn sumn :) anyway, enjoy reading!

hope you guys are safe & healthy! keep practicing social distancing and please wear your masks! sending all my love ♡

UPDATES EVERY SATURDAY 11 PM CST WHENEVER I CAN 

gif credits: @tommybabyholland​

vanessa’s masterlist | preview | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight.5 [interview] | 

Your friends have told you countless times to bite the bullet, however, you’ve seemed to swallow it instead. Here you were, lying in the same bed with Tom Holland, mere inches against each other. 

If anyone told you that you would be lying on the same bed as the guy you swore you hated a few months ago, you’d probably laugh at their face. 

You were definitely considering that maybe this whole fake dating thing wasn’t such a horrid idea after all. 

The room was dimmed to almost pitch black now. You could see a small streak of light peering from the curtains, probably from all of the street lights outside, allowing you to at least see something. You were exhausted but somehow you couldn’t sleep at the same time. 

The only reasonable thing that you could put your blame into was your heart, which was beating quite rapidly, by the way. You didn’t even know why you felt this nervous around him, it’s not like he’s a complete stranger. 

You’ve known Tom for a good two months—two and a half if you want to be specific. You picked up on his little quirks: his eyes crinkle when he laughs genuinely, he doesn’t like that much sugar in his tea. He likes his dog, Tessa, very much which you were already a goner for. He also hums when he’s happy which surprised you one day, not knowing what to do with that information. 

You also found out that his hands were always cold, which always startles you as your hands were extremely warm. Like right now, you could feel his fingertips grazing upon yours. As if your heart can handle even more of your emotions right now. 

You were confused as to why you were extremely nervous around him all of a sudden. Is it because this is the first time your sharing a bed with your pretend boyfriend? Is it because the last time you shared a bed with someone who you had no relation to is with your ex-boyfriend? 

It was driving you insane and you really had to get it together. You were both lying on your backs so all you could stare at was the empty ceiling. You took a quick look at Tom, who was already sleeping. 

Ah, so he snores. You made a mental note to yourself, wondering how you can use that information and pester him with it. He didn’t have loud snores, just soft ones but still loud for you to hear.  

You turned your body and lain on your side, choosing to face Tom. He really looked peaceful sleeping and the sight of him be at peace was enough to calm you down. 

With that, you found your eyes slowly start to droop down. The image of Tom sleeping soundly was the last thing you saw before you drifted off to sleep.

You noticed three things as soon as you woke up. You still had your eyes shut, only because you refuse to accept that it was already a new day.

The first thing you noticed was the annoying alarm tone that kept ringing on the bedside table. One of these days, I’ll end up throwing and smashing my phone. 

The second thing was how hot warm you felt. You felt the heat radiating beside you and you weren’t exactly used to it. You like the feeling of sleeping in a cold room while also burying yourself with blankets. 

The third thing you noticed was the pair of arms wrapped around you. As you slowly opened your eyes, you were greeted by the extremely close proximity that you shared with Tom. 

You found yourself cuddling Tom. Your head was resting in between his chest and his arm—the same arm that was wrapped around you. In the meanwhile, Tom’s other hand was resting on the side of your face, building the illusion that he may have caressed the side of your face.

You, on the other hand, had your left arm resting on top of his chest while the other was tucked underneath the pillow. 

You wondered how the hell you ended up in this position, but knowing how you move a lot in your sleep, you probably initiated this in the first place. You also wondered how Tom can sleep through this annoying alarm, especially since it kept ringing every ten minutes. 

Tilting your head up a bit, your eyes met the sight of his lips. However, from this angle, you could also clearly see the freckles speckled on his face. With the beaming sun and its fight to fill the room with light against the corners of the curtains, it only made things worse for you. Tom, with his body outlined by the light, absolutely looked angelic—as if the universe only favoured him and him alone. 

You slowly reached for his hand and removed it from the corner of your neck, carefully resting it on top of his stomach. After successfully doing so, comes the real challenge. You slowly released yourself from the grip of his arm and tried your best to get out of the bed without waking Tom up. 

Your logic? It would be rude to wake someone up from their sleep—especially when they can’t be bothered to be woken up by the alarm anyway. You also wanted this moment for yourself. You thought that it was best if Tom had no recollection of waking up to you two cuddling, acting as a true couple when there are no cameras around you. 

You walked to the bathroom to get yourself ready. You had a whole day of photoshoots and you also had to squeeze in a couple of interviews after. You didn’t want to miss your best friend’s wedding so you had to do whatever you can in order to balance your social life and work.

You already knew that you were going to be exhausted for today and you love your job, you really do, but sometimes you wished that you could catch a break without losing sleep for the next couple of days.

After taking a long hot shower and doing your essential skin routine—knowing that this is the only form of relaxation you’re going to get for the next couple of days— you slipped into a pair of mom jeans and a loose shirt. You packed this much because you knew you wouldn’t get the chance to drive home anyway. 

Just as you stepped out of the bathroom, your phone buzzed in your hand and saw a text from your manager. 

Zoë: On my way to the hotel! I will be there in 20 mins or so. Be sure that you’re ready so we can get going. 

“Oh, you’re already good to go?” You looked up from your phone and saw Tom yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was still wearing your sweatpants and he was still shirtless. 

You nodded. “Zoë’s picking me up.” You replied as you tidied the bed. It took you a couple of minutes before the words you said just sunk in. “Oh god, Zoë’s picking me up.” You repeated with wide eyes. 

“Yeah?” Tom chuckled, seemingly lost as to what you were trying to point out. 

“She doesn't really know that you slept with me.” You said but as soon as you realized what you just said, you knew you fucked up. You saw Tom smirking at you which only prompted you to hit him with the pillow. “I didn’t mean it like that, you weirdo.” 

“Oh, sure.” He teased as he put on his shirt. “I mean I’m pretty sure that I’m not the one who practically clung to a person while sleeping.” 

“Shut up, Holland. You know I move a lot when I sleep.” You muttered as a pathetic excuse to hopefully shut him up. 

“To be quite fair, I didn’t know that you do that whenever you sleep, but it’s nice to know that now.” He grinned. 

“Oh god,” You groaned. “Let’s just go so I can check out now. Zoë’s going to be here soon and I want you gone asap.” You said as you glanced around the room just so you know you didn’t leave anything behind. 

“Wait, what about your sweatpants?” 

“Just give it to me the next time you see me.” You said as you pulled him out of the room and made your way to the front desk. 

It turns out Zoë had no concept of time. As soon as you finished checking out, you saw your manager already waiting in the lobby. Oh, you recognized her big blonde hair from anywhere. She was sitting in one of the plush sofas, dressed in a white romper and even had her cat-eye sunglasses on. She looked like she’s about to catch her husband having an affair. 

“Ah, Y/N,” She said with a huge smile. “Thanks but you should know if that ever were to happen, I would pick something more flashy.” 

Oh, I said that out loud?! You practically yelled at yourself.

“We should get going, honey, we’ll grab you some breakfast on the way.” Zoë fixed the stray strands of your hair. You couldn’t be bothered to do your hair knowing that the stylists are going to give it hell anyway, so you just tied it in a low ponytail. 

“Um,” You didn’t even know how to say it. Where you even going to bring Tom up? If so, what were you going to say anyway? That you spent a night with your pretend boyfriend? Which shouldn’t be a huge deal but you were sure that your stunt doesn’t involve actually falling for each other.

“Tom,” Zoë’s pitch went a bit higher, surprised to see Tom standing behind you. “What’re you doing here, hon?” She asked quietly. 

“Oh, I-” 

“He spent the night with me. Tom was exhausted and it wasn’t safe for him to drive last night, so I asked him to stay.” You explained, cutting Tom off. You just wanted to get it over with and you were bound to face the storm sooner or later anyway. 

Zoë stared at the two of you for a moment, an undistinguishable look painted all over her face. You took a quick look at Tom who was also observing your manager’s reaction. 

However, she chose to drop it. “Alright, c’mon, honey. You have a long day today.” Your manager said after she flashed Tom a smile and turned around, leaving you both relieved. 

As you watched your manager leave and walk towards her vehicle, you turned to Tom and said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?” 

Tom smiled and nodded, “I’ll see you soon, my darling.” He said softly.

You felt your cheeks start to burn again so you did what you always do whenever you don’t know how to respond or when you’re just plain embarrassed—walk away and practically scream inside your head. 

You were walking—sprinting, more like— towards the vehicle and when you got in, you were greeted with a big smile by Zoë. It terrified you. 

“Y/N, hon,” She initiated with a soft voice. “You know sooner or later this stunt will all come to an end right?” 

“Yeah, I know.” You answered, slightly confused as to why this was brought up all of a sudden. 

“Okay, good, good...” Zoë trailed off. “I just—I see how things may escalate and I don’t want to see you hurt, Y/N.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You acknowledged, though this time you said it in a whisper. It was day 78 that you came clean to yourself and realized maybe you were developing a tiny crush on Tom. 

The people from the magazine were doing a feature story on you. Not only that you were going to be on the cover of the magazine, but you were also going to get a ten-page spread that included an interview. The whole theme of the issue was individuality so your spread had to be rooted from your style, so the outfits, the makeup, and hair had to base off of you as a concept while still adding an editorial element to it. 

You were already wearing the third outfit, wearing a pink frilly floral dress and it had hand-stitched and delicately placed flowers for the details—in which the outfit was inspired by your character in your tv series.

You were waiting for your hair and makeup to be done at the same time. The set was going to be in a pool so you also had to have your manicure and pedicure done. Basically, you had no control over your body.  

“How are you doing, hon?” Zoë asked as she passed by your chair. 

“’m still okay,” You mumbled. “Can I take a sip from my coffee though?” 

Maria’s, the nail tech for this shoot, eyes went wide. “Your nails aren’t dry yet,” She pointed out. 

“Please, Maria?” You pouted. You were literally about to pass out from exhaustion and you still had a full day ahead.

Maria rolled her eyes and gave in. “Fine, I’ll hold the cup.” She said before she grabbed your coffee from your manager. 

As you happily indulged the coffee, you heard Ruby, the makeup artist, let out a sigh behind you.“Y/N, I just did your makeup.” 

“Nothing bad happened! I just need to reapply the lipstick, it’s okay.” You quickly defended. 

“Child, you are going to be the death of me,” Ruby mumbled loud enough for the two of you. “You’re lucky I like you because if my other clients did this I would’ve grabbed their coffee and then they would’ve gone full diva on me.” 

You just gave her a huge smile before she reapplied your lipstick. The hairstylist just finished doing your hair, pinning tiny flowers all over your hair and having them scattered all over. You couldn’t believe that you had flowers all over your hair again—which only reminded you of Tom and what happened last night. 

Last night felt so surreal. It was the first time you two didn’t have knives on each other’s necks. It was the first time you felt comfortable around him and the experience was very intimate, it almost drove you mad. 

However, your manager’s words echoed back at you. It’s all a stunt and it will come to an end. 

“Are you ready, Y/N?” The photographer asked, breaking up your thoughts. Am I?

From pink frilly dresses to big tan sherpa coats, you were finally done with the photo shoot. The shoot went on for hours and all you wanted to do was to get rid of everything that your skin and hair had to endure. However, it doesn’t end there. You still had to do a short interview for the magazine. 

You were still wearing one of the outfits you had for the shoot—a black tube-top jumpsuit that clung into your body like second skin, along with tall pencil-heeled black pumps. This was definitely far from comfortable nor is it something that you’d wear, but you did like how it looked on you. “I look like the cold-hearted editor-in-chief in a magazine from a Hallmark movie” was all you said when you looked in the mirror. 

You had to excuse yourself from the young journalist who patiently waited for you as your photoshoot ran a bit late. She was drinking the coffee that you had given her—a small token of an apology for the time she probably wasted waiting. 

She gladly understood and went on with the interview. You were glad to do so anyway since you’re embarrassed for making her wait. You were asked about Amelia, the character that you play in the show Alchemist. 

As Y/N eased into the interview, still wearing one of her outfits from the photoshoot, she was asked about her resonation with her character. “I see only tiny bits of myself as her—that being hard-headed and using self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism,” she answered with a small laugh. 

You were also asked about your personal struggle between dropping out of school—potentially ruining your future— and your unstable acting career. 

She thought she possibly made a huge mistake of ruining her future. Luckily, Y/N received a casting call for the show Alchemist. “I still believe it’s pure luck. I’m lucky that I got the part and the show helped me shape my career, however, I can’t deny that I was really close to giving up.” 

Of course, the current state of your love life had to be included. 

“Yeah, I am seeing someone.” Y/N admits with a soft smile. “People know who he is and frankly, I don’t think I have to explicitly say his name as who I date shouldn’t be anyone’s business.” Her cheeks were flushed red as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Y/N was kind enough to explain that she didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but she still stands firm with her words. 

You quickly and kindly expressed to the journalist that you mean well. You had no intention of being rude or for it to sound rude, but you still hold true to your words. The journalist was kind enough to understand your sentiments regarding this.  

The interview ended in a breeze and you were absolutely longing for the time when you can take a nice long bath. You quickly thanked the journalist as she bid her way goodbye. 

You can only hope that this cover issue finds you well. 

Time went by slowly and yet very quickly at the same time. You haven’t seen any of your friends for a couple of weeks as you’ve been occupied by filming, doing interviews, and photoshoots. 

You haven’t seen Tom in quite a while too—which you didn’t mind. You actually used this time to reevaluate your uncertain feelings for him. People at set didn’t seem to notice that he rarely showed up at your shoots—at least if they did, they would just assume that he’s busy since he did have an endless list of projects. 

As you were still uncertain about where your feelings lie with Tom, you chose this time to at least try and forget about him. Admittedly, it was difficult since people would always bring him up at some point or he would just be everywhere on social media. 

This time apart from Tom did give you a sense of peace. You weren’t in the constant state of practically having a heart attack around him, no matter how cliché it sounds. You hated that he had this effect on you but you had to act like everything’s fine—hoping that you’re doing a damn well job because acting is how you put food on the table. 

However, just like the opening lyrics of One Direction’s most gut-wrenching song, Love You Goodbye, mentioned: “It’s inevitable, everything that’s good comes to an end.” 

And boy, did it end alright. 

Ronnie: pls tell me it’s actually ur day off bc I really plan on having dinner with u.  🥺

You were about to have a long, relaxing bath (infused with epsom salts of course) when you read the text from your best friend. You were longing for this heaven-like bath and there’s no way you’re going to pass it up.

You: technically yes. the shoot ran till morning but all i’ve done since then was sleep. I'm about to take a bath tho & not planning to get out until i turn into a human prune lmao 

Ronnie: ok! I'll buy us dinner, any suggestions? 

You: really craving for some hearty Korean food rn 🤧

Ronnie: gotcha! I'll get u ur usual, do u want me to buy drinks too? 

You were still debating whether to go drinking tonight when your phone pinged, indicating a text. 

Ronnie: babes you’re taking too long. I'm getting us drinks. 

You: guess there’s no way out then lmao 

Ronnie: oh u bet. I'll be there in an hour-ish, maybe earlier. 

You: might still be in the bath when u arrive. 😬 

Ronnie: nah you’re ok haha. I have keys anyway and I'll make myself at home but u already knew that. 😌

You rolled your eyes but still had a smile on your face. You eventually gave Veronica some duplicates as she was constantly popping by anyway. It didn’t make sense for both of you to keep Ronnie out, waiting for you to come home when you could easily just give her some keys. At some point, you even asked her to move in. She is dancing around the idea though. 

Turning your phone off, you stepped into your epsom-salt-bubble bath—ready to shut off from the world and embrace the relaxation. 

After strategically propping your laptop at the bathroom counter, you’ve managed to finish two episodes of New Girl whilst you were in the tub. You could’ve used the bathtub tray that Olivia got you for your birthday, but you couldn’t trust yourself with that type of risk—no matter how careful you were. 

It wasn’t long when you heard a small commotion coming from the living room. You had your eyebrows furrowed, surely it was just Ronnie who’s dropping by today. Unless she invited Olivia too? 

Stepping out of the tub, you wrapped a towel around your body. You shut off your laptop and grabbed your phone before you left the bathroom. 

“Ronnie?” You called out above the chatter from the living room. “Ronnie, is that you?” 

“Yeah, right here, babes!” You heard her yell back. Upon reaching the living room, you saw Ronnie setting the food down on the table with Harrison putting the drinks down. “Oh, hey! I got us bibimbap and tteokbokki from Kim’s Kitchen. I also asked for extra kimchi because that is to die for.” Veronica exclaimed with a huge smile. “Oh and Mrs. Kim says hi.” 

You forced a huge smile in response, turning to your best friend and subtly motioning at Harrison who was standing beside her. 

“Oh! oh! Y/N, I hope you don’t mind that I invited them. They called me the same time as I texted you and I figured you wouldn’t mind because we’re all friends here, right?” Veronica smiled nervously. 

“A head’s up would’ve been nice, because...” You motioned to yourself, pointing out that you were still in your towel. “I mean it is my home and I should dress however I want but obviously you got your boyfriend here. The least I could do is look presentable.” 

Harrison turned red and so did Veronica. “Y/N, Harrison is not my boy—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll go get changed.” You rolled your eyes and dismissed the entire thing. What can you do, kick them out? Wait—

“Wait, did you say “them” earlier? Is anyone else coming?” You asked. 

“Uh...” Veronica was looking for the right words to say until her eyes met someone else’s and looked right past you. 

You turned around and saw Tom standing in the middle of the room, holding plates and cutlery from your kitchen. Pinching the bridge of your nose to prevent the emerging migraine you’re about to endure and closed your eyes, you took a deep breath. 

“Uh—Hi, Y/N” Tom waved shyly. That’s all it took. All of those repressed feelings that you were trying to fight off were coming back. With your heart beating furiously, you knew you were a goner and you hated that. 

“Hi Tom,” you muttered. You two haven’t spoken to each other in a while since the morning after the wedding. God, this is awkward.  

You caught his eyes flickered to your body and put his head down, walking towards Harrison and Veronica, avoiding eye contact. You realized you were still in your towel, turning red. “Uh, I’ll go get changed.” You muttered, practically running towards your room to change. 

You were changing into an oversized shirt and into some leggings when you heard a knock from the door. “I’m decent!” You yelled. 

The door slowly opened, Tom peering from the other side. 

“Oh, hey.” You greeted him as he slowly went inside your room. He was looking around, observing your room. Your bedroom wasn’t special but it’s your favourite place. The walls were painted white—which is why when the sun beams through your windows, it bounces off through the walls and illuminates your entire room. Your room consisted of white furniture and bedding, but you made up for it by putting numerous plants all over your room and using earthy tones such as blankets and decorative pillows as accents. 

“Hey,” Tom stepped a bit closer “Sorry about earlier. If I knew you’d feel uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have come.” He apologized. 

“No, you’re good. I guess I was just caught by surprise.” You quickly dismissed. 

There was an odd silence. Is this what happens when you don’t talk for quite a while? 

“Oh, I also wanted to give you this,” Tom said, handing you the sweatpants that he borrowed a while ago. The cursed night that brought you closer to each other, literally. Grabbing the neatly folded pants, your fingers gently grazed upon his—the first time you had physical contact ever since that night.  “Don’t worry, I washed it.” He added. 

“Eh, I think I’ll wash it again just to make sure.” You joked, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. 

Tom let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry.” You heard him say as you put your hair into a loose ponytail.

“For what?” You asked, brows furrowed. 

“I wasn’t exactly the finest “boyfriend” in the world.” He explained, putting air quotes on the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’d say I was busy but I should’ve made time.” 

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, Tom.” You turned around to place the pants inside the drawer. “It’s not like you’re my actual boyfriend anyway.” You laughed awkwardly.

For some reason, that last sentence left an unpleasant feeling on you. Why are you longing for Tom anyway? Are you that deprived? 

Tom let out an awkward chuckle and mumbled a quiet “yeah,” 

There it is again. That awkward silence. Will this last for the entire night because this is going to be exhausting? 

All of a sudden, Tom looked at you with a smile. “Why are we being weird?” Tom asked, laughing. 

“Yeah, I don’t even know either,” You couldn't help but laugh as well. “I’m definitely not used to you being this quiet.” 

“Are you saying that you missed it then?” He asked with a smirk. “Better yet are you saying that you missed me?” 

You rolled your eyes. There’s the Tom that you knew. “I wouldn’t go that far, Tom.” You replied, fighting off a smile. 

“’m just teasing, darling,” He laughed softly. “So, should we just forget everything and just be friends?” He asked, offering his hand.

You were about to reply when you heard a loud knock from the other side of the door. “Oi, are you two making out in there?” You heard Veronica yell obnoxiously from the other side. 

“Veronica!” You shrieked out of pure embarrassment. You felt your face turning red, as if like you’re a preteen caught with her crush.  

You pulled the door open and dragged Tom outside out of pure embarrassment, only to meet Veronica and Harrison who were leisurely sitting by the couch, trying to fight off their smirks. 

“Food’s getting cold,” Harrison said innocently as you glared at the both of them. 

“I see that you two are getting close,” Veronica commented eyeing both of your hands that were still clasped. 

“I—uh,” You’re at a loss for words. You forgot the calm feeling of how Tom’s hands felt against yours. 

You were about to let go when Tom raised both of your hands to show Haz and Ronnie. “I like holding her hand, it’s always so warm,” Tom commented with a soft smile. “One of the perks of fake dating, Y/N.” 

Veronica took a good look at you while you were busy staring at Tom. Ronnie knows that stare of yours and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t know whether to feel happy or anxious for you. 

“Yeah, that is until your hands get damp.” You teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s just eat.” You said as you grabbed a cushion and sat on the floor. 

“Okay, so what are we having?” Tom asked as he stared at the table full of Korean dishes. 

“Well, I ordered each of us a bowl of bibimbap because I have no clue what you two like to eat” Ronnie said, pertaining to Tom and Harrison. She handed them each a bowl. “They’re all beef, by the way—oh except for Y/N’s, she has chicken.” 

“Have you had bibimbap before?” You asked Tom who was behind you, sitting on the couch. 

He shook his head in response, grabbing a cushion and opted to sit on the floor, right next to you. “I’ve had Korean BBQ before, does that count?” 

“Not quite,” You laughed. “Here, I’ll add some chilli paste.” 

“Darling, don’t add too much—” Tom argued while trying to grab the chilli paste from your hands. He ended just holding onto your hand instead.

“C’mon, it’s better when it’s spicy!” You defended, trying to squeeze more into his bowl.

“Are you sure you’re not adding that much because you hate me?” You could feel the close proximity of his face against yours. 

“Oh, please,” You turned to face him “I could never hate you, Tommy.” You blinking innocently, trying to hide the fact that he’s literally inches away from you. 

While you and Tom are practically exploring this whole new territory of closeness, Veronica was quietly watching it unfold in front of her eyes. 

“They seem to be getting along quite well,” Harrison commented before shoving a spoon into his mouth. 

“Yeah, maybe too well.” Veronica murmured, still staring at the couple in front of her. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Haz asked with a raised eyebrow. Curious. 

Veronica couldn’t answer. Is it really a bad thing or was she just being overprotective? She should be happy for her friend! Heck, she should be happy that you and Tom were finally getting along for once.

Veronica chose to just look past it and accept the situation for what it is for now: a miracle. 

“I guess not,” Veronica answered, smiling softly at Harrison who gladly smiled in return. 

“Dinner was spectacular,” Tom commented with a smile “Well done, Ronnie.” 

“Oh—psh!” Ronnie waved her hand nonchalantly, “That was nothing.” 

“Yeah, because Mrs. Kim prepared all of it” You argued jokingly. “Besides, I suggested that we should have Korean cuisine tonight.” 

“Then I guess I should thank you, Y/N,” Tom grabbed the sides of your face and squished your cheeks. “Thanks, darling.” He grinned. 

You scrunched your face and took his hand away. “You’re annoying,” You told Tom while gathering the plates, starting to clear the table. 

“I’ll get that, Y/N,” Harrison said while grabbing the plates from you. “I’ll do the dishes, you lot just stay put here.” 

“Ooh, I’ll help!” Veronica stood up to help Harrison. 

“No, it’s fine. Just stay there, Ronnie. It’s okay.” Harrison replied, his tone of voice suddenly warm towards Veronica. 

“You’re so sweet,” Veronica said in awe. “But that won’t work for me, babe. I’ll help you, it’s totally okay.” She insisted, clearing the rest of the table and following Harrison towards the kitchen. 

You were about to head into the spare bedroom when you felt Tom wrap his hands around yours. “Where are you going?” He asked. 

“I’m just going to grab something,” You replied, “Even if I try to get away from you, I couldn’t. Trust me.” You teased. 

Tom nodded understandably, letting go of your hand. 

As you were on your way to the spare room, you couldn’t help but mumble “Why’s he being so clingy all of a sudden? Is this what he’s like to his friends?” You chose to shake off your thoughts against your better judgment. 

“What’s that?” Tom asked as soon as you entered the living room. 

“A bean bag chair,” You answered, dropping it in front of him. “So you can stop hogging my place on the sofa.” 

“Aw, you got a bean bag chair just for me?” He asked with a huge grin on his face. 

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t buy it just for you, dumb ass.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” He grinned. “Whatever you say.” Tom then sat on the bean bag chair, except he sat at the very upper part of it and tried to keep his balance whilst doing so. 

This is the most boyish thing you’ve seen Tom do—no fancy clothing, no assistants around him, no cameras, none of it. He looked like an average guy, doing silly and harmless things, who’s just trying to have fun. 

With that in mind, you couldn’t help but pull your phone out and film him doing so. Eventually, he caught on and saw that you had your phone out, giving a smile. 

Laughing, you said, “That’s not how you sit on it!”

“I’ll sit on it however I want,” He teased. You quit filming and decided to upload the clip on your Instagram story. It was cute, pure, and authentic. Three words that you swore you wouldn’t use when pertaining to you and Tom. 

This fake dating thing is getting harder and harder. Seeing that you and Tom finally decided to act friendly around each other, it’s definitely going to provoke the feelings you were trying to suppress from him. 

“Okay, so I got bottles of soju.” Veronica announced while wiping her hands with the kitchen towel. “Anyone up for a Paranoia drinking game?” She asked with a smirk. 

“Why must we play a game while drinking?” You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“I think it’ll be fun, Y/N.” Tom commented. “This is the right moment to build a tight bond with each other.” 

“Yeah, because nothing says bonding like alcohol and using repressed feelings.” You mumbled. 

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