Tryin not to think about how next week is the finale and we STILL don’t know what the fate of the show will be 🫠

*crawls over completely exhausted* No Canon Lukanette... Need fluff... maybe salt too...

Luka gave Marinette's parents a smile as he waited for Marinette to come downstairs, though to say he was concerned was an understatement. He and Marinette hadn't been dating for long, but he knew something was wrong due to her song singing even more stress-filled notes than usual. He wanted to talk to her about it, but also wanted her to open up to him herself when she was ready.

Wanting to focus on smiling for her when she came down, Luka shook off the thought and stared up at Marinette's trap door. Seeing that she hadn't come down yet - understandable given that she had no idea he was there - he pulled out his phone and navigated to her contact. However, just before he could tap on it, there was an abrupt, loud, and unusual noise coming from Marinette's room, followed by the sound of Marinette yelping and presumably hitting the floor.

Luka gasped. “Marinette!”

Not even thinking, he hurried upstairs, phone clutched tightly in his hand as he pushed the trap door up and let himself in.

Over a dozen tiny kwami were speeding around her room, each with distinct voices and one of whom he recognized as Sass. He'd initially thought that the Liberty was chaos, and it was, but there was something different about fifteen little melodies all moving around simultaneously and wreaking havoc. They hadn't even seemed to notice that he was there.

There was also a ladybug-patterned ellipsoid lying on the table in the middle of it all, though Luka's eyes fixated mostly on Marinette lying there on the floor, now staring at him with wide eyes as he took in the whole situation.

"L-luka!" she greeted, voice forced. "W-what a surprise! I mean, you must be surprised at my toy collection! See, there's—there’s this magnetism thing going on that lets them seem like they're flying and—"

She was cut off as one of the kwami accidentally dropped something to the floor, making her flinch from the loud noise. Even the sound all around the room was overwhelming, the little beings ignoring Marinette’s panic in favor of playing with her things.

That's when the tears started, subtly at first until Marinette let out a whimper.

Ignoring all the revelations he just went through, Luka hurried to Marinette's side, helping her up and checking her for injuries. "Marinette, are you okay—"

"You know!" she cut in, running her fingers anxiously through her hair. "You're not supposed to know!"

He took a breath, recognizing that he was going to have to deal with these revelations now. "It's okay. I promise, I'd never—"

"No, it's not okay!" she argued, throwing her hands out. "I've been guardian for just a few days and this—this isn't—! I already—and now the kwami are out—!" She slumped and dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed. "I'm a bad guardian. I'm a bad girlfriend. I couldn't protect you from knowing!"

"Marinette, you're not a bad girlfriend. You—" He paused, something occurring to him. "Protect me...?"

He hadn't been Viperion for long, but Luka remembered the importance given to secret identities. He understood that it was a form of protecting oneself and one's loved ones, meaning that a permanent hero like Ladybug needed to keep hers a secret the most.

"Is..." His stomach twisted in knots as he remembered all the dates she'd had to either miss or postpone. He bent down, trying to look at her face, and when he still couldn't, he gently cupped her face and encouraged her to make eye contact with him. "Is that why—"

"Yes! That's why I have to keep cutting our dates short, and not being there for you, and not going on patrols with Chat, and why I haven't had time to take those stupid Adrien pictures down! I can't do anything right!"

At some point, the volume of her voice had finally drawn the attention of the kwami, who all stared at her like children watching their parent having a breakdown and feeling awkward about it. Luka paid them no mind, his heart breaking as he processed all the information Marinette was telling him while all he could do was pull her into a hug and just hold her.

"I'm sorry I found out like this," he admitted, running his hand up and down along her back. "I'm glad that I know but I would've wanted you to share that secret with me instead."

"I-I'm sor—"

"Please don't apologize, Marinette," he gently begged. "I hate hearing songs with meanings I don't agree with. You don't have anything to feel sorry for. If I had the ladybug earrings instead, I would've had to do the same thing as you, and you wouldn't have asked me to apologize, would you?"

She looked up at him, expression pained and full of so many burdens that he couldn't believe he hadn't seen before. He brushed her fringe aside and rested his palm against her forehead, concerned about how pale she seemed and worried that she'd stress herself to a cold.

She leaned into his touch, then further until he was forced to move his hand away. She buried her face in his chest, surprising him as she hugged him tightly. Her song turned from the harsh wail of an electric guitar to the mellow tones of an acoustic, and he sighed in a mixture of relief and happiness.

"...Luka," she murmured, lightly clutching whatever fabric she could reach. "The movie. We'll miss it at this rate."

He hummed, half in response to what she said and half in content. "You're so much more important than the movie."

His heart skipped a beat when she actually giggled, her grip on him loosening and the hug turning to something she did because she wanted to, not for comfort. "More important than Jagged Stone?"

He chuckled, burying his face into her hair as he returned the hug. "Always. Even my idol can't compete with my muse."

She leaned further into him, her melody picking up hints off a bell chiming happily. She almost knocked him over from how much of her weight she was putting on him, but he didn't protest and even enjoyed it; it meant she was trusting him with her secrets instead of shouldering the weight herself.

"I know I couldn't have known," he began, "but I'm sorry that our dates took up your time. I never wanted to cause you any stress."

"But I wanted to!" she insisted, jolting up to look at him. "It's just—it's been a lot, and—"

He placed two fingers against her lips before she could start rambling. "Marinette, I don't need to go on normal dates to have fun with you."

She blinked, waiting for him to move his fingers before asking, "Y-you don't?"

He smiled. "Of course not. I can hang out here while you work, while you do important stuff."

With a small, amused snort, she pulled away from him and wiped any stray tears away. "You're 'important stuff.'"

He grinned like the love-struck fool that he was, then shrugged. "Well, I'll still be here anyway then, right?"

"That's true." She paused, glancing off to the side in consideration, then looked back at him as she asked, "in that case... would you help me with something?"

"Anything," he answered immediately.

She pointed, his gaze drawn to her wall full of Adrien pictures. "Like I said, I haven't had the time, and... I've been wanting to remodel forever."

He was more than happy to help, and there was a selfish part of him that considered it far better than any movie they could've seen.

—————

It took a bit more time than either of them anticipated to take down all of the images, but between the two of them, it wasn't a hard job. The biggest time-waster during the whole thing was Marinette's rambling, but Luka welcomed it wholeheartedly.

Due to not watching much TV, he honestly hadn't heard about what'd happened when Jagged Stone had been at the bakery and the camera crew had invaded Marinette's privacy, and he couldn't believe how much mental stress she must've gone through. After all, even though he and Juleka shared a room, there was still a divider for when they needed their privacy, so he wasn't unaware about how personal it was to have one's room recorded without their consent, even if nothing embarrassing got caught on camera.

It seemed cruel to know that Paris' supposedly lucky superhero was perhaps one of the unluckiest people he'd ever known.

Almost on cue, just when the last picture was down and Marinette was debating on what to do with them, her phone went off with a ringtone that sounded very much like danger. Looking over, there was a butterfly symbol flashing on the screen and Marinette's expression faltered at the sight of it.

"Akuma alert," she said flatly, with a pout that would've been cute had he not known what it meant. She hesitated, eyes flicking from him to her phone. "Um... look, I... I have to—"

"Go," he interrupted with a reassuring smile. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'll be here when you're done."

"But—" She frowned and glared at her phone, clearly knowing that she had to leave but not wanting to.

"I mean it, Marinette. It's okay."

She looked at him like she'd never heard those words from anyone else before, eyes vulnerable but fond. She gave him a nod, a brief smile flickering across her face before she turned away and rushed to the stairs. She shouted for her transformation on the way out and Luka watched as her clothes shifted into her ladybug-patterned bodysuit.

When she was completely gone, Luka felt a sudden unsteadiness and leaned against the table for support. It wasn't that he was shocked exactly to hear that Marinette was Ladybug, but he was still overloaded nonetheless.

As his hand rested on the table, he felt the heel of his palm brush something and looked down to see the pile of Adrien pictures next to him. It sent another rush through his body at the reminder that she'd asked him to help her take them down. He was dating her, sure, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that there were no lingering feelings for Adrien. He knew where she stood and he was okay letting her test the waters with him, as she did have feelings for him and who was he to complain if his crush wanted to date him? Besides, he couldn't help wanting to see if maybe it would truly make their bond stronger.

Looking at the wall now, clear of anything but the pink paint, he knew this was real and ended up wishing he'd brought his guitar.

Then, remembering the akuma alert on Marinette's phone, Luka pulled out his own and began to search, eventually finding what she already had: a direct link to watch streams and updates on whatever akuma or sentimonster shenanigans were going on. He knew well enough that he would only give himself anxiety from it, but he wanted to watch his girlfriend in action as a form of support.

Gosh, Ladybug was his girlfriend.

He took a deep breath to steady himself as he watched the footage, his eyes locked to the screen and only shifting when he felt various figures drawing close. He looked up to see that the kwami had all gathered around him, watching the screen closely.

"So..." the pig-looking kwami began, fiddling with their own paws like they knew they were being awkward. "Have you ever wanted to be a hero?"

There was a hiss off to the side, Sass cutting in with, "He already has me."

Luka wasn't feeling up to smile at that, debating with himself before sighing. "Marinette works really hard, and her song is full of sour notes right now," he said. Stepping away and heading for the chaise lounge, he sat down and added, "I hope you can figure out how to rewrite them."

The kwami all exchanged looks, some confused by the metaphor and others who perhaps understood but didn't know how to follow up on it. Luka didn't give them his attention, focusing on the akuma battle playing on his phone.

As he'd expected, it made him a little nervous actually seeing Ladybug in action due to now knowing it was his girlfriend fighting out there. He believed in her abilities and mentally cheered her on, but he just kept remembering all the akuma he'd known about and how stressful it had to have been.

Off to the side, some of the kwami joined forces to help pick up some of the items they'd previously dropped on the floor. It was only after Marinette's room looked as it did before that they properly joined Luka to watch the battle with him.

It was a start.

—————

The battle between Ladybug and the akuma (and Chat Noir was there he supposed) seemed to be getting into its final verse when Luka heard the sound of the trap door being grabbed and clicked open, making him jump. He was only able to whisper a, "Hide," so the kwami could act before Sabine peered inside the room and took a curious look around.

Apparently, they all thought that huddling against his back was a great hiding spot, and he could only smile sheepishly at Sabine while attempting to ignore the weird feeling.

"You're still here?" Sabine asked. "I thought you were going somewhere, and..." She raised a brow, looking around once more. "Where's Marinette?"

"Ah," Luka began, his mind rushing for an excuse, "we actually decided to have our date here instead. Marinette just went up to her balcony to grab something."

It didn't feel good to lie, though he also felt a sense of accomplishment in protecting Marinette's secret. Was this what Marinette dealt with all the time; having to lie to people even if she didn't want to?

Sabine glanced up briefly to where the balcony was, then back to him, slightly confused but rolling with it. "Alright. Do you two need anything?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you though," he replied, hoping it didn't sound forced.

Thankfully, Sabine nodded and left without asking any further questions, the kwami emerging and clinging to Luka while they peered at the now-closed trap door. Luka breathed a sigh of relief, then went back to watching the akuma battle on his phone.

The rest of the fight took a couple minutes, and all that was left to do afterward was wait for Ladybug to return. Once again, Luka wished he had his guitar, making a mental note to get all of his feelings out when he got home, as typical music apps just didn't do anything for him.

An expected "thump" eventually came from the balcony, and the kwami drifting away from Luka as Ladybug descended and landed on her bed. She saw Luka staring at her and initially flinched, but it was clearly a reflex from people seeing her as Ladybug where she shouldn't be, and she hurried down to meet with him afterward. Luka hopped to his feet, not hesitating to meet her halfway and envelop her in a hug, earning a squeak out of her.

"L-luka?"

"Sorry," he murmured. "Just... I got to think about everything you must've gone through without m—" He choked off, suddenly embarrassed, then corrected, "—someone to help you."

She blinked, then giggled and hugged him back. "You're my boyfriend. You're apologizing for hugging me and being worried about sounding selfish?" She nestled her face against his shoulder and he blushed at how warm she was. "Don't. I like it when you're a little selfish, Luka. It grounds me; makes me feel like you're not totally out of my league."

Luka scoffed, nuzzling his head against hers. "You're in a league all your own. I'm literally dating a superhero."

"Trust me, it's not as cool as it sounds."

"I disagree. I think you're really cool."

She blushed profusely. "H-hey..."

He chuckled. "By the way, your mom came to check up on us."

Ladybug gasped, then pulled back, eyes wide and concerned. She was clearly about to apologize, so he cut her off before she could.

"I told her that we were having our date here and that you were getting something from the balcony. Everything's alright."

Her shoulders eased. She let out a sigh of relief as her head fell back against his shoulder. "Thank you."

He hummed contently, resting his hand along her back and keeping it there. Then, realizing when Sabine came up earlier and might do it again, he reminded her, "You're still Ladybug."

"Huh? ...Oh!" she said, though with less panic than normal and unwilling to recoil from the happy spot she was in.

He heard the whisper of her de-transformation phrase and winced as the light engulfed her, slowly turning her back into Marinette. He felt the spandex under his hand turn into fabric and Marinette's breath against his skin as she exhaled.

A kwami that Luka deduced was Marinette's flew a small distance away, eyeing Luka warily and semi-critically. Luka didn't blame her - he wasn't supposed to know - but he also knew that it was far too late to change anything now, and there was no way he was going to abandon Marinette or pretend he knew nothing. He imagined that the kwami knew that too.

"...I'm Tikki," the kwami greeted finally. "It's nice to meet you officially, Luka."

Luka gave her a nod in return, then stiffened somewhat as Marinette squeezed him tighter, burying her face further against him like she truly cherished him.

"It's still a lot," she whispered. "Is it okay if you hug me a little longer?"

"Of course." Though, he paused for a moment before adding, "Would it be more comfortable for you if we move to your chaise?"

"Hm?" She pulled away just enough to look down and realize that they were still awkwardly standing at the bottom of the steps to her bed. "Oh! Yeah, I mean—I didn't even—"

"Hey." He tenderly cupped her cheek, offering a smile. "I didn't complain, did I?"

She looked briefly surprised, making him wonder just how much she'd had to apologize in the past. They slowly made their way over to the chaise lounge, Luka settling down and opening his arms for her so she could settle onto his lap and snuggle against him. He leaned back against the chaise, throwing his legs across the length of it, then wrapped an arm around Marinette to make her feel secure.

"This is nice. It's... um—" She peeked up at him, then grinned shyly. "—melodic? Is that what you'd call it?"

He couldn't stop himself from snorting.

Marinette blushed in embarrassment. "H-hey! I'm trying, okay?"

"I know." He took a strand of her hair in his hand and stroked it. "You always try, and I love that about you."

She let out a series of whines at that, but doesn't protest the compliment either. She nestled against his chest, keeping her face turned away enough to still talk to him without her voice being muffled.

"I just... want to know more about you, Luka," she told him. "You're so sweet and I felt awful having to ditch you. Didn't it bother you?"

He gave a one-armed shrug. "You were busy. I unders—"

"Luka."

He stopped, meeting her firm gaze and knowing that he wasn't getting out of this easily. He sighed, admitting, "...Yeah, it bothered me, but it wasn't because of you or that I didn't trust you. I... see—my dad..." He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that he'd never told anyone this story before. "I never knew who he was. I asked my mom so many times, but she never gave me an answer. Whenever you had to leave and lie to me, I..."

"Oh." She raised herself up more to meet him closer to eye level. "I'm so sorry—wait—sorry, you told me not to apologize—Sorry! I did it agai—ACK!"

He laughed, feeling warm and delighted by how much she cared about him and wanted him to feel secure in their relationship. He squeezed her shoulder in reassurance, wanting to nuzzle her for how cute she was being and just barely able to hold himself back.

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad you were looking out for me, but you deserve someone to look out for you too."

She pouted a bit at the heartfelt comment, then smiled and raised her hand to settle on his along her shoulder.

He hummed, pausing purposefully for effect before asking, "...So, what does the great guardian Marinette want to do now?"

"Oh my gosh, Luka."

He grinned, happy to compliment her until she was completely red. "How about the brave and heroic Ladybug then?"

"Luka."

He reached up to caress her cheek with his thumb. "But, if you ask me, I like the kind, sincere civilian Marinette best."

"LUKA!"

—————

The rest of their "date" passed by smoothly, Marinette's parents having left them alone so as to not interrupt anything. Marinette had idly brought up the idea that the movie might still be playing - just at a different time than they planned on going - but Luka brushed off the idea and insisted that he was happy there and didn't need to go on a "real" date with her to have fun, opting to leave it up to her.

And... yeah, neither of them were willing to leave their current position and exchange it for having to sit in different seats at a theater with other people around. They opted to just stare at the ceiling and talk, the kwami having respectfully retreated to Marinette's bed to give them privacy.

Talks of their past meetings and when she left to become Ladybug soon turned into a game of finishing Jagged Stone lyrics. Luka, either by being the bigger fan or just having an easier time remembering them, ended up winning in the end, though he couldn't have expected Marinette to follow up by immediately leaving his lap. He'd held back a whine at the sudden lack of warmth and wondered if maybe she'd been teasing him with some sort of punishment by going away.

But then she'd returned with a tiny pink gift box, and inside was a guitar pick necklace signed by Jagged Stone himself.

"He came into the bakery the other day and I had him sign it for you," she explained. Taking it out to fully present it to him, she asked, "Do...do you like it?"

"I love it, Marinette," he replied immediately, reaching out to feel the guitar pick and properly appreciate it. "I can have this?"

She smiled in response, holding the necklace out in a gesture that made his heart skip a beat, realizing that she was offering to put it on him herself. He leaned close, feeling the light brush of her fingers against his neck as she slipped it onto him. He silently hoped that it was durable because he was absolutely never taking it off.

Marinette's hands lingered on the string even when the necklace was fully on, Luka meeting her gaze to see that she was looking at him with all the love he'd ever dreamed of her offering him. He didn't say a word and neither did she, but with a light tug on his necklace, he was pulled towards her into a kiss. It was definitely too deep for their first but also so nice that neither of them cared, and not even the Ladybug revelation could outmatch his surprise at being so readily smooched.

Luka reached for the hand grabbing his necklace, Marinette letting go of it so they could thread their fingers together. His song was going crazy as she leaned forward, clearly wanting more from him and him being wonderfully helpless to resist her. He breathed her in, his other hand finding its place on her side. Her own hand rose up so her fingers could settle against the back of his neck, and he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed by the sound he made when she started playing with his hair.

She didn't even pull away when their kiss broke, merely pressing her forehead to his while they each caught their breath. Despite the boldness she'd just displayed, she somehow couldn't maintain eye contact and ended up looking elsewhere while all he could do was stare at her in a daze.

"S-sor—" She paused, remembering again that he told her not to apologize. "I-I mean, I'm... not sorry? I—ah—remembered you saying that music is simpler than words, so I just—I thought that maybe I shouldn't ask you with words and just... play it instead?" Luka could feel the heat radiating from her blush as she hurriedly added, "Um... is that okay?"

He answered her with another kiss.

wish i were

summary: Emily’s back where she belongs, but she’s learning that you can’t come back from the dead the same as you were before. Spencer’s reeling from betrayal and broken trust. Then there’s you—their safe port in the storm. But you’re not okay either, and you have a choice to make.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, bittersweet ending

a/n: it’s finally here. thank you all for your patience. i wasn’t planning on posting angst and unrequited love on valentine’s day, but i don’t want to wait another day to post this; i’m kinda sick of looking at it tbh. anyways, i hope you enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations. sorry it’s so long. apparently i have a lot to say.

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist || masterlist

Ten weeks ago.

“Absolutely not,” Emily croaks out. Her voice is rough and broken from the breathing tube, and it hurts her throat to speak, but she ignores it. “No. I won’t do it.”

She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She’s only been awake for a few hours and she’s already fed up with the bullshit the world is throwing at her. Right now, it’s in the form of her boss asking her to fake her own death. “You can’t seriously think this is an acceptable solution.”

Hotch is unreadable, his unit chief face firmly in place. “It’s for your own safety.”

Emily scoffs, then immediately winces at the pain that shoots through her midsection. But she continues. “So put me in a safe house or something. I’m not making my friends bury me.”

“It’s for their safety as well,” he replies. “Doyle’s still out there. He’s targeted them before. You know he’ll do it again to get to you if he finds out you’re alive.”

“Then let them in on this,” she argues. “They can keep a secret.”

His expression slips—just a little bit, but she sees it. It’s hesitance.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks, a feeling of dread settling over her. “I want to see her. I’m not making a decision like this without her.”

Hotch folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not your decision to make, Emily,” he says quietly. “It’s already done.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She looks him up and down, searching desperately for any sign that he’s lying, that this is all just some cruel joke, that any second now you’ll be walking through the door, a smile on your face—

There are none.

Her lungs burn and she’s forced to take in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” she whispers. “You... son of a bitch. How dare you? How dare you.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch as her voice increases in volume, which only serves to make her angrier.

“How fucking dare you! You let me see (Y/N) right now, you bastard!”

The door opens—her heart leaps—

It’s JJ, who, if Hotch is to be believed, is the only other one to know about this. JJ hurries to her side and reaches out, but Emily yanks her arm away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarls. “You—” Her eyes land on the water pitcher on the table in front of her and she lunges forward, the searing pain it causes barely registering. She seizes it and throws it with all the force she can muster.

Hotch doesn’t move out of the way, letting it hit his chest and soak the front of his clothing. Its accompanying cup follows, then the TV remote. It’s not until she grabs the vase of flowers that he ducks out of the way. The glass shatters on the floor. All the while, she’s screaming obscenities at him.

JJ tries in vain to calm her down, holding up her hands placatingly. “Emily, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she yells. “You have the audacity to come in here and speak to me when you know I’m alive and my girlfriend doesn’t!”

“Emily!” Her voice is stern. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t use your fucking mom voice on me, Jennifer, I’m not a fucking child—”

“What’s going on in here?” A pair of nurses enter the room, no doubt drawn by the commotion.

“She’s bleeding,” JJ answers immediately. “I think she might have aggravated something when she sat up.”

“She’s not supposed to be sitting up at all. What did you two do?” one of the nurses scolds.

“She just got some bad news—”

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to put it!” The nurses are trying to coax her into laying back down, but Emily resists it. “A really great way to describe the two of you trying to force me into letting my family and girlfriend think I’m dead!”

“I think some of the stitches tore,” the second nurse says.

“Go get the doctor,” the first one instructs an orderly standing in the doorway.

Movement catches Emily’s eye and she looks towards it to see Hotch taking a step backwards.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams. “I’m not done with you, you motherf—”

“Agent, please, you need to lie back.”

“And you two need to leave,” the older of the nurses says.

Then there’s a third person at her side. Judging by the white coat, it’s the doctor. “What’s the problem?” he asks them.

“She’s agitated and we think some stitches might have burst.”

“Damn right I’m agitated!” Emily cries. “They’re trying to—I—” She looks past the doctor to find that JJ and Hotch are gone.

“Emily, we’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he tells her.

Her vision goes blurry and she can’t figure out why until she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks. She lets the nurses push her back now and her head thumps against the pillow. “Please—” she chokes on a sob. “Please, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” the doctor asks kindly.

“(Y/N). We’ve been together for almost a year. I need…” Her limbs are starting to feel heavy. “I need to call her, or—or something. She thinks… she thinks….”

“Shh, you’re okay,” one of the nurses soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

Emily blinks slowly and shakes her head. “But she won’t be. She…”

The world fades to black.

---

There are tear stains on your pillowcase.

That’s the first thing Emily notices when she walks into your bedroom. She recognizes them so quickly because similar ones were on her pillows in Paris.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to run the sheets through the wash,” you say when you notice her looking.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She sets her bag on the bedside table, careful to jostle Sergio as little as possible. He’s in her arms, pressed against her chest and purring loudly. He definitely remembers her—she’d been a little worried that he wouldn’t.

Emily is absolutely exhausted. It has been a very long day. Doyle is dead, Declan is safe, and now all she wants to do is take a nice, hot shower and curl up in bed with you. But you haven’t been able to keep eye contact with her for more than a few moments at a time.

She expected something like this to happen. She knew once the relief of seeing her alive wore off, there was going to be a heap of more, uglier emotions surfacing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

You glance up at her just briefly, busying yourself with stripping off the pillowcases and replacing them with a clean set. “I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t.”

She strokes Sergio’s back a couple of times to calm herself before replying. “You can say anything. You’ve been through so much, and I… I’m not going to hold what you’re feeling against you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

It confirms her suspicions. “(Y/N), you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she says. “Hell, you could even yell at me if you wanted to and I’d be okay with it.”

You snort. “I don’t want to yell at you. But, um, could I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Well…” You shuffle from one foot to the other. “I’m… not really sure how to ask this, but, how… how did this happen?”

Your voice is hesitant. You’re holding back, but Emily can read between the lines. “You mean, how could I let you think I was dead?” she corrects softly.

You breathe in sharply and wrap your arms around yourself. Your eyes are wet when you look up at her and nod.

Emily tries not to let her next words come out too fast, lest it seem like she’s dismissing your feelings or making excuses. “I didn’t get a choice.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “When I came to after surgery, the funeral had already been held.”

Your mouth drops open. You stare at her for a few seconds, then blink several times. Your eyes move around, focused on nothing in particular as you try to process what she’s just told you. Eventually, they settle on the bedroom door behind her. “I’m gonna punch his face,” you whisper.

Emily can’t stop the genuine laugh that bubbles out of her. “Yeah, Hotch heard similar things from me.”

“Oh my god, Em,” you breathe out, and her heart skips a beat at the nickname. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” she admits. “But at least I knew you were alive and that I’d see you again someday. It can’t come close to what you went through.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t the suffering Olympics. It was harder for you in some ways than it was for me, I’m sure. Like, if I was waking up after being stabbed, I’d want my girlfriend there holding my hand.”

Emily’s eyes prick with tears as she listens to you, remembering how it felt to be at the hospital without you there to hold her hand through all the scary bits. But you? You had buried her, and now you’re here considering how Emily had felt throughout all this. She’s not sure if you’re actively trying to make her fall even more in love with you, but if you are, you’re succeeding.

“I can’t promise to never be mad at you about this,” you continue, “but I’ll take being mad at you for actually being alive rather than being mad at you for dying.”

“That’s… really mature of you,” she observes.

“I started seeing a therapist a few days after the funeral,” you say with a shrug. “Can you put Sergio down and help me change the bed sheets?”

She nods and places him gently on the floor. She’s about to ask why you’re wanting to change them right now, when you’re clearly just as exhausted as she is, when she finds a tie wedged between the top and fitted sheets at the foot of the bed. She frowns as she lifts it up—it’s not one she recognizes as yours or hers, but she does think she’s seen it before.

“Oh, so that’s where that went,” you say.

“I don’t remember you having a tie like this. Is it new?”

“It’s Spencer’s,” you clarify.

“Oh. What… what’s it doing in your bed?” she asks hesitantly.

“He would stay over sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and he’s too long—“ you spread your hands apart “—for either of the couches.”

“I see.” Emily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric and crosses the room to put it on top of the dresser, trying to tamp down the sting of jealousy. The other side of your bed is supposed to be hers.

“Nothing happened,” you say and she realizes she’s frowning.

“I know,” she replies, and she does—she just wishes it had been her in the bed with you. But you’ve at least given her a good lead-in for her surprise. “Anyways, you wouldn’t have even had the time with the amount of online Scrabble you were playing.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “How do you know about that?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I was there for every game, sergio2010.”

It takes you a moment to put it together. “You’re cheetobreath?” you ask. “I thought that was JJ.”

“It was her idea,” Emily says. “And that’s what you were supposed to think.”

Your reaction delights her—you start laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I had to stick it to Hotch somehow,” she defends, barely holding back her own laughter.

You shake your head fondly as you finish tucking in the fresh sheets. Emily helps you spread the comforter back over the bed and return the pillows to their spots. She isn’t sure what to do after that, though, and nervously clasps her hands in front of her. You’re silent for a few seconds, watching her from across the bed.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say eventually.

“Um, okay,” she replies. “But you know, I could go stay at a hotel instead if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “You’re gonna join me.”

“Ah.” Emily swallows, part nervous, part thrilled. “That’s… I mean, yeah. Okay.”

You hold out your hand in invitation; she circles the bed and takes it.

After, when you’re both clean and settled into bed, she pulls you as close to her as she can. “This is so nice,” you sigh into her skin. “You’re so soft, Em.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um, thank you?”

“Spencer’s bony,” you explain.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, I know. I fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet a few years ago and it was painful.”

You giggle. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

“Morgan’s mentioned it. You learn anything else when you were snuggled up with him?” she teases, running her fingers through your damp hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” you protest. “We didn’t snuggle. I’d just kind of… press my forehead on his arm and one leg against his.” Your voice lowers as you continue, “I just really missed being close to someone.”

“I did, too,” she whispers back. “I wish it had been me, but I’m glad you had him.”

You nod against her in agreement. “I love you, Emily,” you say, briefly tightening your grip on her.

“I love you, too,” she replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So much.”

You drift off to sleep quickly, and she’s not far behind.

It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

---

Spencer’s barely heard from you since the hearing last week.

He’d gotten plenty of texts from Jennifer (all of which he ignored), but only a few from you. That’s probably normal for most adult friends, but not for you two, especially so when the fact that you were the only two people not to apply for reinstatement to the BAU is taken into consideration. He thought that he’d be able to seriously talk about it with you, to share his feelings and maybe work it out together. But all he had gotten was a brief message:

Emily was reinstated, so I’m going back, too.

It left him frustrated, but when it came down to it, he understood—he was the same. Since you were going back, so was he.

On Monday morning, everyone’s first day back together, he gets off the elevator and is immediately confronted with the last person he wants to see.

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend,” Jennifer says.

Spencer barely resists rolling his eyes, instead keeping them fixed on the file he’s holding. “I had to deal with some stuff with my mom.” It’s not a lie—he did have to check in with his mom. It just didn’t take as long as he’s implying. “Have you seen Garcia?”

“Uh, she’s with Rossi,” Jennifer answers, and she sounds startled by his behavior, but he doesn’t care. You’re at your desk, and as he passes by, he takes your arm.

“Wha—Spencer?” You’re taken aback, but you let him pull you along and into a file room.

“What?” you repeat when he turns to you after closing the door.

He tucks the file into his bag, the folds his arms over his chest. “I barely heard from you last week.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, yeah, I’ve been busy,” you say. “Emily’s moving in with me so we’ve been taking her things out of storage and to my apartment to unpack.”

Spencer glances away, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Just two weeks ago, he was in your bed and he’s quickly been replaced. And sure, he knows you don’t feel that way about him, but it was easy to pretend you did when you were asleep right next to him. “Not busy enough to make a decision about work,” he points out.

“So?”

“You’re the only other one who didn’t apply for reinstatement to the unit,” he replies. “You’d think that would be something for us to talk about.”

“You never said you wanted to,” you say, giving him a little shrug.

He doesn’t resist the eye roll this time. Does Spencer know he’s being a bit unfair? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly. No one bothered to seriously check in with him last week. He wasn’t expecting everyone to, but he was expecting it from you. He’s only been at work for five minutes, but his emotions are already running high, and he doesn’t care to reign them in. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You should’ve. I can’t read your mind.” Now you’re getting defensive. “And what does it matter, anyways? You’re not my boyfriend; I don’t have to run my decisions past you.”

“I know that,” he snaps. He really could have done without hearing you say that. “I’m just there to warm up your bed when you’re lonely is all, huh?”

You’re shocked for only a moment before pivoting to anger. “I didn’t make you do anything. You could’ve said no. And I certainly don’t owe you anything from it.”

“Clearly,” he mutters.

You heave an angry sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad about the whole thing, but don’t take it out on me. I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I wanted to spend the past week catching up with my girlfriend after thinking she was dead for ten weeks. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve said so. Stop being such an ass.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. You’re right, and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. He just looks down at the floor, avoiding your glare.

When it becomes clear to you that he has no intention of responding, you mutter, “whatever” under your breath and duck behind him, walking out of the door and leaving him alone again.

---

The case has been miserable.

In rural Oklahoma, their unsub is burning his victims with acid. Not the worst they’ve seen, but not pleasant, either—this job never is.

You’re still mad at him, which is bad enough, but he’s also had to watch you be far more… touchy with Emily than you ever were before. It’s not super apparent—you still keep it professional at the local P.D. and when you’re out on work assignments, but you’re going out of your way to find any excuse to touch her that you can outside of that.

Then there’s the motel they’re staying at and its thin walls. He heard a few things last night from your room next door. It was quickly followed by shushes, but he heard enough to infer what was going on. So he’d dug his noise-canceling headphones out of his bag. It had been a good solution at the time, but then he’d fallen asleep with them on. As a result, he’d slept with his neck at an odd angle. It’s midday now and it’s still aching.

To top it all off, there’s Jennifer. He’s been trying to keep his distance from her, and had thought the snide remarks he hadn’t been able to hold back might encourage her to stay away. But she keeps pressing the issue, and when she tells him she thinks he’s mad about micro-expressions, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“You think it’s about my profiling skills? Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

She protests, so he brings up Dilaudid. He knows it’s a low blow, and that she still feels guilty about them splitting up all those years ago, leading to his abduction and subsequent problem, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to hurt like he is.

The team is staring and Emily says his name, but he just tells Jennifer that it’s too late to be sorry and leaves without another word.

Outside, he sits on the curb in front of one of the SUVs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He’s not alone for long, though. Just a few minutes later, he hears footsteps coming from behind him. The sound that involuntarily comes out of his throat can only be described as a growl.

“God, Jennifer, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I want you to leave me the fuck alone!” he nearly yells.

But it’s not Jennifer that answers. “It’s me,” you say softly.

Spencer sighs. He drops his hands from his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Can I sit?”

He’s not sure he wants to be around anyone, but it’s hard for him to say no to you. “Sure,” he says dully.

You join him on the curb, but keep a few feet of space between you. You don’t say anything, though, just sit quietly, letting him make the first move.

“How are you okay?” he asks eventually.

“What?” You sound incredulous. “I’m not sure where you got that idea. I’m so mad at Hotch that I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room as him.”

Spencer considers this for a moment, recalling when everyone’s been in the same room during this case. He realizes that since he’s been preoccupied with you touching Emily and trying to avoid Jennifer, he’s missed how you tense up whenever you see Hotch, and that you keep him out of your eyesight whenever possible.

“But you’re fine with Emily,” he observes. That does honestly confuse him, because he’s mad at Emily as well. And if it had been you in her place? He’s not sure he’d ever be able to forgive you, even without you knowing the way he feels about you.

“For the most part,” you say. “I still feel a little mad at her sometimes, but it helps me to remember that it wasn’t her fault.”

He finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being alive in Paris and not telling you isn’t her fault?”

“She didn’t really get a choice. When she woke up after surgery, the funeral had already happened,” you explain. “Hotch made the decision without her.”

“Hmm.” He files that information away to think over later. “And Jennifer?”

You shrug. “I can’t be too mad at her, since she did so much for me during those weeks.”

He snorts. “Yeah, out of guilt.”

“Probably, yes,” you concede. “But not having to pack up Emily’s things and take them to storage myself, feeding Sergio and bringing him to stay with me, bringing me hot meals when I was surviving off of cereal alone because I could barely get out of bed, let alone cook for myself… it went a long way.”

On the one hand, it’s a bit comforting for him to hear how Jennifer helped the woman he loves. On the other, she could have ended your pain with three words—Emily is alive—but she didn’t. She let the woman he loves suffer the pain of the loss of a partner.

And she sure didn’t bring him hot meals.

This shouldn’t surprise you, Spencer. You’ve always been the afterthought. The burden. You should be used to this by now.

He clenches the fabric of his pants in his hands. “That doesn’t make me any less angry,” he mutters.

“That’s fine.”

“You can’t expect me to just—wait, what?”

“That’s fine,” you repeat. “I’m not trying to tell you to just get over it or whatever because she was nice to me. Like Em told me, you’re allowed to be mad.”

Spencer bites his lip, resisting the urge to ask you to stop calling her Em. You’re the only one that calls her that—or rather, is allowed to call her that, and it’s obvious why. It’s also similar enough to you calling him Spence that he’ll always start comparing himself to Emily when he hears it, and he’s been trying to stop doing that for months.

“Maybe you just, I don’t know,” you continue, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You could just try to be a little less passive aggressive with JJ?”

He opens his mouth, about to flat-out refuse, but before he can, you tack on, “For me? Just a little bit?”

God damn it.

“Only if she stops bothering me,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah, she, um… she was crying when I left, so I think she’s got the message now,” you say quietly.

He feels a bit guilty upon hearing that, but not enough to apologize, or even really regret it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, he rationalizes to himself. She’s the one who decided to push it anyways.

After a few moments of silence, you reach out and pat his knee. “I love you, you know.”

He knows what you mean, knows that you don’t mean it like that, but his heart still skips a beat. He responds to you with a nod.

You push yourself to your feet, tell him to take all the time he needs, and you’ll see him when he’s ready to come back in, then walk away.

When he’s certain you’re out of earshot, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

---

Emily sits down across from him on the plane, and Spencer is immediately reminded of the morning after he caught you and her together. That time, Emily had folded her hands in front of her on the table. This time, she slides something across it to him. He looks up from his book and sees his missing tie, wrinkles ironed out and folded neatly.

“It was in her bed,” she explains when his brow furrows.

Spencer wonders if that made Emily jealous.

He’s not a good enough person to not hope it did.

“Thanks,” he mutters, putting it away in his bag.

Emily’s quiet, but she doesn’t leave. She must have something else to say. He sighs. “What is it?”  

“Are you going to Rossi’s house tomorrow night?” she asks.

He looks back down to his book. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure I can make it.”

“Okay. Well, Reid, you can be mad at me for as long as you need to. I’m okay with that.”

Spencer frowns. He kind of wishes she wasn’t being so nice and understanding. It makes it harder to be upset with her, and he wants to be upset with her.

“I’d like to say something to you, though, if that’s okay,” she says.

He reluctantly looks back up. “What?”

Emily holds his gaze. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

He blinks. “Uh, for what?”

Her voice wavers slightly with emotion as she speaks. “For looking out for her when I couldn’t.”

His eyes drift away from Emily and to the couch where you’re sleeping. “My pleasure,” he replies quietly. When he looks back at Emily, she has a curious look on her face.

For the first time, instead of panicking over keeping his secret, instead of shying away, Spencer looks right back at her. A few seconds later, he thinks he sees a flash of realization in her eyes, but it’s so quick he can’t be sure.

“Well, thank you,” she repeats, and takes her leave. He watches as she leans down and tucks the blanket closer around you. He closes his eyes, leans back in his seat, and imagines a world where he was the one adjusting it instead.

---

“You’re gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine. And then you’re gonna have a bad day.”

Emily can barely get the hotel room door open, her hands are shaking so much. A bad day. What Hotch called it, she thinks, was a bit of an understatement.

She’s just come back from taking a witness statement to help wrap up the piano man case—or rather, she was trying to take one.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me.”

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asks.

“Because you would be in prison.” Emily understands why Regina is mad at her, and she’s fine with taking the brunt of it. Lying to her to stop her from shooting the unsub was the right thing to do. “I know it’s hard--”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like…” Regina pauses briefly, anger radiating off of her. “When the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily breaks eye contact and looks down. She knows exactly what that’s like.

Regina recognizes it. “Wait--”

Redirect, redirect, redirect. “Look, I’m here as a courtesy--”

“Something happened to you.”

“So do you want to give me your statement or not?”

But Regina is relentless. “What did you do to him, huh? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily sits down heavily on the spare bed, drawing your attention away from packing up your things for the flight home. “Em?”

She just shakes her head, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes. “It was the right thing,” she whispers to herself. “It was the right thing. I did the right thing.”

You sit down next to her and place your hand on her back. “What happened?”

Emily swallows hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck; she tilts her head to try and dislodge it. You catch on and pull it to the side for her.

“Talk to me, baby,” you urge gently. “Just something, anything I can do to help.”

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I—I think,” she stutters. “I th—think I just ruined a woman’s pe—peace of m—mind for good.”

You start rubbing circles on her back and ask, “How?”

“You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

Emily shudders involuntarily. “I… you know how we found the unsub with a—a victim?”

Slowly, in sentences fractured by gasping breaths, swallows to hold back the nausea, and even a few sobs, she recounts what Regina said to her.

You murmur something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, then, ever so gently, you pull her into your arms.

Emily Prentiss isn’t one to break down, not in her own home and especially not in front of others. She controls any “negative” emotions as best as she can, her feelings only displayed through a trembling voice, misty eyes, or run-down nails. Screaming, tears, and nervous gestures were not befitting of an ambassador’s daughter, after all, and those habits formed in childhood have stayed with her until this day.

But there’s one person who’s the exception. There’s one person with whom those walls just don’t seem to exist. That person, of course, is you.

You pull her into your arms, and Emily Prentiss breaks down, because she can. She can because she knows you’ll be there to help put her back together again.

“You never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?”

She hadn’t understood what her therapist meant when she said it yesterday morning, but Emily thinks she does now. This time last year, what Regina said would have unsettled her, and she would have felt sorry for her, but she probably wouldn’t have dwelt on it much. It’s not last year, though. It’s this year, and she’s coming undone in your embrace over Regina’s words, words she knows will never leave her.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Still… your monster’s dead. I have to live with mine. That’s my statement.”

Emily has a promise to keep, so she boards the jet early. A few minutes later, Hotch slides into the seat across from her and waits. It still takes her a few moments to collect herself enough to say the words.

“I’m having a bad day.”

---

Spencer’s not sure if you’re going to be able to keep doing this job. He became very familiar with your nervous tics and outward signs of stress during those weeks, and now he can notice them almost immediately.

You seemed okay for the first few months. A few habits cropped up now and then—biting your lip, tapping each fingertip to your thumb in turn—but that was fairly normal. It’s a stressful job.

But then your bottom lip starts getting chapped again, and during conversions with anyone other than Emily, you’re quiet; you often have to be prompted to share your thoughts.

He tries to find out what’s wrong, but when he asks, you shut it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But, um, you probably should talk to… somebody, you know?”

You barely look up from your paperwork as you respond. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been seeing a therapist since this whole shitshow started. I’ve got Emily, too. If anything, I should be telling you to go talk to a professional.”

Spencer just says “okay” again, then a few minutes later he excuses himself to go hide in the bathroom and nurse his hurt feelings. He knows you weren’t trying to be mean. Flipping around the suggestion to him most certainly came from a place of love. But he’s not interested in receiving any kind of psychiatric care—he’s actively opposed to it. So being told anything of that sort upsets him and often makes him angry.

Today it’s just salt in the wound, though. The wound itself is Emily. And god, does he ever feel guilty about the resentment that crops up every time her name is in your mouth. She was dead, and every day she was gone, he wished she weren’t. He cried countless tears over her and would’ve given anything to at least be able to say goodbye.

Then the impossible happened—she came back. He didn’t have to say goodbye at all. And sure, there was the initial relief and happiness, and the warmest hug ever, but now he finds himself resenting her. He’d never wish for her to be gone again, but he can’t stop the jealousy, no matter how hard he tries.

Recently, when Emily was shot during a case in California, he held back your hair as you leaned out of the door of the SUV and threw up upon receiving the news. Spencer Reid would never deny that he’s a germaphobe, but he wants that. He wants to be the one taking care of you, the one whose shoulder you fall asleep on, the one going home with you at the end of the day.

He doesn’t want Emily gone, never, ever again, but he wants you back. Those ten weeks, as awful as they were, weren’t the worst he’s had, because during that time, you were always seeking him out. He knows you didn’t want him that way, but if Emily had really been gone, he thinks one day, that might have changed. The thought always brings tears to his eyes.

Still, he would settle for having you the way he did during the years before he fell for you. Things just haven’t been the same since Emily came back. You don’t stay up late talking anymore. You haven’t a movie night in months. You don’t ask about the books he’s reading or what he did over the weekend. This is it: this is exactly what he was afraid of happening when he found you with Emily.

Spencer doesn’t think it’s personal. He thinks it’s because you’re barely hanging on these days, and just don’t have the energy anymore to do things like you used to.

It still hurts, though. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.

---

Respite can come at the strangest of times and in the oddest of ways. Today, it comes to Emily in the middle of a hostage situation at a bank, in the form of a job offer.

The team is trying to find the I.D. of the Queen of Hearts, one of the robbers, when she gets a surprise call from Clyde Easter, her old Interpol Unit Chief, who gives her the information he knows about the unsub. He doesn’t know her name, but he reminds her that she’s seen the unsub before, at a robbery in Paris while she was living there. Then when the team learns that their unsubs want to fly out to Chad, she calls him back.

“Well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that’s something you could help me with when this is over.”

Emily scoffs. “Work for Interpol again? That’ll be the day.”

“Not work, darling. Run,” he corrects. “You see, I’ve been promoted. So, the team’s yours whenever you want it.”

“It’s a hell of a time to bring that up,” she says, ignoring the questioning glances she’s getting from you, Reid, and JJ.

Clyde asks her to think about it, but there’s no time to do that now. She pushes it to the back of her mind and goes back to work.

By the time the day is over, she’s tired. Just tired. You both narrowly survive the explosion in the bank thanks to the alcove you were in, trying to help two elderly patrons. Then a mere hour later, you scare the shit out of her by finding Will strapped to an active bomb and deactivating it yourself. So Clyde’s offer doesn’t come up again until the next morning, when light is spilling through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with a soft, warm glow.

You face each other in bed, legs twined together under the covers. “What was that about working for Interpol again?” you ask softly, tucking your arm under your head.

“Clyde was promoted,” she replies just as quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful morning feeling. “He offered me his old job. He wants me to run the London office.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Emily blows out a breath. “I’d like to at least… consider it.”

You reach out, finding her hand in the sheets and lacing your fingers between hers. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” she replies, squeezing your hand back.

“Well, then I think you’re more than just considering it,” you say. “You wouldn’t bring it to me if you didn’t want to take the job.”

Emily thinks for a moment, then admits, “I… I do want to take it. But I have to know what you think, honestly.” She was already robbed out of making one life-changing decision without you in this past year. She has no interest in that happening again.

“Honestly?” you repeat, shifting a little. At her nod, you continue, “I think it’s a good option for us.”

“Us?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, us,” you affirm. “What, you think I’m just going to stay here if you move away?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. This is the first time we’ve talked about something like this.”

“Fair point,” you say, then sigh. “We’re… both struggling here in D.C., Em. I know it and you know it. This place, this team. It used to be my home, but now, I just… it’s not like it was before.”

“You don’t trust Hotch anymore,” Emily says quietly.

You let out a small, broken chuckle. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying so hard. I know he did what he thought he had to, but I just… I can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” she points out. She lets go of your hand to reach up and wipe away a tear that breaks your lash line. “In fact, I’d say it’s reasonable, with what you went through.”

You close your eyes and nod, putting your hand on top of hers to keep it on your cheek. “I know it’s been hard for you, too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to come back, and at first, I felt like I was home. But I just can’t go back to my old life and pretend that nothing happened. The only time I feel at home now is… well, it’s when I’m alone with you, just like this.”

“Emily Prentiss, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” you say, cracking a smile.

“Oh, stop,” she says, but she’s blushing. When your giggles subside, she speaks again. “I would love for you to come to London with me. But I don’t want you to forget what you’d be leaving. There’s still a lot of good here.”

You nod. “There is. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore,” you say softly.

“I understand. You can think about it. I don’t need an answer now.”

So you don’t give her one, not right away. But you do a few hours later. So Emily picks up her phone and dials Clyde’s number.

---

JJ’s a beautiful bride, but Spencer’s eyes keep drifting over to you. The dress you’re wearing tonight is wonderful; from the cut to the color, it suits you perfectly. But that’s not what’s really got his attention. It’s the way you’re carrying yourself. You’re smiling, and you seem truly happy, without any reservations. But there’s also a bit of sadness clinging to you, and he can’t tell what’s causing it.

The party has been going on for a while by the time he finds himself dancing with you. You’d asked him, and now you’ve steered him a little ways away from everyone else. “There’s something I have to tell you,” you say just as he’s about to ask what’s going on.

To his dismay, he doesn’t have a clue what it’s going to be. He doesn’t like not having at least an idea. He swallows, then says, “Okay.”

You can’t meet his eyes; you look down to the floor instead and watch your feet move in time together. So whatever it is, I’m not going to like it, he thinks, and his anxiety spikes. “What is it?” he asks, tightening his grip on you without really meaning to.

You take a deep breath, then look up. “Emily and I are leaving.”

His heart drops and he stops in his tracks, causing you to stumble a little over his feet. “Oh, shi—sorry,” he says. “I just—you’re leaving the BAU? But you’re still going to be in D.C., right?”

You sigh, then guide him off the dance floor and to a quiet spot not too far away. “You remember what Emily said about working for Interpol again yesterday?”

“Interpol?” he repeats, his voice pitching upwards. “You mean, like, overseas?”

“London, to be specific.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. Things were a little rocky between you and him when Emily came back, and for a little while afterwards, sure, but recently he’d started to feel like he had his best friend back.

Apparently he couldn’t be more wrong.

Spencer’s used to people leaving. First it was his dad, then Ethan. Elle was next, quickly followed by Gideon. JJ was forced out, and although she ended up coming back, it didn’t erase the pain he felt in her absence. And then there was everything that happened with Emily.

So, Spencer’s used to people leaving. In a way, he almost expects it.

He just wishes it would stop hurting so damn much.

What is it about me? he wonders. What is it that makes people run away? There’s clearly something wrong with--

“Hey!”

He jumps, startled out of his introspection. When his eyes refocus on you, you put your hands on your hips.

“I don’t appreciate people being mean to my best friend, you know,” you tell him seriously.

“Uh…” He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“That includes him being mean to himself,” you continue. “I know what you were thinking.”

“What? No, you don’t,” he protests.

“Don’t I?” You put the tip of your finger on your chin. “Was it or was it not something along the lines of, people always leave me, why do they do that, there must be something wrong with me?”

He hates that you’re right, so he doesn’t answer, just scowls and looks away.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Sure it isn’t. You’ve only just added your name to the list.

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look at me.”

Spencer doesn’t, and your resulting sigh sounds so frustrated, and then he thinks, Oh, great work, Reid. (Y/N) tells you she’s leaving and what do you do? You piss her off. Honestly, it’s no wonder--

And then your hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, and he’s too surprised to resist your gaze anymore.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer,” you say, your voice equal parts firm and gentle. “You didn’t drive me away. Not even close. There’s nothing inherently wrong with you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotions you’ve just caused. “Well, I could have gone without picking a fight with you on our first day back at work,” he says, sniffling again.

“What’re you tal—Spencer, that was almost a year ago.”

“Nine months.”

“Whatever. The point still stands. You’re not why I’m leaving, okay? You’re…” you trail off and he’s alarmed to see your eyes grow wet. “You’re the opposite, actually. You were the only thing keeping me here when Emily was gone. And now, you’re why it’s so hard to leave.”

“I am?” he whispers before he can think better of it.

“You are,” you affirm. “I think Emily’s actually a little worried you’re gonna talk me out of it.”

It gets a laugh out of him, but right after a little sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. When you hug him, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle tightly.

“Hey, this isn’t the end, okay?” you say, and he can tell from the way your voice is trembling that you’re crying, too. “I know you like to ignore it, but we do live in the digital age, and I’ll be hounding you to talk to me at least once a week. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other, trying not to cry too much. Eventually, you pull away. “Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Our flight isn’t for another ten days. I’m gonna be around.”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, then swipe at your face, clearing away the tears. “Um, we should head back. You still owe me a dance.”

And dance with you he does, swaying gently from side to side with his hand resting on your waist. A look over your shoulder shows Emily and Derek dancing in a similar manner; judging by the way he’s holding her, she told him the news as well.

He has an eidetic memory, but Spencer makes the effort to commit this moment to his brain all the same. He wants to remember the way you’re holding him, resting your head on his chest and running your thumb over the back of his hand every so often. He wants to remember how your skin feels against his, the texture of your hair. The lighting in the backyard and the way it makes you glow. The words that you said, telling him that it’s not his fault, that nothing’s wrong with him. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but you’ve never lied to him before, so he’ll try to accept it.

The song ends, and tears threaten to fall again when you pick up your head and take a step back.

“Hey, no more crying tonight,” you say. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I don’t want to cry any more tonight. Save it for my grand exit at the airport terminal.”

That makes him break into a smile and he’s able to blink back the tears. “Okay.”

“Do you mind if I take this dance?” It’s Emily, and she’s looking at him, head tilted in your direction.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “No, um, go—go ahead.”

He passes your hand to her, and what he feels is silly. You’re not some prize to be won; you don’t belong to anyone other than yourself. But he feels like he’s passing you off to Emily, almost… entrusting you to her. The look Emily gives him makes him think she understands this.

“Wait,” you say before she can properly take you into her arms. You lean towards him and press a kiss to his cheek.

Spencer doesn’t stay around to watch you two dance. He retreats back into the house, fingertips on the spot you kissed. He lets them sit there for a moment, then forces himself to drop his hand. It’s far past time for him to try and move on. He doesn’t want you to leave, but it might be what he needs.

Maybe, just maybe, with some distance, he can begin to heal.

---

On the first day at work without you, Spencer finds a small frame on his desk. He immediately recognizes the picture inside of it—it’s the one you’d kept as your lockscreen for months, much to his dismay.

It’s a picture from the relatively early days of your friendship, well before he felt anything that wasn’t platonic towards you. You’d dragged him out on a weekend off to a nearby amusement park, because, “you can’t die without having ridden a roller coaster at least once, Spence.” He had no desire to do so, but he didn’t have any other plans, so he went along with it.

The roller coaster ended up making him vomit, and the picture is from shortly after that. You’re holding up the camera with one hand and making a peace sign with the other, smiling from ear to ear. He still looks a little queasy, only managing a small smile, but he still looks somewhat happy. And he was, that day. Other than the nausea, he’d had a lot of fun with you.

He picks up the frame and feels something on the back of it. He flips it over and finds one of his lilac colored post-it notes, displaying your handwriting.

“When it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”

Tears blur his vision. Doctor Who. Of course you picked Doctor Who. And you’ve written something else, too, in smaller letters:

If you don’t answer my calls at least twice a month, I’ll tell JJ you’ve been stealing from her Cheetos stash for eight years. Love ya.

He laughs out loud, a little wet giggle that he has to follow up with a sniffle. He slips the note under the frame’s felt backing to keep it safe, then rearranges his things until he settles on the perfect spot for it to sit on his desk. He retrieves a fresh sticky note and scribbles down a reminder to himself to call you when he gets home, sticking it the cover of one of his books. After all, he can’t have JJ knowing about his thievery. The team’s good at what they do, but he doesn’t think anyone would be able to find his body once JJ’s done with him.

His eyes drift back to the photograph, coming to a stop on your face. He misses you already. He even misses the ugly bits, when you’d snapped at each other, when you were crying on his shoulder. When he saw you with Emily that first time. It’s an odd mix of emotions. Longing, nostalgia, grief, happiness, safety. Belonging.

Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.

Spencer couldn’t agree more.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

oh my god, i can hardly believe it’s over. there’s still going to be a small epilogue, but it’s optional. thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who read and supported this series and your enthusiasm for it. you’ve made me so very happy. and if you relate to spencer in this, i want you to know you’re gonna find your someone someday. if that’s what you want, i believe you’ll find it eventually. much love to all of you. 💖

series taglist: @sobereinstein , @zizzlekwum , @goldensatine , @closetedreidstan , @afuckingshituniverse , @uswntxx , @johnmulaneyslut , @90spumkin , @mcntsee , @zhuzhubii , @shadyladyperfection , @mggbler , @eva-cadeau , @esmesisle , @anothergayinthelife , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @zozoleesi , @calm-and-doctor , i think that’s everyone?? so sorry if i missed you.

First ‘I Love You’

Summary: Your boyfriend, Tamaki, misses date night, something that never happens without a heads up. Something must be wrong.

A/N: This was supposed to be fluff, but my hands have a mind of their own and they typed this. A little bit of angst. If I missed something please let me know! And tell me what you guys want to see! I live for asks and requests. I will try my best!

Trigger Warnings: mentions of character death, little bit of angst, mentions of violence, mentions of a concussion, and some broken ribs.

You frowned down at your watch as you sat at the common room table.

“Is he still not back from patrols?” Mirio asked, sliding into the seat across from you.

“No, and it’s date night,” you reminded him. “He never misses date night.” Your frown deepened at the thought. “He hasn’t texted me either. Something’s wrong.”

“Think positive (Y/F/N),” Mirio told you, smiling, though you could tell he was worried too.

“Fine, I’m positive something is wrong,” you countered, lacing your fingers together as your mind ran through possibilities.

“(Y/F/N), you might want to get in here!” someone shouted, calling you over to the TV as one of your classmates turned up the volume.

Your heart dropped into hell as you heard what the reporter was saying on screen.

“- not sure how long the battle has been going on, however, the heroes and their sidekicks are currently in good shape, keeping them at bay. Suneater has been taking the brunt of the damage-”

“No,” you whispered, catching a glimpse of your boyfriend in live time as he was flung against a nearby building. “Tama.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as tears lined your eyes as you saw him struggle to get up. You heard the soft cry of pain he let out as he grabbed onto his ribs.

“I have to go help him,” you muttered, feeling like the world had narrowed down to the small glimpse of him on the screen, time slowing as your mind focused on Tamaki.

“You can’t, you’re off duty and you haven’t been called in,” Mirio said, latching onto your arm.

“He’s going to be killed!” you cried, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Suneater seems to be severely injured, I don’t know if he can take much more of this-”

“You’re forgetting who he’s fighting for,” Mirio told you, laying a hand on your shoulder. “He’s fighting to get back to you. He’ll be alright.”

Tears spilled over as you watched the live stream.

“Suneater seems to be loosing a lot of blood, but he’s still fighting, against recommendations it seems.”

The camera being used to video was catching snippets of conversation between the heroes, and you heard Tamaki say, “-need to get . . .  back to . . .(Y/F/N).”

You let out a small sob as you heard your name, barely caring as your knees buckled and Mirio wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you upright.

“Maybe we should turn it-”

“Don’t turn it off,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. “I . . . I need it on, please.”

Someone managed to get you to sit down, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you watched your boyfriend climb out of the rubble.

“Mirio, where’s the closest hospital to where they are?” you asked, your voice completely deadpan.

What if he died? What if you never saw him alive after this? What if you never got to tell him-

“About twenty minutes,” he told you. “Not to mention the time it would take us to get there.”

“Can-Can I get a minute alone? Please?” you asked quietly, tears coming harder now, your chin trembling as you watched Tamaki fight.

“C’mon guys, let’s give her some space,” Mirio murmured to the others, shooing them out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, you were up off the couch, heading for your room, changing into some protective gear, swinging yourself out your window, climbing over the sills to get to the ground.

He was your boyfriend god damnit, the heroes needed help, and you weren’t going to let anything stop you.

Tears were still streaming down your face as you made your way to the battle, dodging people and following the stream of evacuees. Time lost meaning as you pushed yourself harder and faster.

You heard the villain roar in the distance and you tried to calm the roar in your own ears as you landed in the crowd.

They had Tamaki on a stretcher, moving him into an ambulance.

“Tama,” you cried, running over, ignoring the stitch in your side.

“Miss, please,” someone started, but then Fat Gum was there.

“It’s alright, she’s his girlfriend,” he said, nodding to you, face drawn and skinnier than you had ever seen it.

“I’m sorry (Y/L/N)-san,” Kirishima sobbed, though he wasn’t crying, he looked like he wanted to. “I tr-tried.”

“I know Red, I know,” you soothed, climbing into the ambulance with Tamaki, who let out a small groan.

“Tama,” you murmured, reaching out to touch him before you drew your hand back. What if you hurt him?

He groaned, eyes fluttering open. “(Y-Y/F/N)? Sorry I missed date night.”

“It’s okay, idiot, just get better okay?” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face as he reached out to take your hand.

“You-You aren’t mad?” he asked.

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” you told him, kissing his forehead as the paramedics worked.

“I’ll-I’ll make it- make it up to you,” he promised.

“Baby, you don’t have to make it up to me. You have nothing to make up for. You saved so many people tonight. I’m so proud of you,” you told him, giving him a teary smile. “Just get better.”

He nodded as best he could, closing his eyes, but his hand stayed tightly gripped in yours.

When you reached the hospital and you had to leave Tamaki, you took to pacing the waiting room, apologizing to the older lady that you were stressing out.

Mirio and the others arrived half an hour after you did and Mirio instantly wrapped you in a hug, something you had desperately needed.

“I knew you were up to something,” Mirio teased when he pulled away, making you give a tense smile.

“Sorry, but if it were Nejire you would’ve done the same thing.”

Mirio flushed, but he didn’t deny it.

“If you pace anymore you’re going to wear a groove in the floor,” Mirio teased ten minutes later when you continued to pace.

You glared at him and you opened your mouth to reply, but then you heard,  “Tamaki Amajiki?”

“Right here,” you blurt, running over to the doctor. “How is he?”

“He’s got some broken ribs, a concussion, and some pretty bad scrapes and bruises, but other than that, he’s fine. Which one of you is (Y/N)?”

“That’s me,” you admitted, rubbing your arms.

“He’s asking for you,” the doctor told you.

“He is?”

“You are his girlfriend, aren’t you?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, she is, she’s just new at this,” Mirio said for you.

“Can I see him?” you inquired.

“Just know, he is on pain killers, so if he seems a little . . . loopy, that might be why.”

You nodded, following him down the hallway to what was Tamaki’s room.

“Mr. Amajiki, your girlfriend is here,” the doctor said, alerting Tamaki to your presence.

“H-Hey,” Tamaki murmured, giving you a small smile. You could tell he wasn’t seeing you properly, he was staring at a spot just below your left shoulder.

You took the seat by his bed, clutching his hand, he tugged it out of your grip to touch your cheek lightly. You pushed your cheek into his hand, touching his hand with yours.

“How are you feeling?” you inquired, petting his hair softly, something that made him melt every time you did it.

“Like I got thrown into a building,” he joked, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Baby, you did,” you chided. Then you noticed the pain lining his face. “Are the lights too bright?”

“N-No,” he said. “I just-”

You waited for a few minutes while you let your boyfriend gather his thoughts. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything, you spoke up.

“Baby, what’s wrong? C’mon, talk to me,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.

“They have someone coming in to fix my ribs, but until then, they say that I really shouldn’t be moving too much. I just . . . I could really use some snuggles right now,” he admitted, wincing a little bit, eyes closed.

“Believe me, when you get out of here, you are gonna get all the cuddles you want, but until then, we’ll just have to make due. Do you want to see the others? They’re out in the-”

Small snores alerted you that he was fast asleep, making you smile.

You smoothed a hand over his hair, kissing his forehead lightly, slipping out into the hallway.

“He’s fine, tired, but fine,” you assured the others when they crowded around you. “They’re gonna fix his ribs sometime soon, but until then he’s bedridden, not to mention his concussion seems pretty bad. He couldn’t focus on anything and the lights seemed to bother him a lot more than he was saying.”

“Is he up for visitors?” Mirio asked.

“No, he’s passed out. He needs the rest, I think it’s best if we all just go back to the dorms and let the doctors do their thing, as much as it pains me to say it,” you admitted, tearing a hand through your hair.

“Let’s come back in the morning for visiting hours. And remember, he’s hurt, no yelling, not loud noises, and no bright lights,” you reminded them, watching them nod.

Tamaki, despite his nervous nature, had made a lot of friends in his time at U.A., something you were proud of him for.

“You’re dying to stay, aren’t you?” Mirio asked.

You nodded, rubbing your thumb against the palm of your hand.

“You can stay (Y/F/N)! We won’t mind, you are his girlfriend after all,” someone piped up, making you smile.

“Thanks guys. Now go back to the dorms, you all look like shit,” you teased, making them all smile.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” Mirio assured you.

“Alright, if you need me you know where I’ll be,” you told them, sliding back to Tamaki’s room.

He was sleeping soundly, and you sat in the chair, grabbing one of the blankets that were provided for loved ones and visitors.

You curled up in the chair finding a semi-comfortable position before you watched Tamaki for a few minutes.

You wanted to make sure he was still breathing when you drifted off into a somewhat comfortable sleep.

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

“-shut up, you’ll wake her up!”

You groaned a little, wincing at the kink in your neck as you swung your legs into a somewhat normal position.

“Welcome back Sleeping Beauty,” Mirio teased.

“Shut up Chipper,” you hissed, rubbing your neck. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon,” Tamaki told you, smiling.

“Should you be sitting up baby?” you asked when you managed to get your eyes to work enough to see.

“They fixed my ribs earlier this morning,” he assured you, making you smile.

“So you can move without it hurting?” you asked.

He nodded, laughing when you launched yourself from the chair and into his already open arms, knowing what you had been thinking.

“I missed you,” he murmured, face buried in your neck.

“I was here all night,” you told him, smiling as you moved to a position that was a little more comfortable for the both of you.

His arms were like steel bands around your waist, and despite how nervous he was with PDA, you knew he needed this.

“The others are gonna be here soon,” Mirio said, checking his phone.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised Tamaki, kissing his forehead quickly before you slipped out of his hold.

“I brought a bag for you,” Mirio said, handing it to you before you could slip out of the room.

“Thanks,” you told him, smiling before you found the nearest bathroom.

You brushed your teeth, managing to get your hair somewhat neat, and threw on the new pair of clothes that Mirio had snagged from your dorm room.

You slid back into Tamaki’s lap when you got back to his room, smiling when you saw his small pout.

“You could’ve died last night,” you whispered, running your hands through his hair. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until someone . . . .”

You couldn’t finish the thought.

“But you were there,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck.

“‘Cause she snuck out a window to get to you,” Mirio muttered, making Tamaki laugh.

“I love you Tamaki,” you said, clinging to him, running your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know.”

“O-Of course I’m gonna s-say it back,” he chided, tightening his hold around your waist. “I love you too (Y/F/N).”

Cheers from the doorway made you both look up to see your class there.

“Finally!” someone shouted, making Tamaki blush.

“We were afraid you guys were gonna die before you said it to each other!”

“Yeah, I mean, it took you guys three years to get together to begin with!” Nejire added.

Tamaki was shaking, burying his face so far into your neck you were afraid he was going to suffocate.

You cooed softly to him, trying to get him to come out a little bit, but he shook his head, tightening his already strong grip on you.

You smiled at him, shifting slightly in his lap.

He may have been shy, but he was in love with you, and that was all you needed.

i’m not even into overwatch anymore but i just wanted to say I ADORE your art style and hope to develop my own into a similar semi-realism leaning...have you made a post about your art journey? I’m assuming I just need to buckle down and do anatomy studies but any tips are very welcome!! Ty for your time <3

Oh man thank you! I’ve never made a comprehensive post about how I got to *gestures* whatever this point in my art this is, and I definitely sat here wondering what “art journey” means for me since I always feel like I’m stumbling around so I’ll answer as completely as I can. But a great way to develop a realism-minded eye is to draw from photos and life. Everyone in the world has said it over and over but it really gets it done, it’s not any more complicated than that. It’s how I started when I was little and it’s not something I planned, but the Legolas posters were right there so how could I not? Your own non-realism “stylistic” touch will bubble up whether you want it to or not and that’s a beautiful thing. It’s not something you need to look for because it happens on its own, whether it’s you seeing something another artist is doing that you like and assimilating it into your work, or it’s your own unique way that you absorb information from the world and use it to solve problems in the drawing in front of you. Some new artists also still have the idea that using references is cheating-- I’m not blaming them, sometimes this weird thing is circulated by more established people as well-- but this is a very small minority. Please use references. I’d be lost without them. The Castlevania team has a giant collection of references for faces of every character from every angle, props, etc. and I always have a second screen up with 10 different sheets of whoever I’m drawing. Feeding yourself info is essential to getting better. Look at how other artists handle something you’re having a problem with too. If they’re doing a similar pose or something, study their drawing and ask yourself what specifically, extremely technically about that drawing is convincing-- what marks are where, and what is the quality or direction of the strokes? Try it out on your own drawing. If you’re stuck, become aware of if you’re holding on too tightly to what you think something should look like. I have to remind myself this as well. Really try to let go of the idea you have in your head about how something works and simply try instead to draw what you see, even if it feels weird. The results are often pleasantly surprising. 

I have a funny relationship with studies. You seem to be looking at them like a chore and I feel the same way. It’s impossible for me to sit down and just draw something over and over, disconnected from emotion or a larger narrative. I think a wonderful way to “study” is to incorporate those studies into a project that you wanted to do anyway. I’ve used my minicomics to get better at background painting or specific figure poses that I needed for the story but wasn’t sure how to do. I’m a very “oops I need it now better learn TODAY” kind of artist, if that suits you better than buckling down and doing anatomy studies for hours. Both are great ways to improve, but you have options for how to get there. 

In terms of how much time I spend drawing.. well lol it’s a lot. I almost typed “but I don’t do it every day” but yes, my jobs have made sure that I do (I tend to separate personal drawing and job drawing). But the truth is, to get better, a lot of very focused drawing time is important; how much of it is up to you and your schedule. You can sit down for 6 hours and doodle or you can sit down for 3 with an extremely critical eye. It’s about the volume of time as well as focus and I don’t have a clear answer for it, but I can point to one specific year in my life where I made artistic progress like I’ve never seen from myself since. I drew a comic with regular updates during that time and, looking back, the art was not good. But the point was, I was drawing for 7 hours a day after work, at least 5 days a week, and actively looking to draw things that I hadn’t done before or knew that I wasn’t good at, and the result was that every single update was almost like it was drawn by a different person-- readers noticed and commented on the progress as well. It was very much an art bootcamp and I wouldn’t have the skills I do at this point if I hadn’t done it. It’s important that you’re loving what you do if you do it for yourself! That’s how you get through big projects and continue to be excited with where you are. Love is one of the most important motivators and discipline-keepers in art, in my experience. Draw what sets your brain on fire and attack it wholeheartedly even if it’s really weird or niche, not what you think you should be drawing, and you’ll improve a million times faster.

Art journey in terms of what I’ve done with my life (if this is what you meant from the beginning I’M SORRY I’m just trying everything you might have meant) uhhh I haven’t been to art school. I have no idea what my relationship with art would be like now if I’d had any formal training and I don’t really dwell on it. I could either be a testament to being able to get by without it or an example of someone who has no idea what she’s doing at all and lacks many basic foundational art skills. I have an architecture degree. I love architecture, I love the language of space we build for ourselves, and I’m truly, deeply glad for that eye-opening and often grueling experience, but I think my current field is a much better fit. Before animation I worked as a graphic designer mainly drawing storyboards for commercials and internal-industry stuff-- lots and lots of quick colored sketches (one of our main clients was a big glass company and my god I never thought I’d draw so much glass in my life). I was able to do that job due to the skills I developed through personal work. Maybe I’d be a hundred times more powerful if I went to art school! Maybe I’d be completely burned out and bitter and not drawing anymore at all! I just don’t know. I have friends who have had both experiences. Whether you choose art school or not it’s best to keep tabs on if the art you’re currently making brings you joy. Joy and struggle aren’t mutually exclusive. Oftentimes I’m drawing something I care deeply about but it’s VERY FUCKING HARD and I’m frustrated but it’s worth it.

I also do everything while being very scared of the thing. I have a lot of deep-seated anxiety that I’m constantly trying to root out and my brain compulsively twists things around into why I can’t do something, why people secretly know I’m below-par and are just too nice to tell me, how I’m “tricking” people into thinking I’m better than I am, etc. It’s so bad that my first thought when I was initially offered the art test for my current job was to say no; not because I didn’t want it so badly it hurt, but because I thought I’d be too much of a disappointment.  After completing the test I spent an hour figuring out the most gracious way to apologize for not being enough. It’s common, but not something to accept and we’re all working on it. I just thought it was important to mention because art is also a mental journey and forces you to do all this navel-gazey shit in order to advance, and feeling like you are Not Enough is rife in the creative community. The work feels entangled with my value as a person because art is a massive part of my life. Something I’m learning is that I don’t have to be confident or sure of myself all the time. This ensures that the process is usually painful and frightening. Often there’s no way to make it less painful or frightening, and I just have to hold my breath and do it. An oddly comforting thing to me the past couple years is to remind myself that the scary thing I’m about to do won’t be the scariest thing I’ll ever do. I implies both that this isn’t the pinnacle of my progress and also that I will inevitably get over it. If you continue with art you’re going to run into things like this and I guess if it was me it would’ve been helpful to know I’m not alone in it.

I hope that maybe answered some of your questions, maybe? If you have some specific questions feel free and I’ll try my best. Hope you have a good day/night!

Words: a lot idk (2,930) Characters: Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil, Janus, Remus Pairings: Patton and Virgil are brothers (pat is older), the creative twins are, you guessed it, twins with Logan as their older brother, platonic and romantic dukexiety and roceit Trigger warnings: curses (minor), pain, pineapple on pizza (yes, disgusting, ik)

Virgil felt it the second his brain was connected, the dull ache in his right hip. He barely managed to let out a groan, trying to shift off his bad hip and onto his back. He let out a sharp breath as he hit his back. It was one of those days.

He hated those days.

The days when he was all but reduced to his bed before the sharp pain in his hip refused to be quelled. He knows he should get up, to try and stretch it out, but the very thought makes him nauseous.

“Kiddo?” He groans. “You okay?” Patton opens the door slowly, peeking in at the boy. “Bad day?” Virgil nodded and he’d never been so glad to have a brother like Patton. Patton, of course, was aware of these bad days. When Virgil was 10, he got diagnosed with a rare bone condition that affected his bones and left him in so much pain, to the degree that he was basically immobile for a year. He got over the condition fine with a lot of medicine but with lack of mobility for a crucial year in his growth, his muscle weakened and got inflamed a lot, meaning he was constantly on new exercise regimes to re-stretch and re-work the muscles into submission. His right hip muscles, the ones joining his two bones, was currently inflamed and was sticking his bones (Though this confused Patton, wasn’t that what connective muscles were supposed to do?)

“I really just want to sleep all day,” Virgil said.

“We both know I don’t want to give you The Speech,” Patton said, causing Virgil to groan loudly.

“Please, not the speech.” Patton chuckled. 

“How about a compromise?”

“No,” Virgil whined. “Your compromises suck! it's like ‘do these tiresome, painfully stretches for like an hour and then I’ll give you an extra five minutes for a nap’. I would rather The Speech.”

“In that case-”

“No! I was joking, not The Speech,” Virgil said. ‘The Speech’ was an inside joke among the two. When their parents passed away, Virgil was barely 17, so 20-year-old Patton had to help Virgil navigate all his pain alone, with only Logan, Patton’s boyfriend, as a supporter. On one of Virgil’s bad days, he had tried to rouse Virgil to get through his exercise by saying anything and everything off the top of his head. When he was about ten minutes in, Virgil had snapped, saying; “Fine! I’ll do the exercise, just please, Pat, for the love of God, shut up!”. Since then, ‘The Speech’ had been the threat to get Virgil out of bed. Virgil sighed, bringing Patton back to the moments.

“Okay then, smarty-pants, how about I help you through your exercises and then we can chill for the day, I’ll even call off work.” Virgil looked like he battling himself. One side of him wanted to be selfish and spend the day with his brother, but he also knew that his brother didn’t get a lot of days off. Patton seemed to sense this. “Or, I can sit in my office all day and spam you with texts, getting no work done.” Virgil smiled before extending his hands. Patton helped him sit up, carefully and slowly, making sure not to bother the hip too much. He helped Virgil lie down on the floor (the bed was too soft and would mould to his back, meaning he wouldn’t be able to accurately do a lot of the exercises). He placed a pillow under his head, stuck on a playlist, and started the exercises.

“I hate this, I want to stop.” Patton continued to hold Virgil’s leg in place (his right ankle was placed on his left knee, and his legs were drawn up, forcing his right hip to rotate.)

“10 more seconds,” Patton said. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, ″ Slowly, his leg was lowered back down. Virgil let out a large breath. “Only four more exercises to go.” Virgil shook his head, tears springing to his eyes.

“pat please, I can’t do five more.” Patton gently took his brother's face in his hands.

“You’ve done the hard ones, Virge, and you’ve done so well. C’mon, you only have to do three reps of thirty seconds for each one.” Virgil let out a shaky breath, a few tears escaping his eyes, which were quickly wiped away by Patton’s thumbs. “Come on, we can do this.” Virgil snorted slightly.

“This isn’t a ‘we’ situation, Pat, I don’t see you crying from pain,” he joked. Patton would be offended, he’s tempted to pretend to be, but he knows Virgil hates feeling vulnerable and uses humour to cope.

“Well, I don’t see you having to threaten your baby sibling to do his exercises,” Patton said, helping Virgil through the next exercise (place his right thigh over his left, and angling his knee at ninety degrees to stretch the muscle).

“’m not a baby,” Virgil said.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over your baby speak,” Patton said, letting go of Virgil’s leg to stretch it between exercises.

“I’m a man,” Virgil said, making his voice deep to hear his brother laugh. Patton shook his head, re-positioning his leg for him.

“Sure, you are. I’m sure big bad men have to have their crusts cut off their sandwiches.”

“No one wants to eat hard bread, Patton,” Virgil said.

“Is that so, Virgil?” Virgil nodded before he flopped his leg out of his brothers’ hands.

“Why are you positioning my leg for me, I’m not paralysed.”

“I don’t trust you to not give up early,” Patton said immediately. Virgil let out a scandalised gasp.

“Oi! You’re right, but hey!” Patton laughed, picking back up his brother's leg and finished the last exercise on his back. 

“Okay, turn over. You’re gonna have to hold these yourself,” Patton said.

“I thought you said you’d help me!” Virgil whined.

“I basically just did your exercises for you!”

“Basically and literally are not the same thing,” Virgil said. “You’re dating Logan, you should know this!” 

“Hush you, and finish up, I’m hungry.”

“And I’m not?” Patton gave Virgil ‘The Look’. Virgil sighed. “I’m sorry for taking my frustrations out on you, that isn’t fair.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry if I’m making you feel rushed.” Virgil sighed.

“It's fine. And hey, only two more to do.” Patton nodded. The hardest, by far, was the first one. it was an awkward position, making it hard to take deep breaths, and it hurt the most. Patton coached him through his last two before Virgil sighed, flopping down onto the ground. “That sucked.”

“Pancakes?”

“Uh, yes. With blueberries?”

“And maple syrup.” Virgil hollered before slowly standing up. He walked (hobbled) down the stairs and into the kitchen. “So, coffee?” Virgil nodded using a chair to lift himself onto the counter, not trusting his arms or hip. Patton grabbed a glass and a pain pill before handing both to his brother. “30 minutes before your meal please.” Virgil rolled his eyes but took the pill and swallowed it down. Patton began on the batter, getting all the ingredients into the bowl before handing it to his brother. “I’m gonna call work on the landline.”

“What excuse you gonna use.”

“I’m deciding between ‘I’m sick’ or ‘fuck you and your contract hours, I got more important shit to do’. Which is more convincing?” Virgil laughed.

“That’s two dollars in the swear jar.”

“How many times have I forgiven you curses?”

“Me? Curse? I’m an angel.”

“No, you’re a pain in the behind.”

“Pattooooooon!” Patton shook his head and grabbed the landline. 

“Mix,” he instructed before dialling the number and leaving the room. Virgil stuck his tongue out at his brother but began mixing.

“Alexa, play Patton’s breakfast tunes at volume 4 please.”

“Playing ‘Patton’s breakfast tunes’ on Spotify now,” The machine replied. ‘Dog Days Are Over’ by Florence + the machine began to play through the kitchen speakers. Virgil had just about combined the ingredients by the time Patton came back. 

“Any troubles?”

“Nope, Jessie answered the phone, and he’s chill with anything. He said he'd called Katie and she could take my shift, I just had to take her shift next Tuesday but I definitely needed to be in tomorrow - something about a big meeting, ah well.” Patton said. “This looks nearly ready. Finish that off, imma just get the pan.” Patton walked away before noticing the clock. “Later than I thought,” He mumbled. Virgil looked at the clock. It was about half one.

“How long did I sleep for?”

“I went to wake you at like half twelve, so I guess the timing does make sense.” Virgil nodded, handing the mixed batter to his brother. The two silently made breakfast - well, Patton made breakfast, humming alone to his playlist, while Virgil watched before getting up and setting the table. He yawned again, the pain in his hip moving from a stabbing pain to a dull ache. He plopped down on his chair - the only chair with a cushion for times like these. Patton smiled, handing him his plate as the two tucked into their lunch. Virgil had tried to offer to clean up, but Patton insisted he stayed sitting.

“It hurts whether I stand, lay or sit,” Virgil said. “I might as well help.”

“It's okay, I can handle this.” Virgil sighed but moved to the sitting room, setting up Disney+ on the TV. “What are we watching?” Patton asked, returning to the sitting room.

“Princess and the Frog?” Patton giggled.

“You just wanna stare at Prince Naveen,” Patton teased, handing Virgil an ice pack.

“Well, duh,” Virgil said. “Also, the songs are awesome.”

“Can’t argue there.”

-x-

The credits rolled around 4 pm and Patton was napping on Virgil’s shoulder as Virgil had switched off the current move for Black Cauldron. Patton stirred awake slowly at around 5 pm.

“Oh shoot, what time is it?” Virgil looked up at the clock beside him.

“About 5 past 5.” Patton nodded before sitting up and stretching. “What has you so tired?”

“Stayed up watching Parks and Rec,” Patton said.

“Haven’t you memorised that show by now?”

“Just about-” The doorbell rang, causing Patton to pause. Confusion took over his face before he cursed.

“Damn it, I forgot I asked Logan to come over yesterday for dinner,” Patton said and this was followed by more intense doorbell ringing. Virgil groaned.

“And I was supposed to go to the movies with the twins and Janus!” They both looked at each other, debating whether to open the door before a key turned in the lock. “Logan has a key?!”

“No!” Patton said. “I just, uh, told him where the spare key was.” Virgil shook his head but soon the house filled with Janus, Remus and Roman, screaming and Virgil for not responding to their texts and Logan asking Patton if he was ready to go to dinner. The group entered the room, noticing the two boys' guilty faces.

“Uh, Lo, about tonight-”

“No Pat, you go, I can, uh, just watch a movie and order pizza,” Virgil said.

“Virge-”

“It’s fine pat, I’ll take another pill and-”

“Oh, is your hip acting up again?” Logan asked and Virgil’s face burned. He kinda maybe hadn’t told the others about his hip issues. In his defence, he hadn’t had a bad blow out in months and it usually only lasted for two to three months maybe twice a year. He was also good and hiding bad days but today was too bad to hide.

“Your... hip?” Roman asked, looking down to the melted ice pack. Patton looked at Virgil and quickly realised he hasn’t told them.

“Yeah, he’s got a bad bruise there!” Patton said, trying to cover for him.

“Oh, okay,” Roman said. Logan shook his head.

“No, this is the muscle issues caused by his childhood condition. Why are you lying Patton?” Logan asked. Virgil wanted to bury himself further into his hoodie but he couldn’t because that would involve moving his hips.

“Logan,” Patton said softly, taking the boys arm. “let’s go to the kitchen?”

“Oh no, I said something-”

“No, sweetheart, it's okay.” Patton took the melted ice pack, gave Virgil a look that said ‘call me if you get scared’, and gently guided Logan into the kitchen. There was silence in the room.

“So,” Janus said.

“What did Logan mean?”

“Funny story actually, so uh, I had this like... bone thing when I was and it meant I was in a lot of pain so I didn’t really walk, like, at all for a year. It went away which is good, but it means that because of that, my muscles are weak and just like, throw up a fuss a lot, so it’s sort of a bitch and there’s nothing I can do a lot of the time. On bad days, I just have to stay put and not move for as long as possible.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Janus asked and Virgil couldn’t meet his eyes, he just couldn’t.

“Uh well, with Patton, it just sometimes feels like it’s all we talk about and with you guys-” he gestures to where he thinks they’re standing "- It’s different. Because you didn’t know, you weren’t always asking me and while I love it when Pat does it, it makes me feel overwhelmed and like the only thing people see is this ‘poor kid’. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“Well, if I’m honest, I’m not mad. I’m a little upset you didn’t trust us-”

“It’s not about trust. I trust you all with my life, but it’s... it’s different. I know you all wouldn’t see me differently but... I don’t know how to explain it, it’s like, I know, logically, it wouldn’t change anything, but there are days like these where I am not fun to be around and am in bad moods, and people take that personal. Or people think I’m lying because I could go nearly a year without my muscles getting inflamed. It’s not a constant pain, it’s more of a recurring problem with my muscles that gives me pain.” There was silence,

“I know you’re very anxious right now, but I hope you know you’re a dumbass,” Remus said. “What?! He is sometimes.”

“What Remus is trying to say-”

“I know what I said Jan,” Remus pointed out.

“Shut up, you loch ness monster,” Roman said.

“Okay, Prince Charming from Shrek,” Remus said.

“Very specific insult must’ve taken you months due to a lack of brain cells,” Roman quipped back.

“At least I haven’t got your face!”

“We’re twins-”

“I have a moustache-”

“I will kill you-”

“I’d like to see you try-”

“GUYS!” Janus said, shouting over the pair. “Ignore those two dumbasses, we know this is a scary thing so we’re - well, I’m not mad. I get why you didn’t say anything.”

“It’s like, the less I talk about it, the less I’m worried about it,” Virgil explained.

“Okay, now that I get,” Remus said.

“You’re a dunce,” Roman said, shaking his head. “But yes, hot topic, we’re not mad. Also, the movie we were going to see what awful, why did you let Janus pick?”

“Because it was my turn.”

“Well, who wants to watch a movie about cults?”

“For the love of god Remus, a ‘cult classic’ doesn’t mean an actual cult,” Janus said, holding his head in frustration.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Remus said, trying to get a rouse out of the other two, who were staring at him dumbfounded. he winked at Virgil causing the boy to laugh.

“You are a dunce,” Virgil said.

“Noooo, don’t say that you have to love me!” Remus said, throwing himself (somewhat carefully) onto the emo.

“Get off me,” Virgil said, laughing. Patton reappeared with cups and soft drinks at that moment.

“Okay, since Logi-bear-” the twins giggled at the nickname, but were met with Logan’s glare behind Patton’s back “-was your ride, we figured we’d order pizza and watch movies here.”

“Sounds good,” they all said.

“As long as Virgil and Remus share a pizza. Virgil will want peppers and Remus will want pineapple and I was that kind of neggies vibes AWAY from me,” Roman said dramatically. Both boys giggled.

“That’s okay with us, princy.”

-x-

It was an hour later by the time their four pizzas arrived - Logan and Patton’s vegetarian, Janus and Roman with a chicken, pepperoni and mushrooms and finally with Virgil and Remus’ Hawaiian pizza with chicken and peppers. It wasn’t until they were all curled up (Logan resting his head on Patton’s shoulder, their hands intertwined, Roman with his head on Janus’ lap as the boy played with his hair and Virgil on Remus’ lap) and safe that Virgil let the relief and love that surrounded the room.

Yeah, he hated those days, but he loved his friends. He loved Patton, and Logan, because they had always felt like his parents. He loved Janus, who always knew the right thing to say, and Roman, who always knew the right thing to get Virgil out of his head, and Remus, who knew how to make him laugh so hard he forgets to breathe.

“Why have you got that dumb face?” Remus asked.

“My face isn’t dumb,” Virgil whispered back. Remus rolled his eyes. Virgil only smiled, letting the sleepiness catch up as he fell asleep.

Today wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Uh,, so this was my rant post and also a lil’ one shot i had. It’s based on personal experience, so if it’s confusing, sorry. I spend like a week on this lol, so enjoy!

House Keys

chase…oh chase i love you so but you’re in for it now. chase brody, the former bro average superstar, comes home for the first time in a year.

part 1 part 2 part 3 Even if Chase Brody had moved out the year prior, he still has the keys to his brothers’ house. He stands now on the crisp, green lawn and swings the key-chain around. He cards a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes—he doesn’t get much sleep these days. Three years before he moved into his brothers’ house, he was sleeping in the back of his car. He’s been conditioned to fall asleep on the hard leather of the car seat, not in his own bed. He didn’t have a bed those weeks. Stacy and him still don’t talk.

He shoots Marvin a text.

hey bro im outside. will come in with the keys. jackie okay? are you all okay? There’s no response. Chase shrugs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He’s a little hurt, but it’s fine. It’s Chase’s first visit since he’s moved out. It’s exactly as he remembers it. The lawn is in immaculate condition, with the hedges trimmed neatly and flowers springing up all over the place—Jameson was always in charge of that. He has an eye for lawn care. He takes after Jack. The door and porch are dark mahogany, though it’s washed in orange now as the sun is starting to set. The house itself is painted an egg white. The tiles of the roof are black. Potted plants litter the porch, some new, some old, but all beautiful and trimmed to perfection. No doubt it’s Marvin’s work. The sidewalk he stands on is decorated with faded chalk drawings. Robbie. Of course. Chase is standing on his own face drawn in chalk. It’s a wonderful likeness and Chase can’t help but smile. Robbie even got the faded green in his hair. He steps off. He doesn’t want to ruin a masterpiece. The light in the wide upper story window—Henrik’s room—is off. The doctor’s probably getting his much needed and deserved forty winks. The only light on is in the living room. He takes a deep breath, the kind that pulls his shoulders up like he’s shrugging, and walks towards the door. Anxiety wriggles in his belly. He clutches the keys tightly in his hand—they bite into the skin and leave an impression with their teeth. He remembers the call with Marvin the night before. He had been in his apartment putting together some videos when his phone had rung. Marvin had explained everything to him; finding Jackie bleeding out in the city, teleporting him home, the surgeries…all of it. Jackie was okay, Marvin had assured him, and that he would heal. But the fact that it was…was you-know-who’s work… It hadn’t stop his hands from shaking as soon as he said goodbye and dropped the call nor did it let him breathe. His panic attacks were always bad, but he managed the one he had that night fine. And the one in the bathroom this morning. On the drive here, too. He doesn’t have everything under control yet. Being here again reminds him of all the times you-know-who had been there. He had been there, for Jack and Henrik. It went the same way; a phone call. A panic attack. The fear. Now it’s happening all over again. Why can’t he ever escape the demon? Why can’t any of them? Even a year after…he still looks over his shoulder and tosses and turns at night. When will he stop being afraid? The keys bite into his palm like his old dog had lovingly done. He misses him. Stacy had to take that away from him, too. The sting and the thought of Bulls-eye grounds Chase and he lets go, letting it hang by the key-chain instead. Deep breaths. He slides the key into the lock and turns. The door opens. Chase looks around as he steps into the hall. It’s just the same. The walls are orange. The umbrella stand to the right of the door filled with Marvin’s props, the coat hanger opposite, and the stairs upwards at the very front. To his immediate left is the closed door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic. To his right is the doorway to the living room. There’s a movie on, though Chase can’t identify it as the volume is set way down low. He doesn’t know where to go first as he stands awkwardly in the middle space. “Hello?” He says to the seemingly empty house. “Is anyone home? Marv? Schneep?” “Chase,” His heart skips a beat when he hears the raspy call from the living room, but he brightens when he recognizes the voice. “In here.” Chase has to stop himself from running into the living room. Brown couch, flat screen TV (playing Die Hard, of course), wide windows, and white curtains that blow softly. The coffee table has coffee mug rings on it and abandoned medical supplies like gauze, cotton balls, and antibiotics. Henrik’s neatly folded coat, too. Jackie sits on the couch in a black t-shirt with the brightly coloured graphic of a cartoon dog on a bicycle. He wears the flamingo shorts to accompany it. It’s the first time Chase has seen the hero out of his supersuit; it almost feels wrong. His hair is the neon green Chase remembers it to be. He’s wearing his mask. The only sign he’s been hurt at all are the bandages around his neck and forehead. He’s hardly watching the movie. He has a big smile on his face, the toothy kind of sunshine Chase missed so much. “Jackie,” he breathes. Chase wants to cry with relief. He settles with hugging Jackie as tightly as he can. “I missed you, Jackie,” he says, muffled as he buries his head into the hero’s chest. “I was so worried about you!” “O-ow, ow,” the other hacks out a laugh and winces, patting Chase’s back. “I missed you, too, bud, but…stab wound.” “Shit, right, sorry.” Chase lets go, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, how are you? It’s, I mean—I’ve never been stabbed before.” “I don’t recommend it,” Jackie grimaces. There’s humour in his voice but he also sounds exhausted. “You get here okay?” “Parked out front,” he says, “Came in with the keys. Still have ‘em.” He holds them up to confirm that. He drops them in his lap. “How’re you holding up?” “This thing—” Jackie pats his stomach, presumably where the wound is. “—is a bitch and a half of pain. The neck thing I can handle. It just hurts to talk.” He coughs. It sounds like shaking a dead bush. “Really hurts.” “Oh, I can do the talking, if you want.” “No, it’s okay, Chase. Marvin did something to me, I think, when I was out. Makes my mouth and throat taste like mint. Pretty soothing, actually. Besides, I haven’t seen you in forever! I want to talk.” How can he be so chipper even after he almost died? Chase doesn’t understand it. He really is a comic book superhero. Always getting back up again. “Aw, it hasn’t been that long,” Chase ducks his head, sheepish, but straightens right away. “Can I ask, though? What…what happened?” The silence is thick with tension. Chase bounces his leg, the sole of his sneaker squeaking against the hardwood floor, and pulls at the rubber bracelet around his right wrist under his hoodie sleeve. He picks at the multicoloured bandages on his fingers and arms. Jackie turns the TV off just as John McClain launches himself through a window. He turns to Chase. Their knees touch. “This is what I remember,” Jackie says, and begins. He had met Anti during one of his day patrols, but it wasn’t the song and dance number they usually did; it was in the back-alleys where no one could see them. Maybe that’s what Anti wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. “Anti had…had said something to me,” he mumbles, “that I’m not the hero I think I am. That all of what we do, this hero versus villain thing, is just a show. I-I don’t know why he’s been pretending this long, or…or what he hopes to gain, but…” Chase watches him closely. Jackie stops, shakes his head, and moves on. That’s how the hero has always been. Hit a wall? Just go around. Forget about the wall and keep going. He remembers the fight—and the pinning stab through the gut. The words Anti whispered into his ear. Chase is trembling with raw anger as he sees the large dark bruise marks wrapped around Jackie’s neck where Anti’s hands had been. “But after that,” he growls in frustration, “I can’t remember anything else. By my wound here, I can guess what finished me off.” He taps his neck. “Everything else is beyond me.” “Fuck him” Chase breathes, voice quivering with fury, “You’re a hero to me, to everyone. To Jack.” Jackie flinches when he hears those words. “I don’t have any powers,” Jackie mutters. “What? Yeah, you do! That—that super strength of yours!” “Anti can manipulate objects,” Jackie shoots back, “Time and space, just like Marvin can. How do I know he hasn’t been doing it for me this whole time?” “I…I don’t know.” The anger evaporates as quickly as it came. “I-I don’t want to talk about this.” Jackie throws his hands up. “Please, Chase, let’s…let’s talk about you, okay? I want to hear about where you’ve been—what you’ve done.” Chase bites his lip, trying to find a way to stop the subject from changing. The one frustrating thing about superheroes? They build walls around them, shutting the people they love out hoping to save them from whatever inner turmoil they’re wrangling with. …Chase isn’t stupid or in denial. Even he can admit the similarities between them. But that’s just it. Chase knows he does it—Jackie doesn’t. He’d rather not push further and get into an argument, spoiling the whole visit, so Chase drops it. It’ll sit in the back of his mind, though. He tells Jackie about the new apartment; it’s spacious and less of a dump than the last one. Modest kitchen, shower instead of a tub. “I miss the tub here,” he says forlornly, gesturing to the stairs. “And my little rubber ducky. Shower’s okay, though.” He earns Jackie’s laugh. The apartment is far into the city, maybe ten blocks away from the alley Marvin had found Jackie in, and just across a coffee shop. Having cleaner, more colorful walls than ugly white granite that popcorned helps a lot to take his mind off more…painful things. He hung up posters, bought a flatscreen, had a whole new gaming rig up for himself—he’s doing okay for himself, he thinks. The therapy, the talking, has brought him out of the hole he was in three years before. He tells him about new friends. Baristas at the coffee shop who’ve recognized him as a regular. YouTube is more fun than anything for him right now. The Bro Average brand was dissolved, but he couldn’t care less. It had been time for a fresh start. His channel is up and running and he’s been invited to panels, talks, and conventions. Some people from AA said they had watched his videos. He tells Jackie about how good it is to just. Work. To produce content for others to consume, to make people happy, but not at the cost of his own happiness. He notices he’s rambling when Jackie says nothing and keeps beaming at him. He falters and lets his words trail off into silence. “What?” Chase says. “I’m so proud of you,” Jackie replies, and the pride is trembling in his voice. “Chase, you’ve gotten so far without us. You’ve got a job, a new house—you’re practically shining!” “You’re…you’re proud of me? You mean it?” Chase feels himself smile, too. “Yes. I’m proud.” Jackie puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my bro. You’re the bravest damn person I know and you’ve come out of this so strong, so…it’s…Jack would be proud too.” Chase understands why he starts crying. That’s all he ever wanted. To hear those words come out of Jackie’s mouth. It means he’s done it. He’s gotten better. Maybe not recovered fully, not just yet, but better. Even in his joy, he hates himself for crying because whenever he cries he bawls like a big baby. He buries his face into Jackie’s chest, shoulders shaking. He’s staring at the cartoon dog through blurry, teary eyes. The dog says, in a neon bubble, “RADICAL!” The other rubs his back in soothing circles. “That’s it, buddy,” Jackie whispers, “I’ve got you, bro.” Chase swallows thickly, sniffles, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Jackie hands him a tissue and he blows. His eyes are stuffy. He looks up into Jackie’s eyes, milky white, hidden behind the film in the mask, but he can tell they’re full of soft, unspoken love. The hero holds his cheek. “Chase Brody Mcloughlin,” Jackie declares, “I, your loving bro, will never stop being proud of you. Don’t forget that.” “Thanks, Jackie,” he sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Thank you. It’s…i-it’s nice to hear that what I’m doing is finally right.” “We’re all proud of you.” Jackie’s hand drops but gives Chase’s shoulder one last firm pat. “S-speaking of,” Chase clears his throat. “Speaking of…where is everyone?” Jackie blanks. “Uh,” he says, unsure. “Good question, actually! No idea. I woke up, like, ten minutes before you came in. I kind of assumed Henrik went to work, and who knows where Marvin is at any given time? JJ and Robbie are out on vacation or something. It’s just Henrik, Marvin, and I.” “Huh,” Chase frowns and stands. “You wait here, Jackie. Henrik can’t have gone to work; he’d never leave you here alone.” “Marvin would be watching over me!” He argues. “This is Marvin we’re talking about!” He shoots back as he leaves the room. He considers going upstairs but stops before he can do it. He notices, to his surprise, that across the hall the clinic’s lights are on. How did he not notice that coming in? The harsh white fluorescents bounce off the tiles and under the door. Chase knocks. “Doc? Marv?” He says, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone in there?” Of course, unsettling silence follows. Great. Chase has played enough horror games to know that whatever’s on the other side is bad. He flinches as glass shatters behind the door. A shadow moves under the door. “Henrik?” “Schiesse!” comes a muffled curse to answer. Angry German swearing? Yeah. That’s Henrik. “What the hell was that?!” Jackie says from the couch, halfway to standing. Chase notices he’s wobbling like a newborn deer. “Jackie, get back on the couch,” Chase scolds the hero, “You’re in no condition to walk!” He turns back to the door. “Doc, I’m coming in.” He takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob, and turns. What he finds on the other side isn’t horrible, so he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Henrik, hair messy and eye bags seemingly darker, clutching his head, is kneeling among shattered glass. From the way the metal table beside the hospital bed is on its side, Chase surmises that Henrik knocked it and the beakers that were on it to the ground when he tried to stand. “Doc!” He exclaims, rushing over to Henrik. He takes the doctor by the arm, helping him up, and looping the arm around his shoulders. “Danke,” Henrik grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “Chase, is that you?” “A-are you blind, Henrik?” Panic momentarily flares up in him. “Oh, jeez, I can get something for your eyes. Maybe ice—” “No,” Henrik sighs, but in the most affectionate way possible. He opens his eyes halfway, tired grey-blues looking up at him. “Chase, relax. I’m not blind. It’s these damn fluorescents—they could make me go blind. I don’t know why I thought they were a good idea. This nausea…it’s like someone took a hammer to my skull. Might as well have… I see enough of those lights in the hospital. Is it any wonder I wear glasses…” Henrik reaches into his pocket for something. He swears again as he brings out the bent and cracked frames of his glasses. “Oh, that is just great,” he hisses under his breath, “They must’ve gotten smashed in the fight.” “T…the what?” This is plenty strange already, but of course, he just has to notice only now that Marvin is crumpled in a desk chair, long, flowy hair messy and tangled, falling behind him as his head leans back, showing his neck. “Oh my God—Marvin!” “He’s okay,” Henrik straightens, though he’s still too weak to stand. Chase helps him into another chair. The doctor sits down with a sigh of relief, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “What the hell happened here?” Chase gestures vaguely to the entire room. “To Marvin? Actually, to you? Was it…was it you-know-who?” “Anti,” the doctor spits. Chase winces at the name. “It’s not right to fear his name. He and I had an…encounter last night. I thought I was going to die.” He briefly touches his neck. Chase sees all the scars crisscrossed there; it’s why the doctor wears turtlenecks to work. He’s always been insecure about them. “I thought it was all over but…but I woke up here. My head hurts like a bitch but I’ve got no other wounds. My neck, my concussion—they’re healed, like they were never there. "So, I have reason to believe,” he continues, “Marvin used the full extent of his magic to save me. It’s probably why he’s passed out.” “He’s always been shit at restoration magic,” Chase jokes, but turns serious right away. “Jesus, doc. Are you really okay? Why the fuck did you-know-wh—I mean,—A…Anti go after you?” “Teach me a lesson? Finish me off?” Henrik raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. God, I’m sorry, Chase, that this is the scene you’ve returned to. You’ve had enough of this…this Anti business, and now we’re dragging you back into it. Forgive me.” “No, doc, don’t say that,” Chase waves him off, “it’s not your fault. Besides, the guy’s messing with my brothers. That’s not gonna fly with me.” His voice shakes. He knows how unconvincing his moxie is. He swallows the stone in his throat and turns away before Henrik can call him out on it. The man crosses the room and takes a trauma blanket from the cabinet—he practically knows the clinic as well as Henrik does—and drapes it over Marvin. The magician barely stirs. He’s completely out. “CHASE? IS EVERYONE OKAY?” Jackie shouts from the living room. Chase startles and nearly knocks some important doodad over. Henrik’s blue eyes crackle to life at the sound of the hero’s voice. “He’s okay,” he says more to himself than Chase, “Oh, God, he’s okay.” To Chase, he says, “Chase, help me up—I must see Jackie.” “But what about Marv?” “He’ll need rest. Neither of us are strong enough to move him upstairs. Please, Chase, let’s go.” Henrik is almost begging. The tone unnerves and stirs Chase into action. He helps the doctor, slowly and surely, into the living room. “Henrik?” Jackie breaths, “What happened to you? Why are you limping? Is Marvin o—” Henrik launches himself from Chase’s arms and onto Jackie, nearly tackling the hero into the sofa. Jackie grunts in pain. “You idiot,” Henrik growls, though with utmost love. “You had me so worried! You could’ve died.” He hugs Jackie tight, despite his weak state. “Don’t ever do that again.” “What, get stabbed?” When Henrik glares up at him, he sobers. “Okay, okay. I won’t. I promise. Chase, where’s Marvin?” “Getting some rest,” Chase explains, “He used a whole bunch of his magic to heal Henrik. A-Anti attacked the doc last night.” “He…what?” Jackie’s tone is dangerously quiet. His shoulders are tense—he looks like an apex predator. It takes everything in Chase not to back away. “Calm yourself,” Henrik cautions, “I’m okay now. Marvin made sure of it. It is true; I had a fight with Anti and…I did not emerge the victor. But it’s alright. I’m alright.” Jackie deflates and hugs Henrik back. “I’m glad you’re okay, doc.” “You too, Jackie.” Chase bites his lip and leaves the room. He knows what he said about Anti, that he’d be ready to fight the demon again, given the chance. It’s one big lie, because he is fucking terrified of Anti, terrified of the fact that this is all very real, and that it had gotten all too real very fast. He wants to run away in that stupid little way of his, where he drives and drives until he can’t or locks himself up in his room, anywhere where Anti can’t reach him. He’s managed not to see the demon for a full year. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not again. Not again. – Chase goes up to his room and finds the hatch to the roof still unlocked. He goes out and sits there, on the uncomfortable tiles, and stares up at the stars. It’s somewhere around 11:30, maybe midnight. He doesn’t check his phone. Henrik’s gone to sleep. Jackie had helped Chase move Marvin to the couch. The both of them weren’t nearly strong enough to bring him up to his bedroom. Some part of Chase is telling him to relapse. To drink. He snaps the rubber bracelet against his wrist over and over instead. It makes an angry red mark. It’s a distraction. It makes him all the more ashamed of how fast he crumbles in the face of all this. He’s hasn’t gotten better. Even in the darkness, he knows what the bracelet says. He’s seen it, worn it ever since the last time Anti had tormented him. Alcoholics Anonymous, in white letters against a garish neon green. His mouth tastes of smoke. His eyes are heavy. He is tired and deflated. His brothers nearly dead—what a sight to come home to. At least now, he’s here for them. He is so tired, he doesn’t turn around when the hatch opens and Jackie sits beside him. He’s changed out of that cartoon dog shirt—he sports one of Henrik’s striped shirts. “Hey,” Jackie greets him softly. Chase can see the hero watching the bracelet snap repeatedly against his wrist, which he doesn’t stop. “Hey.” Silence. Cicadas. Snap. Snap. Snap. “How long have you been sober?” Chase knows how much Jackie wants to say more, but he doesn’t. It’s a simple question. “A year.” An exact year from the last time Anti hurt him. He and Jackie match in scars now. Not on the neck, though. “Dude, that’s awesome. I’m proud of you.” The words are hollow. He doesn’t deserve them. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Chase?” Snap. Snap. Snap. “Welcome home.” Chase breaths shakily. His wrist stings. He cries, the fourth time that day, and bites back the urge to scream. “He’s g-going to f-find me again,” he says through quick breaths, “I’m n-next.” “Chase…” The man shakes his head furiously. “I-I’m not leaving. If he think he can fucking s-scare me,” Chase hiccups, “he’s w-wrong. I’m tired of r-running away. I’m going to fight.” Nothing, for a moment. Then, Jackie says, “It’s what Jack would’ve wanted.” Chase cries harder at that. He wants to toss his house keys off this damn roof and never see them again, because they remind him too much of the doors he’s just opened up. He’s not afraid. Shaking and sobbing, he is not afraid. He is furious.

Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist: Mo – Type 4w3

Type 4s are creative, self-absorbed, sensitive, romantic and withdrawn. Type 4s have a strong desire to be unique, which is often expressed through their creativity and they have a core fear of being insignificant. At their best, they can be self-aware, inspired and highly creative, and at their worst, they can be temperamental, dramatic and over-sensitive.

Mo is a creative artist and is very expressive, romantic, and self-absorbed. He is very extraverted, outgoing and is unabashedly himself. Mo seeks interesting and unique experiences in his life and is drawn to Zoey when she tells him about her ability. He was not interested in a friendship with Zoey before this, as he thought she was basic. Mo also loves to express himself through the clothes he wears and is not afraid to say what he thinks.

Mo loves to sing and is very confident in his singing abilities. He is a part of his church’s choir and uses this as an outlet. It is shown that Mo felt that he should present as male when going to church, as he was afraid that the church would cast him out for being his true self. This causes Mo a lot of inner turmoil, as belonging to the church is a part of his identity he doesn’t want to lose, but he feels he cannot be himself because of his previous bad experiences.

While Mo is usually very emotionally open, he has a tendency to keep things to himself that may make him seem vulnerable. He really wants someone to love him for who he is, but is scared that if he shows his true self, they won’t love him. Mo cares deeply about Eddie and wants to pursue a relationship with him but was scared he would be hurt when Eddie leaves for his job on the cruise ship. This leads to Mo pushing Eddie away, as he worries that he will be hurt.

Tri-type: 4w3 – 6w7 – 9w8

Some quotes to describe Mo’s traits and motivations:

“The reason I broke up with you is that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of opening up to you and telling you how I really feel. I haven’t always been on the receiving side of love and it makes me feel that I have to protect myself. And I push people away and nobody should live like that.”

“I can’t imagine hiding myself from the world. I’m a Leo baby - Brave, bold, beautiful!”

“I'm really sorry that you got so freaked out, okay? And let me know if it ever happens again. Because this is the first thing that I find remotely interesting about you.”

“Songs are all just an expression of all of our deepest wants and desires: joy, pain, heartbreak, yearning, forgiveness, revenge. Good music can make you feel things you can't express in words.”

“Hurt people hurt people.”

Mo: “I've already planned my funeral in elaborate detail. It is much easier to make these decisions when you're thinking rationally. There's a dress code. Nothing teal, cerulean, or anything with a high neckline. There's going to be a sit down dinner where dessert's going to be served first. And I have pre-recorded five songs that I want played because who else is going to sing it better than me? Nobody! Oh, and bring tissues because I absolutely demolish Hallelujah.” Zoey: “It almost sounds fun”. Mo: “Oh, no no no no. It won't be. And if any of my friends are caught not sobbing, they got to go.”

Zoey: “Is everything okay with you?” Mo: “No, not at all, but thanks for asking.”

Zoey: “Quick question. Do you always have to sing and play your music quite that loud?” Mo: “Well, how else am I supposed to listen to Wham!? Their songs demand a certain level of participation and volume.”

Under Her Eye - Chapter 6: Shatter (Branjie) - Gab

a/n: Sorry for the delay! I decided to split this chapter into two thus a shorter update. Uni has been an absolute whirlwind and I’ve been adjusting to the workload, but I think I’ve gotten into the groove of writing a little bit every day. @artificialmeggie is a wonderful beta and overall human being as usual and I HIGHLY suggest giving her all the love. As always, you can find me @gabby-writes! I’m also writing a much lighter, much less angsty Chicago au if that’s your jush. With that being said, enjoy!

Chapter 6: Shatter

Word count: 1852

Vanessa didn’t know how long they stayed there, their figures illuminated by the stage lights. It could’ve been anywhere between two minutes and two hours—she hasn’t seen a clock in so long that it barely mattered.

All she could feel, see, think was Brooke.

How she moved on the stage as though she had never stopped dancing. How she had hugged her so warmly. How her lips tasted like tea and honey.

How she just made sense.

How they made sense together, even though they shouldn’t.

They broke apart after a couple of attempts, prying their lips away as one would split a magnet. Though it was still dark outside, the pitch black of the night sky had begun turning a deep blue, as though the sky was warning them of their fading hours.

Vanessa’s smile matched Brooke’s perfectly as they made their way back to the house, tracing their fingers over their lips when they thought the other wasn’t looking, deep blushes concealed in the shadows.

Their hands were linked the whole way, daring the world to break them apart.

The block was quiet as they darted across the streets, both women charged with electricity and adrenaline and possibility.

They did it.

Escaped, even if it was just for a moment.

They could do it again.

They entered the house like giggling school girls that just cut class, smiles impossible to remove from their faces. The house was silent as ever as they returned their coats and sat by Vanessa’s bed.

The room felt different now, more temporary. As though they wouldn’t have to be there for much longer.

“You kissed me.” It was strange to Vanessa. Two people in their situation, sharing a moment so pure and happy. She should be conflicted, confused even, about where she stood in Brooke’s life, but her mind and eyes kept drifting back to Brooke’s lips and she let the light feeling in her chest take over her thoughts.

“Yes,” Brooke answered softy. They were on Vanessa bed, legs winding together in order to fit. Neither seemed to mind as the dawn came in through the window.

Maybe they were pushing it, letting the sun catch them like this, holding each other close in the daylight. The thought had crossed their minds surely as the room grew brighter, but Brooke’s lips were on Vanessa’s again and maybe it didn’t matter.

The haze of the late morning set in as Vanessa woke, not even realizing she had fallen asleep, soft touches of lips on skin being the last memory she could conjure in her mind. She stretched out her limbs, finding herself alone in her room.

They weren’t so bold as to stay together all night, perhaps not yet. That didn’t prevent the pang of disappointment from hitting her chest.

She sat up, recharged despite the few hours of sleep. There was no way she could let this go now, no way she could allow herself—allow them both—to stay here, to act as if they could stand Gilead for one more second.

The ceremony would be the next day.

We have to leave,

Tonight.

Vanessa felt a surge of fire through her body, something she hadn’t felt since she had led riots on the streets, since the night she was taken. A boldness she’d lost over the last few months, renewed overnight.

All because of her.

And maybe she wore it too proudly, a skip in her step as she made her way down to the kitchen, following the smell of the maple syrup over warm pancakes, just as Nina promised.

Brooke was already there, smiling warmly at Vanessa, her fork halfway towards her mouth.

“Morning, dear,” Nina called out cheerfully, flipping the last of the pancakes on her pan and placing it on an empty plate.

“You do too much Nina,” Vanessa said fondly as she gratefully accepted the plate and doused it in maple syrup, making Brooke giggle beside her.

“Commander left real early this morning,” Brooke provided, somewhat explaining the cheerful mood Nina was in.

“Hey, I promised pancakes, didn’t I?”

They laughed, ate pancakes, lazed around like a group of friends after a sleepover. In the early afternoon light they washed up together, as though they could’ve lived like this in another life.

Brooke must’ve thanked Nina a thousand times, held her hands, kissed her cheeks, drunk on happiness she hadn’t felt in months. They stayed like that for the rest of the day, only interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

“I haven’t seen you so happy.” Nina squeezed Brooke’s hands before releasing one to cup Vanessa’s cheek. The younger woman leaned into it, a happy sigh escaping her lips. “And maybe… Maybe you’ll leave someday, yeah?” Nina’s voice dropped to a whisper as she said this, a hopeful tone to her voice.

The door bell sounded once again.

“Maybe we all will.” With one final squeeze of her hand, Nina went to answer it. Once Nina had left, Vanessa turned to Brooke, a new fire in her eye replacing the sated, dazed look she had on all day.

“We should.”

Brooke looked at her for a moment, not fully grasping the words.

“Should what?”

“Leave. We should leave. Tonight.”

“‘Nessa—” The endearment slipped through Brooke’s lips before she had a chance to think. It was so much, the words hit her like a jolt of electricity cutting through the slow morning happiness that had settled into Brooke’s stomach. Still, she found herself agreeing to every word, and her mind spun at the dizzying possibility of freedom.

“I know it’s a lot, and I can’t risk—I can’t ask—I know you’re safe here. But you need to be out there. And I need to be out there with you.” She paused for a moment, allowing Brooke to absorb each word before delivering the final blow. “I can’t do another ceremony, Brooke.”

Guilt clouded Brooke’s vision and Vanessa winced as she said it, but then the blonde nodded, taking Vanessa’s hands into her own. She had a look of understanding in her eyes, and maybe they could do it.

Maybe this was it.

A sound from the front door caused Brooke to look up.

It was Nina.

“Please, what are you—”

The sound of a body being pushed over.

A door slamming into the wall.

An angry cry from the living area that sent chills down Vanessa’s back.

It was too late to run, to hide, to do anything other than watch as two figures in black rushed into the kitchen.

—

It happened so fast.

One moment Brooke’s hands were warm in hers, possibility and excitement coursing between them, then Vanessa was being dragged away—by her hair, by her elbow—and Brooke felt all the warmth Vanessa had imparted to her drain into a cold chill. Her feet followed automatically, unable to say a word, unable to stop her lungs from freezing in her chest as she watched Vanessa shake, shout, plead.

The two figures dragged Vanessa out the door, slamming her into the concrete.

There was blood on her face, on her hands, and she was shouting at them.

Still fighting.

But Brooke was silent.

All the screams she wanted to let out were dry in her throat as she watched a small crowd forming in front of their household, watching the scene unfold as if it were some kind of pantomime.

As she watched her worst fears materialize in the form of Vanessa’s body being thrown into the ground each time she moved to get up.

As she watched the men in black pull out firearms and aim them at Vanessa’s head.

Brooke had never felt fear like this before.

“Stop.”

Brooke’s hand came up to her mouth in surprise, not knowing how in the world she was capable of speaking.

But it wasn’t her voice, and the men were facing away, looking at a man standing in the street.

George.

The commander had walked up to the scene, glancing at Vanessa for a moment before tilting his head towards the van, a signal for the men in black to drag her inside, shutting the door with a deafening slam.

His eyes were cold, focused, deadly,

And trained directly at Brooke.

Something in her had snapped—all quiet, logical thought completely gone from her mind as she moved on instinct, grasping at every sensory input her mind could comprehend.

Vanessa isn’t dead.

Vanessa isn’t dead yet.

The van is leaving.

Where are they taking her?

Should I go with them?

George is here.

George stopped them from killing her.

George is looking at me.

George is coming towards me.

Will he kill me?

He’s in front of me.

He—

A sharp pull on her shoulder caused her to gasp in pain, and she was being dragged backwards into her house, unnoticed by the crowd outside.

Nina is on the floor.

Is she bleeding?

She’s not moving.

The same two men in black had followed them inside, locking the door behind them. Brooke’s shoulder stung as the grip on it tightened and a sudden, sharp pain in her back caused her to cry out.

Fuck, what is that?

She fell over as soon she was released, the sudden rush of blood searing through her body, a cattle prod pointed at her from behind.

“Get up, Brooke.”

George’s voice was severe as he stood over her. Her eyes darted around, recognizing the bare surroundings of her sitting room, the curtains drawn. When she finally propped herself up on her shaking arms, she saw something burning—furious—in his eyes.

Brooke had never seen that before.

“What—” Her mouth was dry, cold. She wrapped her arms around herself as if it would stop her from trembling. Whether it was caused by the cold, fear, or anger, she couldn’t tell.

“I ask for one fucking thing, and that’s for you to behave like your father told you to.” Each word hit her face as if he had spit on it. “Look what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done? You called the guardians on us, in your own fucking home!” Brooke lashed out, shocked at the volume of her voice before her outburst was rewarded with a hard slap to her face from the guardian to her side.

“You could’ve cost us everything, my job, my life.” “Hang me then.” Brooke’s voice was filled with spite, her anger working faster than her thoughts as each word spilled from her mouth.

He smiled, a smug look in his eye.

“I’ve got a better idea.” He made a move to leave the room, allowing the guardians to knock her down one more time before they locked the door behind her.

Brooke’s mind had gone quiet again, barely registering her surroundings, solely focused on a single word.

Vanessa.

She didn’t notice when the sun began to go down.

Vanessa.

She didn’t notice the faint click of the door behind her.

Vanessa. She didn’t notice the sudden darkness that surrounded her.

Vanessa.

She didn’t notice the needle pricking into her skin until suddenly she couldn’t hear the voice in her head saying the one name that mattered most.

Safe As Houses

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You provide a safe haven for Steve when he needs it most– in more than one way.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, some pining, Reader doesn’t live in NYC

Words: 4640

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this for a bit, unsure of whether I wanted to post it or not, but I’m going for it =] Based on a weird snippet of a dream I had, this thing was going to be long and involved but it just didn’t…have enough to it to make it a multi-chapter thing, so I decided to pare it down and apparently this is where it made the most sense to me. It is pretty much Steve/Reader wanting each other and beating around the bush until…well, it’s fluff, so you know how this goes. I also think it’s easy to tell that I love that tank top he wears in CA:TWS a liiiiiiittle too much. I failed at trying to use the gif search to find it though, so you’ll have to use your imagination u-u. Anyways; please enjoy.

“Why is this one more expensive…” you mutter to yourself and study both cans. All those years of ‘spot the difference’ have to count for something, but grocery shopping still remains a challenge, somehow. In more ways than one, as someone hovers behind you. You scoot to the side but they follow you, big and looming. Who the hell creeps at a grocery store? You turn, hoping a flat ‘fuck off’ stare will do the trick, but what you find is a shockingly familiar face.

“Steve?!” you hiss. It’s not the nicest welcome for him maybe, but it isn’t like it’s easy for him to just drop in.

“Shh,” he says and tucks his hat lower. He glances around. “I’m sorry to do this but I need help. Can I lie low at your place?”

Without giving it even a second thought you pull out your keys and take off the one for your house. He practically seeps relief when he slouches and you can see a flash of a cut by his ear. “Thanks,” he says and hugs you carefully. Fear wells up in you. Who (or what) hurt him? Why is he here instead of hunkering down with his team? This isn’t the place to ask, though, and any impulse to try fades when he aims a smile at you. “By the way, I missed you.”

You smile at your customary greeting. Long-distance friendships with a superhero aren’t any easier than ones with normal people, but you wouldn’t trade this for anything. Not anything. “Likewise,” you say softly and touch his cheek. “Go to my place and relax; I can get in through the garage. I’ll be done here soon.”

He nods, hesitates, and then leaves. You watch him go before you dump the cheaper can in your cart and then grab several more. At least he’s stopped in before you’ve finished your shopping– you’re definitely going to need a lot more food.

When you get home it’s dark inside from all the drawn blinds and completely silent. Steve would tell you if there was danger inside your house, right? This is just him being paranoid. …You hope.  “Home at last,” you say, just a little above normal volume, and start putting away groceries like everything is normal.

Until you turn and run into a body. You barely clamp down on a yell. “What the– f– Steve!” you hiss.

“Relax; there’s no listening devices. I checked,” he says.

“Then don’t sneak up on me!” You smack his chest. “Also, thanks for the new nightmares about something I’ve literally never thought about before.”

He has the good sense to at least look apologetic. “Sorry,” he says. He shifts his weight to his other foot and clears his throat. “Do you need help?”

“I got this.” Even in the dim, mostly blocked daylight you can see the dirt in patches on his skin and clothing, a recently healed cut on his neck, and eyes that sag. “Why don’t you go take a shower? Once we’re both done you can tell me what’s going on.”

He looks like he’s going to argue, but then he actually says, “Okay.”

“No arguments? Shit; you must really need to sleep,” you say and wipe off a smudge on his cheekbone.

“Don’t push it,” he says with a slight smile and grabs your hand. He doesn’t push you away though; his fingers lightly curl around your hand and you can feel his warmth seeping in. Even in the parts of your skin he isn’t touching.

You don’t know what to do, and Steve freezes too. You both unhook then; jerking like puppets whose masters don’t understand movement, until he rushes upstairs (shockingly quiet) and you go back to the mindless task of putting groceries away. You stop for a moment in the middle to start making a couple of frozen pizzas– if Steve didn’t stop to shower you doubt he stopped to eat.

Steve’s and your friendship is…unconventional. Mostly because of who he is, but also partly because you don’t make a habit out of befriending random people while on vacation. But Steve is special. A chance encounter at a museum turned into lunch, which turned into going to a few spots he recommended, which turned into spending the rest of your week in New York together, switching between playing tourist and acting local.

That, in turn, has become a long-distance friendship that is one of the most solid relationships you’ve ever had. It’s also…occasionally…flirty. You think. Okay, you’re pretty sure, actually, it’s just– what if you’re wrong? And how could it even work, in the best case scenario of returned feelings, when you live a life here and he has a life there? Ultimately you’re happy with what you have, so you try not to think about what could– or could not– be.

Except those thoughts are hard to ignore when Steve is here. In your house. In your shower.

The oven timer goes off and saves you from having to jump into a cold shower of your own. Steve makes his appearance just a minute or so later, when you’re taking a few slices onto your plate.

“Help yourself,” you say, trying to avoid looking at him directly. You steal a little glance at him and as nice as he probably looks with damp hair and dewy skin, you can’t help but slide right over those to focus on the ridges of cuts healing fast and purple blossoms that seem to be fading before your eyes. But they’re still there, and without thinking you touch a yellow spot on his collarbone. A combination of how soft that spot is and him flinching makes you gasp and jerk back.

“I’m so sorry, I– holy shit; is it broken?!” you ask, dumbfounded. Logically, yeah, Steve has to get hurt sometimes, but he always seems so sturdy. Almost unbreakable.

Except now, exhausted to the point of wild eyes trying to stay open and covered in cuts and bruises. “It’s fine; it’s healing.”

“Steve,” you say, and he pulls you into a hug. You avoid that side of his chest (how he’s walking and talking without curling into a pain-crying ball is beyond you) and hug him gently. His clothes smell like smoke and musk and it mingles with the scent of your soap and shampoo. You stay in that moment as he whispers, “I’m fine.”

It’s a terrible lie, but he’s not going to admit otherwise. His stomach rumbles and causes a little break in the tension. Enough for you to pull back and say, “And hungry, apparently.”

He smiles at you, and you sigh. “Fine; I’ll wait until you're done eating for the explanation.”

You don’t have to wait long. He scarfs down the food so fast that he finishes even before you do. He looks a lot better for it though; he doesn’t look as pale and the injuries are just about gone.

“See?” He grabs your hand and puts it to his collarbone– now back in one solid piece. “I’m fine.”

You’re a little distracted with feeling over his skin, but you still roll your eyes. “Just because you heal doesn’t negate that you were hurt in the first place.” Reluctantly, you take your hand back. “So: what the hell is going on?”

Steve’s expression loses any lightness it had and becomes a straight face befitting a troubled captain. “I’m still not quite sure,” he says and crosses his arms as he leans back in his seat. His eyes go down, but his mind obviously travels elsewhere. “Short version: Bucky, Sam, Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, and even Thor are missing.”

“Missing?” How do the Avengers– especially already-(in)famous billionaire Tony Stark– go missing?

“I don’t know who, how, or why,” Steve says, aiming his frown at the table. “Pepper put Stark’s tower on lockdown– I think Darcy, Jane, and Dr. Selvig are there as well. They sent me an SOS letting me know that Tony and Bruce and Thor were missing and I tried to go looking for them and the others. Clint and Natasha could have gone underground, but I feel like I would have heard from them in some way by now, and Sam and Bucky are definitely missing.”

“And nobody’s gloating about it?”

“That’s actually what concerns me the most,” Steve says and looks up at you. “If just capturing us was their only goal, whoever it is would have come forward. But they haven’t. They’re still trying to catch me in secret.”

“Because whatever they want the Avengers for they need the full set?” you guess.

“I can only hope,” he says and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I dropped in like this, it’s just– I’ve kept our friendship to myself. No one knows about you, and this is the only place I could think of where I knew I would be safe.”

You puff up a little at that. Steve hasn’t even been to your house before but he feels safe here– which means, for some reason, he feels safe with you.

“I won't stay here long,” he says and before you can protest, adds, “No. Thank you, but I can’t put you in danger too.”

You hesitate. You want to insist that he can stay as long as he wants, but finding his friends is a time-sensitive thing and you don’t want to seem callous. “Whatever you need, Steve.”

His smile is warm but worn, and for a moment you can see his weariness– his fear. You get up and go next to him, and wrap your arms around his head and shoulders. “It’s going to be all right. Your friends are all smart and can keep themselves safe until you find them. And you will find them. Without getting captured yourself.”

Steve chuckles. He holds onto you, arms around your waist, for several seconds before he releases you. “How did you know that was the back-up plan?”

“It’s the dumbest thing I could think of, so of course you have it as a plan.” You squeeze his shoulders. “Steve…”

“Don’t worry; that’s an absolute last resort,” he says and stands. He wobbles but rights himself. “I have other leads, other ideas.”

“Okay. But Steve?” you say and he frowns like he knows what’s coming. You rush through it. “I know you're worried and I know you have to get to work but you're not going to save anyone if you pass out, and you are one strong breeze from toppling over. You’re all your friends have, so can you please at least take a nap?”

He seems to consider that. You know he knows you’re right, but it’s still a relief when he sighs and says, “Just a nap.”

“I’ll take care of this.” You shoo him away from the plates. “Go take my bed; the guest room isn’t set up.”

“Don’t you need a nap too?”

Steve’s joke makes you stop cold, (or, um, hot), but you crack a smile. “If you want to get me into bed, you’re going to have to do better than that.” It’s a straight lie– sometimes your fantasies are as pathetically simple as sharing a bed and being able to wrap around him like an octopus– but you want to play along. You actually make him blush, and as he runs away with a mumbled goodbye, you allow yourself to watch him go with unrepentant longing.

If only he wasn’t joking.

“Are you sure about this?”

Steve sighs and slams the trunk so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t break. The little old beater he’s ‘borrowing’ must be sturdier than it looks. When he turns to face you, you look down, already anticipating the exasperation. “Sorry,” you say.

“No, it’s…it’s fine.” He places his hands on your shoulders and you look up into weary eyes. “Trust me, I understand. I’m worried too. So just know that…that I’m the only hope my friends have, so I have to be careful.”

You put your hands on top of his. You want to reassure him that they’re all strong and capable but it’s just lip service, and he knows them better than you do. So while he likely knows that, knowing and believing are two different things. “Hey Steve…I know you don’t want to ‘drag’ me into it, but you can crash here whenever you need to.”

He smiles. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he says like a promise, hugs you tight, and takes off.

You spend the rest of the day using your nervous energy to make up the guest room and clean the house. Just in case.

“Hey.”

You almost drop your bowl and you whirl around. “Steve!” you say and dump the bowl in the sink so you can hug him. You’re mindful of your wet and soapy hands– though you doubt his dirty uniform top would mind it. He hugs you back and you are definitely going to need a shower now, but you don’t mind. Especially when he exhales like he’s deflating and leans on you. He’s surprisingly heavy, but you don’t bend against the weight.

…Much.

He lets out a weak huff that you think is supposed to be a laugh. “About that offer to ‘crash here whenever I need to…’”

You pat his back and (reluctantly) separate. “The guest room is all set up. You’re stuck with my soap and shampoo though.”

“I don’t mind that,” he says with a sly smile. Quickly, though, it disappears. “Um, sorry. Can I use your laundry?”

“Sure. Secret agent man you are, you probably know where it is.” His smile answers in the affirmative. “Good. Do you need me to do anything?”

“No, but thanks,” he says and, while he doesn’t run, he certainly walks with purpose.

And quite a bit of focus, apparently. You’ve just finished the dishes when he comes back, clean and changed. You never expected shower-damp Steve to be such a constant threat in your life and now that he is you’re not sure if you should curse it or praise it. Maybe both.

“Can I have these?” Steve asks, holding up three boxes of macaroni and cheese.

“Of course.” You turn off the faucet and dry your hands. “Want me to make them for you?”

The look he gives you can only be described as ‘pissy.’ Someone on the outside might describe it as ‘disapproving’ but you know him too well for that. “I can make macaroni and cheese.”

“Since when? I gotta see this.” You hop up on the counter and lean over to watch. “Big pot is in the cabinet right there.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly and goes about filling it up with water so it can start boiling. As he’s getting the milk and butter together, something occurs to you.

“Hey,” you say. “I could have been offering to make it for you because that’s what a good host does.”

“That’s not why you offered though.” Steve winks at you and wow. That’s so much worse/better than the emojis he sends you. Worse than that: that’s all you’re going to see in his texts from now on.

“How did you know?” You turn your head to watch the pot.

“Because I know you,” he says. Fondly. You’re sure of that part; the real question is: fond like fond-of-a-friend, or fond like getting-fonder fond?

“Well it’s not out of bounds for me to assume you don’t know how to cook. Popular media tells me all New Yorkers only have a fridge, a microwave, and maybe one counter to store their take-out menus on.”

“Well I have a fridge, a microwave, an oven, and two counters,” Steve says and pours the pasta into the pot. “One for the take-out menus, and one for food.”

“Fancy,” you ‘gasp’ in awe.

“You don’t remember it?” He turns his head to look at you but keeps stirring.

“I’ve never been to your place,” you say. “I’m not part of that cool kids club.”

Steve’s smile is a little sad– like he’s thinking about that club. You wince. “How’s it…going?” you ask, even though you’re afraid to.

“Better. I’m…I’m making progress.” He looks at the pot. “Sorry but I think it’s safer if you don’t know the details.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re being safe about it,” you say and scoot over as he comes to the sink to drain the pot.

“Like you said, I’m all they have.” Steve sets the bowl of pasta sans water in the empty sink and turns to you. He moves his hand to your other side and puts it on the counter right next to your thigh. Your stomach flips but you barely get to freak out about that when he moves his face incredibly close to yours.

“Thanks again,” he says. “For letting me stay here.”

“Anytime,” you say before you can think about it. It’s still true, at least. But Steve stays there, and stays there, and stays, but does nothing and shows no sign of doing anything. Which is…

…the right thing. Much as it hurts you to admit it. Steve is alone and scared and you are not going to take advantage, even despite the overwhelming temptation. You lean back. “You should, uh…”

He blinks and jerks back. “Right– right.”

“Before the, um…”

“Yes, thanks.” Steve goes back to making his dinner but shoots you a relieved smile over his shoulder. It’s disappointing to be so close to something and have to let it go, but you’re starting to think…maybe he’s more receptive than you previously believed. Maybe after all of this is over you’ll see if he’s as interested in you as you are in him.

Or maybe you’ll just…continue to stare from afar. And aclose. It’s a toss-up.

Though the next day you find yourself struggling with the idea of letting him go. He had insisted he rested enough and needs to head out, which is why you’re sitting in your car at the airport drop-off, currently scrambling for excuses to make him stay.

He doesn’t leave right away either. Though he does sigh and say, “I should go before the, uh, officer gets back.”

“That guy’s a dick,” you mutter. But when Steve unbelts and opens the door, you catch his arm before he’s out of reach. “Be…be safe.”

“I will.” He puts his hand over yours and lingers.

Until a loud ‘whoop!’ of a police car makes him slide it away and he gets out, grabs his bag, and disappears into the mill of travelers.

You drive away, already settling in to wait on the edge until he comes back.

A few days later you’re just getting up, shuffling to get ready for work, when you pass by the guest room and stop suddenly. Steve is lying face down on the bed, sleeping soundly, wearing only his pants. His back is covered in fading purple and the curves of his muscles catch your eyes for only a moment before you focus on those bruises, the stray cuts and small trails of dried blood that he couldn’t quite reach with the damp rag that now sits on the floor just under his dangling fingers.

You sigh and shamble back to your room to call out sick for the day.

“Ow!”

“Stop being such a baby.” You dab the area with a dry cloth. “You walked and talked with a broken clavicle; this does not hurt that bad.”

“I told you, I heal fine on my own.” Steve holds up his arm. “See? This one already closed up.”

“Great; so infection sneaks in and gets sealed in fast.”

“And then eliminated by the serum.”

You hit him with the washcloth but he leans back and laughs. You smile too, despite what a child he’s been. How can you not, when he manages to be light incarnate despite everything going on? His smile dims, but that’s reasonable. You’ve never minded his shadows, anyway.

“I know you’re a liar,” you say and gently wipe away the rest of the blood from his shoulder. “I have a patch of wet carpet from your own attempt to do this that will testify.”

He rolls his eyes. “I already apologized for that.”

“Steve. It’s not about the carpet.” You put your hand down, still holding the rag. “It’s okay to…get help, you know?”

“You help a lot.” He puts his hand on yours, and wraps his long fingers around. His eyes are…so blue, it’s almost unreal. He squeezes your hand and water from the cloth drips to the floor, but it sounds distant. You can’t look away from him. Even more so when Steve licks his lips. “I…in case something happ–”

His phone trills three times and Steve jumps up so fast he almost knocks you over. He catches you with one hand, apologizes, and runs over to check it. After staring at the screen for a few tense seconds, he inhales sharply. “I have to go.”

You throw the rag onto the table and wipe your hand on your pants. “Do you need a ride?”

“I got it; it’s probably safer if you’re not with me right now,” Steve says as he taps out something in his phone. He darts up the stairs without another word.

You barely get to clean up before he’s rushing back down, dressed, with his bag on his shoulder. You stand to toss a ‘be safe!’ at him as he inevitably runs out, but find yourself face-to-face with him. He grabs your shoulders to steady you. “When I get back,” he says, “I have something to tell you.”

“O…kay?” You can’t imagine what he has to tell you that he can’t do it right now, but it’s a good assurance nonetheless. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

He smiles. “I won't,” he promises, pulls his hat low, and slips out.

Only a couple of nights later you wake up to a large shadowed figure standing just outside your bedroom door.

“Steve?” You yawn. “Are you okay?”

“So, the captain is staying here.”

The unfamiliar voice wakes you up better than an espresso injection and you jolt up only to stare at a shadowed figure holding something out. You know what it is when you see it glint in a sliver of moonlight.

“Do not move. Do not scream.”

You clutch the blanket in a tight fist. You obey, and hope that he won't shoot you.

“Where is Captain America?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“I have no patience for liars,” he says and steps forward.

“I’m– I’m not lying!” You scoot back as far as you can. “He doesn’t tell me and I– I don’t ask.”

“Hm.” He’s silent for a few seconds, during which you make a conscious effort to breathe quietly. “So you are useless, then.”

The gun clicks and you freeze. At this angle there’s no way to get cover and you don’t know if your petrified body can move anyway. Still, you try and you roll out of bed. The shot is loud and you can feel bits of plaster hit your back as you hit the floor.

“STAY DOWN!”

Steve. You curl into a ball as shots fire and something smashes into your walls. It’s cacophonous, but quick– the noise ends, though your ears keep ringing, and when heavy boots rush at you, you curl up tighter.

“Hey, it’s all right,” a kind voice says. “I’m Sam Wilson and I’m gonna help you up. Are you hurt?”

“No,” you say but as you stand you wince at a stinging cut in your back. You try not to focus too hard on the rampant destruction of your room. You’re alive, at least.

The shock is enough that you’re at the bottom of the stairs when you blurt out, “Steve,” and look around. “I heard him; where– is he oka–”

“Easy,” Sam says and leads you to the couch. “He’s fine; just rounding up some stragglers.”

“Okay,” you breathe, but there’s that pain again.

“I recognize that face.” Sam pulls out a small bag. “Where’s it hurt?”

Sam takes care of you and you try not to worry about how long it’s taking Steve to track down ‘stragglers.’ But it’s not easy to relax after a wake up like that. Or when a red-headed assassin and her blond partner are watching you like hawks. Well, one hawk. You’re more worried about the Black Widow.

“There.” Sam pulls the edge of your top back down, returning to you some modicum of dignity. “Doesn’t even need stitches.”

“Thank you,” you say and blink away sleep.

“So…” Nata– Black Widow and Hawkeye walk over to sit and stand in front of you, respectively. “How do you know Steve?”

“Um…” You know Steve never told them, but it doesn’t feel like your place. What should you say? “I–”

Your name is called by a comfortingly familiar voice and you get to your feet as he rushes in the back door, Bucky at his heels. Steve’s suit is a little dirty and his hair is messed up, but he looks fine.

You breathe for what feels like the first time as he strides up to you. “St–”

Warm.

Steve’s lips are very warm.

You know this because they are very on your lips.

As soon as you make this realization, you snap to– and you wrap your arms around him and open your mouth to his. Steve responds immediately, slipping his tongue in and holding you as close as he possibly can without breaking your back. Not that it matters, because you’re dead. You have to be. You’re dead and in some fabulous afterlife, or you’re dying and hallucinating, because this can’t really be happening.

Can it?

You both break apart, (well, at face level at least), gasping for air. You lick your lips. “That was…new.”

You’re so close to him you can practically feel his cheeks radiate warmth when he blushes. “I’m sorry, I…” He hugs you tight. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

You’re content to stay in his arms forever, but pointed coughing makes you recognize other people are in the room. Steve practically leaps away from you, which is fair, considering just how amused his friends are and, okay, this isn’t the first impression you would have wanted to make on his friends, but you find it hard to be upset considering Steve just kissed you.

“I cannot believe you kept this a secret from your best friend,” Bucky says, placing a hand over his heart, but he’s grinning. You know well enough from the stories Steve has told you that poor Steve is never going to get to live this down.

“How do you know he didn’t tell me about it?” Sam says. Bucky shoves him, and they start to bicker. Steve puts a hand to his face.

“I didn’t know.”

Natasha’s words still the room. She’s vaguely impressed, but…

“Successfully keeping a secret from the Black Widow.” You squint at Steve. “Is that something that goes on your resume or your tombstone?”

Steve and some of the others laugh and you feel a little less on edge. Just a little. But they talk to each other, and Steve uses the opportunity to pull you into the kitchen.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he says, eyes darting and head moving as he looks over every inch of you.

“Fucking hell, Steve, take me to dinner first,” you blurt out, and he blushes.

But he says, “I’d like that.”

You blink. “You would?”

“Yes.” He moves in closer. “And we’ll talk about this.”

You lick your lips. “We will?”

“Yeah. Later. For now…” He pulls you into a kiss. And follows it up with even more.

Later, then.

You have plenty of time.

A Devil’s Love: Chapter 5

AN: I'm sorry this chapter came so late! I've been busy on Twitter with #LuciferSeason6 , and I really only write when I'm in work and the owner's second hand is starting to crack down on phone use again. As an extra treat for you all: I've made a Spotify playlist for this story! Please read the playlist's description because I'm one of those mental people who actually organized the songs. You'll learn a lot about Earth & Lucifer's future relationship, as well as more about Earth! Enjoy!

Earth & Her Devil Playlist

AO3 , Fanfiction Net , Wattpad

Warnings: Swearing

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Despite you being extremely nervous about having Lucifer, of all people, take care of you, the drive from the hospital to LUX was pleasant.

Lucifer followed all traffic laws. He even went five miles per hour under the posted speed to ensure you didn't bump around too much. He also picked up on your "outing" that music calms you, so he plays the radio at a reasonable volume to an alternative pop station.

The song "Devil Devil" by MILCK starts to play, and you hum along.

"You're going to have to sing it, darling."

"What?" You look over at him and get a bit defensive, "Why?"

"As your nurse I have to make sure your lungs are all right, since I'm sure you won't let me rest my head on your chest for a listen," he looks at you sideways and gives a cheeky grin, "or let me kiss you until your breath gives out for a test."

"Well, you're right about that." You look straight ahead at the road and wish you could cross your arms effectively.

"Then sing." You sigh loudly and stay quiet. You decide to sing the last part of the song to please your "nurse", but also because you couldn't resist any longer.

You take the shape of

Everything that I'm drawn to

You take the shape of

Everything that I'm drawn to

But your eyes

Are dead and red, red as rust

Do not try me Devil, Devil

Cannot buy me Devil, Devil

You won't make a fool of me, oh no

What makes you so special, special

To think I would ever settle

For that devious dance between me and The Devil, Devil

You look over at him when the song ends and give him an eyebrow raise, "Does that satisfy you, my nurse?"

"Perfectly." His wide smile and gleaming eyes are trained on the road.

For the next fifteen minutes of the ride you and Lucifer sing along to the radio. You hum towards the end because your throat started screaming for water.

The calm atmosphere of the car ride is abruptly cut when Lucifer pulls into his parking garage.

You two pass by the part of the garage where your car exploded. The damage to the garage was fixed with new cement. The area where your car was parked was still surrounded with crime tape, but your car was gone and there was a clean up crew. You also pass by Agent Monroe who was getting the footage inside the security office.

When Lucifer felt the air change around you he grabbed your left hand and rubbed his thumb soothingly over your knuckles. He parks his car in his spot, then releases your hand and steps out of the car. He steps over to your side and opens the door, but you don't move. You're still frozen from the memory of the explosion.

"I can carry you if you'd like." He leans down and whispers in your ear.

That snaps you out of it, "What?"

He chuckles, happy to have you back, "I know you feel safe in my arms." He winks at you.

"Just get me my crutches, Lucifer." You pull your legs over the side of the car.

"Come now, darling. You let me push you once, so how about you let me carry you once?"

"You already did when-"

"Yes, yes let's not bring that back up. Doesn't count anyway. You were, well," he stops himself then looks at you with the saddest puppy eyes you ever saw on a man, "Please?"

"Ugh." You sigh up to the ceiling, then look over to the side trying to hide the blush forming, "Fine." You barely audit out.

Lucifer doesn't even reply, and in a blink of an eye he has you in his arms bridal style and walking towards the elevator. You refuse to meet his eyes when he looks down with a smile, but you do admit to yourself that you do feel safer...for some reason.

Thank God no one is seeing this.

The elevator bings and the doors open up to the penthouse, "Where would you like to go, darling?"

"I actually want to rest for a bit," you answer truthfully. These emotions and memories from that night were draining you a considerable amount.

He starts walking towards his bedroom.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" You say, "Don't you have another room?!"

"Just Maze's old room, but her mattress is much too firm. Little demon likes it rough." He smiles down at you, "My bed is much softer."

"But-"

"Not uh, darling." Lucifer puts his finger on your lips and you freeze, "Only the best for my patient." He continues the walk. When you two arrive he pulls his sheet aside and lays you down on his bed.

"Oh…" you cover your mouth with your hand as your face heats up. Lucifer just laughs.

His bed is very soft, but not too soft that you instantly sink down.

He pulls his sheet over you, and you have to force yourself to keep from nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Lucifer kneels down in front of your face, "I'll wake you in an hour or two. Doctor said these bandages have to come off soon so you can wash yourself and get fresh ones."

"Mmm," you hum a reply, your eyes already drooping.

Lucifer chuckles again and gives you a soft kiss on your head, "Rest well, K9."

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"You still haven't fished anything up yet?" Lucifer talks on his phone to Maze as he walks back to his car to get your belongings.

"These FBI ticks are real pains in the ass, Lucifer." Maze responds agitated.

"Guess I'll have to pull the Devil charm on them." Lucifer frowns at the crutches in his backseat. Anger refueling a bit.

"I doubt their 'desire' would be to tell you whatever they know."

"Come now, Maze. I can get anything out of any human." He slings the duffle bag over his shoulder and holds the crutches under his arm.

"Well if you find this guy before me you better let me know! I want to kick his ass, too."

"Devil of my word, dear." Lucifer hangs up and starts back to the elevator.

"Mr. Morningstar!" Lucifer looks behind him and sees that FBI agent, Mr. Monroe, walk towards him.

"And here I thought you were done with me." Lucifer tells the man as he approached.

"I thought I should give you my card." Agent Monroe pulls a business card from his suit pocket and hands it to Lucifer.

Lucifer takes it and eyes it, "And why would I need this?"

"Just in case you learn of anything, or if anything happens here during Miss. Earth's stay."

Lucifer raises a brow at the man, "Are you expecting something to happen, Mr. FBI Agent?"

"Not in my hopes at all, Mr. Morningstar. Just a precaution. If need be I can provide extra security-"

"K9 doesn't need your protection." Lucifer stands full height at the man in intimidation. He smiles at the human, "She has the Devil watching over her."

"Of course." Agent Monroe takes a small step back and bids Lucifer farewell.

"Hmph." Lucifer huffs at the man's back and continues back on track to the elevator. He crumbles the card and throws it in a trash can.

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The sound of nearby running water makes your throat scream, reminding you that you forgot to ask for a drink before the nap.

You stretch on Lucifer's soft bed and squint your eyes open. You see from the wall of windows that the sun is now setting and that Lucifer left you a glass of water on the nightstand. You slowly lift yourself up and grab the cup.

"Good evening, darling!" Lucifer comes from his closet with a smile, holding your crutches. You hum in acknowledgement and thanks as you down the water.

"My shower is running lukewarm water to the Doctor's orders, sorry." He lightly chuckles at the inward groan you make. Lukewarm showers were basically cold, and you hated cold showers.

Stupid burns.

Lucifer positions the crutches on either side of your arms when you finish the water. You grab onto them as Lucifer helps you on your feet. Once you've achieved a balance you head to his bathroom in his much too large closet.

Seriously, how many expensive suits and shoes does one guy need?

You step into his bathroom that's as big as his closet. The decor was the same sleek black with hints of brown and gold. To your left was the largest double vanity set you've ever seen. Each sink was accompanied by their own large antique mirrors on the wall. To the right you saw he actually has two toilets and they had their own little room with doors. Straight ahead almost the entire wall was his shower, with the right corner housing a large jacuzzi tub.

"You look like you have many questions about my washroom, my dear." Lucifer laughs at your various facial expressions as you take in the room.

"I do, but considering your lifestyle and just how many people you bring up here, it all makes sense."

"Smart woman."

You walk further in and just now notice that Lucifer had laid out your pajamas on the vanity, as well as all your bathroom essentials around a sink. He even brought one of his dining chairs in for you to sit on so you wouldn't have to walk all the way to one of the toilets.

Lucifer motions you over to the chair and you sit, leaning your crutches against the vanity. Lucifer starts unbandaging your left arm.

He looks at your already scabbed up arms quizzically, "Do burns usually heal this quickly on you humans?" He asks as he undoes the right arm bandage.

"Don't think so. Ever doctor I see are always surprised by my healing rate. Their only explanation for me is that it must be something genetic."

"And you have no idea if that's true because you have no recollection of your parents?"

"Yup." You reply as you raise your now free arms slightly in the air and work your fingers and elbows.

Lucifer kneels and undoes the bandage knot at your left ankle. You allow him to untie it up to your kneecap before you stop him, "I can do the rest from here." Lucifer just pouts at you and you raise your brow in a pointed look that said "you really think I'd let you go all the way up". He starts at the right ankle as you finish up the left side.

"Need me to help you get undressed, or help scrub you up?" Lucifer smiles flirtatiously down at you as you finish the right leg.

You smile genuinely and shake your head before looking up at him, "You already know my answer to that, Lucifer."

"Can't blame a Devil for trying." He walks over to his shower and opens the glass door for you, so all you have to do is hop on in with your crutches, "Scream my name seductively if you need me." He winks at you then leaves the bathroom, closing the door.

You catch yourself smiling at the door before shaking your head to snap out of it.

You slowly stand. You lean against the vanity as you slowly put more and more weight on your feet. Satisfied you wouldn't fall, you remove your shorts and place them on the vanity. Both hands go to opposite bottom corners of your tshirt and you lift up-

"Hello there!"

You push your shirt back down and slam back onto the chair, biting your cheek to keep the pain from such fast movement from your blushing face. You grab your shorts and lay them on your lap, covering yourself the best you can.

"LUCIFER!"

"Oh drat, I was hoping to catch you in your bra as well. Oh well, those lovely lacey boy shorts will have to do." He winks at you from the bathroom door.

"What do you want, Lucifer?!"

"Oh, just popping in to ask what you'd like for dinner." He answers nonchalantly.

You give him dagger eyes, "You couldn't have asked me before you left?"

His shrug is such a big fat lie, "I forgot."

"Liar." You hiss.

He just smiles devilishly at you, "Sooo?"

"I don't care, Lucifer. Surprise me. Now get the hell out!"

"Alright, dear. I promise I won't enter again without you asking me to." He nods his head then closes the door once more. After waiting a minute to make sure he was gone, you grab your crutches and hobble your way to the door, locking it.

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The shower took a bit longer than you expected. Not only did you have to go slow to make sure you didn't peel the scabs too soon, and boy was that hard while in that freezing water, but it was hard to not think about all the women and men who have probably showered here. Plus knowing you had to sit in the very spot where a lot of…of stuff had mostly likely happened and came out, was very distracting.

Once you were completely dried, clothed, and hair had been thoroughly combed you crutch your way out of the bathroom.

Stepping around the corner into the entryway of Lucifer's bedroom you see that Lucifer had set up two trays on his couch. From what you could see from your viewpoint were two black cereal bowls that held something white, and two small white bowls that held an assortment of cut fruit. Each table also had their own drink, one had whiskey and the other had what you hoped was water and not vodka.

Lucifer puts some silverware on the trays then turns around. When he sees you he gives a wide smile and gestures to the food, "Dinner is ready, my dear!"

You go over to stand next to him and look down at the trays. What was in the black bowls was ice cream.

"Ice cream? Really?" You look up at him with a smirk on your face.

"You disapprove?"

"Of course not it's friggin' ice cream, but why?"

"Apparently a good thing for patients to eat after spending time in the hospital is fresh fruit, dairy and protein. You seem like the kind of woman who would skip right to dessert after leaving that dreadful building."

You raise a brow at him. He's right, but you hide the feeling of how he seemed to already know you from your face. You couldn't tell what that feeling in your chest was.

"And how do you know what's good to eat after a hospital? Experience?"

"Hardly. I, how you humans say, 'googled it'."

You burst into laughter, "You're taking this nurse thing really seriously."

"Why wouldn't I? I truly do want to make sure you heal fully."

You stop laughing when you hear the seriousness in his tone. You look up at him and see no humor in his eyes. Instead you see the look of worry in a man who thinks he's guilty.

You hold onto his hand in a comforting way, "I'm fine, Lucifer, and I do very much appreciate what your doing for me right now. So please, stop thinking that what happened is somehow your fault." He looks into your eyes and gives a small smile, giving your hand a small squeeze in response.

You smile, satisfied, "Now let's dig into dinner-ssert already."

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You wake up to the morning LA sun streaming through the penthouse's wall of windows. You stretch your entire body out on Lucifer's bed, and reviled in the aftermath of having the best sleep of your life.

Last night with Lucifer was actually pretty fun. As you two were eating he turned the tv on to some comedy channel. "Laughter is the best medicine I'm told" he had said. You two had enjoyed some friendly banter while also making fun of the comedians bad jokes. When midnight rolled around he noticed your struggle to keep your eyes open. He turned off the tv and helped you up off the couch and sent you to bed, like a good nurse.

You stretch your arms above you to take in the damage. You told Lucifer that it was best not to wrap up your arms and legs. Since the wounds were already scabbing it was best to let nature's air do its thing. And you were right, a lot of the scabs on your arms were already ready to come off.

Don't know what it is about my body, but damn if I'm not always grateful for fast healing.

The urge to pick them off was strong, but you knew that would be incredibly rude and disgusting to do on Lucifer's bed.

You rise to a sitting position and turn to the side of the bed. You stand up slowly to test pressure on your feet. Thankfully, it felt that you were able to walk on your own now, but only as a slow walk/wobble. The wounds on your feet and ankles still weren't fully healed yet.

Maybe I should at least wrap them up.

You waddle your way into the bathroom and run into-

"Butt." You stand stone still in the doorframe. Eyes wide, you take in Lucifer's naked body as he stands in front of a sink brushing his teeth.

He rinses his mouth then turns his head to you, "Good morning to you as well, K9!" He says with a shit eating grin, "Like what you see?"

You believe your body has turned as red as a lobster. You quickly turn around and give him your back, "Why are you naked?!" You ask his closet.

"I sleep naked." He replies so damn nonchalantly.

"Well can you please put some clothes on!"

You hear him sigh, "You know, I'm getting a serious case of deja vu right now. Are you sure you and the Detective aren't related?"

"Lucifer."

"Fine fine." You hear some shuffling behind you, "Alright, I'm all covered. Promise." You turn slowly around and see that Lucifer has wrapped a towel around his waist. He's facing you with a motion of his hands that says "all good now". You take in a breath of relief and Lucifer scoffs, "I'll never understand why you humans fear seeing your own kind naked."

You were going to reply to him, but he turned around.

And you saw his back.

Those scars…

You could faintly hear Lucifer call out to you as you fell to the ground. You couldn't see the real world anymore. Visions of what you think are memories you've forgotten flash by.

He stands before you. His white wings hinted with gold. Dressed in armor with a sword at his hip, he addresses you, "He has heard you and has sent me to give you what you seek." His voice was booming. Deep and rough. Not kind.

Your body screams at you-

"Earth!" You blink away the visions. You're back inside Lucifer's bathroom.

Lucifer himself was kneeled to your left. His arms held your back up so you were sitting instead of laying. His eyes and face were full of concern for you.

For me.

"Darling, what happened? Are you alright? Should I call the hospital?" His eyes are searching yours.

"What happened to you?" You ask, and your voice sounded dead to you.

Lucifer pauses, noticing your voice tone as well, "...to me?"

"Your back." You press on, "What happened? Who did that to you?"

Lucifer stares at you, "Maze did. That's where my wings were and I told her to cut them off as a spit in my father's face."

You shook your head violently, "Stop with that whole Devil shtick, Lucifer! I need to know the truth, please."

"It's not a shtick, K9!" You could see the pleading in his eyes. He wants you to believe him. Needs you to, "I never lie. Especially not to you." You close your eyes and take deep breaths in and out.

Calm down, Earth. Those visions were fake. You're crazy. Lucifer's crazy. None of it was real.

"K9?" Lucifer whispers to you and you open your eyes again.

You're back to normal, "I'm sorry, Lucifer. I don't know what came over me. I'm fine."

Lucifer just stares at your for a bit, then he places a hand on your cheek and keeps locked eye contact with you, "Earth," you felt the air change and could hear a slight difference in his voice.

What's he doing?

"Earth," Lucifer repeats, and he keeps your eyes locked with his, "What's wrong? What happened to you, darling?"

You just stare on back with a look of complete confusion, "Umm. Are you trying that mojo thing Chloe talks about?"

Now Lucifer is looking at you with complete confusion, "...Yes. What...Are you sure you're not related to her?"

"Lucifer. I'm ok now." You remove his hand from your face and break the eye contact. You lift yourself up and walk over to one of the stalls, "Just...just leave me alone for a while today, ok?" You close the door, not waiting for his reply, and rest on the toilet.

It's a long while before you hear Lucifer move, but eventually he does, "Alright, darling. I'll be down in the club if you need me." You hear Lucifer shut the bathroom door. Finally, you were alone with your thoughts.

What in the actual fuck is going on.

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"Lucifer!"

Maze walks down the steps and heads to her Devil, who was currently hunched on a stool at the bar counter with the ever trusty whiskey drink in hand.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Maze asks as she leans on the bar next to him.

"Just stewing over whatever His 'plan' is, yet again." Lucifer replies to the bar and takes a shot of his drink.

"Well maybe this will cheer you up, because it sure does cheer me up."

"What?"

Maze leans her face to his and whispers with an evil grin, "Want to go deal some punishment on one of those bomb fucks?"

Lucifer lifts his brow. His sour mood all gone, now replaced with his Devil side, "Just one?"

"The ticks still haven't found the one responsible for the bomb that actually blew, but that other bomb? They found the kid who's known for making that kind. And," Maze's grin grew more and she licked her lips, "with my own persuasion I got him to tell me who ordered it."

"So, who's the champ getting a special treatment from the Devil?" Lucifer stands up and fixes his suit, making himself more presentable.

"Dear old 'mum'."

Lucifer's body went completely still. Maze watched as his eyes processed the information. They went from shock, to disbelief, to those beautiful red eyes she loves so much.

Lucifer says nothing. Just takes long strides out of the building. Maze laughs mechanically and runs to catch up with him. No way was she missing this.

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You were curled up on Lucifer's couch watching some mind numbing television when you heard the elevator doors chime open. You braced yourself to talk with Lucifer, but when you turned your head to look it was Chloe who stepped out.

"Hey, girl." Chloe motioned for you to stay sitting. She came over and sat next to you, "How are you feeling?" She asks as she hugs you.

Confused. Scared. Sad.

"A lot better." You say hugging her back.

"I can tell." Chloe smiles as she takes in your appearance, "No bandages, barely any scabs left, and you're curled up in your weird sitting position."

"Haha." You give your BFF a sarcastic laugh and an eye roll.

"Where's Lucifer?" Chloe notices now the vacancy of flirts and sass remarks.

"He said he'd be downstairs for most of the day."

"I didn't see him down there."

"Really?" A small bubble of relief popped in you.

"Yeah. Some nurse he is then for not telling you." Chloe shakes her head in disapproval.

"Actually Chloe he's been-" you pause for a second to relive the time you spent yesterday with him. You can't help the small smile that appears on your face, "He's been a pretty good nurse. I'm only alone right now because I asked to be alone. Not his fault."

"Hmm, well anyways I came to not only visit you, but to also tell you some good news!" Chloe's smiling now.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't have any news for you last night, but this morning Agent Monroe made a break through. A small one, but that's better than nothing." Chloe sits herself crossed legged on the couch facing you, "He managed to find out who the maker of the second bomb is, the one that didn't go off."

"Anyway I could guess who?"

"Doubt it. Remember back when I asked you to look into that real estate murder because Dan was too busy with another case?"

You think back to that day when you and Lucifer first worked together. Now a bubble of happiness popped in you, "Yeah."

"Well that case was a bomb one, and he found the guy responsible for it. More of a kid than a guy, actually. He was a pizza boy who made bombs on the side." Your eyes went wide.

"Yup." Chloe continues, "Turns out that bomb was one of his, but he claims that he only makes them. He doesn't actively use them."

"So, who'd he sell that bomb to?" You were interested now.

"He won't tell, of course. Before Monroe was about to break him his lawyer stepped in." Chloe scoffed in disgust and annoyance, "Mrs. Charlotte Richards has become a real thorn in the precinct's side."

Your jaw falls open, "Charlotte Richards is a pizza boy's lawyer?"

"Yeah. That is pretty weird...why?" Chloe looks quizzically at you.

"She was at the restaurant Lucifer took me to that night, and I did not get good vibes from her. She really didn't like me being out with her son."

Now it was Chloe's turn to have her jaw drop, "What?!"

"What?"

"Charlotte Richards is Lucifer's mother?!"

"Yeah. Or step mom, I'm not entirely sure," you take in Chloe's complete shocked appearance, "You...didn't know did you?"

"No I didn't!" Chloe flops back on the couch, "Honestly, though, it makes complete sense."

"Sooo," you try to continue the conversation, "You said Charlotte stepped in right when that boy was about to spill the beans?"

"Yeah...she even paid his bail for making the bombs." You could see the wheels turning in her brain, "You said she was there that night with you two?"

"Yup."

"Did it seem like a coincidence that she happened to be there?"

"She said it was a company dinner, but I somehow doubt that."

"Hmm...maybe I could go question her colleagues." Chloe says this more to herself than to you.

"Woah, wait a sec Chloe. You think Lucifer's mom might be on this?"

"It's just speculation. You said she didn't seem to like you, and she has some sort of...aura about her." Chloe gives you one more hug then stands up, "I'm going to head over there to investigate. I'll call you if I find out anything." Then she's in the elevator and the doors shut.

Oh shit.

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The Goddess of Creation stood over her wooden work desk. She gathered up the last of the report papers and put them inside of her bag.

"Mother!"

The Goddess looked up to see her Lightbringer enter her office. She wasn't surprised to see him. She could hear his strong footsteps enter the building.

"Yes, son?" She walked around from behind her desk to the front to be closer to him.

"How could you?!" Her son was clearly angry. She saw that demon of his enter the room to stand behind him. It drew out it's blades and twirled them while grinning at her.

"How could I what?" She tilts her head at her son. Complete innocence.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" He points his finger at her. His voice grew more and more deep with each sentence.

The Goddess just crosses her arms and leans against the desk. She rolls her eyes, "I don't see why you're so upset. She's just a human."

"First Azrael's blade," he steps closer, "and now you tried, nae, wanted to kill Earth.". He's right in front of his mother's face now.

"Well I didn't kill her."

"That's it mother." Lucifer's Devil face was fully out now. The Goddess cringes at that hideous face her ex had given their beautiful son, "Your time here on earth is finished." Lucifer's demon steps closer, daggers ready.

"You can't kill me, Lucifer." The Goddess stood her ground. She doesn't fear this "Devil".

The demon scoffs, "Of course he can. Stop stalling."

"I'm not stalling, creature. I'm telling the truth." She sees her son's Devil face raise what would be a brow at her, "You can only 'kill' me by destroying this body. Do that, and you've murdered a human."

"The human, Charlotte Richards, was dead before you entered her." Devil Lucifer responds.

"True, but when I entered her I felt her soul." The Goddess lifts her head in triumph, "Charlotte Richards has been connected back to her body, even in death."

"You've gotta be fucking with us." The demon peers at her.

The Goddess gives the demon a disgusted look, then focuses back in her son, "Kill me and you murder a human. Your father's number one rule."

"Like I care about his rules."

"True, but you, my son," the Goddess holds the Devil's face in her hands, "you are not a murderer."

The Devil's eyes search her face, but she ends up winning. Lucifer drops his Devil face.

"We can still punish her!" His demon pleads to him.

He raises his hand to silence her, then he removes his mother's hands from his face and takes a step back, "You even think about going after her again, and I will become a murderer."

Lucifer walks out of her office and, after a lot of evil glaring, his demon follows him out.

He may be pissed now, but he should thank his father for Chloe having her back turned to him and being too focused on questioning the workers to notice his departure.

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Lucifer steps out of his elevator entering his penthouse. He looks up and sees you standing by his piano with your belongings packed up next to you.

"I'm feeling better now." You reply to his questionable eyebrow raise, "I don't want to take too much of your hospitality."

"You're no trouble, K9."

"I...I know." You look down at your clasped hands, "I just want to go home now. Get back to life."

Lucifer's silent for a bit, "I'm sorry if-"

"No no." You raise your hand and walk to him, "You have nothing to be sorry about, Lucifer. You've been a wonderful nurse." You give him a small smile, "Thank You."

He looks slightly taken back, but returns your smile with his own, "You're quite welcome, my dear." You nod to him, then grab your things and head to the elevator.

"K9, wait." You finger hovers over the elevator's button, waiting. "How do you plan on getting home?"

"Oh, I was just going to call a cab."

"Please, let me take you home instead." You couldn't tell what kind of emotion was showing in his eyes, and you don't think he knew either.

Your heart constricted and your stomach was doing flip flops, but you give him a smile and nod your head, "Ok."

The ride to your apartment building was a quiet one, but it was a welcoming silence. Every now and then you'd catch Lucifer looking at you, and he would catch you looking at him.

You arrive at the building and Lucifer walks with you inside and to your door. You unlock it and step halfway inside before turning around to face him.

"Goodnight, Lucifer."

He smiles at you, "Goodnight, Earth."

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Lucifer sits at his piano. A lite cigarette laying in an ashtray and a glass of whiskey in front of him. He plays the tune to Les Friction's "Torture", but stops when he hears his elevator door ding open.

"Detective?" Lucifer can't help the surprised tone in his voice, "It's a bit late for a case isn't it?"

"I'm not here for a case, Lucifer." She walks closer to him and he stands up from his piano bench to face her properly.

"Is everything alright?"

"I hope so." Chloe's hands interlace together in a nervous matter, "Earth told me she went home. I figured now was a good time to talk to you."

"About?"

"Us, Lucifer." Chloe walks closer to him until they're almost touching.

"I want to talk about our kiss."

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Tag List: @insanity-is-always-fun @anushay1998 @emiwrites3reads @i-am-canada-13 @heart-of-pots-and-pans

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, chapter 18

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

-----

Progress took time.

They continued their sessions. Sometimes Demyx talked; sometimes Ienzo did. Sometimes there were tears or anger or both. But gradually, gradually they both began to heal. They found things to do outside in town. Soon the cold became less dreadful.

Ienzo often chided himself for wasting time. The urgency to do good nagged him endlessly. It didn’t matter that he was unlearning years of trauma, or spending time with his partner. There were mistakes to fix, problems to solve. He wondered if he might ever find peace.

He sought Ansem.

Ansem sat at the desk in the anteroom of the lab, bent over a set of blueprints. “Hello, Ienzo. How are you doing?”

“I am well.” His mind was drawn, inevitably, to his encounter with the lexicon and the realizations therein. “What is it you’re working on?”

“Aeleus and Dilan are helping me with plans for a new heating system,” Ansem said. “There is absolutely no reason for us to suffer for another long winter.”

“I should be glad to be warm again,” Ienzo said.

“Is there something else on your mind?” Ansem asked.

“Well… yes. Do you recall our conversation from a few months ago, when I asked to see the data you had collected from the basement?”

“How can I forget? It was the last I saw of you before you fell into that horrid sleep.” He frowned. “I suppose you’re ready to see it.”

Ienzo sighed. “I… believe so,” he said. “Demyx and I have been helping one another in cognitive-behavioral therapy. I was not at a place where I was able to take responsibility for my actions. I am now.”

“I have told you time and again that this is not your fault--”

“Thoughts that are difficult for a traumatized young man to internalize,” Ienzo interrupted, politely yet firmly. “I do believe this will help me find peace.”

Ansem sighed, and nodded. “If this is what you believe you need, then I am happy to provide. It’s all in its own folder on the desktop. Would you like me to sit with you while you read it? It’s heady stuff indeed.”

He shook his head. “I need to be able to process this on my own.” He went over to the computer. It felt strange to return, now that he’d had time away from it. He pulled up a chair, logged in, and drew a deep breath.

The files he’d read all those weeks ago were only the tip of the iceberg. The record-keeping had been extensive, and a lot of it had been hidden, thought lost, corrupted, or classified by certain apprentices (usually Even). But now it was all here.

He did not need to reread what they’d done. He knew it. What he was looking for was something else entirely.

The names of the subjects had for the longest time been redacted, replaced with letters at first, and then numbers. But now it had all been revealed. Either the encryption had timed out, or someone had released these files.

Ienzo shut his eyes and held out his hands.

The lexicon came to him slowly and hesitantly. It had retained the changes he’d seen in his illusion. It looked like one of the fairy tale volumes from Ansem’s study. His psyche surely had a sense of irony. He clutched the book in his hand and started to read the data.

There were their names--dozens and dozens of them. The photos. The biographies and backstories. Not the numbers. The people. He whispered the names under his breath, trying to commit them to memory. He hadn’t seen them as people. Not then.

He read and read until his eyes were hot and painful. Favorite colors. Hobbies. Anecdotes. Life histories. Friends, family. Husbands, wives, spouses, children. In one particularly memorable case, a border collie a young woman insisted carried the soul of her stillborn twin.

He opened the lexicon and asked it to show him one of the subjects. It obeyed. A plan began to form in his mind.

----

When Ienzo found Demyx, he was in the library. Studying. The sight was so surreal he was tempted to take a picture of it on the gummiphone. His sitar was in his lap, and he played a soft melody quietly to himself. But his eyes remained on the book in front of him. For a few minutes Ienzo watched, feeling something like pride.

“How is it going?” Ienzo asked.

Demyx jumped, a discordant twang echoing in the room.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Demyx let Arpeggio disappear. “It helps me remember, if I play,” he said. “Otherwise I can’t focus. If I read a chapter enough while playing a certain song, it sticks. I tried it the other way.  I don’t know how you guys learn stuff.”

“Everyone studies differently,” Ienzo said. “So you’re really going to do it?”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “She told me to read these before I came to her for the practical stuff.” Demyx shifted the books around. Anatomy, magical theory, botany. Organic chemistry.

Ienzo kissed him lightly.

“So what’s going on with you? I figured you were working on something, but I don’t know what.”

“Well, actually, that’s kind of why I came to find you.”

“The score? Ienzo, you realize I can just read it to you, right?”

He shook his head. “Not that. Though I would like to know what’s in it, if you’re not afraid to share. No.” He took the lexicon out from under his arm. “I’m afraid there’s something only you can help me with.”

He smirked. “What was it you said? “If you want to be alone with me you need only ask?””

“What? Do I really speak like that? Never mind-- no, this is something else.” He sighed. He was just going to have to spit it out. “I want to go to the basement.”

Demyx paused. “Okay. Two things. First, not a great idea, all things considering. Second, why me? Why not Ansem or Even or someone else who was involved in the experiments?”

“You’ve got a weapon.”

Demyx paled. “So--let me get this straight. You want to go to the basement--where it’s crawling with Heartless and god-knows-what-else, not to mention where you’ve seen enough horror to go gray prematurely--”

“I haven’t gone gray. This is my natural hair color.”

“Babe, the last time you remembered something half as horrible you went kinda ballistic. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’ve healed since then,” he said. “I have this--” He held out the lexicon. “And I have my power, whatever it means. I think the only way I can find peace is by helping them.”

Demyx exhaled, exasperated. “And do you really trust me to defend you? I’m out of shape, and I have no idea how strong the Heartless down there even are.”

It was becoming clear. “What is this really about?” Ienzo asked. “Are you really afraid of a few Heartless?”

He looked down, and was silent for a few minutes. “I guess not,” he said. “I just… I’m afraid that going down there and seeing all that will change how I see you. And I don’t want that to happen.”

Ienzo took his hands. He had a point. “I know that. And it might change your mind. But I… I need to do this. I hope you understand.”

He didn’t say anything for such a long time that Ienzo nearly left. Finally, he said. “You’d do the same for me. Alright. Let’s free some ghosts, or whatever.”

Ienzo kissed him. “I love you.”

“I can’t say  no to you. But you knew that.” He marked the place in his book and set it aside. “I’d feel better if we got some supplies. And if you rested. You look exhausted.”

“So tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow.”

---

That night, he read the files in the lexicon, trying to memorize as much as he could. Demyx set off to get supplies from Even, and when he came back, his expression was taut. Ienzo attributed it to nerves. He, himself, did not feel so nervous, which was odd. “Did you get everything you needed?” he asked.

“Oh, plenty,” he said breezily. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly, not as anxious as I thought.” He shut the book and settled down in bed.

“Can I… stay with you tonight?”

Ienzo frowned. “Of course.” He lifted the covers and let Demyx crawl in. He felt himself being drawn close, held tightly. It made sense that Demyx was worried about him. “I’m not sure why you felt like you had to ask. You scarcely sleep in your own bed anymore.” It was nearly too conspicuous; there were a few times where Demyx was seen coming and going from Ienzo's room.

“Dunno. I figured you might want some time alone.” His voice was a bit dull.

“I have spent a lot of time thinking about this alone. I don’t mind the company.”

Demyx looked up at him, with a degree of hesitation. He kissed him once, but if he had any more reservations he didn't voice them.

Ienzo slept, though timorously. He ate a good breakfast. Demyx packed the bag of supplies. The morning was warmer than it had been in ages, and he wasn’t sure this was a good omen or not. He put on his lab coat over his sweater. Tied the purple ascot around his throat. It had been so long since he’d worn such clothing that it felt a little constricting.

“You sure you want to do this?” Demyx asked.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

His eyes were sharp and serious. “Lead the way, then.”

They went down and down and down, several floors below the lab to the last locked door. The plain steel door stared back at them. Ienzo reached for the keypad, but found that he could not punch in the numbers.

“Did you forget the code?” Demyx asked, not without a hint of hope.

Ienzo summoned the lexicon and tucked it under his arm. And then he typed in the number.

It was all exactly how he remembered it.

The lights flickered on in a bright, fluorescent cascade, all the way down the hall of cells. The first few rooms were offices. All of the spaces were ravaged, ransacked; Ienzo could not tell if this was from the subjects, or from Ansem in his determination to destroy the data. Papers littered the floor. The dank, barren, black and silver doors of cells stared them down. All were open. Each, Ienzo knew, was identical--cot, sink, toilet, chair. The room was bright, but he felt as though he were squinting to see. The thin scent of smoky darkness began to permeate everything.

“They smell us,” Demyx said. Ienzo had been in fights with Demyx before, in the Organization, the rare few times they’d been paired for a mission. The higher-ups had seem fit that there was no reason for there to be two intelligence officers on the same mission, and kept them apart once they realized it was inefficient. (The fact that Zexion had complained about him seemed irrelevant.) He’d seem Demyx fight--his bearing, his cowardice. Now he was completely different; guard up, at attention. He’d brought his arm in front of Ienzo, who pushed it away.

“Not yet.”

They crept forward cautiously. Ienzo waited for the battering ram of trauma. The memories trickled slowly. Walking these halls with Xehanort, offering the prisoners (that was the right word) ice cream. Maybe it was the lexicon’s influence, or the fact that he was here to put this all to bed, but Ienzo did not feel the same helplessness as before.

“There’s no one here,” Demyx said.

“Don’t speak so soon.”

An amorphous blob of darkness materialized at the end of the hallway. They watched it form and twitch. Ienzo couldn’t be sure, he he could swear that its silhouette was more humanoid than the usual Shadows. A Neoshadow, maybe?

More darkness gathered, slithering along the floor in splintery streaks. The first jittery Shadows came out of the cells.

“Freaky,” Demyx hissed. There was a flash of light in his palm. Ienzo saw the Keyblade for the first time. To his surprise, he could see Arpeggio in its folds and curves, in its coloring.

One of the Shadows shuffled towards them.

“Stay behind me,” Demyx hissed.

“Not yet.” He crouched down. The darkness on the floor did not start ensnaring him, as he thought it might. “Do you remember me?” Ienzo asked the Shadow. Zexion had always thought that Heartless were incapable of any feeling or understanding. But they were what was left of hearts, the very embodiment of negativity within. It had not, after all, tried to attack them automatically.

It cocked its head.

“I was little then,” Ienzo said. “Not anymore.”

The Shadow twitched and shuddered. A few more peeked out. “What are you doing?” Demyx asked.

“Giving it the Sora treatment.” He exhaled. “Put that away. We’re not here to hurt you all. Isn’t that right?”

The blade in his hand trembled a little.

“Demyx?” Ienzo prompted.

He let it disappear. Raised his hands in acquiescence.

He looked deep into the Shadow’s gold eyes. “You’ve been here for such a long time, so alone.” The lexicon opened to a random page, of a little girl. “Isn’t that right, Jamie? That’s you, right?” He held the book out to the Heartless. It seemed to stare at the page within, of the photo. “I wanted to apologize for all we put you through.” Keep talking. Keep talking. “There was a bad, bad man. He made all the people around him sick with evil. And they took it out on you. On me, too. And my friend next to me. That doesn’t make it right, but the bad man’s gone and everyone wants to help you.”

The Heartless seemed to convulse.

“I can’t imagine it’s fun down here. There’s nobody and nothing to play with. But there’s another place with lots of friends waiting for you.”

The Shadow raised a claw.

“Ienzo,” Demyx hissed. Ienzo held out his hand.

The Shadow placed its claw on the photo of the girl. It was not twitching anymore, not in the way Heartless usually did.

“Do it now,” he whispered. “She’s ready.”

Two quick cuts. They watched the heart rise and disappear.

“Oh my god,” Demyx said. “Are you… are you okay? I should’ve given you my coat.”

He looked at himself. There were no rogue threads of darkness, no sign of infection. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

“How many are there?”

“Left? I’m not sure. But these aren’t ordinary Heartless. This was the genesis.”

The Heartless, having seen all this, did not flee the way they were akin to when their brethren died. They came forward in a lump. They did not attack. They left plenty of space between them and Ienzo.

“They’re making a line,” Demyx said.

“They want to be free.” He smiled. His eyes were watering. “Who wants to know who they are?”

It must’ve taken hours.

He showed each Shadow that came forward their profile. He explained what happened and he apologized. Each time, the Heartless seemed to spasm, and then stopped twitching; Demyx would free the heart. Ienzo was not sure if he were channeling his own powers somehow, but he felt himself getting more and more tired. The process was rough on both of them; he could hear Demyx breathing heavily, though he didn’t complain more than to say he was out of shape.

One by one, the Heartless were set free. The smell of darkness grew weaker and weaker until it was nearly gone. Ienzo felt sweat at his brow, and a fresh headache budding behind his eyes. Was it merely tension?

“Is that it?” Demyx asked hoarsely. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Yes, that was--” He crunched the numbers. “Ninety-nine.” He furrowed his brows. “There’s one left. Maybe it’s hiding? Can you handle one more?”

“I think. You?”

He nodded. When he stood, his knees shook, and Demyx helped him up. “Why did they forgive me?” Ienzo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The bitterness… they just let it go. Without fail. There was not even one rogue Shadow that tried to attack.”

“They’ve been here ten years,” Demyx said. “That’s a long time to suffer. Sometimes you have to let it go to make the pain stop.”

He looked at his trembling palm. “I see. I… understand.”

Demyx glanced over his shoulder. “I think we’ve found our stowaway.”

It was the humanoid Heartless, the first one they’d seen. They approached it slowly.

“We’re here to help,” Demyx said. “Do you want to go be with your friends?”

The Heartless seemed to consider this. Ienzo held the lexicon in front of him. The last file--where was it? Was it missing?

“Ienzo,” Demyx said nervously. “Maybe start working your magic, yeah? My buddy here seems a little agitated.”

The Heartless’s claws twitched.

“I can’t--” He started manually shuffling the pages. “I can’t find their--”

The Neoshadow hissed. Demyx drew his Keyblade. “Come on. Let’s talk this out,” he said. “I’m offering you a get-out-of-jail free card here, friend.”

At the sight of the weapon, the Heartless s creamed, despite the fact that Heartless had no facilities to do that . They leapt at Demyx.

Ienzo’s mind was spinning, his headache pulsing in time with his heart. Hasn’t Ansem retrieved all the files? Hadn’t he read them all? Something wasn’t making sense.

Demyx was holding his own against the Heartless, guarding himself against the attacks. He didn’t play the offensive. They kept screaming.

Something clicked.

Ansem hadn’t been ravaging through those files. The Heartless had.

Porcelain Doll

Chapter 3 of  It Was Always You

It has been about a month since Natsu and Lucy have officially become a couple when Lucy goes out on a mission with Shadow Gear and comes back a little worse for wear.  How will the over protective dragon handle it?

@cosmicdragonwizard

Sorry ya’ll, tech support is supposed to be working on the glitches if you are reading this on the site. but it should look normal once you click the Keep Reading.  It seems to be fine if using the app.  Thanks for your patience

To say he was angry was like saying his battle against his brother had merely been sibling rivalry gone just a little askew, no Natsu was furious, livid, hell there wasn’t a word yet created to describe how he felt when Lucy walked into the guild hall.  He was already irritated that she had been gone on the week-long mission with Shadow Gear without him but had relented at her and Levy’s persistence that it would be a simple, no danger involved, we’re just gonna translate and catalog for the Magic Library some new materials they had received request.  

And now he stood there, heat waves flaring off his body, mid-transformation, staring at his mate with a swollen lip, black eye, and limping as she desperately tried to calm him down, begging, pleading that it really wasn’t that bad, it was no ones fault that a shelf decided to break under the weight of ancient manuscripts at the same moment she had been adding to it’s volumes.  

She was using every trick she had gained in all her years of knowing the slayer, all her skills to tame and soothe the demon back into submission and it was slowly working, first the reversal of his physical changes, then gradually his temperature began to come down.  Almost ready to take a sigh of relief that’s then it happened, of all the times to add to her dilemma now, when she had finally got Natsu to calm down!  She sneezed.  And not just one of those cute, something tickled her nose sneezes, but a loud, mucus driven, no air left in your lungs expulsions when you’re suffering from a cold.  Twice.  

He roared and surged again towards the cowering guild mates that he blamed for her condition, she pushed desperately against his frame, bracing him from moving forward, and now Gajeel and Gray had joined to hold him back.

“Please Natsu!” her tears are streaming at this point of desperation.  “It’s nothing Wendy or Porlyusica couldn’t fix…” but before she can finish the growl he emits sends chills down her spine.

“They aren’t here!”

“W-What?” she stops pushing.

“They left yesterday and won’t be back for at least a week!” tugging harder at the arms holding him, “damn it let me go you bastards!  Gajeel you know damn well if it were Levy you’d be…”

“Oh, don’t lump me into this, Salamander,” the iron slayer only tightens his hold, “Yes I’d be pissed but I got more brain cells to know this ain’t worth killing over.”

“Come on man,” Gray tries to reason with him, “Lucy will be fine, she’s tough, just some good ‘ole rest and patching up and she’ll be good to go.  Cause we ain’t letting ya go till you calm the fuck down!”

“Fuck you!”

Lucy let’s out a long, drawn out exhale to calm herself down.  The team had known Porlyusica was not home since they stopped there first, knowing this is exactly how Natsu was going to respond.  They had even checked Fairy Hills for Wendy, but she too had not been home, and they’d hoped she’d simply be at the guild; well now they know why.  Just Great.  The spirit mage knew she really wasn’t as bad as he was acting like she was, damn it she wasn’t a porcelain doll, and she understood his possessive side which had only grown worse after consummating their bond, but still…  Another exhale, she needed to get him settled down again, this was her problem, her duty, not the guilds.  

With the two men holding her mate firmly enough, Lucy cups his blazing cheeks and forces him to look at her directly.  She holds his gaze, searching, imploring, his emeralds still fiery as they melted her chocolate hues, moisture teeming again, her lips part, sweeping into a smile and voice is soft, gentle like a delicate flower petal despite the sniffles she was holding at bay.  “Natsu,” kissing his lips ever so tenderly, “My love, my mate, I need you to come back to me.  If Wendy is not here I will need your help until I feel better.  Please?”  

His head lowers and rests against her forehead as his body stills.  Oh, Mavis he was still livid, but she was right, he need to take care of his responsibilities, and Lucy was his priority not these idiots around him; he could beat them up a little later; a twitch of his lip at that last thought.  Finally, it’s his turn to exhale and relax his body.  “Alright…”

She tilts his head back up and kisses him again, “Take me home, dragon.”

~~

First things first, he leaves her next to the tub to strip while he runs a bath for his mate and gathers other necessities.  As the water fills he checks her over more closely and aside from the black eye and lip that is less swollen than it was earlier, noting bruises on her side over her ribs and likely the bones themselves where the shelf had come to land, and the ankle that was inflamed and would need to be wrapped, received as she tried but failed to get out of the way.  Another round of sneezes.  Now that was another issue.  With her energy reserves lowered, catching a cold on their way back was a new problem developing quickly and just in the half hour from when they had met up at the guild, the congestion had gotten worse, and was well on its way towards the next symptom.  

Body sore all over, all she wanted to do was unwind in a nice hot bath with her man, so after scrubbing their bodies and rinsing, he picks her up and lowers them both into the steaming waters, settling the blonde between his legs and keeping his arms around her waist, careful against her bruises.  It felt so good, her wispy sighs convey as she relaxes against his chest, all the aches and pains, the memories of that stupid mission dissolving away into the water molecules that surrounded them.  

It had only been a month since they had gone from friends to lovers and they were still adjusting to the differences.  Granted, the pair had been so close before the change that not a whole lot did, but one thing was the possessiveness, and the crazy territorial dragon he had become.  It drove her nuts, but what could she do?  She had chosen him for better or for worst and no matter what happened they’d figure it out, they always did.  

She really did hate seeing Natsu so upset, it pained her, and if she had thought for a second the job was going to be dangerous, she never would have taken it unless he would be with her.  The worst part, was he’s barely said a word to her the whole time they’d been home, brows still furrowed and frowning, she couldn’t tell if he was upset, frustrated, worried…

“Natsu, are you,” exhale, “angry with me?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“You look angry…  and you haven’t really said much since we left the guild…”

Exhale, “Luce, I’m not mad at you, it’s just,” longer exhale, “I know your injuries aren’t that bad, a-and I know that it was just an accident, but it scared me.”

She shifts just enough to see his face, now tilted downward, and bangs shielding his eyes a little; is that a tear?  “But I’m fine, baby, why would you be scared…”

He looks up; it was tears…  “yeah, this time, but what if it had been different…  People die from accidents too, and I wasn’t there…” she turns all the way around to face him as tears of her own build.  “…I can’t protect you if I’m not there.  I-I can’t lose you Lucy, do you understand that?”

“Natsu…” pressing her lips gently to his and sweeping away the tears along his cheeks, “I’m so sorry, I really wouldn’t have gone if I thought something bad would happen.”  Now they are both crying, “I promise, I’ll never go anywhere without you again, it’s breaking my heart to see you like this.”          

A small smile finally rewards Lucy as he returns her kisses and reminds himself she’s still here, in his arms where she belongs.  She smiles back, tousling her fingers through his hair a little before, sliding them along his face and neck.  He doesn’t know how this woman can be jarring and yet so soothing to his soul, how she manages to pacify the swirling emotions that is him and keep her wits about her.  Mavis, how he’d die for this woman!  His arms enfold her again, turning her to rest against his chest, and kisses the back of her head.  Yes, he still wants to beat up Shadow Gear a little just because, but they are damn lucky that this vengeful dragon slash demon can be tamed by his mate.

They stay there for quite some time, the water never getting any cooler thanks to his natural body heat, and as wrinkled as some of their extremities may get, even Lucy succumbs to the serenity of the water, lids growing heavy and drowsy.  Under different circumstances, the two of them naked in a tub would have led to a much more pleasurable experience but she needed to rest, and he wouldn’t risk adding to her bruises, chuckling in his head, ‘I can contribute new ones later.’

Natsu takes her out of the bath and gets her ready for bed before she could fully pass out and be much more difficult to handle.  He applies salves to her bruises and bandages her ribs, wraps her ankle, happy to see the discoloration over her eye and lip have lightened considerably, and lastly forces her to take some medicine for the cold he knows is going to rear its ugly head tomorrow.  Cuts, broken bones, with plenty of experience, these are things he can deal with, but colds, that’s something he’s dreading.  All his life, he’s never suffered from colds, his body seemingly immune to infections so all he can hope is to do the right things to help her through it, and it will take much more than simply digging up a tree to make her feel better.  With her safely tucked under the covers and bundled in his arms, they drift off into the night.

~~

“Ah choo!  Ugh….  Ah choo!  Ugh, I feel like shit…”

It had been two days since he’d got her home, two days of a steadily worsening cold, two friggin days of running himself blind not knowing how to deal with it, and worst of all it was just the beginning.  

As Lucy stayed dead to the world yesterday morning, Natsu had snuck out, knowing he needed to get medicine for her cold but with no idea from where and he really didn’t want to go to the guild for help.  This might sound crazy, but knowing Fairytail was like a family, his friends would have insisted on coming to the apartment to help and damn it if he did not want anyone near his woman right now.  He knew himself well enough to know, the over protective side they saw the day prior was still lingering and could kick back on at any moment.  It didn’t matter to him if he was being selfish, she wasn’t just Lucy Heartfillia, Celestial Spirit mage of Fairytail anymore, but his mate, his woman, and screw what anyone else thought!  But shit, where the hell does he get meds from??  

So, he did the only other thing he could think of, asked everyone he passed on the street.  Two people pointed him to a part of Magnolia he’d never really ventured before, back alley shops, shady was an understatement, but if they said there was an apothecary then so be it.  Low and behold, the shop existed, and Natsu bought the supplies he was told would help her.  It’ll clear her right up, she’ll feel instantly better, the owner swore on his life, back to new in no time flat.  Well hell, that was the best news a gullible and desperate man could ever hear!  

Yeah, the slayer ran back to the apartment, excited and ready to shove the remedies down her throat expecting the ‘instant’ reaction that never came, in fact, he swore by days end Lucy looked even worse.  Pissed, he flew back to the shop and destroyed it, reducing not just the apothecary but the entire building it was housed in to rubble.

Back to day 2.  Word of a half-man, half creature destroying a building in Magnolia had reached Fairytail by that morning and of course, who else could it have been?  So, in response Makarov had sent Gray and Erza to Lucy’s apartment to find out why on Earthland had Natsu rampaged the day before.  But he had refused to let them in, even with Erza threatening to break the door down along with him, just wouldn’t budge and surprisingly, she didn’t follow through with her threat.  Maybe it was the storm behind his eyes or the menacing aura that had developed around the slayer as his anger grew that made her back off.  

Either way, the one thing she wouldn’t do was leave without helping and if medicine was what he needed, then that was what they would get for them, anything to keep the dragon from racking up more bills for the guild.  It had taken a couple hours for the pair to show back up with not just medicine but food and other necessities along with instructions for Natsu to follow, Mira had even whipped up a batch of chicken soup for their dinner, promising more deliveries each day.  He was grateful for the gesture, its not like he thought his friends had bad intentions, just right now, he had to satiate his demon and said demon wanted nothing more than to hoard their mate.

~~

The medicines were helping her sleep, much to the relief of her dragon.  The care package really had been the catalyst to turn their situation around, having taken a load off his shoulders, he could focus on caring for Lucy and by the evening of day 3, her congestion was better, which meant her couching wasn’t hurting her ribs as much, the cold sweats had subsided, her fever was at a manageable temperature, and she had even held down a full bowl of soup in one sitting.  The bruising on her side was no longer an angry purple but a jaundice yellow and the marks on her eyes and lips were gone, but her ankle would take longer to fully heal, maybe another week to be on the safe side.  

“Thank you,” she whispered as Natsu carried her to the bath.  He had been so doting and loving, it was a side to her boyfriend she infrequently saw but treasured seeing how much he was willing to do for her.  She had heard the argument through the door yesterday between he and Erza, how he had destroyed a building, and while part of her wanted to chastise him for what he had done, she couldn’t help but feel more enamored by the gesture, feel special that he would face the wrath of the Titania just for her.  Besides, sick or not, a little pampering never hurt a girl and so she gave in to the rare opportunity.  

He looked down at his mate as she rested her head against his shoulder, “You don’t have to thank me Luce,” and kissed her forehead, “I like taking care of you…”

~~

“Mmmm…” she stretches her arms and back before settling amongst the sleeping body behind her, Mavis she was feeling so much better!  Natsu groaned a little at her movement and shifted his leg over to pin her from moving again earning him a chuckle.  A week of constant care must have taken a toll on the poor man but thanks to his efforts, her cold was just about gone, and her body was almost fully healed, so now it was his turn to get some much, needed rest.

She turns around in his embrace and snuggles her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the smoky cinnamon, Mavis how she loved his scent, taking her sweet time walking her fingers along the lines of his chest, rising and falling, beneath her tips before resting above his heart.  Her heart, he had once said, his heart belonged to her as hers belonged to him, and it was a strong beat, telling a story of strength and of a love that could weather any storm, ebbing and flowing in rhythm through a life’s journey, and one now shared between them.

The brushing of her fingers along his side brings an exhale from her lover but continue ghosting their way to his hips and his abs, twirling the little curls of pink peeking from his waist.  “Luce, you should be resting…”

“It’s kinda hard in this position,” she plants a little peck to his collar bone.  

“You keep that up and something else is gonna be hard from this position.”

Lucy giggles and plants a few more kisses, “I feel a lot better Natsu, and now I’m wide awake.”

“Go back to sleep,” he tightens his hold over her, squishing her face to his chest, “as much as I’d love to play, I want you to be one hundred percent first.”

“I’m not fragile,” the pout evident in her tone, “you don’t need to keep codling me…”

He lifts her face, “I never said you were fragile, of all people Luce, I know how strong you are,” softening his expression, “but that’s still not gonna stop me from fussing over you right now.”

“Aww, fine.”

“Good, now go to sleep,” chuckling, “cause I’m tired.”  Lucy couldn’t help but laugh too.

~~

Word had been delivered via Happy that Wendy was now back from her trip and so, the next morning finds the couple heading back to Fairytail for the first time since the disastrous and explosive encounter with Shadow Gear.  Refusing to let her walk on her own, Lucy was riding piggy back on her boyfriend, shielding her face to the stares and snickers they passed along the street.  It was embarrassing for the proud mage but no amount of sweet talk nor out right beating on his back to let her down was working.  She was also worried about what will happen when they entered their guild, not so much because their friends would hold a grudge, but more so if something will provoke the slayer’s temper, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, Lucy braced for the worst.

His eyes found the blue-haired girl he was hoping for and walked straight to her table without acknowledging anyone, the priority was his mate, and nothing was getting in that way.  Members steered clear for the most part, simply watching, trying to gauge the fire slayers emotional state which didn’t seem promising at that moment.  After putting Lucy down on the bench beside the healer, he takes a place next to her.  

“Hi Wendy,” the spirit mage hugs her friend before Natsu pulls her back and takes control over the conversation.

“Wendy, could you look her over, make sure Lucy is healing up okay?  Her cold seems to be gone and the bruising over her ribs have almost faded away, but her ankle is still bothering her.”

“Sure guys,” she stands up and kneels in front of Lucy, placing her hands over Lucy’s side first.  Satisfied that the ribs were in fact okay, she then shifts over her friend’s ankle where her hands linger a little longer, Lucy can feel the heat coming off Wendy’s hands, permeating through her muscles.  After a few anxious minutes, the healer sits back down.  “Well you should be good to go.  The tendons were still a little sprained, so I took care of that, and luckily no broken bones anywhere.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Lucy hugs the little girl.  “Natsu took really good care of me too,” she smiles at her boyfriend.  Exhale, “and now I’m back to normal.”

Wendy giggles, “You did a great job Natsu, did you run into any problems?”

He runs his hand through his hair and finally smiles, “just a little…”

“Oi just a little?” Gray steps up beside his friend, “You friggin blew up the apothecary shop!”

“Hey!”  Natsu pops from his seat, “That bastard had it coming, selling me that crap medicine!”

As Gray and Natsu trade words and a few fists, Lucy fills Wendy in as to what they were arguing about.  Levy, Gajeel, and Juvia join the table in the midst of it, peppering the spirit mage with questions of how Natsu had treated her, while Erza stepped in to break up the fight.   When Natsu turned back to Lucy, the frown returned, for Jet and Droy were standing there talking to her.  “Get the hell away from her!”  Shouting and stomping his way back over, they immediately cringed and took off out of his path.

“Natsu!” Lucy screamed back, waving her hands at him, “they were apologizing, but it wasn’t their fault, so you need to stop acting like an idiot and control yourself!”

“I don’t care, they should’a taken better care of you.”  He tries to grab her flailing limbs, but she pulls out of his grasp, stands up and pushes him down onto the bench roughly.  Shock fills his orbs at the sight of his furious woman just glaring daggers at him.  Holy Mavis!  

She leans into her boyfriend, hands planted on either side of his body, and effectively boxing the slayer in.  “I appreciate how much you love me, and I can understand your dragon nature, but this mate is not going to tolerate you taking it out any of our friends!” She sighs, “Natsu,” hanging her head slightly, “this whole territorial thing, it was cute at first but,” exhale, “we need to figure out how to keep your dragon instincts in check, so you don’t end up hurting someone.”

His shoulders slump down, fuck it’s not like he wants to go beating up on anyone, he doesn’t want to lose his temper every time something remotely bad happens to his mate.  “I know…”

“Hey,” she kneels and cups his face in her hands, “I told you, we’re a team right, we’ll figure it out together, but I need you to help me too.”

He places his hands over hers, “I’m sorry Luce,” resting his forehead against hers.

She smiles, “the first step is you need to apologize to Jet and Droy.”

“But…”

“Eh,” eye brow raise, “no buts, it’s not their fault I got hurt, now go and apologize!”

“Okay, okay!” Lucy moves out of the way and watches him saunter off in search of the two men hiding somewhere in the hall.  She exhales and plops down on the bench, that had taken a lot of energy out of her.  

“You know Salamanders damn lucky to have you bunny girl.”

“Thanks, Gajeel.”

“I’m sure Natsu will get past this,” Levy looks over at her husband with a smirk, who quickly turns his head with a huff, “I mean it took Gajeel a few months to stop eyeing out every guy who even glanced in my direction.”

“I know…  It’s still early and he’s still trying to get used to the emotions, we both are.”

“But you handle him flawlessly,” Erza pats Lucy on the shoulder, “Gajeels right, you two couldn’t be any more perfect for each other.”  

Lucy looks up to see Natsu walking back towards their table, with closer to his normal, lackadaisical gait and so much more relaxed than he’d been through this whole mess.  When he sees her staring at him, the goofy grin she loves, plasters to his face.  She can’t help but smile too, “Yeah, I guess we are…”  

For

 the queen, I’ll try my best (seriously tho why are you so nice? Like ???? how ??? Queen Luna is so freaking amazing)

AND NO IT’S REALLY NOT YOUR FAULT ADS:DLFJK omg

That really does sound fun! (lowkey jealous lol) hope you have a fantastic time!

Thanks! And, well, I was thinking of a very neutral blue-grey color scheme because it’s Ilumi, but then that also feels weird because of his green outfit? (like sure he has different oufits too but that weird green needle suit is the most well-known. Like, it’s the thing cosplayers always wear, the one he’s drawn wearing in most of the fanart…)

Illumi has his eyes on you

(this is probably true)

Do you think Kikyo and Silva (Mr. and Mrs. Zoldyck) ever bothered to teach that to him? They must have encouraged it. From a clip I watched recently it seems that Silva knew about the needle Illumi put in Killua’s head and was pretty much cool with it(…)

He’d drag Armin along with him. If Armin’s genius somehow wasn’t enough to put him into the top ten, Illumi’s really not above using Dead Eyes Intimidation + Zoldyck connections to make sure he’d get there…and then the needle would make sure Armin would never, ever dream of joining the Survey Corps or the Garrison.

That’s extremely accurate XD

Also, look at this cut exchange from Cabinet Battle 2:

Jefferson: Can you do me a favor?

Hamilton: Depends. I can try.

J: Can you tell Angelica Schuyler I said hi?

H: She’s never mentioned you.

J: She’s not the type who shares. But since you’re so interested in foreign affairs…

(Ouch.)

Yes, Eliza’s awesome ;-;

Well, the word got around, they said, ‘This kid is insane, man!’

Took up a collection just to send him to the mainland

‘Get your education, don’t forget from whence you came and

The world’s gonna know your name.

What’s your name, man?’

Kuroiwa is very much dead. Wonder how Takeomi’s gonna feel about this…first Yoriko, then his dad…;-;

Awww, at least you have tumblr friends? *hugs* and tbh I don’t have any fellow manga/anime fan friends over here either (though maybe that’s just because I don’t have any friends here at all lol)

Please join me in HxH hell. Please. I- I need someone to sob with me because I’m only like seven or eight volumes in and I just met Chrollo and omg please I have literally 0 friends in the HxH fandom (jk jk, just the fact that you listen to me rant out my favs is enough for me. TYSM for being such a queen <3)

And actually, it’s nowhere near as bad as TG or AoT! Like, it has emotional moments, but there aren’t that many character deaths? Like, sure, people die, some favs die, but so far it’s still reasonable and nobody seems to be rage-quitting the manga because of pointless angst.

Chrollo always looks good but yeah, that last style does uit him really well :)

Ging is horrible, but like you said, at least he tries and acknowledges that he’s a bad parent. In his own way. I mean, the whole journey to find him was something he designed himself to help Gon grow as a hunter (though that also connects to Ging’s slightly problematic habit of treating Gon more like a hunter to train than a child to raise…)

Excuse me Queen Luna do not compare yourself to this trashcan. He doesn’t deserve it.

I haven’t even met Pouf in the manga yet and I kinda love him.

ALL THE HAM/ELIZA FEELS.

I’m sad to say I did not cry at all during Hughes’ death/funeral. I felt a lot of pain but the tears just didn’t come OTL

I’m glad you appreciated the puns ;) (Seriously though seeing the blog back is so exciting <333)

Also: I will now send you some pics of Chrollo’s troupe members (AKA his loyal fellow criminals he’s so proud of them all), and of Ging’s student (Gon’s father figure), if that’s ok?

And I might gift you a surprise fic soon…I promise that it won’t be too angsty. Really. I would never lie to the queen :D

Last thing- is it ok if I rant more about OCs sometime? Mainly about the Love Interests for that Otome Game I mentioned a while ago (the thing I was trying to write a script for)…I’d just like some opinions on the LIs *Lenny Face*

Hi i’m back and ready to die.

I hate school, have I ever mentioned that?

Anyway, lately I’ve been losing my motivation for everything basically and that includes coming onto Tumblr, and I was wondering, do you have any app that has an instant messaging system? This is nothing against you personally, but my replies will be really slow, since I don’t even turn my computer on much these days… In fact, I feel incredibly guilty that I take so long to answer, I just don’t have the motivation…

On a happier note, I finally watched Civil War! And I ship Stony.  My heart is not okay.

Um what else happened… Norway is absolutely beautiful? It’s a place where fairytales would take place, especially the fjords. And I also saw a ton of Thor statues lol

I’d scream if Illumi had his eyes on me. If I’d have the time to before dying that is.

While we’re on HxH, that picture of Hisoka you sent me is just mmmmmm nice abs  He looks less trashy with his hair down. 

well fuck kuroiwa is dead… 

oh god trust me id be a shitty parent. a very very shitty parent. there’s a reason why i don’t want kids and the pain of giving birth is only a small part of it. not to mention i don’t have the patience to deal with a small human who can only shit or cry.

gah i know there was something else i wanted to tell you but forgot hnnnngh

uh well, ive returned to tg, so much about quitting. as long as my sweet sunshine is present, I’ll come back at any time. i just sincerely hope it is actually him and not a fake. 

oh yeah, ive started rereading soul eater! it’s a good manga, you just have to get past the first 2-3 volumes for it to get good. the initial parts are pure ecchi. 

i might spam the blog w some pictures of norway later ^^;;

sorry for the short&all over the place response, I’m just so so tired, even tho it’s only been one week of school. I blame my period.

Anyway, the next one will be longer, I swear!  I hope you’re not too mad…

[edit:] I REMEMBERED WHAT I WANTED TO SAY

I SAW BOOK OF ATLANTIC. LIZZY. MY BABY. SHE FINALLY GOT HER SCENE IT WAS BEAUTIFUL ALSO UNDERTAKER. DAAAAAAAAMN

oh and i’ve gotten around to watching Death Note and it casually broke my heart. good to know, good to know.

For the Love of My Life- Pt 2 (End)

Characters: reader x Bucky?, reader x Steve?, reader x Tony(but not really),     Wanda, Natasha, Sam (mentioned)

Summary: Modern AU. Reader is a young actress in her first big role when a man from her past offers a chance to fix her biggest regrets.

Song Inspiration: Cleopatra by The Lumineers

Warnings: sex mentions, fluff, heartbreak?, bit of angst.

Word Count: 4.6k (yeah, the splitting this to make it shorter thing didn’t work out so well. :D )

A/N: This story gripped me tight and wouldn’t let go from the instant I thought of the opening scene. It took on a life of its own and I’m kinda in love with how it’s turned out? I really hope you like it. Apologies that it took longer to post this part! Work and illness made it really difficult, but here it is! Please let me know what you think!! :)

Tags are at the bottom

<<<Part One

__________________________________________________________

Previously:

Steve paused before speaking, unsure how to proceed. “Y/N…is there any way…could I see you again before I leave?” he blurted the last part before he lost his nerve.

You smiled, “I’d like that.”

He sighed in relief, “Okay. I’ll be in touch. Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Steve,” you echoed as he pulled you into a lingering hug. He smelled amazing, like Old spice aftershave with an undertone of fresh linen. He watched you climb the stairs and step inside before walking away, your heart rate beginning to slow at last.  

______________

You woke up the next morning alone, stretching spread-eagle across the full surface of the bed with a smile on your face. Last night was unexpected and while you still didn’t know what it all meant, you tried not to overthink things. Stepping out of the shower, you saw a few text notifications on your phone.

Bucky’s read:

Hey babe. Up for Ultimate Frisbee in the park and a few burgers?

then clicking over to Steve’s message:

Good morning, Y/N. Are you free this afternoon?

You typed out a reply to the blond.

Sure. Lunch? I know a great little cafe.

Sounds good, came the reply, so you sent him the address and set a time.

Next you replied to Bucky:

Can’t today. Grab a slice this evening?

You knew a conversation had to happen, so you confirmed plans with him for tonight and hoped you’d have more clarity by then.

Arriving at the cafe early a few hours later, you chose a table near the windows and sat down. Steve entered moments later, prompt as always. He pulled you into a hug and even pecked a kiss on your cheek before sitting. The server came to your table and you each ordered something light. The cafe was small, but specialized in fresh, local ingredients with artisan bread baked daily. It was one of your favorite spots.

You asked about the wedding this weekend and his plans for the rest of his trip. The both of you ate slowly, prolonging your time together. There was a lull in the conversation and the tone turned more serious as Steve shifted in his seat.

“Y/N…I feel I should ask…I wanted to last night, but didn’t want to seem presumptuous. Are you seeing anyone?” he inquired, leaning forward.

You considered the question a moment before replying. “I…have been. Nothing serious, but….I heard you were dating a girl in Boston.”

He sighed with a nod, “Sharon. That ended almost a year ago. Didn’t quite fit. Y/N….forgive me for being selfish, but I know if I don’t ask, I’ll kick myself for the rest of my life. Although, considering you broke it off last time, I might just be a masochist. Could we…is there any chance for us?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Steve rushed forward.

“I know we’re in different places right now and it’s been so long, but I have to say, seeing you again…my feelings haven’t changed. I love you. And I would marry you in an instant.” Eyes wide at his admission, he stuttered on, “That’s not what I…I didn’t mean right now, but maybe..”

“Steve,” you cut him off, “I confess…seeing you again has stirred up feelings I wasn’t sure I still had for you. I thought they might just be buried under all the guilt from letting you go. You were so amazing to me and I…it just wasn’t the right time.”

“I never blamed you for feeling that way,” he replied, clasping your hand in his on the table before you. “And I never stopped loving you. As far as timing goes, I won’t push or ask for anything you’re not ready for, but…I’m open to a future together and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

Hope and confusion swirled underneath the surface as you took in this information with surprise. Staring into his bright blue eyes, all those years full of love and joy, but also highs and lows, came flooding back. As a couple, you weren’t without your troubles, but he had steadied you when you found yourself teetering over the edge with your tendency for drama. It came with the territory of majoring in theater and spending time with people so similar to yourself. Steve had been your rock, bringing you back to earth when needed, and you were the one to pull him out of his shell when he was buried in medical texts and craved levity, although he’d never come out and say it. You balanced each other out well.

Could this happen? Was there a way?  Not to find your way back to then but to move forward, hand in hand, into an uncertain but possibly bright future?

He took your silence as a negative, withdrawing his hand from yours, “It’s too much, isn’t it? I did it again. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no! It’s not that,” you assured him. “It’s a lot, yes, but…there are just things to consider. Could I maybe take some time? You have the wedding tomorrow and I need to get back to work then, but…I promise to be in touch either way.”

“Yes! Of course. I understand. Here,” he pulled out a pen and scrawled something on a napkin. “This is where I’m staying. I won’t have my phone with me often tomorrow, but you could leave a message with the front desk if you want. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. And break a leg tomorrow,” he grinned, capturing your hand once again and pressing his lips to your knuckles.

He dropped a few bills on the table and headed for the door, possibly thinking the sooner he left you in your thoughts the sooner he would have an answer. Steve spared another glance your way with a smile before he stepped outside and was swallowed by the crowd. _____________

That afternoon you wandered the park aimless, your mind filled with “maybe’s” and “what if’s”, knowing that in order to decide, you needed to lay all your cards on the table. There was a time when you might have drawn out this scenario and milked the idea of two possible suitors, but in the past few years you’d realized that life itself was messy and dramatic enough. There was no need to add fuel to the fire. Especially as an actress, being a part of so many fateful love stories and doomed marriages that at times you just wanted to scream at your character, “Why can’t you just calm down, listen, and say what you actually mean?!?”. Which is why in real life, you now believed in having the hard, honest conversations, painful as they might be.

By the time you headed to the West Village to meet Bucky, you weren’t much closer to finding an answer. You met him outside Joe’s Pizza not far from his apartment. Greenwich village was filled with artists, actors, and various eccentrics which is where Bucky found himself sharing an apartment with 4 other struggling artists. After grabbing a slice each, you wandered down the street and sat on a bench with the brunet settling beside you.

“You missed a good game today. You know the guy who plays Antony’s right hand man? Sam? He did a full-on face-first dive into a mud puddle but made the save,” he let out a loud guffaw. “It was amazing.”

You let out a pity laugh, folding your pizza in half before taking a bite and wiping your hand on a napkin.

Bucky noticed your distractedness. “What’s going on, Y/N? How’s that old friend of yours?” he asked, trying to remain nonchalant.

Setting down your paper plate with the half-eaten slice on the bench, you turned his way, “Bucky…I know we keep things casual and I’m okay with that, but something’s come up and I feel like you should know.”

“Okay?”

Taking in a deep breath, you told Bucky an abridged version of your past relationship with Steve and how you broke it off before moving to the city. You shared how long it had been since you’d seen him and how out-of-the-blue it was for him to come to the show. You even mentioned dinner last night, but not quite the lunch today. Pausing, you picked up your now-cold pizza and considered whether it was still worth eating.

“So,” Bucky began, “This guy just shows up out of nowhere after 3 years? What, to win you back or something?” He let out a laugh, but then saw your expression. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“I saw him again today. And yes, he wants to possibly be together.” You met those grey eyes, seeing the storm begin to rise behind them.

“And what do you want, huh? What about us?” he demanded, more volume in his voice.

“Is there an ‘us’? I mean, really?”

“I though so. I’m not seeing anyone else, are you?”

“No…but that doesn’t mean we’re a couple. There’s more to it than sleeping together and hanging out when it’s convenient,” you protested.

“What, brunch on Sundays? Matching jogging suits? Shared bank accounts? I care about you, Y/N. Is that not enough?” he pleaded.

“What are my parents’ names, Bucky?”

Shock registered, “What?”

“Do I have any siblings? Am I a cat or a dog person? Am I allergic to anything? What’s my favorite color?” Bucky remained silent, knowing full-well he couldn’t answer. “Look, I’m not accusing you. I don’t know any of those things about you either. That’s because it’s easier. We’ve been seeing each other almost 2 months and I still don’t know where your hometown is. We’ve never had the deep conversations. We keep things light and that’s fine, but having a real relationship requires effort.”

Bucky huffed out a sigh, elbows resting on his knees as his head hung low. “I….I could do that. I could be that person for you, Y/N. I like what we have now but we can be more.” He leaned forward, grasping your hands in his. “I can be that guy, if you wanted me to.”

You shrugged, “Maybe we could be. I’m sure you can be that guy, but do you truly want that? This is not just about what I want, what do you want, Bucky? What we have works because it’s convenient. We…we work together, we have the same schedule and same days off. We see each other almost every day but don’t necessarily spend time together so there’s space. But what about later on? What about when the play ends and we end up doing different projects with different schedules? I’ve tried dating other actors before, it’s like a long distance relationship but in the same city. Nearly impossible, but if it’s really what you want, I’d consider it.”

Bucky pulled away to run both hands through his hair, seeing the truth in your words but head shaking in disbelief. “So what, I have to commit or we’re done? Is that what you’re saying? I have to prove I can compare to this Steve guy?”

“No,” you gently protested, resting a hand on his thigh. “There’s no ultimatum. No comparison. This isn’t about him. Sure, his showing up threw a wrench into things but I think this decision would have come sooner or later. The play would end, we would maybe try to stay together or things would fizzle out. It happens. Honestly, if Steve hadn’t shown up, would you even be thinking about commitment right now?”

You had hit another nerve, seeing Bucky’s jaw clench. “Would you? What do you want, Y/N? Is he what you want?”

Tucking both hands in your jacket pockets, you paused, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready or if it could ever work out with him. And you’re right, I probably would have kept things the same between you and I without a thought. But this is where we are. And I know if I’m even going to consider making a change, I need to be honest with you.”

Bucky stood then, crumpling the trash in his hands before tossing it in a nearby can. He turned toward you, though his gaze was off in the distance. “So what now?”

“Now,” you got to your feet, closing the distance between you, “we go back to work tomorrow and see how we feel. I care for you too, Bucky. Please know that.”

“I know,” he whispered, almost a look of surrender in his eyes as they met yours. Pressing a short kiss to your lips, he brushed a thumb across your cheekbone before pulling you in for hug, your head resting against his warm chest.

You two stayed that way for a few minutes before he broke away.

“I need to think about all this. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he spoke, shoulders hunching.

“Okay. See you tomorrow,” you replied, watching him walk down the street before you headed for the Subway, your mind still a tempest of thoughts.

_______________

The next morning, you woke to your alarm and attempted to resume the routine you’d neglected the past few days. Lacing up your sneakers, you went on a 3 mile jog through the neighborhood and into the park before looping back around. Once home, you did some yoga stretches to help your flexibility and prevent injuries during your more physical scenes. You hopped in the shower and got ready for the day just in time to catch the train.

Today’s rehearsal would involve a full run-through and lighting reset of certain scenes. Part of why you’d had the past 2 days off was to repair sets and broken lights that had been problematic for weeks. Not to mention that glitchy trap door that Tony hated with a fiery passion. You were one of the first to arrive and went through your vocal exercises in your dressing room. Although this play wasn’t a musical, maintaining your voice projection and breathing took work.

The director called everyone together then and went through the plan for today. Nick was the most unique out of all the directors you’d worked with. He was a no-nonsense man who wouldn’t give a second thought to replace an actor who was giving him trouble. He loved the theater, but he demanded a house of order. He was known in theater circles as “Nick Fury” but everyone was too intimidated to ask whether that was a stage name or not.

As the cast dispersed to their necessary places, you searched until your eyes met Bucky’s. He spotted you as well and offered a small smile and you responded with one of your own. Bucky exited the stage along with most of cast while you remained and waited for your co-star to appear. Tony sauntered up to you with Starbucks in hand, having clearly missed the entire meeting. Typical.

“Good morning, Cle…I mean, Y/N,” he smirked.

You shook your head with a smile. Well he kind of tried. “Morning, Tony. Have a good few days off? How’s Pepper?”

“She’s…good. Probably,” he shrugged, avoiding your gaze as he took a sip of his coffee.

You just rolled your eyes. Of course he wouldn’t actually take your advice, but you let the subject drop. Too much on your plate as it was to concern yourself with his needless drama. As long as he didn’t drop to one knee again, you two would be just fine.

The run-through went fairly smoothly as you did your best to commit any changes to memory. Tony was being Tony, needing to be reminded of a few changes once or twice before the scene flowed. By late afternoon, the cast was released for a dinner break before reconvening for the show tonight.

You went out to eat with Wanda and Natasha, two of your ladies in waiting in your Cleopatra scenes. While you three ate, you considered asking their advice about your current situation, but then decided against it. They were sweet girls, but they were the type that would claim they were “jealous” that you had two possible men in your life and would tell you to consider yourself “lucky”. They reveled in the drama, basically. Instead, you made occasional comments about their own love lives and spent most of the time trying not to drive yourself crazy with thinking.

After dinner, you returned to the theater and slipped into your dressing room only to find Bucky sitting on the couch. He stood upon your arrival and took a few steps forward.

“Hi,” you spoke, setting down your bags on the floor.

“Hey,” he responded, running a hand through his thick, brown locks. “So, I’ve been thinking…”

He paused for moment, so you urged him on gently, “And?”

Bucky held your gaze before he closed the distance between you in a flash, capturing your lips in his for a passionate kiss. Large hands pressed against your back, melding your body with his as your fingers grasped the front of his shirt. His tongue slipped past your willing lips and suddenly the kiss was hungry and desperate, needing more and more of each other until you broke apart with chests heaving.

Brain nearly oxygen deprived and thoughts swirling, you began, “Bucky, what…”

He stopped you with a blurt of words, still breathing heavily, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky for short, born and raised in Brooklyn. My favorite color’s blue. I have 3 younger siblings who still live there with mom, her name is Winifred, and I visit every chance I get. I’m a dog person, but I don’t mind cats. I’m not allergic to anything I don’t think, but I hate mushrooms with a passion and I think I might be in love with you.” Finished speaking, he finally took a deep breath.  

“Wow,” you uttered, trying to process this new information about the man before you as well as his confession.

He gathered your hands in his. “Y/N, I don’t…I don’t know what will happen in the future and I can’t say that I would have thought about any of this a few days ago, but you’re right. This is where we are and I’m not ready to let go without a fight. I want to learn those same things about you, too. But I guess it’s up to you.”

Releasing you, he headed for the door while you stood frozen in thought.

“I won’t blame you, though,” he said quietly, hand on the knob. “I just want you to be happy,” Bucky looked back to meet your eyes with a half smile before closing the door behind him and you were alone.

Dropping your head in your hands, you let out a low groan at your current predicament. You were still perplexed at how you had gained the interest of two incredible guys who you cared for deeply. The fact that it had come down to your choice was just cruel. Part of you thought that your talk with Bucky last night had clarified that fact that he didn’t want a relationship, but obviously that was not the case.

Feeling yourself crumble under the weight of this decision, you sat down at your vanity and flicked on the lights surrounding the mirror. Your reflection showed your lack of sleep last night and the weariness in your expression. Attempting to focus on the upcoming show, you squared your shoulders and pulled out your makeup bag. While applying your eyeshadow, attaching false eyelashes, and adding a touch of rouge to your cheeks, your mind still wandered.

Your attraction to and connection with these two men was startlingly different. Steve knew you so well and had seen you at your worst and still wanted a future together. He balanced you out, yin and yang, and there was no doubt that you still loved him, or at least the Steve you knew 3 years ago. But was it enough? How much love is enough love to take the leap?

Bucky, on the other hand, he understood you as an artist and an actor. He knew what it was like to fully immerse yourself in a role and emerge changed, and yet the same. He got how crazy your schedule could be and that emotions spilled over into real life on occasion. It hadn’t happened recently for you, but certainly in the past when you were single. Would Steve question that side of you? He saw it somewhat in college but not as a professional.

Also, Steve’s life was in Boston. He was busy with his residency and while a 4 1/2 hour commute wasn’t the end of the world, it was an obstacle. But there was a chance he could find himself working at a hospital in New York in the future, from what you understood. Bucky was here in the city and he said he could be in love with you, but did you feel the same? You cared for him, but was it enough to stake your future on?

After 30 minutes of applying your makeup, a single tear of frustration and pain that you were going to hurt either of them snaked down your cheek. Determined not to ruin a half hour of work, you sniffled and shook off the onslaught of thoughts. Now was the time to clear your mind and get into character. It was time to get to back work.

The first act went smoothly with only one small wardrobe hitch on your side, resulting in you wearing the wrong shoes in Egypt, but otherwise all was well. During intermission, you isolated yourself and focused on eating a snack, hydrating, and remaining in character. The second half began and you could feel Cleo filling you completely, your lines and mannerisms portrayed without a second thought. It wasn’t often that Y/N completely disappeared for a time and you became Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, so effortlessly.

As you entered the last scene, you returned to Ancient Egypt as the regal Cleopatra with raven hair and the fiercest winged eyeliner the world has ever seen. In this modern take on their story, Antony and Cleopatra declare their difference of opinion about love in this last scene as opposed to the first as written by Shakespeare. This was meant as a look back at where they started and and how their love may have conquered all were they not so stubborn to admit it.

“If it be love, indeed, tell me how much,” you demanded, coyly baiting your Antony.

Tony responded, “There’s beggary in the love that can be reckon’d.” Meaning, that if his love could be measured, it would not be true love at all.

Your Cleopatra replied, “I’ll set a bourn how far to be beloved.” She wanted to see how far he would go, how much he would give to love her.

“Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth, “ was his response, saying that Cleopatra would have to go beyond the earth and heavens to find a space not touched by his love.

As you passionately embraced your Antony and pressed a kiss to his lips, you could feel the tears stream down your face. The curtain fell and you quickly pulled away.

“Wow, Y/N, I think that was our best show ye….why are you crying? Are those real?” Tony leaned forward, closely inspecting your face. “Was I really that good?”

You laughed, giving his shoulder a shove, “Despite your own belief, not everything is about you, Tony. I was…caught up in the moment.”

Carefully brushing away the tears, you were thankful for waterproof mascara and eyeliner with no black smudges visible on your fingers. After the first curtain call and then the second, you reveled in a show well done and the sudden realization that you knew who you had wanted all along. Your heart had already decided while your brain made everything much too complicated. There was no such thing as a measured amount of love and thanks to Antony and Cleopatra, you knew it for yourself.

Rushing off stage, you passed Wanda and Natasha, hearing their congratulations on your performance, “Thank you both so much. Have you seen Bucky?”

They both seemed perplexed by the question, having no context. Natasha answered, “The hot foot soldier who looks better in a skirt than either of us? Um…I think I saw him leave out the side door after the first curtain call. Why?”

“Nothing, I just…I need to talk to him. Could you two help me get out of costume?”

They both nodded, following to your dressing room. Now that you had your answer, you needed to do something about it. Within 15 minutes, you were outside hailing a cab. You felt a little bad dodging fans tonight, but in the words of Harry from one of your favorite movies, “When Harry Met Sally…”, ‘when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’ You just hoped you weren’t too late.

Fidgeting nervously in the back of the speeding cab, you knew what you had to do. Pulling out your phone you sent out a short text that still said so much.

I’m sorry.

Arriving at the address you had given the cabbie, you climbed out and rushed through the doors, punching the up button for the elevator forcefully. With the sound of a ding, you rushed inside and selected the correct floor. Exiting and finding the correct door number, you felt a buzz in your pocket, then fishing out your phone and reading the words on display.

I understand. Wishing you all the best.

Feeling certain about your choice and relieved that no one was truly hurt in the process, you confidently knocked on the door and within seconds it swung open.

“Y/N?”

You smiled at his disheveled appearance: white dress shirt untucked and only buttoned halfway, black tie loose around his neck and slightly wrinkled slacks upon his long legs with bare feet. His blond hair stuck up in 10 directions and bleary eyes gave you the impression he had fallen asleep that way after the wedding.

“Steve. Hi,” you greeted. “I know it’s late. I wasn’t even sure you’d be here but I thought I’d take the chance.”

“Um…come in,” he stepped aside to let you enter.

You surveyed the mildly unkempt state of the room before turning around to face him.

Taking a deep breath, you blurted all you’ve wanted to say since the theater. “I’ve spent the past 48 hours trying to figure out how to make everyone happy and what I want and what the future looks like for me, even with the uncertainty of my job and your career path and Bucky’s sudden desire for commitment and…”

“Bucky?”

“Sorry, that’s the guy I was kind of seeing, but anyway….it all came down to this. I left my heart with you when I left for New York. I never really got close to anyone or let myself consider a future with someone else because what I want hasn’t changed. I love you, Steve. I want…you. Even with the possible obstacles and questions up in the air, I …”

Steve couldn’t let you finish because as he heard the words he needed, he closed the few feet between you to capture you in a kiss that felt so amazing, so familiar and just so…right. Being in Steve’s arms felt like coming home. With one arm around your waist and the other hand cradling your head gently, you melted into his touch. This was the heaven and beyond where you knew your love together could never be measured.

Pulling away with your foreheads touching, the widest smile was upon his handsome face. “I love you, Y/N. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I love you, too, Steve. I’m ready to begin forever with you, right now,” you grinned, finding his smiling lips once again as the missing pieces of your heart found their rightful place.

____________________________________________________

Oh, boy. That was a monster to write!! I truly hope you liked this and please let me know your thoughts!! I have another fic based on a different Lumineers song in the works but it might be a little while before it’s out. I’ve got a lot going on but I’m writing and posting as often as I can! I love you guys!! Thank you for your support and patience!! 

Aaaaand I’m still working on the tagging situation, I swear. Soon!!

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(a few tags didn’t work, I’m sorry!! ) 

Bookshelf Briefs 2/12/19

Ao Haru Ride, Vol. 3 | By Io Sakisaka | Viz Media – There we go, that horrible realization that you’re in a love triangle. Futaba’s not sure if she loves Kou, though she’s definitely leaning that way, but when she finds that Yuri also loves Kou—and says so—she’s determined to bury her feelings for the sake of her friendship. Given this is a shoujo manga, you can imagine how well that goes, and thankfully by the end of the book all has been confessed—and Futaba is at least telling herself she loves Kou. I am less thrilled with the plotline involving Shoko, which is, groan, a teacher-student romance, and one where the student is coming on really strongly. We’ve seen this in many shoujo manga before, and sometimes it’s handled well (Kimi ni Todoke), so we shall see. – Sean Gaffney

Ao Haru Ride, Vol. 3 | By Io Sakisaka | VIZ Media – For the sake of her friend, Yuki, Futaba tries not to like Kou, but it’s no use. I really liked that it was important to her to be honest with Yuki, especially since readers are spared a plot that hinges on misunderstandings and secrets. Oh, there’s still a bit of jealousy, but both girls are trying to play fair and maintain their friendship. Meanwhile, Kou’s still got a lot of angst and is doing his best not to care about anything, but Kominato can’t stand that members of the honors class snub Kou for his abysmal midterm scores, so organizes a study group on his behalf. More than being invested in Kou and Futaba’s relationship, I hope he gets over whatever it is in time to go rescue the cute stray cat he’s been petting. – Michelle Smith

Arakawa Under the Bridge, Vol. 5 | By Hikaru Nakamura | Vertical Comics – It’s not just Rec—anyone who ends up under the bridge seems to lose it a little bit, including his assistant Shimazaki, who has gone full-on cultist by the time we get halfway through this omnibus. But more importantly, is the series ending soon? Things are getting far more serious and we’re getting closer and closer to Nino leaving for Venus. Of course, this is literally lampshaded in a fourth-wall break by the characters, who say whenever a gag series turns serious, the end is near. I’m not entirely convinced they’re correct, but enjoy the drama while you can. And also a rare moment of Maria actually being on the losing end for once (but nice white-line-hopping nonetheless). – Sean Gaffney

Dangan Ronpa 2, Vol. 2 | By Kyousuke Suga | Dark Horse Comics – This is definitely turning into one of those titles that’s only truly enjoyable if you’ve played the game it’s based on—which I haven’t. As such, I feel it’s really, really rushing the pacing, a problem I didn’t have as much with the adaptation of the first game. It also has to be said—Komaeda is really, really annoying, and while I know that’s his schtick, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. In the meantime, we have more murders, more discussion of said murders, and our first “ironic” execution. I think Dangan Ronpa fans will get a kick out of this, and enjoy seeing their favorites animated. But I can’t possibly recommend it to newbies of the franchise—which I could with the prior series. – Sean Gaffney

Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction, Vol. 4 | By Inio Asano | Viz Media – Since, after the events of the last volume, we are short a main cast member, we get introduced to two new characters here, both arriving from the countryside to the big city. Interestingly, Makoto is transgender (though they’re not really sure if that’s the right label), choosing to go to Tokyo in an effort to be more accepted for dressing up and looking cute. It’s quite well handled, and I look forward to seeing how both they and Futaba move forward. As for my favorite character, Oran, we get an odd flashback that I’m not sure I completely believe showing a very different side to both her and her brother. And then there’s that cliffhanger. This is still riveting. – Sean Gaffney

The Delinquent Housewife!, Vol. 3 | By Nemu Yoko | Vertical Comics – The volume starts with Dai’s classmate and friend Yoshino kissing him, and it only ramps up from there. Yoshino knows that Dai has a crush on Komugi, and she hates it—sadly, her answer to this is to blame Komugi and try to destroy the relationship she has with Dai’s family, which makes me want her to fail where I would otherwise be rooting for her, because I’m sorry, Dai and Komugi’s ongoing tension still makes me uncomfortable. Especially as Komugi really is doing better—she’s gotten much better at the normal housewife stuff, as we see in a montage. I want her to be part of the family—but not with Dai. Next volume is the last, so we’ll see how this plays out. – Sean Gaffney

Die Wergelder, Vol. 2 | By Hiroaki Samura | Kodansha Comics – Because the English-language edition of Die Wergelder is being released as two-volume omnibuses, it’s been a long while since the last one was published. I’d forgotten some of the finer details of the manga’s plot, but that didn’t pose too much of a problem as it mostly serves as a vehicle for stunningly drawn action, astonishing depravity, and unapologetic violence and brutality. Die Wergelder is deliberately disturbing, its roots firmly established in the tradition of 1970s Pinky Violence films. (This is not a series to be lightly recommended.) One of the focal points of Die Wergelder, and one of the areas in which the series excels, is what Samura terms as “Flashy And Pretentious Martial Arts.” Among others, kung fu, capoeira, and kalaripayattu are all featured in this particular omnibus. The manga’s fight sequences are glorious. Die Wergelder is still not for the faint of stomach or heart, though. – Ash Brown

Food Wars!: Shokugeki no Soma, Vol. 28 | By Yuto Tsukuda and Shun Saeki | VIZ Media – I’m starting to get pretty weary of Food Wars!. Maybe it’s just this Central Arc, but this whole volume—in which Yukihira, Takumi, and Tadokoro go up against three members of the Council of Ten—has this formula: 1) Central member presents their dish, wish they are convinced is the winning one. 1a) Judges’ clothes blow off. 2) Resistance member presents their dish and it’s more awesome than anyone expected. 2a) Judges’ clothes blow off. Repeat three times. There are some slight variations, like Takumi predicting exactly how Eizan would scheme to interfere with his dish, or Tadokoro not actually succeeding in her matchup, but it’s getting to the point that when I see a judge tasting something in the bottom panel of the left-side page I just sigh because I know exactly what’s coming next. Can’t we go to an internship or something different soon, please? – Michelle Smith

Shortcake Cake, Vol. 3 | By suu Morishita | VIZ Media – The pace of Shortcake Cake is hard to describe. It’s at once leisurely and swift. The former is exemplified by some nice scenes we get in this volume of all the students at Hoshino Boardinghouse studying together for their midterm exams. The latter comes into play with Ten’s relationship with Riku. Because she didn’t know him well, she initially rejected his feelings. He’s been conscientious about not making things awkward for her and this, plus just spending more time with him, is making her reconsider. I really like the emphasis on friendships in this series and I really do like Riku very much, but I’m not sure I buy into the romance progressing this swiftly. It makes me think it’ll end quickly and Ten will end up with Chiaki instead. This series is ten volumes and counting, after all! – Michelle Smith

Takane & Hana, Vol. 7 | By Yuki Shiwasu | Viz Media – Having shifted the power balance back towards Hana the last time, we’re headed back in the other direction now. Not that Takane is back in the money or anything, but he’s adjusting thanks to Hana essentially being his live-in chef for a while. What’s more, Hana has finally realized her own feelings, and sort of hates them. Which makes sense—Takane is a lot, and loving him can be a giant pain in the ass. There’s also an obligatory Valentine’s chapter, which mostly revolves around Nicola’s smooth playboy persona and how much this can be a giant pain in the ass for Mizuki, whose family we see are essentially a bunch of trolls. Takane & Hana isn’t as constantly funny as the early volumes, but it’s still really good. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown