#how about some good old fashion angst and the 'i had nowhere else to go' trope

[dragon-creates]

bowuigi werewolf fic premise

"Help...get help..."

That was the last thing Luigi heard Mario say, watching his brother's complexion fade from pale beige to translucent white, a pained scream escaping the red plumber's throat before his human form was replaced with a terrifying boo instead.

It had been a while since Luigi had seen King Boo, hoping that he was finished with the poltergeist's schemes. But it seems that the undead monarch had other plans.

At first it started out the same, E. Gadd requested for his help at a new mansion, Mario had been captured as well and Luigi spent most of his adventure sucking up ghosts while collecting any money he found along the way.

Expect it wasn't E. Gadd who was asking for him to come, and Mario was only bait for a trap laid out by King Boo. Soon, the brothers were trapped in separate cages, the older trying to comfort the younger as best he could until King Boo came back holding two potions.

Luigi was first, being levitated out of the cage by two other boos holding onto his arms as the king forced the liquid down his throat, making sure he downed every last drop. Once the bottle was empty, Luigi was thrown to the floor as a sharp pain pierced threw his spine.

His bones cracked as his clothes began to tear and his body shifted and molded into something totally inhuman. The green human watched in horror as fur protruded from his skin and his mouth stretched and twisted into a snout. Luigi wanted to scream, but he was in so much pain that he barely has any energy to make no more than a whine. When it was done, he looked down to see that his hands were now paws and a tail was poking through his overalls. His stomach churned when he realized that King Boo and managed to accomplish turning him into a werewolf.

He all but collapsed on the floor, helpless to do anything but watch King Boo take the other potion and repeat everything with his brother. He knew he couldn't just lay here, he had to do something!

When he successfully managed to stand on all fours for the first time, he turned to his brother, who had unfortunately drank his potion as well, leading to Mario turning into a boo and whispering his last sentence to Luigi.

Adrenaline kicked in, his new nose twitched, his fur stood on end, everything felt alive! Once King Boo turned back to face the younger brother, the new wolf was already bolting out the door, his new form giving his an unimaginable speed he never felt or saw before.

He ran through each hallway, past each ghost and boo, not bothering to look back as he managed to escape through the mansion doors and into the nearest pipe he could find, ignoring King Boo's shrieks of anger.

On the other side, the adrenaline was finally fading away, leaving Luigi to hobble throughout wherever he landed upon. His bleary eyes took in their surroundings as best as they could, lit up by the bright moon, there was something familiar about the rock and lava he passed but he was too tired to let himself remember.

Finally, he came across a huge fortress, hopefully whoever was in there could help him. He lifted a paw to pitifully scratch at the door, pleading interally that someone would answer, every second he could feel himself wasting away.

As though his prayers were answered, the doors opened, revealing an extremely large and confused koopa. Only it wasn't any koopa, the last of his lucidity kicked in when he realized that it was none other than King Bowser who answered the door.

"Wha?- What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded, "Why the hell is there a mutt at my castle?!"

He tried to give a response, but the sun began to rise and he let out a pained whine as his bones cracked and clicked back into his human form, ready to repeat the process for every morning and evening to come.

"Luigi?" the koopa's harsh gaze was gone, replaced with confusion and a lace of worry?

"Please," Luigi whimpered, "I have nowhere else to go."

He stumbled, slumber catching up to him as he fainted, only for Bowser to catch him and hold the human in his arms.

"Easy there greenie," Bowser murmured as Luigi drifted into sleep. Bowser's heart plummeted at the state the plumber was in, "Oh Luigi, what happened to you?"

Feel free to use this as inspiration for any fics you want to write!!! <3<3<3

[phoenixyfriend]

Uncle Ben and Little Luke

AKA we combine several types of time travel for maximum Soft Chaos, let’s go

EDIT NOW THAT I’VE WRITTEN THIS UP: jfc this ended up much angstier than initially intended uhhhhhhhhhh sorry

So a common enough thing I’ve seen in time travel fics is characters getting de-aged when tossed back physically, to neither the age they should be in that time, nor the age they were from the time they left, but whatever is most convenient. This is usually de-aging OT Obi-Wan into his TCW self, for reasons relating to, chiefly, removing the damage of Tatooine absolutely destroying his body alongside PTSD-driven alcoholism, but also because fic writers are horny, and Ewan McGregor playing a late-thirties negotiator is on average more appealing to people than Alec Guinness playing a vaguely feral desert hermit.

So, here’s how it plays out:

We take Luke and Ben from some point in the OT. There are a variety of options depending on how angsty we want it to be. My first instinct is ‘right after Owen and Beru die’ but I want to have that sweet angst where Luke knows that his dad is Vader and that Obi-Wan was trying to convince him to kill his own father without telling him that.

We’ll go with shortly after Bespin, and then they end up significantly before TPM. The Obi-Wan of the timeline proper is, eh, let’s say eighteen. Not really ready to be a knight, but old enough that we don’t have to worry about “if we go save Shmi, do we somehow wipe out Anakin?” which is absolutely a worry. Anakin is a toddler, and is in no place to be evil, on account of being literally two years old. He can’t even explode people with his brain yet.

Now, Ben finds himself mid-thirties, as is traditional. He’s not upset at this, because his joints hurt so much less than they used to! His knees aren’t exactly teenage-perfect, but by the Force are they better than they were in the years before he died! His hair has color! He doesn’t have arthritis! And, goodness, no physical withdrawal symptoms! The psychological aspect is still there, but nonetheless, he’s in much better shape than he last remembers being.

Luke looks like he’s about six. He was recently twenty-two. This is not an upgrade. Ben keeps having to carry him. He can’t see over the counter when they enter a bar for information. He can’t enter the bar in the first place. He’s very annoyed by all of this.

Ben is not annoyed. Ben is having a lot of emotions, actually, but annoyance isn’t one of them. He didn’t get to help raise Luke the way he might have if Anakin hadn’t lost his shit, okay, he sees a small Luke and he wants to hug him and cry.

Luke would like to be able to purchase a speeder part without the lady at the stall asking him if he needs his “dad’s” permission.

Once they figure out when and where they are, they need to decide where and how to leave. There are general shenanigans to gamble their way into enough money to hire a ship. They are in the ass end of nowhere, but definitely not Tatooine. There appears to be a jungle. There appears to be a significant variety of man-eating creatures. There appears to be a temple to the Force of questionable origin. None of this is actually helpful, except for the moment they find a “baby’s first lightsaber” in the temple.

Luke only has one hand and, being a six-year-old, his body is growing too fast for him to bother with getting a wired-in prosthesis the way he could as an adult. He can get a more basic prosthesis, but nothing that attaches to the neurons. He’ll outgrow it too fast.

He’s tiny and he’s not used to doing things with just one hand. He uses the Force to do what one hand can't, and every time someone tries to tell him he's misusing the Force he whaps them with the empty sleeve.

So, you know, they find out what year it is. Ben has a breakdown. Luke is upset that he left behind his friends. Ben admits to him that Leia was his twin. Luke stares in horror because dude, she kissed him, you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier???

Ben points out that Beru and Owen were keeping Luke away from him for nineteen years, and then they had about three days of awkward travel to find Leia in the first place, and then Ben died. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to figure out how to tell him.

(This sparks an argument that lasts several days. All onlookers assume that Ben’s son is throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t correct them, even though this is a very valid reason to be upset, because the truth is much harder to explain.)

Sooooo they travel. Mostly, Ben plays Sabacc, cleans house, and pays their way towards Coruscant. Luke still really wants to learn to be a Proper Jedi, even though Ben is pretty sure that Luke would have... a lot of difference of opinion with the Temple, but sure. Coruscant. They can at least stop by, and see Qui-Gon, and Mace, and Quinlan, and Bant, and everyone else that’s still alive and not tragically deceased in the horror following the start of the Clone Wars and then the birth of the Empire, and Ben can have a nice sob over all his dead friends being alive again.

Ben is only barely holding it together while Luke is in the room with him at any given point. But it’s fine! It’s fine. He’s fine. All of his loved ones have come back to life! It’s great! HE’S FINE.

He is not fine.

Luke is also grieving all the people who haven’t been born yet, but he’s... significantly more okay than Ben is.

The closer they get to the Core, the more often people just assume Ben is Luke’s father, and then look shocked and uncomfortable when Luke flatly calls him by his name, and they just... compromise. This is the point at which Luke starts calling him “Uncle Ben.”

Ben cries in his bunk later that night. Luke overhears it and wonders how the HELL Ben is more unstable now, when there’s a chance to fix things and no Vader or Empire trying to kill or capture both of them, and all his friends are alive.

(Luke will later learn a lot about PTSD and realize this is actually a fairly normal situation, to process significant events and emotions only after gaining safety or catharsis.)

(Twenty years on a ball of sand with an alcohol addiction and debilitating fear of the man you raised as your own brother is not, in fact, safe or cathartic.)

At any rate, they’ve settled into that pattern by the time they reach the Inner Rim. The Inner Rim is the part of the galaxy at which they’ve collected enough money (and mental stability) to travel a little better, and to take a few more risks.

Risks like “manipulate people with those baby blues.”

Ben tells Luke that he’s a menace, after he pouts so cutely that he gets a free scarf added on to a purchase that Ben makes. Luke responds that Ben has no room to talk, since he flirted a free breakfast out of that one inn owner.

Also, Luke is currently physically six. That is objectively a situation that sucks. He deserves to use it for all it’s worth if he’s stuck like this.

“You know, if you keep wearing all-black and looking longingly at the velvet cape and Space Chanel boots, the temple is going to worry that you’re a darksider.”

“Uncle Ben... you told me, yesterday, that I sparkle so brightly in the Force that it’s almost blinding.”

“Yes, but the gloves--”

They don’t agree on this, but Ben relents. He does actually understand good fashion, unfortunately, and he’s not unaware of how much Leia taught Luke about such things.

Luke’s about forty years ahead of the curve, of course, but Skywalkers are prone to such things. It’s usually in regards to technology, granted, but...

They get to Coruscant. Ben is very obviously a Jedi. He knows all the right words and walks like a Soresu master and feels warm and comforting in the Force. They let him in with minimal questions. They note down “my first padawan left the order to have a child, but died shortly after; I consider Luke here to be my nephew, and have raised him as such,” and move on.

Luke is vaguely annoyed because he already had an uncle (and aunt) that raised him, but he admits that a person can have more than one uncle. He can live with this. Ben was more family to Anakin than Owen was, in some ways, so it’s kind of true. Luke is even working on feeling more childish affection for Ben instead of the complicated mess of emotions that come from being lied to about some very large and important subjects, and then seeing the person saying those lies have regular emotional breakdowns due to something as small as Luke saying he likes the curve of the hull on that freighter.

(Apparently he sounds just like his father did as a child. This is almost heartwarming.)

The thing is! The thing. The thing is, they almost make it to the Halls of Healing to get looked over for weird viruses, or Outer Rim Parasites, or whatever the hells needs to be happening. They almost make it without Ben having a flashback to dead younglings or brainwashed troopers or the declaration of a Sith Empire. They almost make it without incident.

Then Ben sees Qui-Gon, and freezes, and does not move again.

Luke cannot get him to restart.

People are staring.

They haven’t even made it to Medical, Uncle Ben, come on.

Young, local Obi-Wan comes over and asks if there’s something he can do to help. Or maybe this “Ben” knows Qui-Gon? Master Jinn doesn’t recognize Ben, but maybe Luke knows more?

Luke does know more, but what Luke actually says is “he probably needs a mind healer.”

(Ben will not appreciate this.)

(Ben is unfortunately standing in the middle of the hallway and completely unresponsive, and is unable to argue with this assertion.)

(Ben is pretty much proving this assertion entirely correct, actually.)

Obi-Wan is helpful, if a little bitchy in the manner of most late-teens individuals, and offers to help get Uncle Ben down to the Halls of Healing. It involves Obi-Wan gently pushing on Ben’s shoulders, and Qui-Gon offering to carry Luke so he can be in Ben’s sights (because Ben is a Mystery, and Qui-Gon is quite fond of those, so he wants to stay involved). Ben kind of just... shuffles on down.

There are medical tests. They ask about how Luke lost his hand. He refuses to talk about it. They ask how Ben got all his scars. Luke says he doesn’t know. They ask if he knows why Ben looks like he’s been through a war. Luke says it’s because he probably was.

They check for foreign viruses. They find evidence of thus-far-unpatented vaccinations. They ask Luke if he knows what he’s vaccinated for.

“How would I know? I’m six.”

They agree that this is a good excuse.

(It is not. He’s lying. They do not know this.)

They do some more tests. They find a lot of questionable medical bullshit in Ben’s body. Most of this is from the clone wars, but they don’t know this. Someone realizes they haven’t gotten a ping back from the Shadow Network regarding “do we have permission to pull the medical file of a Jedi that isn’t in the normal database? We’re assuming you know who he is, since we don’t.”

The Shadow Network does not know who Ben is.

The healers, of course, go “huh, that’s weird, but maybe the name he gave his nephew was fake. We can’t exactly ask ‘Ben’ for more details right now. We already had to sedate him. Let’s check the DNA!”

The DNA pulls up as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The padawan who brought this guy in two hours ago.

“Huh, that’s weird. Let’s call in Kenobi and ask if he knows what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan absolutely does not know what’s going on.

They ask Luke.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, lying through his teeth and not even pretending otherwise.

“You’re not a very good liar,” teenage Obi-Wan tells him.

“I’m not trying to be,” Luke says. “Can you get Master Yoda? I feel like we’re going to need him.”

They normally wouldn’t get Yoda on the request of a six-year-old, but they also normally don’t have a catatonic thirty-something Jedi who looks like he’s been through a war popping up in the medical database as the pimply teenage padawan that broke his pinky trying to do a Badass Ataru Flip last week.

Or... whatever Luke i... is... oh dear.

“Young one,” Qui-Gon asks, while people whisper-shout behind him, not realizing he’s cutting the Correlian Knot and just asking the kid himself. “Do you know why your midichlorian count is so high? It’s almost unheard of.”

“Uncle Ben said my dad was the Chosen One,” Luke says, because he is capable of being a little shit and is actually really eager to let Ben deal with some of the fallout. He feels for the man, really, but he’s also tired of being the one to field every single question.

Also, the expressions that pass on Qui-Gon’s face are hilarious.

(Luke may or may not be more affected by his six-year-old brain than he would like to admit.)

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says, sounding more than a little strangled about it.

It takes another three hours for Ben to wake up.

He listens to the questions. He hears what they say his ‘nephew’ said. He looks at Luke.

“Is this revenge for not telling you about Leia?”

“It’s not revenge,” Luke does not lie. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s pretty easy to explain.”

“It’s not my secret.”

“This is revenge for the Leia thing.”

“No,” Luke says. “Revenge for the Leia thing was when I ate a live frog in front of you.”

This is the point at which someone interrupts and points out that they appear to be stalling.

“Oh, he is,” Luke tells them. He gestures at Ben. “I can’t tell you more, because it’s more his story than mine.”

“I’m afraid, Master, that I am very likely to have an emotional breakdown if I allow myself to consider the reality of this situation for longer than the fraction of a second I already have,” Ben reports, full of false cheer. “Suffice to say, I am far from stable and have only held out this far for Luke’s sake.”

“Can you explain why you have my DNA?” Obi-Wan asks, as the person who’s most concerningly involved in this situation.

“You can,” Ben says, smiling like there is absolutely nothing wrong in the slightest, ever. “I’m you, from the future. I actually died and spent a few years dead before coming back. I’m not sure why I’m younger than I was when I died, but I appreciate being able to put on my shoes without my knees attempting to mutiny.”

“He needs a mind healer,” Luke reiterates, in case the strained grin hasn’t made it clear. “So do I, but not as much.”

“I have felt literally every person in this Temple save for Luke and Yoda die,” Ben reports, looking a shade more manic than a few seconds earlier. “It’s very overwhelming to feel you all being alive again. I may be approaching a mental breakdown, and I’ve been rather strictly advised against using alcohol to treat my traumas again.”

Luke kicks him in the thigh. It’s not a very hard kick, because he is very small, and he does actually like Ben. “I’m not letting you turn into an old drunk again.”

After several seconds of silence, a healer quietly suggests that everyone clear the room, and asks if someone could fetch Master Yoda as the youngling requested.

(THIS IS ALMOST THREE THOUSAND WORDS. I started it less than two hours ago. Why am I like this.)

[1kook]

card swiped (4)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” GENRE romance (romcom?), eventual smut, teensy angst WARNING mentions of a hand job, talk of virginity OTHER college crushes, volleyball player!jk, student council president!oc, idiots to lovers, besties to lovers, childhood friends au RATING m (18+) bc brief sex ment WC 1.6k

NOTES (!) sorry for taking so long to update </3 school be kicking my ass. anyway here they are! an idiot couple. lmk what u think!!

[ masterlist ] 

In the past, whenever something had bothered you, the first person you ran to was Jungkook. Low grades, fights with your parents, boy drama— as your best friend and number one confidant, Jungkook was always your first choice. He was always willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on, even if that meant staining his white t-shirts with streaks of your mascara. He was always ready to go beat up a mean boy who had hurt your feelings during lunch, even if he’d miss his favorite special. And he was always down for some good old fashion i hate my parents ranting, even if he adored your parents. He was a great listener, an even better best friend, and had rightfully won you over from a very young age. 

That being said, how were you supposed to talk to Jungkook about something that bothered you when that something was him? 

You could easily tell any of your numerous girl friends, those of which would probably understand your predicament better than Jungkook or any man ever could. But after years of vehemently denying any notion of a romantic relationship between the two of you, you get the feeling your call for help will be met with more unimpressed glares than actual assistance. Besides, as much as you bring up Jungkook, none of them really know Jungkook to truly offer you any worthwhile advice. 

Your next option: Kim Taehyung. Now, Kim Taehyung held a similar background as Jungkook (translation: he also went to the same high school as you). He knows both you and Jungkook—frankly, more than you’d like him to—so he would be able to dissect the issue easily and offer trustworthy advice. The problem with Kim Taehyung, however, is that aside from knowing you at your embarrassingly dorky teenage prime, he doesn’t know how to keep a secret. Anything he knows, Jungkook knows. So if you were to, hypothetically, ask Taehyung for advice on Jungkook, well. Chances are, you’d probably get a rather confused text from Jungkook two minutes later. 

Which leaves you with one option— Park Jimin. There’s a reason Park Jimin isn’t your first option, and that reason presents itself now as you glare at him from across the empty room. For as long as you’ve been in university, Jimin has always lingered around the student council meetings, giving everyone he sees the prettiest, meanest stink-eye. You suspect it’s because he waits around for Min Yoongi, your Vice President (which isn’t an issue; Jungkook also frequents student council meetings while waiting for you), and doesn’t really care for anyone else. Your problem with Jimin doesn’t lie there but rather with the fact he’s adamant on taking up space and not lending so much as a finger to help. 

Today he is sitting with his feet on the table, dirty volleyball bag tossed on the floor. He’s watched you for the last fifteen minutes wrestle with the broken copy machine and hasn’t said a word since. He pretends he doesn’t see you struggling, because if he does, he’d be obligated to help you. 

To summarize, Park Jimin may be the fastest libero your university’s volleyball team has seen in years, but he’s a good-for-nothing bum everywhere else. 

And despite all that, he’s your best choice. There’s no one quite as blunt and honest as Park Jimin. There’s no one in this world who truly doesn’t care enough about anyone’s problems to gossip about them as Park Jimin. You plop down beside him, rumpled papers in hand. Without warning, you jump straight into it. “Jungkook is going to take my virginity,” you announce, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. If any of your fellow student council members heard you, you’re certain you’d shrivel up and die. 

Jimin hums. “That’s nice.” His eyes don’t leave his phone, thumb hovering over his screen. It’s a testament to how much he truly does not care. His extended silence plants a seed of doubt in you— was this the right person to tell? you begin to worry. But after a beat, Jimin’s thumb taps against his screen and he says, “Jungkook is a virgin.” 

You clench your jaw. “I know.” 

The thing about Jimin is, with the right wording, you can get him interested in something. Not interested enough to genuinely care, but interested enough to at least listen and offer his own piece of straightforward advice. His thumb comes to a standstill over his phone, eyes momentarily going blank. It’s a minute gesture, one that’s taken you four years of paying attention to catch. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. “Really,” Jimin sighs, back to, you now realize, playing CandyCrush on his phone. “You’re gonna let a virgin take your virginity.”

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Yup.” 

There’s sweat building on the back of your neck, nerves at an all time high, but you’re trying to play it off. Just a little bit more and you know you’ll have caught him. Beside you, Jimin’s jaw twitches. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of trying to act calm, Jimin clicks his phone off and turns to you. He’s as intimidating as ever, ash blonde hair pushed back today to reveal his forehead and dark eyes. “You’ve known Jungkook was a virgin this whole time?” he asks, has this calculating look in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re being questioned by an officer of the law and not the shortest person on the volleyball team. 

With a practiced air of nonchalance, you shrug. “I have,” you confess, and it’s the truth. 

While you may have been initially fooled that night two years ago, you weren’t that oblivious. Oh, you knew clear as day that Jeon Jungkook was still a virgin, just as well as you knew that he religiously washed his sheets every weekend or that he had a specific color coded system for his underwear drawer. Jungkook was a fool to try and lie to you, not only because you had found out, but because you had found out that very next morning. 

It had been subtle. The night at the party, you had watched on with a throbbing heartache as some pretty girl led Jungkook up a set of stairs, had barely fought off a wave of emotion when he returned twenty minutes later, his hair a rumpled mess. “Did you… ?” you had mumbled, pressed closely against him by the back door. Your eyes had been glassy, from your emotions and from the drunken stupor you had gotten yourself into while he was away, wondering what he was doing. A sense of jealousy you would never admit to had curled around your heart. His hand had landed on your hip then. He smelled like flowers and vanilla, a smell unlike his own. Your heart clenched, hand mindlessly reaching up to cup his jaw, so drunk and heartbroken, you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing your fingers along his pretty cheekbones. 

Jungkook had graced you with a simple nod, and then, “do you wanna leave now?” 

You’d left, stumbling down Greek road on your way back to his dorm. Jungkook had held your hand the whole way, tucked you into his twin bed, and then promptly knocked out on the floor between his and Taehyung’s beds. The latter was nowhere to be found, wouldn’t appear until the next morning when he’d accidentally step on Jungkook’s ankle and wake both of you up. 

Jungkook had yelped, and your eyes had fluttered open. You remember debating rolling over, checking on him like you wanted to, but Taehyung was already there doing just that. So you had laid still instead, listened as the two boys clattered around the room. They chatted mindlessly, about the party and tomorrow’s practice. Taehyung had been bragging about some girl he’d slept with last night. “What about you?” he had asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Did you and…”—a pause, the distinct ruffle of fabric—“finally?” 

“What— no,” Jungkook had said, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down on the edge beside you.

Taehyung pushed on with a snort. “Well, did you get lucky at all?”

Jungkook groaned, placed one warm hand on your back soothingly. You tried your best to level out your breathing, relaxed your facial expression as you clung to the sound of his voice. “Just a handjob. Some girl I didn’t even know. Does that count?” You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, felt it beneath your fingertips when you fisted the sheets. 

And that curt admission sat in the back of your mind everyday for two years. 

You turn to Jimin. “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

Jimin lets out a low whistle. “You’re smarter than I thought,” he grins, this conniving little smile that is a genuine cause for concern. “So you’re letting him think you don’t know?” You nod. Jimin’s smile grows. “My, my. If I had known you were this evil, maybe we would’ve hung out more.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not evil,” you insist, flicking him on the nose. Jimin huffs indignantly. “I think what he’s doing is sweet…” you confess, feel your entire body heat up as you recall that wide-eyed look Jungkook had given you just yesterday afternoon, your kiss print fresh on his cheek. “And, well,” you look down at your shoes. “I used to dream about him being my first.” 

Jimin groans. “You two make me sick.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[jarofstyles]

Oh baby, baby

A/N: Hello! We know we had to add a dad!harry series to our masterlist, one that was sweet and smutty and full of all that kinds of stuff. But as always, we added our own little twist, some angst or tension if you will. In this AU Harry is just a songwriter who goes under a pseudonym and Y/N is his manger. Again, this is all fiction so enjoy ✨✨- n + d

send feedback and requests here

masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: none really?

word count: 4.1k

“So, I was thinking... Do you wanna like, have a kid? Like, with me?” 

Y/N knew it was a bold question, a very very bold and strange question. To him it probably came out of nowhere, but she had been thinking about it for quite some time now. They were both young, 25 almost 26 year olds, and neither of them were anywhere near finding ‘the one’. Harry and Y/N had always said that when ‘the one’ came around that they’d both understand, they’d support one another and carry on as always, but ‘the one’ never really had come around and they weren’t getting any younger. Y/N really wanted to be a mom. It was something she spoke about often, especially whenever she saw little kids in any given situation. She was a fit of squeals and coos and if appropriate, kisses and cuddles. Harry seemed surprised still, probably confused as to why she was asking him. 

“We’ve worked up enough money for us to be set, a baby and a house and even their college.” Y/N chuckled, continuing on with cooking their dinner. “And... we’ve got lots of time on our hands when we aren’t working. I just— you know how I want to be a young mom and all, want to be able to be fun and cool.” Harry knew all of this about her.

“Y/N— what?” Harry slowly blinked at her confused look. He had just been helping her cook dinner when she popped one of the most unexpected questions on him. Talking about the damn schedule for the week, and she asked if he wanted to have a baby with her. She genuinely looked sold on this idea. His head was still spinning from the mere suggestion. Obviously it was something she had been thinking about for a while or she wouldn’t have mentioned it. “With me? Are you sure?” Harry furrowed his brows before continuing. “Wait— okay, hold on. When did you begin to think this over, because obviously I’ve been the one out of the loop for quite a bit, babes.”  They’d always done everything together. School, living, college, all of it. So he wasn’t necessarily ruling it out but... a baby would be a whole other ball game. An at least 18 year old commitment.

Y/N nodded her head, looking at him with a raised brow and shaking her head when he’d asked if she was sure. “Course, I’m sure. Have I ever been unsure?” She was very stubborn and he knew that, knew she usually didn’t bring things up unless she had mulled them over at least a thousand times in her brain before mentioning them. “I was just on Pinterest looking for some lemon bar recipe and then I saw this really cute photo of a baby girl who looked just like she could be our baby and then it clicked... It just made sense to me? Like I know, it would be weird at first but— been around you my whole life and if I trusted anyone else with my child’s life it would be you away, might as well make it yours.” That was something she was genuinely serious about. Any other man would leave her, could cheat, screw her over. Harry was her most loyal friend, he genuinely loved and cared for her and would never think of leaving her nor a child. “Don’t have to answer me now, just like.. wanted to talk about it. Can take your time with it and mull it over.”

“I mean... you know I want children.” Harry said slowly, turning the stove off but still feeling that confusion but he wasn’t angry about it. “I’m just... confused, is all.” He admitted, leaning against the counter. He was seriously considering her offer. “All the points you made aren’t wrong but I suppose I’m curious as to when you thought this over and all that. M’flattered, I’m considering it but I’d like to hear more.” He tilted his head and looked at her. There had always been an unspoken tension that would remain unspoken to them. He was aware of that. But he was concerned how that barrier they’d set for intimacy besides a good cuddle and shit would be smashed by sex. 

Y/N felt herself grow a little giddy when he had said he was considering it. She had been hopeful, yes, felt like it would take some proper convincing yet he seemed to be intrigued already? It was a hopeful sign in all honesty. “Yeah, I... started like, 6 months ago?” 6 months was usually Y/N’s bench mark for everything. Whenever she had thought about something for 6 months it usually meant that it was something she really wanted. “I didn’t expect you to not be confused, but then again, there wasn’t really a subtle way to ask was there?” She laughed and pushed her hair away from her face. 

“Like... how are we gonna... you know. Get said baby into you. We using a turkey Baster? Or old fashioned?” Harry asked with a smirk.

“No! Not a fucking turkey baster, are you mad? Course we’re gonna—” Y/N stopped herself as her eyes locked with his. She had always felt a tension with him but she could never really put her finger on it. “We’re gonna do it whichever way feels most comfortable.” She didn’t want to put in unnecessary effort. “Know I love ya... and we’ll make the baby that way.”

“I mean, could have softened the blow and started talking about babies.” Harry snickered, but he really was distracted by the fact that they’d have sex. Actual sex. They’d kissed before a few times. Always when drunk. Once it was to get a guy to back off of her when she was uncomfortable too, and she always was comfortable around him. It wasn’t weird. Sex was a whole act though. He wouldn’t have problems getting hard because... well, Y/N was hot as fuck. It would be a different thing entirely though, to make her cum and shit. To actually cum in her multiple times. “Mean, m’not against It. But it’ll probably take a few tries or something.” He said slowly. She didn’t seem phased by it. “Wow. You’ve thought it out entirely, haven't you?”

“Okay, but if I did that then you’d know something was up and I didn’t want to bring it up unless I was certain.” Y/N explained with a small sigh, “and you know I’m impatient, just wanted to let you know as soon as possible... but also, I’m ovulating next week.” Y/N has really calculated this. She was prepared for it all, mentally and physically. Sure, having sex with Harry was something she’d have to mentally prepare for, but it wasn’t in the way you’d think. Harry was hot, anyone with eyes could see that. She knew he was massive too, she’d seen him naked far too many times. It was that intimacy that came with sex that was something she needed to prepare for, but many being horny and or drunk would fix it? “Know it’s going to take a few tries but.. I just really want a baby, and if I’m going to have a baby with anyone it’s going to be with you.”

“Alright. Well... let me think about it after dinner. I think the answer is yes, but I need to think about it.” Harry explained. Y/N wasn’t a pushy person nor would she make him do it if he didn’t want to. And he did, he was 99% sure but he would have to think. So he did. Sitting in his rum, he strummed his guitar absentmindedly. They’d done a ton of traveling from 18—24. They settled here. They had money for a proper childhood for a few kids if they worked together. Harry’s main goal was to be a father and Y/N wanted to be a mum. He couldn’t see their friendship fading in any circumstance. He didn’t matter how much happened, they’d been best friends since the womb. Their mothers were best friends too. It was something they couldn’t escape either way. It was a real thing he had to think about. 

“We can do it.” Harry stood in the doorway of the girls room in their shared apartment. “If you’re sure then I’m down.”

She hasn’t expected him to come back with an answer so quickly, but the smile on her face was evident. “Yeah?” Y/N asked again, feeling herself get all emotional at the thought. She stood up, walking over to here he was standing. “I’m sure, if you’re sure.” Y/N wrapped her arms around him in a hug and squeezed tightly, this was real. They were planning on having a baby. Of course, they weren’t going to tell anyone for a while, not until she was actually properly pregnant. For now, they just needed to get comfortable around each other and prepare for the impending week. Y/N was just coming off her period so she’d be extremely horny within the next week and it would be prime time to get her pregnant. It would definitely take a few tries, but she had been off birth control for a while now and she was rather regular. She felt like she was meant to be a mom. 

“Love you, h.”

“Love you too, Bun.” He loved her a lot. She was his absolute best friend ever and he knew this wouldn’t be bad. 

Their mothers will be thrilled when they kind out— but they also would be confused they weren’t together. Harry was a little confused too on how it would all work. The sex part of it and the fact that they’d be parents together. If it would change their dynamic or not. There had always been an undertone of feelings, at least on his side. No one else measured up to her. None of his exes or hook ups. No one stuck or got him like Y/N did. Their friendship bothered relationships on both of their sides and neither of them were willing to choose a boyfriend or girlfriend over the other so that’s how it was. It was always Harry and Y/N against the world.

Y/N could understand why it was strange. They were best friends after all, they weren’t dating or anything. The friendship the two of them had was rather unique. It wasn’t like a sibling vibe nor was it an ‘ew’ we’re best friends vibe. It was very much, you’re hot and I’m hot and we know that and we’re really good friends. It was beyond Y/N how neither of them had done anything remotely sexual with each other. They’d drunkenly kissed a few times, but honestly who hadn’t done that before? Y/N definitely had thought about it before, but not too much into detail. They’d both just done their own thing and come back to each other like nothing was wrong. She would always pick Harry over anyone and maybe that was shit but until someone treated her like he did or better? A boyfriend could wait. She knew that if she wanted a good father for her child, she would trust no one but Harry. Harry would make a great father and on top of that, their baby would be beautiful. 

They were both at the point in their lives where they could afford a baby and give it the utmost attention. So what if they weren’t actually together? They lived together and they loved each other. Maybe not in that way, but they could teach their child about how important it is to love your best friend.

----

“Babes?” Harry walked into the living room where Y/N sat on the couch. It had been a week since they’d agreed on the decision of a baby. Today, they were going to get prenatal vitamins and groceries so they could up their chances. “I was doing some research, to see the best chances to knock you up. They said we may not want to drink because it affects my baby juice or whatever.” He murmured, sitting on the couch next to her to pull his shoes on. Harry was obviously very excited, and it wasn’t a surprise. He really liked the idea of Y/N being pregnant, surprisingly. “N’ I was wanting to ask when you stopped birth control.” He wouldn’t tell her yet but, it was literally his kink in a way. Breeding was something he had into the depths of his mind and he thought about when he got off. She would find out about it and he was a little nervous about that, but she was his best friend. The one person who he could trust. He just didn’t want her to take the piss.

“Please never call it baby juice again.” Y/N snorted a laugh and smacked his arm, getting up with a small sigh. He’d been doing research? That was cute. It was nice to know that he was excited about it all because she was too. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out I’m sure.” She knew that it might be a little awkward, but animalistic instincts would take over at some point and it’d be fine. “I stopped like... 6 months ago. Wasn’t really seeing anyone anyway so I figured I didn’t need it. Besides, I was already thinking about this then so...” Y/N knew that it was completely out of her system. “I’m pretty regular with my period as well.. been tracking it for years and it’s always right so, I’ll sync you up if you get the app.” Y/N stood up and grabbed the reusable bags, “you got the keys?” She asked, knowing he’d be the one driving. The two of them were really good together. The dynamic duo. They’d been doing it for so long that this whole baby thing didn’t seem as never wrecking.

“Mhm.” Harry took them out of the pocket and jingled them. Harry wasn’t misled by any of this— he knew it didn’t mean they were together. They’d have sex and stuff and parent but it didn’t mean she liked him more than a friend and he was okay with it. It didn’t stop his sexual attraction, not his protectiveness. To be fair, he had always been a protective little fucker. He was the first one to call people out on their bullshit or to intimidate guys away from her if she wanted them gone. He made sure she was safe every time he could. But with the idea of his child inside of her, Harry felt that he went into overdrive— and they hadn’t even tried yet. “C’mon then.” He patted his side like a dog and she rolled her eyes. They had a good banter between them. Locking the door behind him, he walked down the steps of their place and went to the car with her. “Vitamins first, lunch and then grocery, yeah? So nothing frozen melts.”

“Sounds good.” Y/N nodded, climbing into the Range Rover. It would be interesting to see how things went for them. People often mistook them for being a couple. That would only increase now that they were a couple, however, it really didn’t really bother them. No matter how many times they’d tell people they were just good friends, people didn’t believe it. Hell, even their mothers were waiting on them to actually get together. They never blatantly said they’d be against it, but it just seemed like something that would change their friendship too much. Having sex for the sake of having a baby was one thing but having sex because you want to love up on each other is a whole other thing. When they arrived at the store Harry had looked up, Y/N realized that it would probably be easier for them to just act like they were together. Trying to explain it would be too complicated.

Harry raised a brow when she came to his side and hung on his arm but shrugged it off. He didn’t care, in fact she knew he enjoyed physical touch very much. He was a puppy when it came to Y/N and enjoyed his pets and strokes, so he felt good about it. The store was a maternity store that had the best selection of vitamins and mother stuff. He had an idea of what vitamins she should get but he wanted a second opinion. According to yelp, they had a knowledgeable staff who were very well versed in new mothers and babies. 

“Hello! Welcome.” As soon as they stepped into the store, a peppy older woman grinned brightly and made her way towards them. “What can I help you with today?” 

“Hi.. we’re looking for good prenatal vitamins. Anything that will help her or the baby.” He smiled, feeling her rest her cheek on his arm.

Y/N was really happy that Harry had taken control of the situation, she wasn’t too good with asking for things, but she would if she had to. She licked over her lips and watched as the lady smiled at the two. “Lovely! Are you pregnant or trying?” She asked and that’s when Y/N decided to speak up. 

“We’re trying.” She smiled, “If there is any you’d recommend for pre and during... if there are any that you could recommend for him as well?” Y/N patted his arm a bit and watched as the woman nodded and began to lead them over to a specific section. 

“Are there any medications you take now?�� The woman asked, searching through a few of the bottles to find something. 

“No, I’ve been off of birth control for about 6 months also. I’d say I’m pretty healthy.”

“Perfect. I’m so happy for you both. I know that it’s a big decision.” She smiled, picking out a few and explaining the benefits of each. Harry didn’t have any issues asking questions.

“Should we get a vitamin that covers all over, or separate ones?” Harry questioned. 

“I suggest separate ones. The all over vitamin is good, however I think these three will provide more results for you.” The woman said. “And, it's only a few dollars more for all three of these.” 

“Money is not an object.” Harry said politely. “Not when it comes to her or the baby. I’d like the best things you can recommend. I did some research, and I know there isn’t much one can do for morning sickness. But did you have anything that you know works? She hates vomiting and I think I can speak for her and say anything that will make that not as bad would be lovely.” He grabbed her hand, squeezing it.

Y/N was taken back a bit when he went out of his way to tell the woman about how she hated vomiting. She couldn’t lie, it did make little butterflies erupt in her stomach. Harry had always been thoughtful, but to know he was in this just as seriously did excite her. She never doubted him either. It was just nice.

“Oh, of course... These are definitely worth a try. I’ve heard they’ve been successful, but again, it’s not something that can necessarily be guaranteed.” The woman explained, going to get a few other vitamins for both her and Harry. 

After she’d explained all of them, she rang them up and Y/N let Harry handle it. Their money was basically shared anyway, she was his manager after all. In a way it was really nice to just have somewhat joint funds. Again, it’s why people thought they were together.

Harry squeezed her when she got nervous or tense when they spoke about anything else they could need. It wasn’t too long in the shop before Harry said goodbye and walked out with Y/N in one arm and the bag in the other. He had gotten 5 bottles of vitamins for a bigger price however he didn’t care at all. If Y/N was cared for, he was happy. They saved a lot of money. They didn’t live luxuriously and he thinks maybe it was the universe preparing them for this. 

“Alright, little Bun. Let’s get some lunch. Are you feeling tacos? Pizza? Italian?” Harry questioned, asking oddly in want to make her pleased. He was definitely someone who liked being the one to make others happy. A people pleaser. But for Y/N was even more so.

“Can we go to Cheesecake Factory?” Y/N asked, knowing that they’d definitely find something to eat there. There was everything on the menu. It was a win for the both of them and she’d get a bomb ass dessert. She had noticed the little shift in him too. It was small and if you didn’t spend every day of your life with him you wouldn’t know, but she knew. Harry has a certain way about him. He was ambitious and supportive, caring and intelligent. He was always one step ahead on everything and that’s why they had gotten so far with their careers. However, she knew that having this baby meant a lot more to him than anything else in the world. It meant the same for her. 

“It’s crazy how this is all really happening.” Y/N breathed out, “I’m just... i'm really excited. Like.. I’ve always wanted to be a mom and it’s just so nice to know I’m going to be doing it with you? Do you know what i mean?”

“Yeah. I dunno I’ve just... I've never imagined who I would have a baby with. But in my head it did look like a mix of us. I’ve wanted one for so long, always wanted to have kids and stuff.” Harry smiled. “I’m happy it’s with you. I was nervous I’d end up with some crazy woman who would take me to court or something and take my kid away. Think that’s my greatest fear. One of ‘em. Losing you and losing my child.” It would make sense later as when she got pregnant, why he would treat her like glass. 

“I get that... think that’s always been a fear of mine in a way. I never met anyone else I’d trust my life with it my baby’s life with..” Y/N knew Harry was a constant in her life and that he wasn’t going anywhere, they were basically a family of their own already. A baby would only strengthen their bond.

“I’m excited. I trust you and I know we can do this together. Know our mums will have some choice words for it but they’ll just be excited to be grandmothers.” Harry added, he knew they both wanted grandchildren so badly. 

Arriving at the restaurant, Harry held his hand out for her to take. They didn’t usually do this in public but he felt a ton more protective now and didn’t want her to be far from him. Was it possible he already went into daddy mode?

When he took her hand, Y/N didn’t really question it. She liked being around him and could understand why he wanted to be a bit closer with her. If they were having a baby together, they weren’t really looking for anyone to come and flirt with them were they? In all honesty, Y/N has accepted that she’d likely be single forever now. It would just be her and the baby and Harry and she’d be happy with that. What mattered more to her was that.

They were seated across from each other, the massive menu taunting them. Harry always had a hard time choosing here, but he knew he would get classic strawberry cheesecake or the caramel one for dessert. He liked those. 

“Gonna get an appetizer then?” Harry questioned with curious eyes. Y/N would probably have a much bigger appetite when pregnant, and they’d come here again. He knew that she would be so beautiful as a mum. She’d have the glowing skin and the round belly and the pretty pregnant woman aura around her and he would have a hard time with that. He was going to want to love on the belly quite a bit and he hoped she was okay with that. He had been doing a lot of research and was curious about what she was going to be like with the hormones. Was she going to be an angry pregnant? Emotion swings? Horny? He wasn’t sure. Harry would take any of it.

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

[part 2]

A/N: aHHH hope this lays down a bit of ground before we really get into things. If there are any specifics you’d like to see during Y/N’s pregnancy, let us know! - n + d

masterlist

[springday-aus]

Disney Prince!AU with Seonghwa

★ Seonghwa as Disney’s Prince Charming ★

moodboard link

Group: ATEEZ 

Member: Park Seonghwa

Genre: fluff, romance, hints of angst 

part of the Disney Prince Series - could also be a prince!au

Type: Bulletpoint AU 

Word Count: approx. 3k

A/N: I had to spice things up a bit bc after a rewatch of Cinderella, I have realized they have no flavor and got a bit carried away—so enjoy! 

Warnings: family death + mentions of abusive family - you know the classic princess storyline. 

Seonghwa….. is not your average prince

but it’s not depicted in a negative light

so, he’s the prince other nations wished they had

he’s very involved with the state of affairs, often spends time in the villages and conversing with the townsfolk, and often visits schools to read to them or just watch them and it’s so……...wholesome

*cut to him struggling to sit on the carpet with the kids bc his legs can’t fold*

basically everyone loves him because he’s got this angelic aura around him that just makes you feel like you can trust him with anything

and I mean anything

mothers would probably offer him their babies if that was appropriate

he’s just super sweet and tries to remember what he learns in order to take it back and make use of it with the current policies that the parliament is trying to endorse or something

obviously, this is the main image of him to the public

and it’s not fake

but those in the palace know he can get a bit mischievous and sassy

it’s only really seen by those who are close with him, or have been around for a longer time

like assistant!Hongjoong and head butler!Wooyoung

since they’re all close in age and grew up together too, they’re much more comfortable with one another

Hongjoong: *hits his head on a doorway*

Seonghwa: “......... are you an idiot?”

guard!Yeosang and butler-in-training!San: laughing

no, but for real, all of them know he’s basically an angel

the amount of shit he’s putting up with them, but like they make for great entertainment lmao

anyways

the older workers at the palace find him adorable

like when Seonghwa tried to sneak-eat the freshly picked strawberries

“my prince, did you just eat a strawberry?”

Seonghwa with a mouthful of them: “no”

he’s like the grandson they all want (and are trying to get, but we’ll get to that later)

other than his charities and visits and public outings, he’s also known to be a good horseback rider

like real good

Wooyoung: “this is the most princely we’ll ever see him”

he’s kidding, but he’s also not kidding

bc lbr: Seonghwa in a horseback riding fit with the shoulder pads and the helmet and the wind and

Wow

many gather to see him in his glorious, sweaty state afterwards

it’s funny bc he’s so handsome and there are times when he’ll acknowledge it and other times when he doesn’t

especially since the ateez boys just ignore him or tease him

now it just depends on how he feels that day as to how he’d react

since he’s got such a good reputation, you know what that means?

lots of treaties and lots of marriage proposals

on one hand, many nearby countries know how nice Prince Seonghwa is—and some thought he was naive enough to be deceived by them

and that led to a few wars, but they lost real bad bc they assumed he was too nice

when, in actuality, he’s very knowledgeable since he takes a lot after the king and the queen

that allowed much more respect for the kingdom, especially since he’s the first in line for the throne once he’s married

which leads to the second thing: he gets lots and lots of marriage proposals

have you SEEN him?????

do you know how CAPABLE he is????

helloo?????

anyways

the royal family kind of milks this—not in that way tho

it’s in the sense that it’s because they want him to find someone soon and there’s more time for them to learn the ropes about ruling a kingdom

that means lots of balls are thrown in hopes of Seonghwa finding someone to ~catch his eye~ and whatnot

but Seonghwa just uses this as a diplomatic advantage, you know? like a chance for him to meet other royals and build these relationships

and while he has good intentions, the rejected royals are kind of bitter, but they know better than to mess with the Royal Family

meanwhile, party planner!Yunho is lowkey racking in the dough from these events, so he’s fine throwing all these balls lmao

this is where you come in

but, it’s not how others might think

so, you used to be the daughter of a well-of-ish family—you had money for a house and caretakers who adored you and you with parents who loved you dearly

you lived in your own little bubble of love

but then your mother died

when she died, it was almost as if she had taken the lively atmosphere of the household with her

your father buried himself into his work, rarely making time for you anymore and…. there was a drift

one day he came home with a mysterious woman, proclaiming her as your stepmother

along with her came her two daughters, who were as ugly outside as they were on the inside

while you could have done without her passive-aggressiveness, it was nice to see your father happy

but lo-and-behold, you lucked out and he died on a business trip, leaving you alone with strangers to become your only family

it only got worse from there as they openly started to mock you, shame you and push you beyond your boundaries

as they could no longer pay for the staff, they also forced you to clean after them, cook for them, and make all the arrangements that they demanded

or, as your oh-so-lovely stepmother said “you’re below us and you will always be below us”

at first, you put up with it because there’s nowhere else for you

but, slowly, the idea of running away was starting to sound better

and the opportunity came as the palace was starting to look for more servants who would stay in the servants’ quarters

you immediately packed away your things, which wasn’t much to begin with—your mother’s locket being the major trinket you possessed

and ran off to work as a housekeeper, who hid away behind the palace walls and the public eye

since you clean for the palace, it also means cleaning after the balls

other than television appearances, you never really saw the royal family

even as you did work in the palace because……………. they’re running a goddamned country

but, of course, there are rumors and gossip with the other housekeepers which all come from reliable resources

**cough cough definitely Wooyoung cough cough**

so there’s a lot of what you heard, not really from what you’ve seen, despite what some might think when working in the palace

that was until you were called to work at your first ball

which meant you were cleaning after the tables and in the kitchens, going in and out of the ballroom and between dinner tables

getting glimpses of some of the royals

and picking up on some of their juicy conversations

(apparently this one duke almost had an affair with this king’s secret mistress… all the tea)

anyways

you get the point

every once in a while you have to work at the balls when they need the extra help

but, there was one that was…………. different

a lot of the balls are for the royals to take and engage and whatever, but there have been so many and Seonghwa………….

Seonghwa hasn’t been interested in a single one despite the purpose being to help him find someone

Hongjoong: “what’s wrong with them?”

Seonghwa: “there’s nothing wrong with them, I don’t want just someone”

Seonghwa: “I want it to happen naturally—call me old fashioned but if this is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, it has to be someone who knows me”

Wooyoung, in the corner: “that is old fashioned, hasn’t he heard of tinder?”

advisor!Mingi: “I don’t think it would be a good look for the country if the prince is on tinder”

guard!Yeosang: “we should test it out”

butler-in-training!San: “omg reverse pretty woman”

Hongjoong: “everyone get out, you’re all useless”

okay, but like real talk: he’s such a romantic and the whole unofficial arranged marriage is just………. too much

so, his parents were like: so, you want more options?

Seonghwa: “not what I said”

and they expanded the invitation list for one night, meaning ANYONE had a shot with Seonghwa and

well

he is very popular, so you can imagine how many people were planning on coming and the staff (i.e. you) had to prepare for everything

for the week, the castle was bustling and you were running around to help out and it……. it was all so insane

and then it happens

you’re minding your own business and working and eavesdropping as one does when one works

because everyone is there and who doesn’t love listening to drama that isn’t just from fancy people

but since everyone is here

you failed to remember that a certain group of people were also there

the group of people being your step-mother and step sisters

instinctively, you ducked and hid, moving away from the main room that was swarmed with people who were all trying to obtain Seonghwa’s attention

(who was also trying to hide from everyone else and instinctively failing)

eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, where you tried to make yourself busy

but it ended up being a small walk through the gardens, picking up the occasional liter and small talk with the gardeners

the garden is huge, so you get a bit lost as you wander—physically and emotionally

meanwhile, Seonghwa managed to escape from the others with the help of the other ateez boys

major shoutout to Yunho and Jongho, who insisted on leading the cupid shuffle and cha cha slide

also Yeosang for blocking off people who were trying to shoot their shot with a tired Seonghwa who did not want any of this

he ended up in the gardens as well, walking down a small path with Yeosang trailing a bit farther behind

he spots you on a bench, admiring the flowers under the bright moonlight

and you were absolutely breath-taking

not wanting to disturb your peace, he tried to leave

only to knock into a garden gnome and catch your attention as he tries to not break it

You: “um”

Seonghwa: “I’m so sorry, I was just going to leave, I didn’t mean to disturb you”

You: he looks familiar

You: “I know you from somewhere”

Seonghwa: literally in the most extravagant suit and sparkle make-up as he’s still crouched on the ground trying not to break a gnome that cost like $5 at a Target

also Seonghwa: “have we met before?”

you exchange names and that’s when it clicks

You: “OH MY GOD. MY PRINCE.”

immediately, you try to curtsy or bow or whatever the royals make you do to the ground bc Seonghwa’s still at ground level

and Seonghwa’s just…………. scrambling to try to get you off the ground with flushed ears at you calling him your prince

Seonghwa: “please, you literally do not have to”

You: “I don’t want to be beheaded”

You: “plus, isn’t it like, illegal for me not to?”

Seonghwa: “well, I’m technically giving you orders not to…..”

You: well, can’t argue with that

you slowly get up and dust yourself off, unable to look at him in the eye

even from the corner of your eyes tho, you can see what the fuss is about

bc Seonghwa in that suit and hair swept back is hot™

You: “Prince,  I apologize if I’m speaking out of line, but shouldn’t you be inside?”

Seonghwa: “couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

You: “but this is in your honor, not mine”

Seonghwa: “is it tho?”

Seonghwa: “I keep telling everyone I would like to fall in love on my own and yet………. everyone keeps meddling and making plans and now everyone in the kingdom is after me when I’m just trying to do my best for our citizens”

you’re a bit silent, unsure as to how to respond

Seonghwa: “I’m sorry for just dumping this on you, but, everyone keeps telling me I shouldn’t be so worried”

You: “well, Prince, I think what you need to hear is that your feelings are valid”

You: “it’s only natural for you to want to find someone on your own—freedom is something everyone wants, which is why it’s so hard to obtain”

there’s a bit of an awkward silence

for one bc you didn’t know what he was really like and if you were allowed to say something like that

two being that you didn’t know if you should leave

but he speaks up

Seonghwa: “you’re right—I did need that”

the air loosens a bit between the two of you

Seonghwa: “so, are you also hiding from an influx of suitors?”

you laugh a little, playing like a twinkling melody to Seonghwa’s ears

You: “no, but I am hiding from people”

Seonghwa: “it’s okay, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to”

you two get to spend a bit more time together, just chatting and getting to know one another

he’s really sweet, but also kind of goofy with a handful of cheesy pickup lines that definitely comes from spending too much time on the internet but also Wooyoung

the time is short but sweet

bc, before you know it, it strikes 12 and Hongjoong has a hold on him by bulldozing past Yeosang who just blinks at the small gust of wind

Hongjoong: “Seonghwa! your parents are looking for you! we gotta go!”

he greets you hastily, before grabbing a hold of Seonghwa and dragging him away—in which Seonghwa is still trying to get one last look at you before you disappear off into the night

or, in your case, back to the kitchen to avoid your stepfamily

the rest of the night passes as expected, at least for you as you busy yourself with washing dishes in the kitchen

but Seonghwa found himself like a mercat, poking his head around trying to find you every once in a while

the time you’d spent together was short, but it was the most fun he’s had at these balls

and it showed, as noted by Hongjoong and Wooyoung with the week that followed after

he was spacing out, wondering what could have been if things were different

basically, homeboy was sulking bc he didn’t know when he could see you again or if you had someone or if you were even interested

Hongjoong: “how are we supposed to help him when we don’t even know who it is?”

Mingi: “didn’t you get a glimpse?”

Hongjoong: “I was busy with other things”

Wooyoung: “so you didn’t even ask for a name?”

Yeosang: “it’s (Y/N)”

all the boys:

Hongjoong: “how do you know that?”

Yeosang: “I was eavesdropping”

San: “um—”

Wooyoung: “wait, we know (Y/N)”

Yunho: “so am I throwing another party or?”

Wooyoung: “we can find (Y/N) first and then throw a party”

so, they kind of hunt you down to where you’re cleaning for the day

and Wooyoung asks you about Seonghwa

lowkey bc he wants the tea but also bc he wanted to make sure you’re not one of those insane people that are completely obsessed with him

(considering what he had to witness during that last ball)

and after passing his vibe check

he sends you to the library “to clean”

which is odd because you already cleaned it for the week but

Wooyoung: “I’m technically your boss, so go”

You: weirded out

also you: “okay”

little did you know, Seonghwa was already there, occupying himself with some new books while Hongjoong and Yeosang were keeping an eye out for you

who was lowkey trying to hide in the shadows and failing miserably bc of all the goddamned windows

Seonghwa spots your shadow, quickly getting up and following you

Seonghwa: “wait! (Y/N)?”

you turn around, a bit startled from the call out

Seonghwa: “I thought it was you”

you give a small bow to greet him

You: “my prince”

Seonghwa: “you can just call me Seonghwa”

Seonghwa: “I didn’t know you were here”

You: “I didn’t know you were here either”

he lets out a small chuckle

Seonghwa: “I meant I didn’t know you were staying in the castle”

You: “I’m not just staying here, I work here prin—Seonghwa”

Seonghwa: “well I guess that makes finding you a bit easier around here”

You: “you were looking for me?”

Seonghwa: “well, I like your company”

You: flushed

Seonghwa: “do you enjoy mine?”

You: “I’d be glad to bask in your presence”

and for a moment, it’s just the two of you

*cut to Hongjoong and Yeosang high-fiving in the back*

after that, the two of you spend more time together

it’s cute bc Seonghwa also likes to clean (which explains why there were never housekeepers needed for him)

so it means he also helps you clean and still have fun doing it

speaking of which, you got to find out how domestic he is and it melts your heart every time

especially when he’s interacting with children who visit the castle

so you can tell he really wants a family

bc he’s so good with kids and knows how to take care of people and what more can you really ask for

he’s also a great listener 

like he really knows what you need based on what you tell him

and when you opened up to him about what happened at home

he was just such a big sweetheart about it, asking if you’re okay and checking with you emotionally and it 

I LOVE PARK SEONGHWA SO MUCH 

anyways

so his parents did find out bc Wooyoung has a big mouth and def blabbed to San and everyone else in the goddamned kingdom who knows Wooyoung

rip Seonghwa

also rip everyone in the kingdom who found out bc again

Seonghwa is very desired amongst many

which also led to a lot of jealous people who gossiped about you but jokes on them bc you still have Seonghwa at the end of the day and they have jack shit :) 

back to what I was saying 

when his parents found out, they were totally accepting of it considering how happy the two of you are

(also you were lowkey fearful they were just gonna straight up kill you bc you aren’t royal, but also, they’re good rulers who care about people) 

which also meant they wanted to train you to help him run the kingdom but that’s a different story

anyways, prince charming!Seonghwa is indeed very charming

and gentlemanly and all that other good stuff

[qqueenofhades]

The photo set you reblogged of Yusuf and Niccolo helping throughout time just filled me with so many happy feels and it made me realize that it seems so common in media with immortal couples that they take breaks from each other and reconnect after a few decades. Which is a great trope but seeing these two that seems to have been attached at the hip since the day they met just fills me with all the heart eyes.

(I haven't read your fanfics for them yet. I know I'm a bad fan but if it helps I havent been able to read anything since all this started but while writing this ask I got the feeling that all this rambling I spewed out is a big theme)

Hush. Bad fan nothing. We all are coping with this stupid, awful year in different ways, some of us by escaping into fandom and some of us being unable to engage with it and some of us doing both or anything else. You certainly don’t owe me or anyone any obligation to interact with our content, fic or otherwise. So just to have that there on the top. You’re good, hun. :)

ANYWAY, thank you for giving me a chance to meta a bit on the boys and their relationship and to have a window into what my brain looks like pretty much 24/7 these days. (I blame them.) I keep thinking about all the ways this couple is depicted in the TOG film and how lovely it was and how unusual it is for me to have an OTP where I actually love them in canon and don’t need to violently disavow it in order to create AU fan content with just the characters. (See: Timeless, Game of Thrones, pretty much any show I’ve hyperfixated on at some point.) I love AUs anyway, because that’s the way my brain works, but the fact that I can also enjoy canon just as much is rare for me and for a lot of us. I saw a post somewhere remarking on how the fanfic for Joe/Nicky isn’t fixing anything, which is usually the point of transformative fanworks: we take something that canon atrociously fucked up and fix it. But in this case, all our interpretations are based on actually appreciating the way they’re presented in canon and wanting to enjoy that and uphold it, and that -- especially with a couple like this one -- is shocking??

Like. Despite my historian gripes about the occasionally incongruous details for their graphic-novel backstories (which are the only things I HAVE fixed in my fics), I’m just... deeply appreciative of the care which everyone, writers and actors and all else, put into depicting Joe and Nicky and their relationship. And god YES, one of the things I love the absolute MOST is that they’re a loving, faithful, committed, happy married queer couple over centuries, and that seems to be the case for as long as they’ve known each other/ever since they got together. (See Booker’s “you and Nicky always had each other.”) These fools can’t sleep apart from each other even when they’re stuck on a freight train in the middle of nowhere, they flirt like teenagers at dinnertime and even when they’re strapped to gurneys in a mad-scientist laboratory, they make out to enrage bad guys and also because they’re just still that goddamn into each other after all this time.

I think it was Marwan Kenzari who pointed out that there’s simply no way to truly state the depth of their knowledge and devotion and commitment to each other. They’re 950 years old. They have known each other since they were in their thirties; they’ve been husbands for literal centuries. There is no way anyone else in the world could possibly come close to replicating the kind of bond they have with each other, and neither of them have ever had any inclination to look, because why would they? Especially with the fact that queer couples in media, even otherwise sympathetically portrayed ones, often have Drama and Third Parties and Promiscuity and whatever else (because of the tiresome old canard that Gays Equal Hypersexualized!), and Joe and Nicky don’t need or want ANY of that. There’s no urge to make their relationship a cheap source of soap-opera conflict. It’s the rock and the center and the core of both of their lives, and everything they do stems from that.

There have been some great metas/comments on how neither Joe and Nicky are sexualized, they dress like stay-at-home dads during quarantine (Marwan Kenzari and Luca Marinelli are both objectively gorgeous men, and they’re out there looking like that, god bless), and the viewer is never invited to goggle at or fetishize their relationship. There are no leering or exploitative camera angles on anyone, and their expressions of love aren’t posed or intended to titillate the audience, they’re just solidly embodied and natural and lived in. It’s never bothered to be stated clunkily in dialogue that they’re a couple; we just see them exchanging looks and smiles in the early part of the film, and then we see them spooning on the train after the mission in Sudan, which confirms it.

At every turn, the narrative celebrates the kindness and love shared by the Immortal Family, the individual characters, and Joe and Nicky, especially and explicitly in queer form. The villains of the film are also defined by how they react negatively to that love. @viridianpanther​ had a great meta on how Keane as a villain is especially set up to menace Joe and Nicky as the narrative representation of toxic masculinity, aggressive heterosexuality, and the usual “Kill Your Gays” trope that we’ve all come to wearily expect. But instead, after that scene where Joe and Nicky fight Keane, Nicky is shot and comes back to life in Joe’s arms rather than dying permanently like we probably all momentarily expected, and then Joe gets to FUCKIN’ BREAK THE NECK of the guy who enacted that violence.... good GOD. The first time I watched it, I almost couldn’t believe it was happening. (This goes for the whole film, but especially that scene.) Like... when do we get that?? When do we EVER get that???

Obviously, there are so many stereotypes, whether visually or in behavior or character traits, that could have been assigned to a gay Italian character (excessively dramatic, effeminate, fashionable, etc) or a gay Arabic/Muslim character (explicitly announcing He’s Not Like Those Muslims, having to actively reject his heritage to make him more palatable to westerners, being tormented over being gay, etc) and Joe and Nicky subscribe to none of those. I get very emotional about Joe referring to Nicky as the moon when he is lost during the truck scene partly because it’s SUCH a common motif in Arabic love poetry. To call someone your “moon” is a beautiful way to say they’re the light of your life, and since the Islamic calendar is obviously lunar and the holidays, months, and observances, are set by the phases of the moon, this also has a deeper religious significance.

I don’t know for sure if they did that on purpose, but it it’s a lovely and subtle way of showing us how Joe clearly doesn’t have an issue with being both queer AND Muslim, and is able to draw on both facets of that identity in a way that a lesser narrative would have denied him. And that is just really wonderful. Yes, we’re seeing these characters when they’ve had centuries to settle into themselves, but there are plenty of writers who would have forced those conflicts artificially to the surface, rather than letting them be long in the past. It’s the same way when you watch a film set in the medieval era, it wants you to know that it Is Set In The Medieval Era. Cue the filth, misogyny, racism, violence, etc! Rather than it being a lived-in reality, it has to be jarringly drawn attention to, and I’m just so glad they didn’t do that with Joe and Nicky. And for them to have met in the crusades and fallen in love??! Come on. That’s just rude. Rude to me, personally.

Anyway, this was a rather long-winded and feelsy way of saying that these characters are constructed, acted, and written organically in such a way that you hate to even THINK of them being separated, and it’s not because they can’t function without each other, but because they are two halves of a whole. We also see that the characters themselves can’t stand being forced apart: Joe’s freakout in the truck scene when Nicky briefly won’t wake up, Nicky making sure to tell Joe that he’s glad he’s awake in the lab, the whole post-Keane fight scene that I talked about above, the way Nicky fights ferociously to get to Joe when Merrick’s stabbing him, etc. For that to be given to the queer couple, where the strength of their love and devotion is reinforced as one of the emotional goals of the story, and for that queer couple to be written in the way that Joe and Nicky are, both individually and as a unit, is just so very rare.

Because yes, there’s plenty of drama and angst and pain in their lives, but there’s none at all in their relationship, and that’s what fans keep telling TV writers the whole time: they WANT to see the couple confront things as a unit, rather than being kept on tenterhooks the whole time and forced to go through manufactured or artificial drama. It would feel especially wrong for Joe and Nicky, who have known and loved each other for 900 years. The fact that their respective actors also put so much care and love into them is very obvious, and makes me feel even luckier that they’re played by people who clearly get them and honor them and know what they’re doing.

Basically: of course Joe and Nicky have been with each other the whole time, and of course we’re all drowning in feelings over it, and I feel very blessed that this ship exists, and I very much need the sequel ASAP. Thanks.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 37

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Time runs out.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Heavy angst, whump, grief

AO3

Acceptance finally came, but brought with it no relief.

The hours ticked by, each one stealing another moment less you had with Bucky. It was like waiting on death row, but there would be no stay of execution. You were really going to lose him.

That thought was almost as terrifying as the reality that you would be cut off from him. You’d gotten so used to the bond you didn’t know what life would be like without it. Worst of all, you had no guarantee you’d feel the same about Bucky after the link was severed.

Would you still feel the same way about him? Would you still love him? And if you didn’t, was it even love in the first place?

No clock, not even the magical ones that surely existed in this placed, granted you mercy and slowed their procession. All you could do was hold onto Bucky, stroke his demonic arm and his wings, touch him and kiss him and remind yourself he was still here, right here, and he wasn’t gone yet.

As much as you wanted otherwise, you kept your clothes on and kept the touching innocent, even if your kisses grew more heated and desperate. He didn’t want to go, you realized from how tightly he clung to you in return. He didn’t want to leave you in the slightest. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

The sun rose and neither of you bothered to get out of bed. You had nowhere else you wanted to be. Monster had dry food that would last him for days, along with a pet drinking fountain. Your mom would start to worry from your lack of texts, but she’d survive. You weren’t so sure about yourself.

When Bucky spoke, his voice was hoarse from disuse, and you were half-asleep curled in his arms.

“I’m giving you the keys to my place.”

You blinked open your eyes, frowning and wondering if you’d heard right.

“What?”

“I want you to stay there.” He brushed his thumb across the side of your jaw, lips touching your hair. “I know it’s a big place, but at least you won’t have to pay rent. It’s a good location, great view, and you’ll be safe. Strange has anti-dark magic wards all over the place. Apparently, it keeps beings with ill-intent from being able to step over the threshold. I’m sure your little monster will love it.”

He spoke your name in a soft question when his words were met with silence. You shook your head and gripped his jacket tightly again. Why did he have to make this so difficult by being so damn perfect?

“I’m just…” You sniffed and swallowed. “I’m just going to house-sit for you until… until Strange finds a better solution.”

Bucky said your name again.

“And then you’ll be back and everything will be, will be the same. Waiting for you. Because you’re coming back.” You fought to control the quivering of your voice, made no easier by his gentle touches. “I have to believe that, Bucky. I have to have hope, or I can’t… I can’t make it through this.”

“You will,” he reassured you with a squeeze. “You’re so damn strong and you’re going to be fine, no matter what happens.”

You were quiet for a moment, and eventually asked in a small voice, “What am I going to tell Mom?”

Bucky didn’t have an answer. It was probably for the best, because your heart was breaking all over again, and you cried into his arms until you didn’t have any tears left to shed.

It was noon before the two of you got out of bed. You hadn’t slept at all except for a moment or two of light dozing. Bucky insisted you eat something. A tray of food had appeared, you didn’t know from where, and you managed to stomach some crackers and pieces of fruit. You did it more to ease Bucky’s worries and to get him to eat too.

Before the appointed hour of doom, you sought out Strange for that stay-of-execution yourself. You pled with Wong to grant you an audience with Strange, and when he prepared to shoot you down, you said, “I spoke to the Ancient One.”

It was all you had to say. You’d expected Wong to treat you like you were delusional, but his expression grew serious as he looked between you and Bucky, and finally said, “Come with me. Now. Not you, Barnes. Just her.”

Bucky grimaced, but you gave him a weak smile.

“Back before you know it.”

He eyed your smile doubtfully; Bucky knew the reason you wanted to speak to Strange, but that wasn’t going to deter you from doing everything in your power to change their minds.

You told Strange everything about the memory. About witnessing the Winter Soldier’s death, about joining and interacting with him in the memory of the demon realm, and finally, of passively watching everything that came after. Only when the Ancient One had noticed your presence that you could finally distinguish between your consciousness and Bucky’s.

Your hope was that Strange would see just how intertwined you and Bucky were, and that freezing Bucky was a cruel idea.

Unfortunately, he seemed to come to the opposite conclusion.

“Sergeant Barnes should have come to me as soon as he broke his oath,” Strange said, fingers steepled from where he sat behind his desk. “He could have easily killed you, or worse, caused you to lose yourself. It’s apparent this bond goes far deeper than it should, and it is a danger to your wellbeing.”

“But,” you stammered, digging your fingers into the hem of your sweater, “the Ancient One helped Bucky. She trusted him. She knew he wasn’t—“

“Dangerous?” Strange interrupted, brow raised. “Of course she did. It was why she made the bargain to begin with: freedom without feeding. The cryo-chamber is not a punishment; Barnes cannot deny his nature any more than a shark sensing blood in the water. He’s driven by deep instinctual urges that he can’t control, not while he’s bonded to you. If he were a free demon, that would be one thing. The formula would work and he could live without feeding, or if you both decided, the feeding could be consensual. But since this pact was formed, even unintentionally, the bond between you is irresistible and deadly.”

Strange rose to his feet, rearranging his cape.

“This is for his sake as much as it’s for yours.”

“And what if you’re wrong!” you cried, panic clawing at your throat. “What if the Ancient One was talking about this moment when she said I had to make a choice! A choice that would affect us both!”

Strange shook his head as he rounded his desk to face you.

“Whatever she saw, whatever her reasons for giving you that bit of advice? It doesn’t apply to this moment simply because you wish it to. And besides, she said it would be your choice. The decision to put Barnes into stasis is mine, not yours. You have no control in this matter, so I doubt that’s what she was referring to.”

“But—“ You tried again, but he raised a hand and you fell silent. His expression was not unkind, and that was perhaps the worst thing of all. He really did believe he was helping you and Bucky.

“We will, of course, look for unexplored avenues of binding magic. There’s no guarantee we will find an answer, and if we do, it could take years. You should prepare yourself for the possibility that this is the best we can do.” Strange met your eye and his face softened. “I truly am sorry.”

That was it, then. There was no hope. You were numb again when you returned to Bucky. He wasn’t alone.

“Hi.”

One of the most recognizable and famous people on the planet extended his hand to shake yours. Old-fashioned manners died hard, you supposed.

“I’m Steve,” he said, his smile reserved but charming.

It was a true testament to your mental state that you didn’t even blink. Shaking hands with Captain America did very little to break you out of your numb distress.

“I’m sorry you two have to meet like this,” Bucky said, shuffling slightly on his feet. “You both deserve better.”

“Don’t worry about it, Buck.” The tall, blond man clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you reached out to me. I wished we had more time to talk, to catch up, but… it’s more than I had before.”

It seemed Steve Rogers had gotten used to living in the future; he was wearing fairly ordinary jeans, boots, and a riding jacket. He looked even more gallant and heroic than in the videos.

And still, you stared at him with all the personality of a rock. Bucky noticed.

“Hey, Steve. Give us a minute, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Rogers gave you a small, almost shy smile before ducking out of the room. Even through your numbness, you could acknowledge how weird this was. Bucky contacting his best-friend-slash-previous-boyfriend so that he could check in on his current-girlfriend-slash-human-slave while he was put in a fridge.

It would have been really funny if not for the horrifying fact you only had two hours left.

Bucky was about to speak, but whatever it was died on his lips as you launched forward and wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in his shoulder.

He returned the gesture, lightly rubbing your back.

“I appreciate you trying, sweetheart, but… this is for the best.”

“It’s not,” you said, sniffling into his jacket. “It’s a mistake, and I’m the only one who sees it.”

Bucky said nothing but he did continue to stroke your back. Maybe there was some part of him that agreed with you, that didn’t want to leave.

When you asked him that very question, Bucky pulled back and said, “Of course I don’t want to leave.”

You bit your lip to keep from barking out then don’t! Instead, you said, “Will you stay with me until…”

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “Yeah, of course.”

Bucky left for only a few minutes to talk to Rogers, telling him what you had no idea, and then he returned to find you moping on the couch. He picked you up and sat down, sitting you in his lap and wrapping his arms tight around you. Resting your head on his shoulder, you curled up in his limbs as much as possible, happy when he dropped his guise. He’d kept it up when Steve had been present. You could guess why, and it made your heart ache to know Bucky still had so much shame over what he was.

It was silent between you; there wasn’t anything left to say that couldn’t be expressed in the small, desperate, meaningful touches. Two hours had never gone by so quickly.

Bucky led you through the hallways, and the warm, ruddy decorations had never felt so cold and distant. Rogers was waiting outside a closed door, one that looked vaguely familiar. And it should. This was the room where Davin had been freed of the heigore.

The stone altar was gone, and in its place, a massive sarcophagus-like object. It stood open, tendrils of fog curling from its glowing interior as Strange, Wong, and several other sorcerers stood around it.

You wanted to grab Bucky and drag him out of there, away from such an evil-looking instrument. They were going to put him in that thing? It looked like a stone coffin, or an Iron Maiden, or any number of torture devices.

But you didn’t do any of those things. This was hard enough for Bucky, unimaginably so, and you weren’t going to make it more difficult by causing a scene.

Instead, you squeezed his hand and clung to his outstretched fingers until the two sorcerers that now reminded you of prison guards led him away to the thing that would trap him inside.

You hadn’t even said goodbye. You’d thought your actions over the past few hours had been enough to convey what you felt, but what if it wasn’t? What if Bucky was frozen without ever knowing what he meant to you?

You took a step forward, but a large hand clamped down on your shoulder. It wasn’t harsh but it was firm, and it pulled you back a step. You glared over your shoulder, and Rogers gave you a pitying look.

You almost shook him off, suddenly angry at the Avenger, but you let the hand stay where it was, turning back to Bucky with your heart in your throat. He was turned around now, facing you as the sorcerers helped him step back into the shadow of the chamber. He hadn’t had a choice about keeping his guise down today, and his wings were tucked into the shell on his back as his tail wrapped tightly around his leg.

The heavy iron door closed with a finality that stopped your heart. Pneumatic hisses and an intensified humming filled the room.

You could see Bucky’s face through the oval window of the door. White fog blew from his mouth, steaming up the glass, but it didn’t cover up the fact he was scared. It was in the widening of his eyes and the quick pace of his breathing. Too fast and shallow.

You tried to take another step forward, but Rogers wouldn’t let you. You wanted to jerk away, scream at him to do something! That was his best friend in there and Rogers was an Avenger, for fuck’s sake! Couldn’t he stop this?!

But Rogers only stared at the iron coffin that held Bucky, his expression pained, even if he did hide it well behind a stern mask.

Strange stepped forward, expression equally somber. He drew his palm in a circle in the air, and a series of concentric glowing circles appeared on the side of the chamber. He tapped them with his fingers, almost as if he were working a machine panel.

All at once, the window went almost completely opaque as it was covered with ice, and at the same moment, agony shot through your chest like a freezing steel blade.

Doubling over, unable to draw air, you would have collapsed if not for Roger’s arms around your waist. The sound escaping you didn’t sound human. It was a wounded animal, dying in agony.

Your veins were fire and your lungs filled with ice. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, someone was squeezing your heart in their fist, and with a vicious wrench, tore it out.

Even as Rogers pulled you back out of the room, as the sorcerers surged forward with concerned expressions, you clawed weakly at the air, reaching out for the machine where your heart was contained, and was forced to leave it behind.

Next Chapter

[wayward-dreamer]

If It Was To Work

Title: If It Was To Work

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,949

Warnings: Slight angst, Fluff, Smut, Fingering, p in v, Happy Ending, SPOILERS FOR 15.08 OUR FATHER WHO AREN’T IN HEAVEN

Summary: Dean gave Sam some great advice. Sam just wishes he’d take his own advice sometimes.They had a lot on their plate with their Chuck situation, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take on an old-fashion, black and white case. That also doesn’t mean they can’t go out and celebrate a job well done afterwards.Walking into that bar and seeing you was the last thing Dean thought was going to happen.Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe he should listen to his own advice.**SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR 15.08 OUR FATHER WHO AREN'T IN HEAVEN**

A/N: My first one-shot on Tumblr! Find it on AO3 too! I hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)

Some would probably say that going off to kill some vampires in Iowa while they still have their God problem would be a bad idea.

To Dean, it was the best idea Sam had that week.

He had been itching to get back to a regular, normal, non-Chuck related hunt for weeks and he was very glad to be hacking heads off vamps just outside of Des Moines.

Taking out a cloth from his back pocket, Dean walked towards the Impala as he wiped the cloth down the length of the machete to get the blood off. He dropped the machete into the weapons box, just as Sam came up behind him and did the same. Dean shut the trunk and walked over to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the engine.

“I don’t know about you, but I could go for a cool one” Dean smirked, as the radio started.

Sam nodded. “You know what, let’s do it.”

Dean frowned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean we haven’t done a victory beer at a bar in a while, so why not?” Sam shrugged.

“Okay.” Dean said, looking between Sam and the road. “Better take this opportunity now before you change your mind.”

Sam rolled his eyes, as he scrolled through his phone. Dean continued to drive for about 15 minutes before they spotted a roadside bar. He pulled the Impala up into an empty spot, before shutting the engine off. He got out of the car, as Sam followed behind him.

“You grab a spot, I’ll get the beers” Sam said, as he took in the large gathering within the bar.

Dean looked around the bar, taking in his surroundings. They hadn’t done this in a long time, and he was glad that they didn’t have to get back to the Bunker straight away. No one had any leads on Chuck, so they could take a day if they wanted to. At this point they needed to. As his eyes roamed over the patrons, they stopped on one person in particular.

She leaned over the pool table, lining up the shot, giving him a great view of her ass in the dark blue jeans that she wore. Round, perky and irresistible. Perfect. As she stood from taking the shot, Dean caught a glimpse of the tattoo she had on her right arm; a sleeve of vines and flowers. She laughed, as the two burly men they were playing with forked over a roll of cash each. The girl had confidence. Dean smirked, already taking out some cash to buy her a drink. Something about her felt familiar, though, as he continued to admire her.

When she turned away from her friend and faced the rest of the bar, it hit him like a fucking Mack Truck. A flood of memories flashed through his mind, all at once, knocking the wind out of him.

Y/N. Y/N was here. In the same bar as him. After all these years of never having run into each other, not even on a hunt, and here she was.

Damn it. This had to be Chuck’s doing, right?

He suddenly heard a snapping sound and saw something waving in front of his face. He shook his head and looked away, facing Sam. His brother was wide-eyed and confused, his forehead creased as he looked at him.

“Dean, where the hell were you?” he asked.

Dean shook his head again, lifting the beer to his lips and taking a large gulp from it. “N-nothing. I mean, nowhere. Nothing. Shut up.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, bewildered by Dean’s sudden odd behaviour. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just-” Dean started to answer Sam but when he looked up, he saw that Y/N was walking towards the bar.

She was wearing a tight black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and her Y/C/H flowing behind her as she walked. However, much like him, she took in her surroundings and stopped in her tracks when she saw him. Sam saw Dean go completely still and wondered what was happening. He turned around and knew straight away what was going on. No wonder he was acting strangely. Dean slowly got up from the stool at their high top, leaving his drink behind. As he hesitantly walked closer to Y/N, her eyes widened in shock. He was just a few inches away from her when he took in her features. She hadn’t changed; she was still as beautiful as ever.

Y/N took him in. How was it possible that the man became more attractive with age? She looked past him at Sam, who gave her a small smile. She couldn’t believe that in all the years since she and Dean parted ways, she would be seeing them again now and in the most random of bars.

“H-hi” she squeaked out, as she moved closer to Dean.

Dean nodded. “Hey.”

She brushed her knuckles together, as she looked around the room. She was trying to avoid looking at him too long, for fear that she might burst into tears.

“How are you?” she asked, only glancing at him before looking away again.

A sad smile crossed Dean’s face when he realised what she was doing. She was forgetting how well he knew her.

“Have I really changed that much that you can’t look at me?” he said, in the most light-hearted manner he could muster up, but it still held a sadness behind it.

She finally looked up at him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“You’d be surprised” Dean grimaced, wishing he had brought his drink over with him.

Everything else in that bar faded into the background as Dean and Y/N continued to look at each other. A range of thoughts and emotions flooded Dean’s mind as he thought back on how they had left things the last time they were together. There was so much about that night that he regretted, the most painful of which he knew was something neither of them had gotten over. It was the greatest regret of his life; letting her go. Pushing her away. What he didn’t know was that she completely understood why he did what did. She always understood.

Y/N looked back at her friend who was still preoccupied by the men they were playing pool with. She turned back to Dean and knew she had a couple of options here. She either walked away and went back to her friend, forgetting about him completely. Or… she asked him to have a drink with her, for old times’ sake. She took a deep breath, ready to ask him and possibly open herself up to being heartbroken again.

“Hey, you wanna grab a drink with me and Sammy?” Dean asked, beating her to it. The same thoughts had been running through his head; about whether or not to ask her.

She smiled properly this time, a full wattage smile that reached her shining eyes. “I’d love that.”

Y/N walked over with Dean to their table and smiled at Sam. Sam immediately got up from his seat and hugged her, causing her to laugh.

“I swear you got bigger somehow” she laughed.

“How are you?” he asked, smiling.

“I’m good” she said, simply. “Honestly can’t complain. I know you two have it worse.”

“What? You been keeping tabs on us?” Dean asked, intrigued as to whether she was or not.

“Not really, but… Garth talks. A lot” she replied, laughing again.

Dean scoffed as he smirked. “Figures.”

They all proceeded to catch up on everything from the past years. Y/N told them how she now had a place in town, somewhere to come back to after a hunt. Sam told her about the Bunker and she was suddenly giddy.

“Oh man, I gotta see it” she smiled.

“Yeah, first time we got there… couldn’t really believe that it was real” Sam said, smiling too.

Dean smirked as he watched Y/N. “You should, you know? See it, I mean. You should uh… You should come over some time.”

Y/N looked at him and smiled softly. “I will.”

Sam looked between Dean and Y/N. He remembered Dean telling him about what happened between them and knew there was a lot of things that were left unfinished between them.

“You know, I’m not feeling too great” Sam said, getting up from his seat. “I’m going to get a cab, head back to our motel. Leave you two to catch up.”

Dean glared at Sam while Y/N wasn’t looking. He knew what he was doing.

“Oh okay, well it was good to see you” she smiled, as she hugged him again.

“You too” Sam said.

As he moved behind her, Sam turned around and gestured to her. Getting Dean’s attention, he mouthed “talk” before he gave Dean a knowing smile and walked away. Dean shook his head but quickly turned back to Y/N before she noticed the silent conversation between him and his brother.

“Another round?” he asked.

“Sure” she replied.

Y/N and Dean sat across from each other, each of them had two empty beer bottles in front of them. They had both moved onto whiskey. Dean brought his glass to his lips, taking a large sip. Y/N turned the glass around in her hands, watching the amber liquid move around.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d see you again” she laughed, the sound of it somewhere between sincere and bitter. “I thought you and Sam were so good at hiding… I’d never run into you.”

Dean huffed. “Small world, I guess.”

She nodded and smiled sadly but didn’t say anything else.

“Listen, Y/N-” Dean started but she placed her hand on top of his to stop him. He looked at her and wondered what was wrong but was confused when she smiled at him.

“Dean, I know you’re about to apologise and you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong” she said.

“Didn’t do anything wrong? Are you kidding me? I left without even saying goodbye. All I gave you was a fucking note saying I had to go, and I was sorry” he said, his voice angry but lowered so no one heard them.

“Don’t you think I knew why? Dean, I knew you had to go back with your dad. I knew you would do anything for him, how important your family is to you. I get it, Dean. I always have. I don’t hold any of it against you, I don’t blame you for what you did. I never have” she explained, tightening her hold on his hand.

Dean looked up at her, his expression sad and yet bewildered by what she just said. She got it, why he had to leave. She understood.

He suddenly remembered the advice he gave Sam recently about Eileen.

She gets it, you know? She gets us, she gets the life.

It was with the same with Y/N.

If it was to work…

Could it work again? For them? Could they go back to what they were with everything that was going on with Chuck?

You don’t ever think about something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?

Sam had said that to him once. When he would find himself thinking about Y/N over the years, he always thought about what Sam had said.

Y/N gripped his hand tighter, smiling as she looked down at their hands intertwined. She stroked her thumb over his knuckles, thinking back on all the times she had done it all those years ago.

“I missed you” she said, looking up at him.

Dean looked into her eyes. He could see what she was feeling in that moment because he felt the same. He had a decision to make. Let go of her hand, get in the Impala and drive away, leaving her behind. Or take her hand, go back to her place and pick up where they left off. Option 2 was tempting but he was scared. Scared of what might happen to her if he did. Then the words he said to Sam repeated themselves in his mind. He had to try.

Dean picked up his drink and gulped down the whiskey in one hit. Y/N did the same, knowing what was thinking and being on the same page as him, instantly. He took out a few bills from his wallet and put them under his glass, before taking her hand in his. He led her out of the bar and over to the Impala. Opening the door for her, she sat inside before he walked over to the driver’s side. Getting in behind the wheel, he started up the engine.

“So, where to?” he asked.

She smiled as he turned the radio on. Zeppelin. Just like old times. “Take a left at the exit.”

Dean pulled out of the parking lot and followed Y/N’s directions all the way to her house. When they arrived, he parked outside. It was a small, quaint one-storey, enough for her and maybe even someone else to live in. They got out of the car and he followed behind her as she guided him inside. It was spacious and decorated simply, yet it wasn’t empty by any means. The lounge flowed into the kitchen which had a door to the backyard and outdoor furnishings.

“Nice place” Dean said, looking around.

“It was my parents. When dad died after the ghoul hunt, he gave it to me, but I started hunting instead. When I realised I needed a safe place to come back to, I came back here” she explained.

Y/N walked closer to Dean. “You want another drink?”

He shook his head as she stood in front of him, close enough to smell her perfume.

“No” he replied, simply.

Dean pulled her closer, before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, instantly. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his came around her waist. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their lips still connected. He felt the same, like nothing had changed, and yet it somehow felt new.

She pulled away from the kiss but still kept her lips against his. “Down the hall, on the right.”

She leaned down to press her lips to neck, as he carried her to the bedroom. He was slightly distracted by her lips as he stumbled down the hallway but made it to the room without crashing into things.

She lowered herself from him, her feet firmly on the floor. They didn’t waste any time, as they kissed heatedly and began to remove their clothes. Dean pulled away to take her in as she stripped down to red bra and panties. She was as beautiful as the first time he saw her.

“Fuck” he groaned, as he leaned in and began kissing her neck.

She took his shirt in her hands and pushed it off, only pulling away from him to lift his black shirt over his head.

“Dean” she moaned as her hands roamed his chest.

Dean gently placed his hand behind her head, until she laid down on her back. He sat up to pull her bra off, and leaned in to place kisses along her breasts. His hand wandered down her body, his fingers feeling how wet she already was through her panties. He wanted her so badly, even after all this time apart. He missed her.

His hands trailed her body, feeling her smooth skin against his calloused hands. She whimpered, feeling his rough yet light, soothing touch. She closed her eyes as she thought about how they were in the past, and how much she still wanted him. So much time had passed since they were last together like this, but he still remembered the right pressure and movements that drove her crazy. He pulled her panties down her legs and slowly ran his fingers along her pussy.

“Dean” she sighed, in a needy whisper. She pushed herself up on her elbows and cupped his cheek in her hand. “Can we… can we do that later? I just…”

Dean smirked and leaned forward, nudging his nose against hers. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes, just as lust blown as hers. “I want you inside me.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, passionately, before he shifted back. He wasn’t about to waste any more time with her.

He quickly pushed his boxers down before he moved closer to her. Y/N pulled him as close as she could to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as he settled himself between her legs. He pressed his lips against hers, as his hands moved her legs to wrap around his waist, trying to get even closer to her if that was possible. She reached down between their bodies and took his length in her hand, holding it near her entrance. Dean moved his hips forward as he looked down at her, his cock slowly pressed into her. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed, a small smile spread across her face. When he was fully inside her, he waited. He wanted to do this right and not rush things. Apparently Y/N had other ideas though, as she combed her fingers through his hair roughly, and pulled him in with her legs.

“Dean” she gasped against his lips. “Please move.”

Dean chuckled softly, kissing her once. “Someone’s impatient.”

She gripped his hair tighter and groaned. He glared down at her playfully as she winked, her eyes glinting with mischief. He shook his head and smirked, leaning down to kiss her once again.

Dean pushed his hips forward and then back. He set a slow pace, thrusting carefully and taking his time. She leaned up and kissed his neck, biting his collar bone as her arms wrapped tighter around him. They looked into each other’s eyes, seeing all the years of longing for each other and how much they still loved each other.

“Dean” she moaned. “Harder.”

Dean wrapped his arms around her back and sat up. He leaned back and sat her in his lap, looking right into her eyes and their arms came around each other. She moaned into his mouth as his lips captured hers, her hands in his hair as her hips rocked against his. His left hand wandered into her hair as his right held onto her hip, his fingers pressing into her flesh.

“Fuck” he groaned, as her hips came down hard, repeatedly.

“Dean… I love you” she said, a hitch in her voice.

His hips begin to rock harder against her, as he pulled her in even closer. He kissed her fiercely, lightly biting her lip.

“Dean, I… oh my God” she moaned loudly, as she kissed her neck, the spot that always drove her crazy.

“Fuck, sweetheart” he huffed. “You feel so damn good.”

“Dean, I… I’m close” she gasped.

Dean could feel it. Her hips started to move faster, stutter slightly as she became overwhelmed with what she was feeling.

“Let go for me, Y/N” he said, looking up at her.

“Dean, I…” she started but cut herself off as she moaned loudly.

Y/N’s eyes shut tightly, as she moaned his name repeatedly through her climax. Dean’s hips moved faster and harder, as he feels his own release. Y/N placed her hands on his neck, as her thumbs ran along his jaw.

“Dean, baby” she moaned sweetly, as she smiled at him. “Cum for me, Dean. Cum inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/N” he grunted as he came, spilling his seed inside her.

He rode out his climax, resting his forehead against her chest. Y/N held him close, her hands in his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

They came down from their high, breathing heavily. Dean lifted his head and looked up at her, his hand cupping her cheek and bringing her closer. Their lips met in a soft kiss, once, twice. Dean pulled away and looked at her again.

“I love you” he whispered, his breath still laboured from their love making.

Dean slowly pulled out of her, turned and laid down on his back. Y/N laid down next to him and pushed herself closer. He wrapped his arm around her as she laid her head on his chest and hooked her leg around his. They laid there in silence for a while, as they enjoyed the quiet and basked in the afterglow. Dean took a deep breath, trying to figure out what he was going to say next. How he was going to say what he wanted to since they got to her apartment.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, breaking the silence first.

Dean huffed a laugh. Of course, she knew that he wanted to say something.

He took another deep breath. “What would you say… if I said that I… if I said that I wanted to start things up again?” he asked, ripping off the Band-Aid.

Y/N turned and leaned her chin on his chest. Her eyebrows furrowed as she didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

Dean brushed his hand down her arm, absentmindedly. “I mean that we hunt, together, and then we came back here… or the Bunker… together.”

She smiled softly as she thought about what he meant.

“Some things that have happened recently, they’re… they’re making me think differently about this life. About my life. I just know that now that we’re back here…” Dean explained, taking her hand in his. “I’m not ready to give it up again.”

She sighed as she leaned in and kissed his hand. “Me neither.”

“I know I’m risking everything again, doing this with you. I mean, we’re on God’s radar, and he could strike down at any minute but…” Dean started but stopped when she cut him off with her lips. She kissed him hard, pulling away and leaving him breathless.

“We can do it, Dean. Things are different now… scarier, yeah, sure but… I get it. I know what your life is and what it could mean, I know that joining you means I won’t be a regular, running-after-a-normal-monster hunter anymore. I know it and… I don’t care. Despite everything, despite whatever gets thrown at us… I know we can make it work” she said, as she shifted forward and leaned her forehead against his.

Dean smirked. She gets it. She gets the life. “So… we’re really doing this?”

She grinned back. “Yeah. We are.”

Dean leaned in and kissed her, passionately. He slowly rolled her onto her back, the kiss growing and becoming more intense. They both knew the risks, hell, they knew they could die at any minute, but as long as they had each other they had something more to fight for. The years of missing each other and now finding each other again, it would all be worth it when they got out of this alive. He was determined. They would find a way to get rid of Chuck, they would find a way to live a comfortable life, and when that happened, he wanted Y/N by his side.

The next morning, after the sun had risen and they made love once again, Dean made her breakfast. They ate and laughed together. Dean answered a call from Sam about another hunt he found. Y/N packed up her duffle bag and placed it next to Dean’s in the Impala’s trunk. They smiled at each other as she sat next to him, listening to classic tunes as they went to meet up with Sam and go off on the next hunt.

Together.

[journalofimprobablethings]

Chapters: 3/4

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Annabelle Cane, Mikaele Salesa

Tags: Memory Loss, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams vs. Reality, Angst with a Happy Ending

Chapter Summary:

Jon doesn't have a plan; no destination except away from the thing pretending to be Martin.

Preview:

Jon doesn't have a plan. He doesn't know where he is; the house he's in (is it a house? It seems too big, too sterile, like a museum rather than a place people live) is a maze, a confusion of passages and too-large rooms and galleries. He thinks briefly of Michael and his hallways, the way that Helen Richardson described them: a shifting, changing labyrinth with no sense of direction and no exit.

He wonders if he is actually dreaming after all, or if he has somehow ended up in those halls, if he has fallen from one nightmare straight into another.

How would he know?

He has no destination, nowhere he is running except for away from the thing that was pretending to be Martin, and so he just runs, choosing directions and turns at random until he spills out into a large, bright room with French doors on the far wall and selection of ugly, expensive furniture. He skids to a halt in the middle of the room, staring at those doors.

Let's go outside, the Not-Martin had said.  This place is hurting you.

A part of him wants to do the exact opposite of what that thing said, sure that whatever it wants can't be for his good. On the other hand, the green of the grounds outside looks so inviting, a large open swath of land that is the polar opposite of the passages he just ran through.

He screws his eyes shut, clenching his fists.

He wishes he could just wake up. The museum isn't exactly pleasant, but at least he knows what to expect. At least he has no decisions to make.

Wake up, he thinks.  Wake up wake up wake up—

"Everything all right, Archivist?"

Jon yelps in surprise, whipping around to find the source of the voice behind him.

A man is sitting at a grand piano at one end of the room. He has an impeccable shaved head and an impeccably tailored suit and he looks completely out of place in this old-fashioned space. 

"Who—who are you?"

The man cocks his head as if the question surprises him. Then a slow smile spreads over his face, like he's just heard an excellent joke. It makes Jon intensely uncomfortable.

"This really isn't a good place for you, is it? I wonder, how much of you is left without your god?"

"W-what?"

The man shakes his head and chuckles. "Don't mind me. I just find it all fascinating, the way you avatars connect with your patron. Every one just a little bit different, but you all end up dependent on it one way or another."

"Avatar?" Jon sputters. "I'm not—" The word avatar conjures up images of Jane Prentiss, Mike Crewe, Jude Perry. All the people he's met who willingly gave themselves to whatever powers it is that have been plaguing him. They  chose  it, though, and he didn't choose it, he never would have— "That's not what this—who are you?"

"Mikaele Salesa," the man says, smiling. He seems totally at ease, unfazed by Jon's stuttering protests. "I think you have heard of me?"

"Salesa? The artefact dealer? What are you..? Why would I..?"

The questions dissipate in his mind before he can complete them. He has heard of Salesa, of course, read about him, but he cannot fathom why he would be here in his dream.

Is it a dream? He isn't sure anymore, isn't sure of anything.

His head hurts.

Jon puts a hand to his head, staggering a little as his vision goes momentarily wavy.

"Why don't you sit down, Archivist, before you fall down," Salesa says from somewhere in front of him. He still sounds mildly amused, and a spike of annoyance momentarily cuts through the cloud of Jon's confusion. He makes a face, but moves towards one of the uncomfortable looking sofas anyway, trying his best to move in a straight line. When Salesa speaks again, his voice sounds like it is coming from some distance off.

"Where is Martin, then? I would think he would want to be looking after you."

Jon stops.

Martin?

He knows where he left the thing that was pretending to be Martin—in the hall staring after him with an uncomfortably devastated expression. Has Salesa seen it too? Why would he think it would be taking care of him?

He remembers how the Not-Martin had looked at him, so sad and afraid, how it—he?—had stepped forward to catch him when he stumbled. The tiny wobble in his voice as he tried to get Jon to listen.

Jon, please.

Does it—is there a chance that was really Martin, after all?

Jon shakes his head. Nothing makes sense anymore. Everything is swimming; he didn't know it was possible to feel this ill in a dream, if that's even what this is. The sofa in front of him blurs and tilts and he stumbles away from it, reaching out a hand to try to find something, anything solid. He really does feel ill, he—

Jon blinks.

He's standing in a room he doesn't recognize, and he's not sure how he got here.

He's not at home, certainly not in the Archives; the intricate carvings and rich curtains that decorate this room are the farthest thing possible from the drear institutional decor of that basement. 

It looks, more than anything, like a room in one of those big country houses, the kind you can take tours of, to see how the other half used to live. This room is vaguely familiar; he thinks he may have been somewhere like this before. Maybe as a child? The memories slip away when he tries to snatch at them, fading like a dream.

Dreams. He must be dreaming. And if he's dreaming, then…

Jon looks up and his heart sinks as he sees a man sitting in front of him at a grand piano, watching him. He doesn't remember taking a statement about a country house, but he must have, because here is the other person, as there always is.

He wonders dully when the nightmare will start.

But then the man does something that none of his nightmare victims—and Jon only just started to think of them that way, as victims, but what else can they be, the way they look at him?—has ever done.

He smiles at him.

And then he speaks.

"Everything all right, Archivist?"

Jon stares at him. "Yes, I...that is, I—I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man chuckles, and shakes his head, and even though he knows that this isn't how it usually works, that this is something new—Jon has the oddest sensation that he has had this dream before.

[starkerforlife6969]

Howard Buys Tony an Omega Part 8

TW: Angst with a happy ending, lonely Peter, Omega Peter, Alpha Tony

Though you don’t need to, to understand, you can read the rest here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Tony is twenty-three and overworked. He knows he wants Stark Industries to be something great, but there are so many avenues to go down. So many different routes to take. He’s so tired. It’s exhilarating. It’s exhausting.

When he wakes up from another fitful sleep (so many ideas, buzzing around his head all the time), Peter isn’t in bed beside him: snuggled up with some book, or sound asleep. Tony frowns, but isn’t surprised. His Omega’s been acting a little oddly the past few days.

He pulls himself out of bed and can smell bacon and eggs. Sure enough, Peter’s in the kitchen. He’s in a fluffy pink robe, cheeks still warm and wet from his shower. Tony sits down at the table and reaches for his plate, smiling.

“Smells great, gorgeous,” he grins, and Peter returns his smile: small and a little brittle.

Tony frowns. He nudges Peter’s ankle under the table. “There’s a gala tomorrow night. Another fundraiser. You can get all dolled up.” He teases.

Peter doesn’t smile. Doesn’t bounce with glee like normal. He just sets down his fork with dainty fingers and nods. “Am I supposed to speak at this one?” He asks, tone faux-innocent.

Tony doesn’t like that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Jesus, Pete, it’s one night.” God, he’s getting a headache. He pushes his plate away from him and decides to go to his study, get a little more work done.

They’re running late.

Well, they’re not- Tony’s driver is, and goddamn is he gonna fire that guy. He grabs his cufflinks, fumbling fingers still stained here and there with pencil smudges, and hurries to the door.

Peter’s stood waiting there: a vision. Wrapped up like a present, his dress has an enormous bow cinched behind his tiny waist, gloves up to his elbows and-

A very sad look on his face.

Tony groans, rolling his eyes. “We can deal with whatever’s bothering you after tonight, baby,” he promises, giving Peter a distracted kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go.”

“My coat-”

“It’s not cold out.”

It is cold out. Peter’s arms erupt in goosebumps the second they step outside. Tony groans and rushes them into the car.

The driver steps on it. They get to the gala fashionably late but not edging on rude. It’s a flurry of people, governors and investors. Obie isn’t here, thank god.

“Tony,” Campbell, one of the younger investors, beams, appearing out of nowhere. Tony shakes his hand. “And this must be your Omega. Well, don’t you have it all?”

Tony smirks, tugging Peter into his side. “Best thing in my life.”

“I’m sure.” Campbell murmurs, taking Peter’s hand. Tony watches as Peter blushes, deeper than normal, and looks up at Campbell through his perfect chestnut curls. “Jesus.” Campbell breathes, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Peter, Sir.” Peter murmurs.

“And how do you like the event so far?”

Peter’s eyes flicker to Tony, who squeezes his hip with reassurance. “We’ve just arrived but I think it’s lovely.”

“Absolutely,” Tony grins, “I’ll get us some drinks.”

On his way to the bar, he gets a few more pats on the back, a few more congratulations not only on his blossoming business but on his gorgeous Omega. Tony relaxes. He watches out of the corner of his eye as he gets handed two champagnes. Peter’s being quiet, sophisticated, demure. He has a little crowd of people around him.

Everyone is enamoured.

This is realms better than what happened at Charity Gardens.

He heads back and hands Peter his champagne, only for the Omega to blink at it in surprise. Tony quirks an eyebrow: amused.

“I don’t…” Peter’s voice breaks, “I don’t like champagne, Alpha.”

“Aww,” a few of the onlookers chuckle. Campbell claps Tony on the shoulder. “I’ll get him something sweet-”

Tony knows that. He knows Peter doesn’t like champagne. Peter likes ridiculously sugary, fruity cocktails if he has to have any alcohol at all. Fuck. And now Tony looks like a shit Alpha and fucking Campbell is trying to move in- “He’s fine.” Tony cuts him off, pressing the glass into Peter’s hand. “You’ll drink it.” He says meaningfully to his Omega..

The people around them shift awkwardly. Peter takes the glass, eyes sparkling with tears. The liquid sloshes with his trembling.

“Tony.” Campbell mutters, sounding shocked. “He doesn’t-”

Peter takes a little sip, unable to hide his initial disgust, but schooling it as quickly as he can and swallowing. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears and he looks up at Tony for approval.

Tony shakes his head, deflating. “Go out onto the deck, Pete. Chuck it in the bushes. I’ll get you something else.”

Peter nods and hurries away.

“Well,” Campbell clears his throat, “I take it you didn’t choose him yourself.”

“What?”

“I mean, if he’s for sale-”

“He’s not. We’re bonded.” Tony snaps. “He’s just been behaving like a brat recently.”

At that, he gets a sigh of understanding. “That happens,” Hannah murmurs, “they always go through a little moody spell. Even the best ones.”

Tony drinks his champagne.

***

He sets down the crystal flute of the champagne glass on the ledge of the patio. It’s untouched, and Peter feels bad for the waste, but he can’t stomach the taste. He swallows hard and tries to be brave. He learnt about this at Green. Every bonding goes through a rough patch. And Tony is working so hard- entering the prime of Alpha life- achieving so much. Peter should be grateful and proud- and he is- he is proud, he’s so proud. He wants to do nothing more than gush over his Alpha, but he feels so alone-

“My god,” comes a deep voice, and Peter blinks away tears, spinning around to see a tall, grey-haired Alpha standing in the doorway. “I wish you were out here waiting for me.”

Peter blushes like fire, feeling the Alpha’s gaze down his body. He smiles, and hopes it looks polite. If this is one of Tony’s possible investors, he wants to be as good as possible. “Thank you, Sir. But I’m not waiting for anyone. Just admiring.” He gestures to the stars.

The Alpha closes steps out onto the patio. The moonlight lights his face. A strapping jaw. Piercing blue eyes. A kind smile. “Please. The most beautiful Omega I’ve ever seen, you did not come here alone. Who’s the fool?”

Peter smoothes his hands over his dress, trying to stop them from shaking. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “I’m bonded to Tony Stark. He’s not a fool. He’s a genius.”

If the Alpha recognises the name he doesn’t show it. He hums thoughtfully. “A dress like that was made for dancing. Has your Alpha danced with you tonight?”

Pain blossoms in Peter’s chest. He shakes his head but smiles. “Not yet.”

The Alpha strides over and holds out his hand.

Peter hesitates.

The Alpha must sense it, because he threads their fingers together and tugs Peter towards him. “Just a dance.” He murmurs.

Peter relaxes into his embrace. It’s almost perfect. Under mossy eaves and under starlight, the distance music of the hall. But it’s not perfect. Because this Alpha is too tall and too broad. His hands don’t hold Peter quite the same way.

“Don’t look so sad, gorgeous,” The Alpha hums, twirling Peter suddenly and causing him to giggle in surprise. “There we go,” the Alpha grins, “sublime.”

Peter can’t remember the last time he and Tony danced. He lets his eyes drift close and sways.

When the music draws to an end inside, Peter feels fingers brush his curls behind his ear. He steps away, flushing-

And he sees Tony’s sharp silhouette in the doorway.

Cut against the light in an ebony suit, eyes dark and unreadable, drinking a cool glass of champagne, stem pinched tight in his fingers.

Their eyes meet.

“Tony,” Peter whispers, rushing over, a horrible dread running through him. What has he done? He curls his fingers over Tony’s hand, tears pricking in his eyes, but his Alpha won’t look at him.

“Peter. Senator.” Tony nods, voice cold, pulling out of Peter’s grasp, and heading back inside.

*

They don’t talk when they get back to the penthouse. Peter is a small, sad figure by his side. Tony refuses the urge to comfort him.

When Peter heads towards the kitchen, Tony shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.” He mutters, loosening his bowtie and heading to the bedroom.

He lies in the dark, waiting for Peter. He thinks about what he’ll say. He needs to address this behaviour. Needs to understand where his sweet, loving Omega went. Needs to reprimand him. The thought isn’t pleasant. Not with Peter’s sensitive heart, not with his pretty tears.

But that’s what they are. Pretty. To dance with another Alpha. Peter’s behaviour has been rude and Tony can’t explain it. He’s angry, irritated and jealous. To see his Omega in that old Senator’s  arms- he’s seething.

He falls into another fitful sleep, and when he wakes with a jerk, Peter’s side of the bed is unslept in.

He pads through the dark, silent apartment, and spots Peter sleeping on the large sofa. Still in his dress, lashes clumped together with tears, looking so small and alone and-

Tony turns away.

—

His study is lit with moonlight, and he eases down into his chair. His whole life he’s figured things out, understood things, and he’d always understood Pete, his sweetheart. He must be missing something. Something must have happened.

An affair? The thought makes Tony sick, but he pulls up the apartment’s top of the art monitoring system anyway and skips back a few months.

He watches memories play out in front of him. Him and Peter having breakfast, kissing each other goodbye. He watches Peter flit around the apartment, cleaning and reading and writing letters. His boy sings to himself. It’s beautiful and innocent and everything’s fine and then-

Tony watches himself as he comes home one night- about three months ago. It’s late. He watches as he heads into the bedroom where Peter’s already asleep. His boy wakes up though, blinking at his Alpha.

“It’s late,” Peter had murmured, voice sleepy, “I made lasagne and it’s in the oven.”

Tony had clambered into bed and hauled his boy into his side.

That doesn’t look so bad.

But then the next night, Tony’s late. And the next night. And the next. Every night for a week. Tony remembers that week. He’d been hell-bent on getting the engineering software just right. He’d never even told Peter why he was going to be late.

He watches as over the week, Peter stops looking at the door at 6pm. How he starts putting Tony’s dinner right in the oven. How he sits alone at the dining table and eats quietly, washing his dishes, and then standing on the deck looking out over Central Park and watching the sunset.

Tony swallows the lump in his throat.

He’s gone all that weekend too.

But on Sunday afternoon, Tony watches as Peter busies himself. He takes a long bath, fusses over his hair, and stands in front of the mirror trying on a variety of pretty lingerie. Frills and silks, all deliciously tight.

Tony has to shift in his seat as he watches, the hum of arousal stirring.. Peter scrunches his nose up in concentration as he paints his lips cherry, he coughs when he spritzes the perfume too close to his mouth and Tony chuckles fondly.

But he gets a bad feeling as the day draws to a close. Because he doesn’t remember seeing Peter in this get up. Who is this all for?

He watches, enrapt, as the door to the apartment opens. It’s dark outside, and Peter arranges himself on the bed. His boy is gorgeous without trying, but with effort- he takes Tony’s breath away.

But sure enough, it’s Tony who walks into the bedroom. He looks tired and annoyed and-

It was right after the first investor meeting.

He watches, heart sinking, as his past self sits on the bed and kicks off his shoes.

Peter makes a small sound, soft hands sliding up Tony’s chest. “Alpha-“ he whispers, voice shy and sweet and-

Tony’s eyes burn as he watches.

“Baby, it’s been a long day, alright?” Tony gruffs out, raking his hand through his hair and getting under the sheets and turning away.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, stroking his fingers through Tony’s hair, sidling up against him, all soft and silk, “I’ve missed you and I-“

“Peter. Tomorrow.” Tony snaps, unusually harsh.

Peter pulls back, face hurt. He waits until Tony is asleep before slipping out of bed and pulling off the stockings and suspenders. He slips into warm cotton and curls up in a small ball on the very edge of the bed.

Tony can’t believe it. He itches to apologise, he can’t believe he hadn’t seen Peter’s efforts. And the little thing hadn’t even complained, hadn’t brought it up again-

He watches Peter spend his evenings alone. Watches him gaze at sunsets.

He watches himself walk in proudly one Friday and grin. Peter, sitting on the bed, looks up with a huge smile at his Alpha’s happiness.

“Charity Gardens,” Tony had announced, “me and my beautiful omega, a gorgeous park, midday sunlight.”

Peter positively beams. “Is it a picnic? Can I make us something?”

Tony had laughed, waving him off. “It’s a work function, gorgeous. I need to show you off.”

Current Tony can see the little second of disappointment that flashes over Peter’s face. The one in the video doesn’t. “Oh.” Peter murmurs, before forcibly brightening. “Okay. Should I make something to bring anyway? I wanna try banana bread…”

Tony chuckles, kissing Peter’s forehead. “Wow them, baby.”

*

Charity Gardens at midday is beautiful.

It’s sophistication that Tony’s grown up with his whole life. But this time it’s on his own terms. His genius. Not his father’s. He feels grown up.

“Is he yours?” Grace asks, nodding her head and Tony turns to see Peter playing in the grass. He’s barefoot, heels discarded, pretty dress stained here and there with mud, a vision as he plays with the children that people have brought along.

“You should teach him some class.” Obie frowns, and Tony swallows. “It’s not right for the omega of an Alpha such as yourself to behave like a child, Anthony.”

“Pete doesn’t act like a child.” Tony snaps.

Obie gives him a disappointed look.

Grace elbows Obie. “He’s a sweetheart, Tony, don’t listen to Obadiah. He’s just jealous.”

-

“Maybe next time,” Tony says gently, as he and Peter step into the shower, bodies pressed flush together. “Maybe you just stay by my side. It looks more professional that way.”

Peter had blinked in surprise, before a dismayed look fell onto his face. “Did I embarrass you Alpha?” He choked, hugging Tony tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. They taught how to behave at Green, but I- I forgot—“

“Hey, no, shh,” Tony whispers, water cascading over both of them. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

*

He watches as he keeps coming home late. He watches as Peter looks more and more sullen. Smaller everyday. He watches as his boy spends hours in the kitchen, arms covered in flour, turning pages of a recipe book over with his nose, only for Tony to take a few bites and not say a word.

He watches his sunshine deflate.

It makes sense, Peter’s reaction yesterday morning to the news about the gala. Peter’s snappish tone, his hardened glare. Tony understands it now.

He watches on the monitor as Peter dances alone around the apartment while the food is cooking. Arms up holding an imaginary partner.

Tony can’t remember the last time he danced with his boy, and it’s no wonder that Peter danced with that Senator.

All they’d done was dance. Nothing else. No reason to be jealous or angry. Peter had pulled away the moment it was over. But even when he’d been dancing, Peter hadn’t looked comfortable. He’d looked stiff and sad.

Tony’s forgotten how to treat what makes him happy.

He closes his eyes and shuts his laptop, disappointed in himself.

This isn’t right.

He gets up, determined, and heads to the living room. He crouches by the couch and rubs his nose against Peter’s. Oh god, Peter. Skin like satin and fresh cream, the longest, darkest eyelashes, sweet as anything in the whole world.

He’s perfect. Tony’s forgotten how to treat an omega. Has taken him for granted. They need love and cherishing and Tony’s been-

He lets out a choked off sob, and Peter jerks awake- eyes wide and worried.

“Alpha?” He whispers, “are you okay, are you…” he cups Tony’s face in his tiny hands, grounding him, loving him.

“I’ve done you wrong the past few months, baby,” Tony confesses, “I’ve been a shit Alpha-“

“No!” Peter bleats devotedly, flinging his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “You’re the best, the best-“

“I’ve let you down. Bonded you and ignored you like those Alphas you read about in books- treated you like nothing-“

“No.” Peter whispers, voice firm. He locks eyes with Tony, noses touching. “You give me everything.”

Tony sweeps him into his arms. Peter’s light as anything, perfect in his grasp. Why wouldn’t he dance with his angel where everyone could see? Why would he tell Peter not to be Peter? Not to do what comes naturally to an omega and play with children and frolic in the grass and be happy?

How could he deny his boy anything?

“You got ready for me.” Tony whispers, heading into the bedroom and setting Peter down onto their bed. “In stockings and lace, where’s that little number?”

He can feel the heat of Peter’s blush. “How do you…”

Tony kisses him hard, pinning him to the bed and hovering over him, knees between those long legs. “You hate champagne. You’re an amazing cook. You were a vision tonight. You’re a vision every night. I’m so proud that you’re mine. You wanted Charity Garden to be just me and you, it will be. Wherever you wanna go, whenever you wanna go, just me and you.”

Peter’s eyes glisten with tears. Tony kisses his sharp cheekbones and wills them not to fall.

“Don’t cry, baby, please, I can’t take it.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter blubbers, tears slipping out. “I-I didn’t mean to be rude, and- I shouldn’t have danced with that Alpha, and- and I just missed you.” His slender fingers clutch tight at Tony’s shirt. “Sometimes when you go, I think you might not…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tony groans, pain coursing through his system. “I haven’t done you right. I’ve let you down.”

Peter shakes his head, denying still that Tony has flaws, but he knows. Tony knows.

“It’ll be different,” he promises, kissing down Peter’s neck, feeling the delighted whimper from beneath him. Feeling the way Peter arches against his body. It’s been too long. Jesus, how has he gone without this?

Peter’s panting beneath him, squirming with desire. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, fingers unbuttoning Tony’s shirt, hips keening, “please.”

Tony can see himself all those nights turning away. Not noticing. Too tired and overworked. But Peter has been here, wanting him, missing him. It’s almost too much to bear.

“Don’t do a thing.” Tony whispers, nosing at Peter’s ear, tickling him, hands working on the bow of Peter’s dress. “Don’t do a thing, let me show you how much I love you.”

***

As he creeps back into the penthouse the next morning, he’s relieved to see Peter’s still asleep.

As quietly as he can, he brings all the pink balloons into the bedroom and sets down the breakfast tray heaped with all of Peter’s favourite food.

When Peter wakes up, his hair is adorably mussed, endearing confusion all over his face.

Tony can’t help but kiss him.

Peter makes a sound of glee at breakfast- a louder sound of delight at the balloons, and Tony feeds him and whispers how much he loves him.

Once Peter’s giddy with the sugar rush of his waffles, he flits out of bed and over to the record player. Tony watches, amused and fond, as smooth jazz starts to play.

“Let’s dance,” Peter whispers, standing at the foot of bed. Chocolate around his mouth, sparkles in his eyes, hair mussed, wearing only Tony’s shirt. Long, smooth legs on display. Peter holds out his hand impatiently, teasing. “Dance with me, Alpha.”

Tony vows to never lose sight again. Not of what matters. Peter steps onto his feet, so Tony can whirl them around. Tony rests his face on those impossibly soft curls, holds his boy tight.

Peter’s humming under his breath to the music, face in Tony’s chest, content as a kitten.

“I can’t believe I was so blind,” Tony admits. “That I took you for granted.”

Peter kisses the underside of his jaw, a butterfly kiss, full of love and forgiveness.

Beside an unmade bed, empty plates of waffles and under a thousand red balloons, they continue to dance.

mwah gorgeous people x 

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #1: Hunker Down

Words: ca. 2,500 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: lime CW: language, angst, talk of sex

AN: This isn’t the full story, but the rest hasn’t been written yet.

—

What am I doing?

Anna stuck the six pack of craft beer in the rusty metal basket on the front of her bike.

You have no power, dummy. The house is gonna get hot, and she invited you. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Anna sighed and looked up at the orange-gray sky. “So eerie,” she mumbled as she got on her bike and began peddling. Kind of ominous of how I think this is gonna go, she thought. How many years has it been since we’ve even talked?

An hour ago, during a particularly nasty bit of hurricane weather, she lost power at her house. No surprise there, really. She almost always lost power when it rained. And Anna didn’t like rain. Or, more appropriately, Anna didn’t like being alone during rain.

Just as she began texting friends to see whose place she could crash at, she received a text from her estranged older sister.

“Hey, it’s Elsa. I know it’s been a while, but if you need company during this storm, I’m at the house.”

Something inside tugged at Anna’s heartstrings. She wanted a relationship with Elsa. She wanted to have her sister back in her life. She wanted to talk about the fight that drove a wedge between them. So she texted back that she’d be over shortly.

As she biked towards her destination- her childhood home now occupied by her sister, Anna nodded at the few people out assessing their property. The eye of a hurricane was always an interesting time. The winds died down and the rain stopped, but experience told Anna that this storm wasn’t over yet. It was nowhere near over.

She easily crossed the road that separated her neighborhood from her sister’s. Funny, we live close, but we’re so far apart, she mused as a few drops of rain fell on her.

Shit.

She peddled faster, praying she’d make it before the heavens opened up again. Luckily, she spotted the familiar white house ahead.

Come on, come on, come on. Made it!

Anna braked in front of the black door with the brass knocker and waited. Should she let herself in? She had a key. Should she knock? Was she a guest or was it still her home too?

As Anna contemplated, the door opened, and she was shaken from her thoughts. Her older sister stood in the doorway in loungewear that fit her perfectly. Anna had always been a little jealous of Elsa’s figure. She was taller, leaner from years of running, and had slightly bigger boobs that Anna envied. Her white gold hair was voluminous, and her complexion was flawless. In short, Anna thought her sister was gorgeous. God, she looks the same as she did three years ago.

“Some things never change,” Elsa chuckled. “Still lost in that big, imaginative mind, huh?”

Anna chuckled nervously. “I wasn’t sure if I should just come in or not.” She got off her bike. “Can I bring this in?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Elsa responded and opened the door wider to let Anna in. She regarded her younger sister as she walked in. Anna looked healthy and well, if not a bit wet from the rain. Her bright yellow raincoat and black rain boots kept her mostly dry. 

“I brought beer,” Anna said as she kicked the stand on her bike and picked up the six pack from out of the basket. She held it up for Elsa to inspect. 

Elsa crinkled her nose. “I’m not much of a beer drinker.”

“More for me then,” Anna shrugged. Though it had been a few years since she last stepped foot in the house, muscle memory took over and she walked to the kitchen. “But you do like booze.”

Elsa followed her sister and peered over her shoulder at the wine she set out after Anna’s text confirmed she’d come over. Three wine bottles sat on the large island in the middle of the space.

Anna picked up a bottle of rosé. “You a wine mom now?”

Elsa lightly laughed. “I guess so. I never learned how to drink beer. I couldn’t stand the taste, but I like wine. Besides, what’s a hurrication without a little alcohol?”

“I’ll cheers to that,” Anna grinned. She handed Elsa the bottle and sat at the island. Taking her own bottle out of the cardboard pack, she attempted to twist the cap off. “Dammit,” she muttered.

“Need a bottle opener?” Elsa fished one out of a drawer and tossed it to Anna. Then she pulled a wine glass from a glass-paneled cabinet and placed it on the island.

Anna watched as Elsa uncorked the wine bottle and sniffed the cork. Then she poured a small bit into her glass and swirled it around before taking a dainty sip. Satisfied, she poured more.

Ever the classy one, Anna thought.

Elsa noticed Anna watching with a raised brow and blushed. “I took a class,” she explained. “Wine is a fascinating subject.“ 

“Hey, no judgment here,” Anna grinned. “It’s cool that you took a class. Maybe I could take a beer brewing class. I’m sure they have them around town. There’s so many local breweries now. I feel like I’m at one at least once a week with friends.”

Elsa hummed as she took a sip and looked out of the kitchen window. The rain was in full swing and she could see tree branches swaying violently in the wind.

Dammit, Anna. Don’t talk about your friends with your estranged sister.

“So, what el-” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Elsa laughed lightly. “You don’t need to be sorry, Anna. You have a life. Which is what I wanted to ask you about. What have you been up to lately?”

Anna took a swig of beer and set her bottle down. Her sister wasn’t going to like the answer.

“I’ve been working at a souvenir shop. It’s actually really fun too because we also do tarot and palm readings and fortune telling, and tourists are so stupid they believe what we say.” She chuckled and took another sip of beer. When she looked at her sister again, Elsa didn’t look amused. “What?”

Elsa blinked. “What?”

“What’s that face?” Anna crossed her arms. Here we go.

“I’m not making a face,” Elsa defended. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, causing the house to shake.

“Yes, you are, Elsa. You’re making a snobby face, like my job isn’t good enough for you. We can’t all live in our parents’ house and have tons of money from our fancy museum job or whatever you’re doing these days.”

Anna’s tone was brusque, but she didn’t care. Things had been bad between them ever since the fight.

The fight was three years ago after Elsa walked in on Anna having sex with her at-the-time boyfriend/current-and-forever ex. It’d been Anna’s idea. There had been a big party, and her whole family had been dressed to the nines. A perfect night for something special. She had wanted to lose her virginity that night, and- despite it being with Hans- it had been pretty good. At least he knew how to eat a girl out. Well, not as good as the girls Anna had since been with, but he had been good enough for her first time.

But Elsa just had to walk into Anna’s room to ask her something about… she didn’t even remember what Elsa wanted. Elsa had frozen in place, staring at the two of them for what had seemed like 20 minutes, when it was actually only a few seconds. 

“Get out,” Anna had screamed. Thankfully, that had gotten Elsa to run out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

The fight had taken place the next day after her parents had a chat with her about sex. She’d been mortified. She had been 18 after all, and she had consented. Her parents hadn’t cared and forbid her from seeing Hans again. Looking back, Anna didn’t mind that part. Hans had turned out to be a manipulative ass. At the time, however, she had been angry at Elsa. She’d called Elsa a prude and old-fashioned and said that no one would ever want to have sex with a pasty virgin. Elsa had called her trash and an embarrassment to the family.

In essence, they had hurt each other deeply that morning, and their relationship never recovered. They had gone their separate ways in life, only coming back together 8 months after that to say goodbye to their parents who had passed away in a car accident just outside of the city.

Remembering how Elsa had called her a whore that day, Anna grinned wickedly and stood up. Her puritan sister might as well know what else she did with her free time. “You’d really hate my favorite job though.”

Elsa opened and closed her mouth before sighing. “What job?”

“Camming,” Anna said. “That’s right, dear sister, your younger sister gets naked online for money. Sometimes I even have sex with my female roommate for my audience.”

“Anna-” Elsa’s eyes darted around the room, and she looked very uncomfortable, her face beet red.

“Still such a prude,” Anna shook her head as she grabbed the cardboard case that held her unfinished beers. “Jesus, Elsa. Get out from the rock you’ve been living under. Who knows, maybe you’ll even find someone to fuck.”

She turned to leave, deciding that taking her chances in the hurricane was better than staying here. When she got to the foyer, however, the lights went out. “Shit.” At least it’s still daytime. There’ll be some light outside to get home.

“Anna,” Elsa whimpered from somewhere behind her.

Anna took a deep breath and let it out. Without turning, she addressed her sister. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I… please don’t leave. There’s a hurricane,” Elsa sniffled.

Anna finally turned. In what little light was coming from the windows, she saw that Elsa had tears in her eyes. She immediately felt like a bitch for being so mean to Elsa. Elsa had always been the more sensitive and skittish of the sisters. Anna could remember times when touching Elsa would scare her so much that she jumped.

“Please. I want- no, I need you. To stay. Please,” Elsa said desperately. “I can’t lose you.”

“Elsa-”

“I know we haven’t talked in years, but you’re my fa-family, and I don’t want to l- lose you again.” Tears fell down Elsa’s face as she spoke. “I’m sorry I was jealous of Hans and told on you. I shouldn’t have done that, and I-” 

“Wait, what did you just say?” Anna’s brows knit together as she held onto a thought.

Elsa wiped her eyes. “I said I was sorry.”

“No, not that. You said you were jealous of Hans.”

“N-no. I didn’t.” Elsa’s voice was shaky, and her arms wrapped around her midsection, something Anna remembered her doing a lot during their childhood when Elsa was anxious or frightened. When Anna stepped forward, Elsa stepped back.

“Elsa.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t,” Elsa shut her eyes tightly, unable to continue. She was sure she was about to have a panic attack when two arms wrapped around her waist. 

Anna drew her into a hug and spoke softly, “Elsa, it’s okay. It’s okay to be jealous.”

Elsa’s body shook. “Not like this.”

“Like what?” Anna sounded so maternal in that moment that she could hardly believe that she was so cruel to her sister a few minutes ago.

“I can’t tell you. You… you’ll hate me, and I can’t lose you. I can’t,” Elsa cried, soaking Anna’s raincoat-clad shoulder. 

The cogs in Anna’s brain started turning as she realized what Elsa wasn’t saying. “Elsa, you were jealous of Hans… because he had sex with me?” 

Anna could feel Elsa shaking harder with that question, but she had to know. “Did you wish you could…?” 

Elsa tried to pull away, but Anna held tight.

“Elsa, tell me. Please.” 

She felt the slightest of nods and took that as confirmation. Her sister had told her parents about her and Hans because she was jealous that Hans got to have sex with Anna. Elsa was jealous of Hans because he got to have sex with Anna and she didn’t. Elsa wanted to have sex with Anna.

Not as creeped out by that as I could be.

While the thought was a little weird, Anna was more flattered than anything. And it made sense that Elsa had deflected during the fight. She had had a secret to keep- a secret that was, societally speaking, more morally wrong than having a whore for a sister. The more Anna thought about it, the more she was actually turned on by the fact that, of all the people in the world, Elsa wanted her. She contemplated her next move as she rubbed Elsa’s back. 

Elsa’s back still shook from crying, but she finally returned the hug. After a few minutes, Anna pulled back slightly and noticed that Elsa couldn’t look at her. She cupped her older sister’s cheeks tenderly. “Elsa, I won’t leave you, okay?”

“Why,” Elsa questioned. Her eyes begged Anna to tell her why she wouldn’t leave an incestuous monster. 

Anna stroked Elsa’s cheeks with her thumbs and smiled before closing her eyes, leaning in, and brushing her lips against Elsa’s. 

Elsa froze but didn’t back away. Her eyes were wide when Anna’s opened. 

“Because I think… maybe I want to have sex with you too.”

Elsa squeaked and finally withdrew herself from Anna. “No, you… you don’t want that.” 

“But what if I do? You want it, so why can’t I?” Anna’s eyebrows furrowed. Isn’t this what Elsa wanted? Isn’t this what could finally end their estrangement?

“It’s wrong, Anna,” Elsa said.

“I know it’s wrong, but… oh god, I’m… give me a minute.” Anna tried to search her feelings because, despite feeling right, this was new and she needed to talk through things. “I think I’ve always been attracted to you, Elsa. I just shrugged it off as envy. I mean, you’re gorgeous as hell and smart and fun to be around.” A skeptical look from her older sister had Anna backtracking a bit. “I know we had the fight; but, before that, you were fun to be around. And, now that I know why we had the fight, I understand. You were trying to protect me, Elsa. And I love that you’ve always been protective of me. I love you. As a sister and as maybe more. So, please, let me show you.”

For the next several minutes, they just looked at each other. Like the hurricane outside, there seemed to be a storm brewing behind Elsa’s eyes. Anna wasn’t sure if her impassioned speech would change anything, but she knew she was not leaving the house anymore. 

“I can’t lose you either, Elsa.”

Elsa seemed to stand a little straighter with Anna’s admission, and her eyes locked on Anna’s. She surged forward to pull Anna into a kiss that sent bolts of pleasure down to Anna’s core. Anna’s yellow raincoat was quickly removed as their tongues moved in harmonious synchronicity, and Elsa guided her up to her bedroom.

While the hurricane raged on, the two sisters gave into their desires, finding both themselves and each other. 

The next morning was silent and still. People began the process of cleaning up and assessing the damage. Crews were already starting to work on restoring power. News anchors interviewed street flood kayakers and business owners.

In the white house with the black door, Anna woke with a start. Her sister’s naked back was to her, and her hair cascaded onto the mattress. Remembering last night, Anna wiped the sleep from her eyes. 

What have we done?

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2020 - “Meeting in the Middle” (Rated PG13)

Summary: A petty argument between Kurt and Blaine leads to a heavy confession. (2133 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'meet'. Warning for mention of Blaine’s infidelity and a mention of sexual harassment.

Read on AO3.

“It’s a reindeer.”

“It is not a reindeer.”

“That is absolutely a reindeer.”

Blaine huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from his husband, leaving enough leeway so that he can still give him a serious case of side-eye. “It can’t be a reindeer!”

“Why not?” Kurt snaps. “Because you say so?”

“Look at those stumpy antlers. Reindeer have huge antlers!”

“How do you know? Huh? Do you suddenly work for Wild America? Did you get an internship you’re not telling me about? Did you take a Learning Annex course?”

“No ...” Blaine gears up for an argument, a bullet-pointed list prepared for his defense perched on the tip of his tongue, waiting to launch. But at the last minute, he shifts in his seat and backs down. “I just … I just … know. All right?”

“Right. Because you know everything.”

“I never said that.”

“You implied it! You’re apparently some unsung expert in the field of zoology! Meanwhile, it seems that the longer we stay married, the less you know me!”

"That's finally something we can agree about!"

"Oh! So you admit you don't know me?"

"No! You don't know me!"

“Maybe I don't know you! But you should know by now that I can’t tank a relationship with a high-profile client every time your ego gets a little bruised!”

"What? Do you honestly think ...?" Blaine stares at his husband - hurt and heartbreak filling his eyes when Kurt doesn't back down, not even an inch. "I'm right," he says sadly, inching away even further. "You don't know me."

“Oh my God!” Santana groans from the back seat. “Can you both put a pause on acting like drama llamas for five seconds!? We are going to die out here! If I don't get to see my wife and daughter again because of you two Necco wafers, I am going to find you guys in the afterlife and ruin every sexual experience you attempt to have!"

"Don't talk to me about being a drama llama," Kurt grumbles. "He's the one who started it."

"Fine," Blaine says, defeated. "I started it. Does that make you feel better? Does that make everything okay again? Because doing this after every Vogue function is getting exhausting." 

"It's not every Vogue function," Kurt concedes. "Just the ones Trevor Atley attends. You know, my new client who's about to elevate my status as a fashion editor? The one you seem to think is always flirting with me?"

"Maybe you should just start leaving me at home."

"Maybe I should!"

"Quit it!" Santana scolds. "Both of you! You're not in high school anymore."

"Thank God," both men mutter in unison.

"Everyone knows the two of you love each other more than your Gucci luggage, so why don't we set the angst aside and focus on the issue at hand. How are we getting out of this mess?"

Neither Kurt nor Blaine answer, staring out their respective windows, doing their best to ignore the problem.

And each other.

Santana sighs in frustration. "Do you two need the number of a good couples' counselor?" she offers. "Because I have one I can give you if it will bring you guys back to reality!”

Kurt and Blaine perk up, turning their attention back to the conversation.

“You and Brittany went to counseling?” Blaine asks.

“Well ... yeah," Santana replies self-consciously. "There’s no shame in that."

"Why?" Kurt asks. "If you don't mind me asking?"

Santana shrugs. She may have minded any other time, but she'll come clean, seeing as this is an emergency. 

"There was a time when Brittany thought the ghost of Lord Tubbington was trying to split us up."

"O-oh," Blaine says. "That's ... interesting."

"I personally thought, you know, it might not be that. That it might be something deeper. So we went to a professional and talked things out.”

“Wow," Kurt says. "That’s very mature of you guys.”

“Yeah, well, we have our moments. I wish it was contagious!"

Kurt and Blaine roll their eyes and retreat to the safety of their corners.

"Look," Santana tries, desperate for a resolution, "I think you guys might be suffering from a good, old-fashioned failure to communicate.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because most couples do. You spend so much time with one another, you get to a point where you assume you can read each other’s minds. Then you get offended when that’s not the case.”

“So what are we supposed to do about that now? How’s that going to get us out of the hole that we’re in?”

“Why don’t you start one truth at a time? Meet in the middle. Kurt, you reveal something to Blaine, and for every one thing you tell him, he has to tell you one thing back.”

Blaine wraps his arms defiantly over his chest, looking more like a pouting middle schooler than a grown man. “I will if he will." 

"Will you?" Kurt bites. "Because you seem to think there are things I can’t handle before you even tell me what they are!"

"Because you usually go off the deep end no matter what I say! Especially if you think I'm keeping a secret!"

"Well, excuse me, but the last time you kept secrets from me, you’d slept with someone else!"

The car becomes tight with quiet until Blaine sighs. "Fair enough."

"Sometimes I get the feeling that you're waiting for me to do the same," Kurt continues. "That no matter how much I tell you I love you, that I forgive you, you're waiting for me to find an opportunity to hurt you.”

"Ooo. Kurt starts out strong," Santana says, taking it upon herself to moderate. "Blaine? Your turn."

Blaine shoots Santana an unamused look. “I used to feel that way. I'll admit it. Because I thought I would definitely deserve it if you did cheat on me. But that's not the case here. Not with Trevor. The truth is …" Blaine curls against the window a bit, curls in on himself a bit "... I don’t like him. At all. It’s not even a personality thing. He makes me uncomfortable. Like ... Terry Crews … Brendan Fraser … uncomfortable.”

The air around them is tense. It's cold. So cold that Kurt's hands hurt. But he feels none of it.

He feels nothing.

He's gone numb.

Blaine's confession is nowhere in the vicinity of what Kurt expected to hear. He thought for sure that this entire issue surrounded Blaine's jealousy. His insecurity. Kurt's suspicions had been corroborated by reliable sources.

Namely Isabelle.

The Vogue gossip mill didn't work in his favor this time.

But he shouldn't need it. How did he not catch on to this?

“Do you mean to tell me …” Kurt swallows hard, already planning the outfit he’s going to wear when he rips that asshole Trevor a new one “… he touched you?”

“N-not yet.”

“Not yet! What do you mean not yet!?”

“I’ve heard rumors. And he … he looks at me. Makes comments. I know if it came down to it, I could handle myself with him … physically. But there’s so much more to consider."

"Consider? What else is there to consider? What are you weighing against the possibility of sexual assault?" Kurt screeches when he should remain calm, but he can't help himself. He didn't have a clue about this! But he's not just pissed at Trevor.

He's livid at himself.

"I was afraid it would put your job at stake. And my reputation. If I call him out on rumors and I’m wrong, it could tank both of our careers. Neither of us would ever work again. But I don’t want to wait until he does something. I don’t ... I don't want to be touched. Not by him.”

“Oh, honey. Of course not." Kurt puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder and waits, sees if he wants to be comforted. A single touch is all it takes for Blaine to roll towards his husband and melt in his arms. "I'm nice to him because of that stupid contract, but I can't stand him, to be honest. The whole night, I was hoping you would come over, hang all over me, stake your claim like a Neanderthal. It didn't dawn on me that there might be some other reason you were keeping your distance."

"I should have told you.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine tight. “Yes, you should have told me!" 

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I just got … overwhelmed. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I didn’t want you to do anything that would jeopardize this contract, but …”

“Blaine! You’re my husband! No contract in the world means more to me than you!”

“I ... didn’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do," Kurt says, his voice shaking with rage. "In the morning, we’re going to call Isabelle, and contact the legal team at Vogue for a consult. Then we’ll hit this asshole with a two-fisted punch. I’ll have my team do an expose, try to find anyone who might be willing to blow the whistle on this guy. But we’ll also run a series of PSAs on sexual harassment, and how it can affect anyone. You’ll be in one of them! That way, even if we never say this guy’s name out loud, he’ll know we have his number. If he doesn’t start backing down after that, then I’ll invite him to an intimate lunch at my office, talk things out one-on-one.”

“Make that two-on-two,” Santana pipes up from the backseat. “It’s more fun when we threaten assholes together, remember?” She offers Kurt her fist to bump, and, caught up in the moment, he does.

Blaine straightens up, finds a tissue to blot his eyes. “You guys don’t have to do all that.”

“Yes, we do!" Kurt says, concerned that his husband would consider backing down from this fight, especially seeing that Kurt was in a similar boat when the two of them first met. At the time, it was Blaine coming to the rescue, back when the only thing at stake was a mark on his so-called permanent record. Now they're older, and the stakes are higher, which is why Kurt has to do everything he can to return the favor. "I’m not standing for this, Blaine! Not in a million years!”

Blaine smiles at his passionate husband, looking more relaxed than he has over the past three weeks of functions and parties. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Blaine leans forward and gives his husband a kiss - a small kiss at first, but it goes on longer ... and longer, Santana grimacing as she sinks into her seat, praying the leather will swallow her whole and shoot her out the exhaust pipe to freedom. But then the car rocks back and forth, and oh!

How quickly they forget.

Kurt and Blaine get so wrapped up in one another, in love and relief, they don't seem to notice when the car shakes again, more violently.

But Santana, in the middle of sending a text to her wife, pops up.

“Great!" Santana cheers in an anxious voice. "We have a plan to deal with that asshole, and love is the law of the land again! Fantastic! Now - how are we going to handle Rudolph the Red-nosed Roid machine?” She gestures out the window to their original problem, the one they forgot about in the heat of the moment - a giant buck standing in front of Blaine's BMW, head lowered, ramming into the bumper as if attempting to flip them over.

He may have stubby antlers, but he sure knows how to use them.

“We should call 9-1-1," Kurt says.

“I’m calling Triple A," Blaine says.

“What is Triple A going to do?” Kurt snaps.

“I don’t know. But they might be a bit better prepared than 9-1-1.”

“How in the world do you figure that?”

“Because Triple A’s sole purpose is helping motorists out of a jam. They might have deer deterrent or a special horn or something.”

“What!?”

“It makes sense, Kurt!”

“No it doesn’t!”

"And what are the police going to do?"

"Hello? Police have guns!"

“Before the two of you get started again, this is what we’re going to do." Santana points to Blaine. "You call Triple A." She points to Kurt. "You call 9-1-1. Meanwhile, I’m going to save the day.”

“Who are you calling?” Kurt asks.

“Domino's Pizza.”

“And why is that considered saving the day?"

“I'll bet you $50 delivery will not only get here faster, they’ll be packing mace. Plus, they'll bring food. Listening to the two of you bitch really drains the life out of a person.”

[holylulusworld]

Getaway car

Summary: A story like Bonny & Clyde that’s what you wanted with him. Sadly, life gets in between you and your Clyde…

Pairing: Criminal!Dean x Criminal!Reader; Mobster!Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, abandonment, crimes, robbery, unrequited love?, a hint of fluff

A/N: And again, Taylor Swift inspired one of my stories. This time it was ‘Getaway car’. Lyrics are taken from her song.

The first time you laid eyes on him was at the diner you were working your shift. He stalked toward the counter, ordering pie and went home with you instead.

It was crazy, dirty, and rough but he left you wanting more. Weeks later he came back, wanting more and more until you followed him…

He was the best of times, the worst of crimes

I struck a match 

And blew your mind, but I didn't mean it

And you didn't see it

The ties were black, the lies were white

And shades of grey in candlelight

I wanted to leave him

I needed a reason

Three years later you lean against the wall at the bar, your smile long gone, just like the excitement and adrenaline after another successful raid. 

The last bank should have been the last. Retirement, a future, that is what Dean promised to you but lately, you got the feeling you will end up like all his other partners before.

Dropped at a motel, fifty bucks on the nightstand and brokenhearted as he found a new ‘Bonnie’.

You believed him when he said you are the one. You desperately wanted this life with him, but things change – so does Dean.

Right now, he leans closer to the bartender, that million-dollar smile which once melted your heart on his plump lips. The only difference, this time he gives it to that girl - his next partner as you assume.

It pains to admit you were just that, a young girl he could corrupt and use as a distraction during his raids until you lost your usefulness; until he found a younger and sexier girl to use.

You do not know where or when you lost it, but you know it’s over when he gives the girl a wink, snickering at something she said.

One last time you glance at Dean, ignoring the ache in your chest before you turn your back on him to leave the motel bar. 

X marks the spot

Where we fell apart

He poisoned the well, I was lyin' to myself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

We never had a shotgun shot in the dark

In a haste you count the money, leaving half of the bait, two-hundred thousand bucks, for Dean on the motel bed. The keys to his car, you take them with you to get to the next hideout.

One last deep breath and you place the note for Dean onto the pillow, placing the necklace he gave you on top of it.

“Goodbye, my Clyde…” You leave the room, not looking back, hurrying toward the getaway car Dean stole a state ago. He won’t miss the rusty car, already having another in eyesight to escape if need. 

Dean’s hand trembles when he enters the motel room only to find you gone. He waited the whole evening for you to show up, the engagement ring he stole at the bank burning a hole into his pocket.

“Goodbye, my Clyde,” Dean sniffs reading the note. “How could you believe I want to replace you, sweetheart?”

Dear Dean, my beloved Clyde,

I believed you when you said this is the last time. Sadly, I had to watch you hit on the next girl to be your Bonnie. I know, I was just the next best girl you found for your heists, but I will always remember our time.

To me, you are the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I am sorry that I was not enough for you to not stray.

I left half of the bait, Dean, and took the car. You will not miss the rusty wreck, I know you will find a new one in a blink, just like a new partner.

I will try to fulfill my dream with my half of the money. Please, if you ever felt anything for me, do not go after me to get the money back. I earned it as much as you did.

I will always love you.

Your Bonnie…

Tears cloud Dean eyes re-reading the letter until he falls onto the bed, sighing deeply.

You were drivin' 

The getaway car

We were flyin'

 But we'd never get far

 Don't pretend it's such a mystery

 Think about the place where you first met me

 We're ridin' 

 In a getaway car

 There were sirens in the beat of your heart

 Should've known I'd be the first to leave

 Think about the place where you first met me

“So…where is your special girl, Dean?” Looking at the money onto his table Sam swallows thickly. “Dean?”

“She left, believing she’s just a random partner. I didn’t use her as bait, Sammy. She was the one, the one that got away,” Dean opens the little black box to show his brother the diamond ring.

“The money, it’s enough to get back into the business and to pay for the house,” Dean nods, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “You did all this to get dad’s business back. We should try to use what you got. I brought my half too, twenty million.”

“Got thirty, Sam. Just give me a day or two. I need a bit of time,” watching his brother leave the room, a frown on his face Sam nods, understanding the heart-wrenching pain to lose the woman you love. 

“We talk tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. Take your time, Dean.” Sam gives his brother as cracked smile watching Dean stuff the ring back into his pocket.

“She left, took the getaway car, and never looked back. What if I never find her, Sammy? What if she’s gone for good?”

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts 

In a getaway car

5 years later … somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Rocheport, Missouri

“Y/N, I’ve seen my old dog walk faster than you serve our customers. I have to rethink your position in this diner,” your boss nags once again. 

It is not as if you didn’t work 12 hours in a row to make more money or that the diner is crowded, and you are the only waitress.

“I’ll try to work faster,” you reply, biting your tongue to not lose yet another job.

This small-town is a nightmare but your car broke not 10 miles out of town, so you had no other choice but to stay here, make some money until you find another town and another shitty job.

Five years ago, you had a plan, the money and motivation to have a better life. Two months in running your shop, a bakery, someone bought the building opposite your tiny shop, destroying your dream in the blink of an eye. It did not take more than a month to lose all your customers to the impressive café.

Without money left you grabbed your stuff and fleed out of town, no dreams in your pocket this time. You drove from town to town. Worked to make a few bucks to hit the road to nowhere again.

Looking back at that night, the night you left Dean you regret that you never talked to him. Maybe, just maybe he would’ve changed his mind and kept his promise.

It was the great escape

The prison break

The light of freedom on my face

But you weren't thinkin'

And I was just drinkin'

While he was runnin' after us

I was screamin', "Go, go, go!"

But with three of us, honey, it's a side show

And a circus ain't a love story

And now we're both sorry

(We're both sorry)

“What can I bring you, Sir?” A tall man wearing an expensive suit looks up at you, a soft smile on his lips. He doesn’t quite fit in. Men like him prefer an expensive restaurant, not a shady diner.

“Coffee, black. Please,” you nod, writing his order down whilst the man glances at your nametag. “Y/N, nice name.”

“Oh-well, my mom gave it to me,” the man smiles again, taking the menu you offered to him. “If you want anything else, tell me so when I bring the coffee, Sir.”

“Sam, just call me Sam.” You mirror his smile, believing he is new in town and tries to be polite. Usually, your customers bark their order at you only to not give a tip or to spill their coffee onto your apron.

“Anything else, Sir?” Sam shakes his head, paying the coffee and take-away pie, handing you a huge tip. “Thank you.”

“Must be hard to work at this place,” you nod, giving him a cracked smile. “Why does a girl like you work at this place?”

“Had a dream years ago, but it didn’t work out. You know, I had a nice little bakery but someone else opened a better, bigger, and more colorful place. I lost,” he nods, offering an apologetic smile before he gets up.

“Sometimes things are meant to end and sometimes,” he dips his head to look at you with soft eyes, “things turn out for the better.”

X marks the spot

Where we fell apart

He poisoned the well

Every man for himself

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

Your shift is almost over when the bell above the door rings again. Your boss wants to bark at the person entering the diner after closing time but oddly, he turns pale.

“Something wrong, boss?” He shakes his head, choking out the word gun. You don’t want to but you force your body to turn around only for your to look into the barrel of a shotgun.

Two large men entered the diner, wearing black clothes and masks they crowd the diner. “You, come over here!” The smaller of the men barks at you, jerking the shotgun toward the place next to him. “Hurry or I’ll give your boss a brand-new hole.”

“Do it bitch,” your boss barks and you hurry toward the man’s side, sniffling. “At least you are not useless this time. We got around five hundred in the register plus her tips in the jar under the counter.”

“Classy to tell us about her tips,” the man next to you spats. “Come here, Y/N. I need to make sure you do not try anything stupid.”

You nod, walking toward the man who immediately wraps one arm around your waist, pressing his lips to your ear.

“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” His deep voice, the way he husks the pet name into your ear and his cologne let your knees buckle. “I’ve missed you, Y/N. I’ll bring my Bonnie home now.”

“Got it,” Sam smirks, showing Dean the money and your tip jar. “Let’s go and buy drugs,” Dean snickers at Sam’s words, holding you flush against his firm chest.

“Okay, you son of a bitch will stay where you are and not call the cops. We will take your sweet waitress to make sure you do not try anything,” Dean leads you out of the diner whilst Sam aims his shotgun at your boss. 

“Do not move or she dies…”

“How? I…” Lips quivering you watch the man you met at the diner carry your few belongings out of the motel room you inherit. “How did you find me? Will you kill me now? I…I don’t have the money…”

“Sweetheart,” Dean pecks your forehead, running his hands up and down your back to calm you. “I needed 5 years to find you, Y/N. I never wanted to replace you, my Bonnie.”

“You flirted with that girl,” you sniffle, hiding your face in his shoulder. “I thought you want to get rid of me like with the other girls before me.”

“There were no other girls before you, Y/N. I lied, okay. In the beginning, I needed a partner as my brother left me. I wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional.” You giggle, looking up at Dean.

“After you had me bare that first night? Very professional, Mr. Clyde.” Dean hums, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you, Dean. There was not a single day I didn’t think about our time together.”

“Missed you too, sweetheart. We should hit the road before the cops arrest us for stealing lousy five-hundred bucks.” Sam snickers, pointing toward your now empty tip jar.

“I left the money with the poor boy at the reception. I think he never got a larger tip before.”

“Whoa…you invested the money better than I,” your eyes round, following Dean toward the family mansion he bought five years ago.

“I got our house from the bank and my father’s business back with the money. Sammy paid his half and we are back in business.” Dean leads you inside, holding your hand the whole time. “Now I got everything I ever wanted.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the tiny black box Dean holds in his hand. “I wanted to give you this five years ago.”

“Dean…” You gasp, looking at the little handcuffs. “Did you want to arrest me?” He smirks, getting the silver keychain out of the box.

“If you prove you will not run away again,” he whispers, glancing at your lips, “I’ll give you the ring I stole for you…”

You were drivin' 

The getaway car

We were flyin'

But we'd never get far

Don't pretend it's such a mystery

Think about the place where you first met me

We're ridin' 

In a getaway car

There were sirens 

In the beat of your heart

Should've known I'd be the first to leave

Think about the place where you first met me

In a getaway car, oh-oh

No, they never get far, oh-oh-ahh

No, nothing good starts 

In a getaway car

“I don’t think I’ll need a getaway car again, Clyde,” you press your lips to Dean’s, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I am your Bonnie if you still want me…”

“Next time you need a getaway car, take me with you.” Dean deepens the kiss, not letting up until you gasp for air. “But I think, we are safe for now…”

SPN Forever Tags

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

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@isthatabutterfly

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@rosalynshields

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

[erissthemean]

Boy o boy do I have an idea

So I was skimishing through miracoulus tags and by accident I found 2 amazing blogs. First one is brilliant @zoe-oneesama and second is angst master @lenoreofraven

And because of this two and because of an enormous amount of fanfics I got an idea for a Akumanette which could never work in the show but gave me a lot of fun to think about.

Sorry for my English, it's not my first language!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

***

So, everything happens just after Lila "exposed" Mari as a thief. Hawkmoth fails to akumatize the girl because Nathalie can't transform, she has attack so the Akuma doesn't even fly out.

Marinette is allowed to go back to class to gather her things. She goes, still fuming, still in a mood to attack someone. She slowly gets her things... But then Lila stabs her last one time.

... But it's not her who does it.

Mari just... Hears it. Silent murmur that slowly swims to her. Murmur of people who... believed Layla. Who started to blame Marinette. Who... Believed she did it. That she was able to do it.

And it hurt. It hurt because she couldn't! Because she thought that they knew that she couldn't. That she would never, ever hurt another person like that. Didn't she prove that she was a good person? Didn't she help others so many times? Wasn't she a person that everybody could trust, wasn't she a person that was giving everyone a helping hand? Why did they fall for Laylas lie? Why it was so easy to mistrust her now?

Before she knew, tears were dropping on her desk. Why? She didn't want to cry.

"She's playing the victim now..."

Who said that? She didn't know. She just heard it. And it hurt so much more because... It wasn't Lila. It wasn't Chloé. It was someone else, someone who she thought was her friend. It was too much. She grabbed her things and run out of classroom.

Alya tried to get up but what she could do? She just sat down again. Miss Bustlier called Marinette but girl didn't listen. It was Adrien who ran after her- and it was him who SAW.

He saw her running towards the stairs. He saw how her bag opened and spilled all of her things on floor. He saw how she trips and then falls. And falls. And falls... To the bottom of stairs.

"Marinette?"

She didn't answer.

"Marinette!"

She didn't move.

"Marinette!"

He ran to her... But it was too late. Rest of the class spilled out of the classroom and the air was pierced by few screams. Others tried to rush to the laying girl but they were used away. Someone called the ambulance.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

***

She was in coma. Her parents cried so hard they couldn't even hear or understand doctors. Their daughter was laying on hospital bed, with millions tubes and screens around her. She was pale and layed yet so still. They couldn't believe it. How did this happen? Why?

Only Alya, Nino and Adrien came to visit blue haired girl in the hospital. They were talking about the school, what was happening, who got akumanitazed... And how Ladybug was nowhere to be seen. How Chat Noir was breaking the charm but no one could repair Paris and how no one could stop reakumanitazation. It was only a month and a half and everything was just... In chaos.

And Marinette layed there, pale, unresponsive.

One day she got one more visitor. It was Master Fu. He sat in the silence. After a while he started talking. Hours passed and he finally got to the part that was so hard to tell.

"Marinette... I have to take your miracoulus. Paris needs Ladybug and you can't make it. I'm sorry."

Tikki cried silently. She was watching her dear friend, forever loyal. But she knew she couldn't do much. Not alone. And... She couldn't do that, not again, not with the cost. She kissed girls cheek and then she faded, just as Master Fu took the earrings.

...

And it hurt.

Marinette screamed. Not that anyone could hear. She was screaming and trashing in her own body for over a month and no one noticed. She heard everything. She wanted to get out, to hug her parents, to let everyone know that she still was there! And yet, they talked like she was so far away. Like... Like she would never return.

But she had to. Even if her parents lost hope, she would break this damn Dream. This... Sleep. Even when her friends sounded so defeated she knew she would wake up. After all... She was Ladybug. She was the protector of Paris. She had to wake up.

But now... Even Master Fu and Tikki lost their hope. Even they didn't believe that she would make it.

Her determination quivered. And then all of her emotions swallowed her to the point where she couldnt breathe. Machines started to cheep and some doctors came in but she was still laying there. They gave her a mask so she could breathe but they couldn't do much more. So they left. Like everyone else.

Hawkmoth never felt such a rush of negative energy. It was big. It was... Deafening force that didn't seem to have a target.

Marinette was hurt. Because no one believed she would wake up. Because she wouldnt be in a coma if she didn't fall. Because she wouldn't fall if her friends believe her. She would be fine if not their mistrust... And if not for Lila. It was because all of them she couldn't wake up now. It was because all of them she couldn't be a Ladybug they so clearly needed.

They deserved every Akuma that was sent their way now. They got rid of her. They... did it to her.

And suddenly, the swirl of emotion found their target.

Hawkmoth hesitated for second. Could he do it? It was... More than ever. Could he play with so much?

"Fly my little Akuma and darken her heart!"

She would cry if she had the chance to make a sound. Her mom just finished brushing her hair. She brought two pretty ribbons and made two pigtails, just like her daughter always did. She wiped her tears away. She couldn't cry now. Not again.

"Bye bye Marinette. I have to go. Your dad and I will make cupcakes today. It's a bit harder since last villain broke our wall but we will still make it. I will leave some creme for you. Oh, and don't worry. I am cleaning your room. It is still just like you left it... Even the pins. They... " she choked a little sob "The pins are waiting for you to create more. I can't wait till you make me a new dress. Or apron. My apron has a hole in it but... I didn't sew. I'm wai-waiting for my little fashion queen. I can't to this as well as you. So... Yes. I-I have to go".

Sabine quickly ran out of the hospital room. She couldn't pretend. Not now when she just wanted to wail cause her little daughter looked so... fragile and broken. And she couldn't do anything about it.

Just then a little dark butterfly flew into the room. It rocked above blue hairs for a while and then it sat on the pretty ribbons.

"Hello Princess Justice. No... Hello Jinx. Your friends and family didn't believe you were a good person and now they don't believe you can come back. I can help you prove them wrong, to show them what you could really do if you were as horrible as they believed you were. In return, you will give me miracoulus of Ladybug and Chat Noir. "

The link was silent. But then, from the deepest parts of mind came response.

"Yes, Hawkmoth"

Purple mist swallowed unmoving girl. She was still binded to the hospital bed but it didn't stop her. After all, only her body was broken, her body was a trap. And... Now, she could escape.

So she did.

***

At first no one noticed. It was simple things, knocking things from tables, tripping when there was nothing to trip onto. Then it started to get worse. Objects falling from high, machines breaking while being used, endangering those around. Stairs becoming slippery. Brakes not working. Walls cracking.

It was Alya who noticed first. She saw a her in the corner of the eye. Pale and... When she turdes around, she couldn't see her anymore. But it must have been her. Right...?

It was getting worse. Everything that could go wrong, went that way. You would fall into the hole that wasn't there a minute ago, people were falling into the water, tripping, pushing, animals were snappier than usual and everyone somehow always managed to get hurt. It was bad... But it was only beginning.

Jinx made her first real appearance when first person died. She was hovering about the poor man with a little smile on her face. Man just got hit in the head with a flower pot and a little bit of concrete.

She looked like her old self. Almost. She was floating, half transparent, flickering here and there. Her ribbons were longer, swirling around her body like if they were alive. She had a black costume with white hearts on shoulders. The same hearts that worked as her new freckles. As she was looking at the dying man, new heart formed on her costume, this one the biggest of all.

She hummed.

"What a shame... You really had a bad luck, huh? But don't worry... Everyone in this city will have it as bad as you~!"

She looked at the horrified crowd and giggled. Such fun! Just then, two cars hit each other. There was a lot of smoke... Screaming... And she vanished, with five new hearts on the costume.

***

She stood in the spotlight. Every camera was looking at her. It was her moment.

"Greetings! I am Jinx, your little helper of the week!"

Yes, week... She was slow. But Hawkmoth listened to her plan and agreed to wait. She would success.

"You know what I can do by now"

She showed a footage of accidents. Cars smashed together. Construction that fell down and crushed a house nearby. Accidental fires. Death. Death death death.

She switched view to her face again.

"Some of you are afraid to leave your houses... Fear not! I can get you in there too~!"

She giggled. What a joy!

"But... I suppose I can ease my actions. All I ask is you give me my 'friends'. My old class who believed that I was someone horrible. Give me girl who calls herself Lila. Give me a chance to properly thank them for what they've done to me."

She gritted her teeth. Now is not the time. She relaxed a little.

"Oh... And Chat Noir? If you want to stop me. If you want to save Paris..."

Now. Now she had the attention. She had to do this.

She went to Master Fu before and discovered he didn't have her kwami anymore. He gave it to Chat, so the hero could choose himself a new partner. Bastard took some others miracoulus but not all of them. So she stole the rest. It was her job to take and give miracoulus, was it not? And now...

She looked straight into the camera.

"Give me your miracoulus. And give me MY MIRACOULUS BACK!"

And just like that, every screen shattered.

[softforcal]

Monte Carlo : Racecar driver!Cal

Summary: They've been going to the same bar for a while, but have never talked. Then, across the globe, they meet at a club. He's there for a formula one race, she's there as an Instagram promoter for The Grand Prix. Angst and slow-burn ensues.

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: some smut

Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst, ft. Harry Styles

note: I started writing this when i first got into f1 so it's not 100% correct on how f1 operates but that's ok. Also I’m not from New York but i tried my best lol

Nascar stuff to watch if you want a full experience: Hot Lap, Champagne popping. 

****************

She’d met him in a bar.

It wasn't a southside bar. The carpets weren’t stained by booze, ashes from used cigarettes and various human fluids, whether that be blood or sweat or whatever else landed on the floor in a dodgy hole in the wall.

Yet, it wasn’t a North Side bar either. They didn’t have the most expensive bottles of whiskey, no ‘hints of aged oak’ or bottles boasting of being over a hundred years old.

No, it was a middle ground. People loitered outside, men in leather smoking with the bouncers. The women there wore strappy heels and weren’t afraid to kick them off to play a game of pool. It was perfect, and there was nowhere else Celeste would have rather been.

The charm of the bar wasn’t even really the bar itself, but a certain regular.

His arrival was always signaled by the scent that would rush into the bar when a bouncer opened the door for him. The stuff he smoked always seemed to smell different, the type of sweetness that was edged, the type of sweetness that told you not to get too close.

No one could help but look at him when he entered. He was beautiful, the type of guy who could afford to relax in a North Side bar where the extra cost for drinks bought you more discreet eyes.

He never seemed to mind the eyes though, and Celeste wasn’t surprised, after all, she supposed a racecar driver of his stature would be used to it by now.

She’d thought he was cute before the bartender had even mentioned that the gorgeous brunette was a famous race car driver. Celeste wasn’t the type to watch cars, whether they be NASCAR or formula one. Hell, she didn’t even know the difference between the two - didn’t particularly care.

Celeste could understand the man - she wasn’t sure of his name - she wasn’t too picky about being seen either. Both of them were young and alive, chasing dreams and becoming successful at an early age.

The driver must have been twenty-three or four, already a known winner. If Celeste could remember correctly, she thought she’d heard he was one of the drivers for Ferrari, which sounded prestigious.

Celeste was twenty-two and at the cusp of finding stardom in the world of modeling. She’d been discovered by a recruiter at aged sixteen and bounced around smaller brands before landing a gig with Victoria’s Secret. Although she’d yet to walk their runway, one of the designers had showed her picture to a friend and just like that, Celeste had become the muse for one of the biggest fashion brands in North America.

She supposed she was lucky, blessed really, to have been in the mall the day the recruiter discovered her.

And likewise, she supposed the driver was fortunate to have been introduced to driving at a young age.

So there the two of them were, two young stars shortening the vicinity between themselves every Friday night or so. Close but not touching, never meeting.

Later in her life, Celeste would wonder if it was odd for the other patrons who frequented the bar. If it was odd for them to be minding their own business and have not one, but two, semi-famous people just decide ‘this is my chosen bar.’ But in those moments when Celeste accepted a challenge in pool, playing against other drunk university girls, Celeste was just one of the people who’d found a little slice of home in a midtown bar.

***

Calum swirled the whiskey in his glass, taking a deep breath and turning so his back was leaning against the bar top. His eyes found her immediately. She was the type of girl that stood out. Even if he hadn’t been told by his favourite bartender that the girl was a model, he could have guessed.

It was hard to tear his gaze from her as she bent over the pool table to line up a shot. Her little jean shorts hugged her ass perfectly, and the way her thighs were pressed against the table made Calum lick his lips. She wasn't a typical model, or at least didn’t have the thinner body type. She was what his friends would call slim thicc, and Calum ate it up every time she entered the bar.

The girls she was playing with were obviously university students from the school down the road. Calum had seen them once or twice, they liked to get drunk and play pool. They were also obviously fans of the model, and to the models credit, she was very kind to them any time they approached her.

“You should go talk to her.” the bartender suggested, “two pretty people like you, it makes sense.”

Calum smirked against the rim of his glass, humming absentmindedly, “does it?”

“You should do it soon, you know everyone’s been taking bets on when you end up talking to her, who approaches who.”

“Really?” Calum turned to look at the bartender.

“No, but it’s a good idea, maybe I should start that up.” he paused, “come on man, you’re a regular, she’s a regular. You’ve both been coming in for what? Six months now? Most Fridays? Except for when you’re off in Italy or Mexico or wherever, winning trophies and she’s doing modeling gigs. The two of you would make sense together.”

Calum shot the last mouthful of whiskey, setting the glass down, “no we wouldn’t.”  he stated, tossing a bill onto the counter. He didn’t look up at the bartender, instead, he grabbed his leather jacket that had been thrown over a bar chair and shrugged it on. It was warm and worn, and Calum produced a joint from inside one of the pockets, tucking it behind his ear and amongst his dark curls. His trusty lighter was in his hand by the time he was pushing the door open to escape the bar.

The cold air wrapped around him and Calum’s nimble fingers moved the joint from behind his ear to his lips, the lighter flicking on. He took a long drag and his eyes closed, the warm feeling wrapping around him pleasantly.

He knew he was being a pussy.

Knew that sixth months was six months too many for him to be in the same vicinity of a girl like that and not make a move. Calum liked to take his time with women, which is why he enjoyed going to the bar alone.

His friends didn’t get it. They were all about driving fast, living fast and fucking fast.

Calum would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy speed, he was a fucking racecar driver for Christ’s sake. One of the fastest in the world, if his last race was anything to go by.

But when it came to women? Well with women, Calum liked to go slow.

Besides, he was only going away for a week, maybe a little more. She’d be there when he got back.

***

The pop of the champagne bottle announced the spray of liquor that began to stream over Calum and his friends. Ashton was pointing his bottle towards the crowd and fans screamed up at them, allowing the expensive liquid to drench them as the drivers celebrated.

Calum’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and two of his friends held his head back as Ashton poured booze into his mouth. He was getting used to this treatment, they were only four events into the year but this was Calum’s third win. He was going to drink a little, but he was saving his energy for the next race, it mattered more to him anyways.

The Monaco Grand Prix held a special place in Calum’s heart and he could hardly wait for the week and a half for it to start.

Champagne dripped down the front of his red jumpsuit and Calum shoved his friends away, heart pumping fast. It only ever beat this way when he won first place, something that was happening with more and more frequency.

The air was still tinged with red from the gusts of coloured smoke that had been released as he’d crossed the finish line.

For a moment something else flashed red across his vision, a shirt the model had been wearing the week before. She must have not had any idea when she’d chosen that colour that it had a deeper meaning for Calum. It was the colour of Ferrari, his colour, a colour that always sparked his heart with fire, the colour that promised a race, promised the elevation into paradise that came with a win.

One of his friends grabbing his jumpsuit drew Calum’s attention, and the image of the girl was gone.

***

Celeste lounged in her chair, celebrating a successful shoot with a slice of pizza. As she bit into the cheesy goodness, her makeup artist sat next to her, “you have to see this.” she said, moving her phone where Celeste could see, “it’s from the race practice today.”

“And it’s Formula one right?” Celeste clarified. She felt bad, knowing that she should logically know more about the cars. After all, she was in Monte Carlo for the Monaco Grand Prix. The brand who hired her to be their correspondent for the paid promotion trip had known Celeste had no background with motorsports, so they had a journalist creating her captions for all of her paid posts. But Celeste still felt bad.

“Yeah this is formula one, you can tell because the cars are thinner remember? just watch this.” the girl said with excitement. Celeste focused on the screen, watching as a red car sped down a track, “oh my god, how fast is he going?”

“Fast.” the girl breathed.

There were two cars, a red and a blue. The red tried to skim past the blue and sent them both spiraling out, the blue coming to stand still as the driver got their bearing, however, the red car hadn’t even stopped spinning before it was off again, speed gaining to catch the car that had taken the lead from him during those brief seconds of collision.

The camera angle switched to the camera attached to the red car and even at massively high speeds, the driver was fixing their mirror that had been damaged in the collision, and driving with only one hand.

One more harsh turn had red overtake the other red that had been in the lead.

The clip cut off.

“Did he win?” Celeste asked.

“He did, but this was just a practice, we still have qualifiers and the actual race.” her artist said, “fuck, Hood is insane, I’ve never seen a driver recover from a bump so quick.”

“I’m shocked the bump didn’t have them both like, flipping or something.” Celeste said, “every time I think about race cars I think about how deadly the crashes look.”

“Just be glad you’re not dating a driver.” her artist said.

Celeste laughed, “thank god.”

***

Celeste had been busy most of the day, but she’d heard the notorious Hood had won yet again, not that it was a surprise, apparently. People on the streets were talking about him, his name whispered over and over again everywhere Celeste went to take pictures.

The other model she was with had done the Monte Carlo coverage for the brand the year before, she’d chosen a club and said that it was the place to be the night of the qualifiers and especially the next night after the final.

It was easy enough to get onto the list for the exclusive club, and the fellow model, a girl named Alexa, warned Celeste not to sleep with any of the drivers, “they’re pigs.” Alexa said as they got out of the limo, “only good for pictures and tags but other than that? They talk a big game about liking it fast but these men don’t have stamina for shit.”

Celeste laughed, following Alexa up past the security who didn’t even ask if they were on the list. Alexa and Celeste where the types of girls who surpassed lists, if a straight man ever tried to refuse them entrance to a club, it would surely mark a coming apocalypse and pigs would be flying.

The VIP section of club was alive with people, full of the rich elite, the type of people who flew out to Monte Carlo with the pure intent of watching Formula One racing. Celeste decided, as she walked amongst people with pearls and diamonds adorning their bodies, that Formula One was an expensive sport. Alexa had mentioned early in the day, as the two of them absentmindedly waited for the cars to zoom past where they were sitting in the crowd, that some Formula One cars could cost around fifteen and a half million dollars to make.

Celeste had nearly fallen out of her seat at the number, and her mouth had gone dry as her eyes went to the track, watching the expensive cars who could at any moment flip and waste so much money.

The thought of cars crashing was swept from Celeste’s mind as she was dragged by Alexa through the crowd of people. The racers weren’t hard to spot. They were all decked out in sponsored caps and casual outfits. The only people in the room who didn’t feel like they needed to dress up, because they didn’t. Every rich person in the room was there for them, the racers had all the power, all eyes on them.

Some were surprisingly young looking, and many of them were smaller than Celeste expected. “Why are they so tiny?” Celeste whispered, stopping Alexa in her tracks as Celeste looked at the racers.

“The more weight that’s in the car, the slower it goes, smaller is better… for once.” Alexa teased, “come on.”

Then they were in the midst of the racers, Alexa hugging a man she fondly called Ash. He was a bit bigger than the others, but still not up to Celeste’s standards. Her eyes wandered, a smile on her face flashed to anyone Alexa introduced her too.

A song came on and Celeste’s hand tightened around Alexa’s, “oh my gosh, this is my song!” Celeste said, looking at her with pleading eyes, “come dance with me?”

“You go ahead, I have to catch up with some friends.” Alexa said.

Celeste didn’t need to be told twice, letting go of her friend to escape to the dancefloor. It was out of the way of the VIP section, filled with a younger crowd that Celeste felt akin to. She meshed in, lost within the swarm of dancing people. The song was new, by an artist she’d followed since his boyband years. His new music was rich and fun, the artist making a true name for himself as a rockstar.

Her hips swayed to the music, the beautiful metallic sheer dress hugging all her curves as she smiled and danced with the people who made room for her. She’d never had issues fitting in, least of all on a dancefloor.

When the song finished, she continued to dance, even though the next songs weren’t her favourites. She was just beginning to sweat when a hand grabbed hers, Alexa pulling her roughly, “Celeste come with me now!”

By the time they’d exited the crowd, it was obvious where Celeste was taking her. Standing in the VIP section, surrounded by racers, looking as handsome as ever, was Harry Styles, the very artist that Celeste had swooned over when his song had come on.

Her heart froze in her chest and she stopped in her tracks, pulled harshly again by Alexa, “come on!” Alexa said, “you have to meet him!”

***

Calum was becoming an expert in the art of opening and spraying champagne. He’d won the Monaco Grand Prix, taking the first spot like he was entitled to it, and keeping it until he’d crossed the finish line. His entire body was on fire, heart racing in his chest.

Ashton stood next to him, he’d finished third, which was also impressive. It was obvious that they’d be celebrating that night, after the interviews. Calum was excited about the night ahead, he’d always found Monte Carlo to be a dreamlike city, wonderous and in a way romantic.

He wasn’t sure what would happen that night, but if it was anything like his triumphant day, he knew it would be amazing. Nothing could pull him away from his post win high, and he was sure of that.

***

It was her.

Calum blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. No, it was her. The girl from the bar. The influencer who’d weaseled her way into his brain without even knowing it, was there, a few yards away. She had a glass of champagne in her hand, but it was still full.

Calum recognized the girl next to his influencer, a model named Alexa. He’d met her at a few of his races, she was a brand endorser for a number of the same brands Calum worked for. He knew he was on her Instagram, tagged a few times, pictures of the two of them standing next to each other, her smile much larger than his. Alexa was a nice girl, he enjoyed her, but Calum generally tried to stay away from models, he wasn’t quite sure why.

Alexa spotted him a moment later, her eyes widening as she motioned him over, opening her arms to pull him into a tight hug, “I can't believe you won!” she screamed, “that’s what? Your third race in a row? What’s your secret Hood?!”

Calum’s eyes darted between Alexa and the influencer next to her, still not introduced, waiting politely for his answer.

“Uh-” Calum wracked his brain for a witty response but nothing came, “who’s your friend?”

Alexa didn’t even seem to mind that he hadn’t answered her question, “this is Celeste.” she said.

Celeste held out a hand, “nice to meet you-”

“Calum.”

“Calum.” she repeated his name, a silly smile on her face. The name tasted sweet on her tongue, “I think… have we met before?” she tried to play it cool, but she knew exactly where she’d seen him. This was the mystery hunk who frequented her bar back in New York.

For months she’d been trying to work up the courage to go talk to him, and now there he was, halfway across the world in a club that was too loud, a new title added to his impressive resume.

Calum nodded, “we go to the same bar in New York.” he didn’t even bother dancing around the idea of where they knew each other from.

Celeste’s heart leaped in her chest.

“You two know each other?” Alexa asked in shock.

“Not really-” Celeste began as Calum said “no.” they both stopped, waiting for the other to continue. Both of them blushed, Calum readjusting his guinness cap on his head.

A man with honey coloured curls appeared, arm going around Calum as he greeted Alexa, “who’s your friend?” Ashton asked.

“Celeste.” Celeste answered, holding out her hand to him.

Calum watched every movement, loving every motion.

“I’m Ashton,” the man said, turning to Alexa, “you need a drink.” he stated, grabbing Alexa’s hand.

“Only if you’re buying.” Alexa teased, allowing Ashton to pull her towards the bar, leaving Calum alone with Celeste.

“So you won today!” Celeste said enthusiastically, “that must be so great for you!”

Calum could see her struggling with her words, “you don’t watch F1 much do you?”

“F1?”

“Formula One.” Calum corrected himself with a laugh.

“No, I don't.” Celeste admitted awkwardly, “fast cars aren’t really my thing.”

“Really?” Calum asked in shock, she looked like the kind of girl who would own a luxury car, but maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

“Yeah, I don't know, fast cars, crashes, guess I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat.” Celeste laughed, sipping her champagne.

“I could take you for a drive.” Calum stated, the words left his mouth before he could stop them, “I mean, my Ferrari is down at the track-”

“I’d have to be really drunk to agree to that.” Celeste laughed, the tone of it twinkling deliciously and making Calum smile.

“Then, cheers.” Calum clinked his beer with Celeste’s champagne glass.

“To F1.” Celeste said, already incorporating the new term Calum had taught her.

Calum smiled at her, “To fast cars, crashes and scaredy cats.”

***

“We are not doing this.” Celeste said, even as she got into the car. Calum closed the door behind her, hurrying to his own side to get into the driver's seat, “Calum, your seatbelt is straight out of bondage porno.”

“Watch a lot of those?” Calum laughed, his skin heating as he turned to look at the model who was holding the harness like a seatbelt.

“Calum!” Celeste said loudly again, jaw-dropping as she looked at him, “no!”

Calum grinned, reaching over to help her put the seatbelt on. He hadn’t pushed her to drink more, Celeste had done that on her own. She’d said after a few sips of champagne that ‘it wasn’t every day a formula one racer offered to take a gal out for a drive’ and had downed her glass. Seeing she was serious, Calum had put down his beer, having only had a sip of it.

He was completely sober, unlike the girl next to him. She was a bubbly drunk, much like the champagne that had caused her to be this way.

Calum grabbed the two safety helmets from the back of the car, handing one to Celeste. She looked at it like it was about to bite her, “what?!”

“For safety.” Calum said, putting it on her himself before putting on his own.

“How fast are we going to go?” Celeste asked.

“As fast as you want.” Calum said, putting on his own seatbelt before looking out at the track. He didn’t want to tell her that he would go over 200 km/h on straights, he knew he was being devious but he didn’t care so much.

He’d done this before, never with a model, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to show up and go for a celebratory lap of the track the night after a win. He’d even left his car on the track, having always planned on coming and doing this. Security was always nice to him, partly, he supposed, because he was a winner, but also partly because he was a nice guy.

“Fast.” Celeste whispered, then she looked at him, “wait, not super fast,” she said, then she frowned, “no, fast? Maybe?”

Calum laughed, “I'll just start, and if you want me to go slower, I can, yeah?”

“Okay.” Celeste said, her eyes lingering on the racer's profile, “pretty.” she mumbled, so quietly that Calum almost didn’t hear her. He felt his skin heating, could feel his ears turning red as the car roared to life, the engine purring.

“Fuck.” Celeste said, grabbing at the car door.

Calum laughed, turning to look at her, “we haven’t even moved yet.”

“What if I don't want to anymore?”

Calum took his foot off the brake and the car rolled about two feet, making Celeste grip the door tighter.

“We can stop.” Calum said, easing off the brake again to move another few feet.

Celeste took a deep breath, then turned to look at him, “Murder me.” she stated.

Calum’s breath caught in his throat and he blinked, taking a moment before he realized she meant that he should drive so fast she’ll metaphorically die. He swallowed thickly. “You got it.” he said, voice hoarse.

“Have you ever taken someone out on something like this before?” Celeste asked, suddenly sounding quite sober.

“We call them hot laps.” Calum stated, “I've taken a few athletes out on some, done some drifting, some donuts-”

“Can we do some donuts? I love donuts.” Celeste said as Calum pulled onto the track.

“Sure.” Calum looked at her, “do you trust me?”

Celeste wet her lips, “no?”

The first part of the track was straight and Calum’s foot went all the way down on the gas pedal. Celeste squealed, thrown back into her seat as Calum grinned. They reached 230 km/h quickly and Celeste screamed as she saw the first turn coming into view.

She didn’t tell him to slow down, which Calum appreciated as he adjusted the car for the turn, hitting the apex (the inner corner) perfectly as Celeste squealed next to him. Calum couldn’t help but smile, pushing the car faster again as he came out of the corner.

He knew this track like the back of his hand. Knew it was 3.4 kilometers, nineteen harsh corners that would have him breaking for around 20% of the drive, giving him ample reason to drift just to make Celeste scream. Fuck. He loved it.

There was no one watching, just him and Celeste, and she obviously knew nothing about racing. Which meant he could get away with doing things that had them both thrown around the car, just for the hell of it.

It was the type of track where he couldn’t go as fast as he wanted, he wanted to be able to show Celeste how fast a car could go.

The sharp turns were coming up and Calum was ready for Celeste’s loud scream as the tires skidded across asphalt, he wasn’t ready for her hand landing on his thigh, holding on tightly.

He held the record for fastest lap in the world at this track, having completed it in 1 minute and 13.60 seconds, almost a full second faster than anyone else in the world. In the car he was in now, it would take longer, but driving always seemed fast to him.

He was focused behind the wheel, moving it expertly, taking each turn as Celeste screamed next to him, never letting go of his leg.

To Celeste, the ride felt like eons, every turn threw her to the side, her eyes unable to keep a track of the road in front of them. She simply had to hold on and enjoy it. Part of her did. Perhaps it was her drunken state, but she wasn’t really that afraid. She trusted the man next to her, even if she didn’t understand why.

The car skidded to a halt and just as Celeste thought it was over, Calum lurched the wheel to the side and threw Celeste to the left, as she squealed. The car continued to go in tight circles, a harsh weight pulling on Celeste as she screamed, eyes closed, mind dizzy.

The car stopped and Celeste took a moment to open her eyes, blinking at Calum.

“That was a donut.” he told her.

“Thank you.” Celeste whispered.

Calum laughed, then his eyes darted down to her hand on his thigh, she followed his gaze, offering him a lazy smile, “you have nice thighs.”

“You do too.” Calum said, voice hoarse. It was true. She’s what Calum’s friends would call “thiccer than a sniccer” and it had not escaped his notice.

“Do I?” Celeste asked, removing her hand from Calum to look down at her lap, “you don’t think they’re too big?”

“No.” Calum said honestly, following her eyes now as he looked at her legs. He swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away, “where are you staying?”

“I forget what it’s called.” Celeste said, a happy smile on her face, “can I stay with you tonight?”

Calum’s mind was blank for a moment. He wasn’t sure what she was asking for. He wasn’t about to take advantage of her, no matter how badly he wanted her thighs wrapped around his head- “uh- sure.”

“Sleep over!” Celeste squealed, “we have to order pizza!”

“I don’t eat pizza.” Calum said as he took off his helmet, reaching over to help Celeste take off hers.

“What?! Why not?!” Celeste pouted, looking very concerned.

“Racecar drivers are supposed to be small, less weight means a faster car-”

“But you’re so big and tall.” Celeste smiled.

“Yeah,” Calum laughed, “so i try not to eat much, don’t want to gain any more weight than I already have, I'm a lot taller than most drivers.”

“That must mean you’re really good.”

Calum smiled, setting the helmets in the back of the car then going to unbuckle Celeste. He stayed quiet, too humble to tell her that she was right.

Celeste turned to look out the window, opening the door once she’d been released from the seatbelt. By the time Calum had gone to join her on the other side of the car she was laying on the ground, “the stars are so pretty.” she mused.

Calum sighed. At the start of his day, he’d expected maybe winning the race. He hadn’t expected to bump into the model he’d been lusting over for months from New York, in a club in Monte Carlo, only to drive her around then lay on the track and look at the stars with her.

Calum got down next to her, his shoulder just touching hers, “the stars are pretty nice.”

“For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” Celeste breathed, “Van Gogh. I'm really tired Calum, can you take me home?”

He couldn’t take her home, not really. All they had was his hotel room. But perhaps it wasn’t bricks and mortar that made something a home, perhaps it was something else. Something not solid, not something you could hold in your hands. Maybe it was a feeling.

He wondered what could be home.

***

Celeste blinked, sitting up in a bed that was not her own. The first thing she noticed was the wall of pillows to her left. Curled up in the pillows was a head of dark curls and Celeste recognized Calum. His back was to her, a redshirt covering his broad shoulders. Even in bed, he wore Ferrari’s colours, it was intriguing.

Calum was awake, and when the bed dipped, he knew Celeste was as well. He rolled over and sat up, looking at her, “how are you feeling?” he asked.

“My head hurts a little,” she admitted, “you took me racing last night?”

“I took you on the track.” Calum said.

She blinked at him, “I remember screaming a lot.”

A smile spread across Calum’s face, “yeah, I think you enjoyed it.”

“I think I remember enjoying it.”

Calum got out of the bed, “I'm going to go get you breakfast, waffles and donuts right?”

“How did you know my cheat meal?”

“You were ranting about it last night, wanted to go find a diner to make you some fried chicken and waffles.” Calum answered, leaning against the doorway, “I don't think they’ll have the deep-fried chicken, but they have waffles, and donuts, sprinkles right?”

“Did I tell you all of my favourite foods last night?” Celeste laughed.

“Nah,” Calum smiled, “just your top hundred.” he teased, “I'll be back soon.”

Celeste looked down, realizing she was also in a Ferrari shirt. It was Calum’s, the red of it more worn and comfy looking than the shirt Calum had been wearing. It was large on her and when she got out of bed it went just to her upper thighs. The fabric was not made for a woman, not made to curve over a large bum, as Celeste turned to look at herself in the mirror next to the bed, her eyes took in the way the shirt teased. Every movement had it riding a little bit higher, sneaking a sliver of bodaciousness that she was known for.

Her hair was still wavy from it’s styling the night before but all of her makeup was gone.

She had some sort of memory of Calum wiping a warm cloth over her face.

Yes, now she remembered. He’d brought her to the hotel and had insisted on cleaning her up before letting her pass out. He’d wiped the makeup from her face gently while she ranted about food. She missed American food, missed the diner in New York that she went to every Sunday morning for deep-fried chicken and waffles.

The door to the room opened and Calum stepped in, a box full of food in his hands. He set it down on the tabletop next to Celeste’s side of the bed, then he began rearranging the pillows, straightening out the blanket.

“Thanks for the breakfast.” Celeste said, picking up a waffle.

“Don’t mention it.”

“So… are you headed back to New York soon?” she asked.

“There’s another race in under two weeks, I think a lot of us are going to stay here, and then head to Canada together, France after that-”

“Oh my god, I didn’t know you raced in so many countries.”

“This is round six, there’s twenty-one in total, so that’s still fifteen to go.” Calum said, not looking up at her.

“Fifteen more races? Fifteen more countries?” Celeste asked in shock.

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” Celeste chewed on her waffle.

Calum looked down at his watch.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Celeste asked.

“Yeah, I have to go do training, then meet up with my team and talk about the race yesterday.”

“You’re a busy guy.”

Calum offered her a smile, “sorry I can’t stay longer and have breakfast with you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you going back to New York soon?” Calum asked.

“Uh…” Celeste’s mouth was dry, “I'm not sure yet.”  her skin was prickling. She’d almost forgotten about the charming brit she’d met two nights before. The brit she’d gone home with. The brit she was meeting up with in- “fuck, I have to go-”

Calum laughed, “got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah a date,” Celeste answered, shoving the waffle in her mouth, “I need to give you your shirt back-” she said around the waffle.

Calum’s expression had changed, but Celeste hadn’t noticed, too busy looking around for her stuff, “Keep it.” Calum said, “You can give it back to me in New York.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have a lot of Ferrari shirts.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

Celeste grabbed her small clutch purse, finding her shirt and skirt on the ground. She pulled the skirt up her legs, the stretchy material hugging her curves as she did a french tuck with the front of her shirt, “Calum, thank you so much for last night, for everything.” she said sincerely, turning to look at the driver.

“Don’t mention it.”

She stepped towards him and wrapped him in a hug. After a moment of hesitation, Calum hugged her back.

“I’ll see you in New York.” she promised as she pulled away, “we’ll have to meet up at the bar or something.”

Calum smiled, but it was forced, “sounds fun.”

“It will be.” Celeste ran to the door, “good luck with everything! Congrats again on your win yesterday.”

“Thanks. Get home safe.”

“I will.”

Then she was gone.

The twelve hours he’d had with her felt like borrowed time. As if he’d somehow stolen those hours from whatever god or being had kept the two of them apart for so long. And now she was gone. Calum felt like Cinderella at midnight, except it was nine AM and he wasn’t a princess in a Disney movie.

He was a formula one driver with a job to do. And he wasn’t about to let a pretty brunette get in the way of his work, even if she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life.

****

They’d followed each other that day, the notification lighting up Calum’s phone. The first of many pleasant phone buzzes signaling a message from the model. She’d posted a picture of chicken waffles on her story her first day back in New York and Calum hadn’t been able to resist the urge to message her about it, congratulating her on finally quenching her craving.

Conversation with her was easy. Two weeks into casually talking, she’d sent him a meme about friends, saying ‘us.’ it hadn’t thrown Calum off, he considered her a friend too. After all, the best relationships start with friendship, something Calum had learned after many failed attempts at love.

Celeste even congratulated Calum on winning second in the race in Canada and it had shocked him that she’d watched it. “What are friends for?” she’d messaged back, warming Calum’s whole body.

Their friendship reached a new height when she asked for his snapchat, and thus began the great dog snap challenge. Anytime either of them saw a dog, they’d take a picture and send it to the other.

Calum was busy with work. Ferrari was ramping things up, and Calum had his head in the game. Because of this, he didn’t have time to go home, even though he wanted to. Which was why he was so excited when Celeste messaged him to tell him she’d be in England when he was there for Round Ten of the championship.

Calum didn't ask too many questions, too excited to see her.

It was an hour before Celeste’s flight to England, and Calum wondered if he should message her. He finally gave in, it was late for him and he knew if he didn’t message her, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Before he could text her, his phone rang.

He’d had Celeste’s number since they’d met, 45 days ago, not that he was counting, and they’d never called each other.

“Calum! I’m not waking you am i?” Celeste’s voice was worried.

“No, what’s up?”

“Is it okay that I called you?”

“It’s fine, you sound worried.” Calum sat down, eager to give her his full attention.

“Have I ever told you I'm not into flying?” Celeste asked.

Calum chuckled, “no, you never mentioned it.”

“Well, I am, and I don’t know why this is freaking me out so much.”

“I mean, it is a long flight, maybe that’s why?” Calum paused, “you’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Are you my captain Calum?” Celeste asked sarcastically.

“No, but you’ll be fine.” he paused, “hey, when you get here, do you need me to pick you up?”

“No thanks! Harry’s picking me up.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Calum opened his mouth, then closed it, he wasn’t sure what to say, “I didn't know you were seeing him?” he offered.

“It’s funny, I met him the night before I met you. He actually has been coming to visit me in New York, so I figured it’s my turn to head out to him, and when I saw it would line up with you being there i had to come.”

Calum’s skin was cold. He’d thought she was coming to see him, but as it turned out, he was only fifty percent of the reason. Was he even fifty percent?

“But I’m coming to your race!” Celeste continued, “the training ones and the final one.”

Her terms weren’t correct but Calum couldn’t be bothered to correct her. “Is Harry coming with you too?” Calum asked.

“Yeah, he’ll be around, but I do really want to see you Cal.” there was a muffled sound, then, “they’re boarding so I gotta go. Talking to you really helped Cal. I’ll see you soon! I’m so excited!”

“Me too.” Calum forced out.

“Awesome! Love ya! Bye!”

Calum’s mouth felt dry, his body still frozen, but he managed to say “bye.” then the line clicked and Celeste was gone, but had she ever really been there?

***

He was late. Something that never happened, but he’d been late with Celeste. They’d gone out for drinks her second night England and had stayed up talking and ordering room service until three AM. Calum had lost track of time, another thing he’d never really experienced.

Shoving his legs into his race suit and pulling it up, he ran past a few mechanics, eager to get on the track. He’d had a call early that morning that some rich person had paid a lot of money to have a hot lap with him.

It seemed to be the day of things that had never happened to Calum.

He usually didn’t do hot laps, and Ferrari knew that. There was, allegedly, something special about the person who’d requested him, but that morning, half asleep when his phone rang, Calum had been too tired to ask.

Calum was used to camera’s being shoved in his face and he pushed through them, approaching the signature red car that he’d be using.

“Calum, what’s it like driving one of the most famous British singers in the world?” a reporter asked.

Calum looked up, for the first time getting a glimpse at who he’d be driving around.

Harry Styles looked as Calum always supposed he would. His hair was perfect, and the black jacket he was wearing made him look like he’d come straight out of an Abercrombie and fitch magazine. Or perhaps another magazine, Calum didn’t keep up with fashion.

Then came the dimples.

Calum could have thrown up.

“You must be Calum!” Harry exclaimed, holding out a hand and offering a smile.

Calum shook his hand, hard, not smiling, not saying anything.

Then he remembered the cameras. Remembered that this was his job. Remembered that as the top f1 driver, driving a man with a huge fanbase, the video would probably go viral. Calum forced a smile, “nice to meet you.” he said politely.

“So let's get to it yeah?” Harry asked, his British accent way too charming.

Calum nodded, going around the car to escape the paparazzi. He put his helmet on and took some joy in the fact that Harry would have to do the same, and maybe it would ruin his hair.

There were cameras in the car.

Calum wondered what would happen next.

“Excited for your race, mate.” Harry said, buckling himself in, “you’ve always been the one to watch.”

“Didn’t know you were a big formula one fan.” Calum mused, the engine roaring to life.

“I wasn’t.” Harry admitted, “we have a mutual friend, she got me into it.”

Calum wondered how far Harry would go. After all, there were cameras in the car, and Calum had heard about Harry and his tendency to stay elusive.

That’s when he realized it was serious. The thing between Harry and Celeste.

Harry had spent a lot of money to be in the car with Calum. He was facing the cameras, despite his desire to mostly not produce content.

And he was talking about Celeste.

Calum’s foot stepped onto the petal and the car lurched forward. He hoped that Harry wouldn’t talk anymore. Hoped it would be a quiet ride.

“How did you two meet again?”

“What?”

“Our mutual friend.”

Calum wished he’d just say her name. But he understood why Harry was being aloof. Understood it protected Celeste from being prematurely exposed to his fan base, for better or for worse.

Calum respected it.

“Met in Monaco. She mentioned it was the day after she met you.” Calum said, making a point to mention Harry. He supposed it would ease Harry’s mind, knowing Celeste had mentioned him… even if it had only been a few days earlier. Calum pushed the car faster and then braked hard for a corner, throwing Harry to the side.

“That was a good race by the way.” Harry said, “You came in first, congratulations.”

“I like Monaco.” Calum said, “it’s a special place.”

“It is.” Harry agreed. Calum couldn’t be sure, but Harry seemed satisfied with their interaction. Calum wasn’t sure what he expected, after all, it’s not like the guy was going to come out and be aggressive with him… even if that’s what Calum might have done in his position.

The rest of the drive went smoothly, with Harry complimenting Calum’s driving and even letting out happy hollers at sharp turns.

As the car came to a stop, Harry turned to shake Calum’s hand, “maybe I'll see you tonight.” Harry offered.

“Maybe.” no way in hell.

One last smile and the gorgeous man was gone, out of Calum’s car and hopefully his life.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out?”

“Yeah, I need sleep tonight, the race is tomorrow-”

“Did… I- Harry told me about this morning, said he was eager to meet you, did you like him?”

“He’s fine, I’m just tired.” Calum lied.

Celeste was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, “but tomorrow night, we’re still on, right?”

When she’d first arrived and they’d gotten drinks, Calum had promised to do the same thing after the race. But when he’d promised he’d assumed it would be just the two of them. Calum didn't want to go anymore, “yeah.” he said.

“Okay, because I had a lot of fun last night Cal. Anyways, have a good night, get some sleep, you’re going to be great tomorrow.”

“You promise?” Calum asked.

“I’m your captain, I definitely promise.” Celeste laughed, the sound was magic, “love ya Cal! Talk tomorrow!”

“Love you too.”

He hung up.

***

Celeste’s arms wrapped around him and when Calum lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, “you did it!” she screamed in his ear, a little too loud, but he didn’t care.

He set her down and Celeste pulled way, keeping him close as she looked up at him, “that was amazing Calum!”

“It was nothing-” Calum brushed it off, looking down. He could be cocky about his driving, but not with her. With Celeste, his heart always seemed to swell.

“Calum, you hit every single apex!” Celeste said and Calum’s heart fluttered even more.

She’d learned a term used in F1.

He didn’t even know what to say so he just looked down at her, unable to stop smiling.

“Harry’s not coming, by the way, he had to go back to London for work.” Celeste said, finally pulling away from Calum, “so it’s just us tonight!”

Calum let out a breath, smile widening, “so where are we headed?”

He didn't care that other drivers were probably going to celebrate at a specific location. He only cared about taking every moment with Celeste…. As friends of course.

Of course….

Who was he kidding, Calum knew he was walking a fine line. Part of him wondered what would happen when she came to England… before he’d found out about Harry. And although those ideas were no use anymore, he’d be damned if he didn’t still take advantage of their time together.

“Let's get drinks?” Celeste suggested.

Calum smiled, “sounds perfect.”

***

Calum stared up at the ceiling and Celeste rolled onto her side to look at him. Calum smiled, turning to look at her too, “what?”

“I’m just…” Celeste studied him, “I haven't really had any guy friends before. All the guys I know try to be my friend just to get me in bed. And we’re here and you’re not trying anything.”

Calum coughed awkwardly, sitting up, “well, you’re seeing Harry.”

Celeste rolled onto her back, hair fanning over the pillow, “yeah.”

“How is that going? You didn’t talk much about him last time we hung out.” it was true. They’d been together for hours and Celeste hadn’t mentioned him once.

Celeste took a deep breath, “I really like him. I think. I don’t know. When I was a teenager and he was in One Direction he was huge. And, like every other teenage girl on earth, I was definitely a fan of his. Being with him feels… well, it’s odd. He’s a great guy but I almost feel like I enjoy the grandeur of him. I enjoy the Harry that I know from social media…” there was a pause, then, “fuck, this is why I’m trying not to get drunk anymore. I always want to talk about philosophy and end up confusing myself even more. Forget I said anything, I’m being stupid.”

Calum looked at her, watching the way her chest rose and fell. Her eyes were closed. She was frowning.

It was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her.

Calum laid down next to her, “I'm sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll probably just do what I always do, stick with it until something really bad happens, then run away.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.” Calum stated.

Celeste smiled, “Never said it was.” she yawned, “can I stay here tonight?”

“Sure… do you need me to build a pillow wall like last time?” Calum teased.

“For your protection or mine?” Celeste flirted, but Calum knew it was just for the sake of teasing, her expression changed, “why did you have to make a pillow fort last time?”

“You asked for one.”

“So you just built me one?”

“Of course.”

“You’re really sweet, has anyone ever told you that?” Celeste asked, pulling the covers over her body.

“No.”

“Well, people should tell you you’re sweet more often.” Celeste’s eyes were closed and from the wispy tone of her voice, Calum knew she was about three seconds from falling asleep.

“Goodnight Celeste.”

“Goodnight Cal.”

***

Calum stared at the deep-fried chicken on top of waffles. Celeste looked like a kid in a candy shop and Calum was shocked she’d even found a place that served her favourite breakfast. She looked adorable, having stolen one of his Ferrari hats and a shirt.

It was big on her, but he loved it.

“Cal, can you take a pic of me and my waffles?” Celeste asked, handing him her phone.

“Sure.” he said, adjusting the camera as Celeste made a face, tongue out, fingers up in peace signs.

He took a few pictures, smiling down at them before he handed the phone back.

“Do you mind if I tag you?” Celeste asked, “I mean, I am the new Ferrari spokesperson after all.” she joked, flipping the hat so it was backwards.

“Sure.”

He watched her. She was so focused on making the post, it was her job after all.

Calum wondered if Harry would mind that she was tagging him. But… as was plainly obvious, he was just Celeste’s friend.

Sitting there, across from the gorgeous model, Calum decided he’d be just that: a friend. He’d be there for her always, or as long as she wanted him around. He’d take her out for waffles and make blanket forts and support her, even if it meant supporting her with another man.

He’d be whatever she needed him to be. And if that was simply a friend, so be it.

***

“Can you believe you’re almost done the world championship?” Celeste asked.

Calum smiled. It had been five months since they’d met. This championship had felt particularly long for some reason, “miss me already?” Calum teased.

He’d been coming back to New York on his time off as much as he could. He was living for the nights he and Celeste spent at the bar they should have met in. The bar that, if he’d had the balls, could have been where they’d met months before. Could have been where they had their first date-

“Of course I do Cal!” Celeste said, “fuck, I wanted to tell you once you got here, but, I can’t hold it in anymore!”

Calum’s skin felt cold and anxiety overcame it. She’d been getting more and more excited about Harry and any time she had news, Calum was scared what it would be.

“Harry and I are getting married.”

Calum’s mouth was dry, when he opened his mouth to speak it hurt and he had to swallow thickly, giving him the time to think, “congratulations.”

“You’ll come right?”

“When is it?” Calum asked, worried by the eagerness in her voice.

Celeste and Harry had just come out as a couple a month earlier, when he’d taken her to an event. Calum hadn’t looked at the pictures but Celeste had sent him snaps of her dress before she went, and Calum had been so upset he’d gone to a gym to punch things.

“Harry wants it soon, weird right? I didn’t think he was the marriage type.”

Calum bit his tongue. He’d never brought up the night in England when Celeste had told him she worried about why she was with Harry. He wanted to bring it up.

He chose not to.

“Anyways, next month I think?”

Calum’s chest hurt.

“So you’re coming right?” the hope in her voice made it worse.

“I’ll be there.” Calum choked out, “I have to go.”

“Aw really?”

“Yeah, sorry, talk later?” Calum collapsed into his bed.

“Good luck in your race tomorrow. Last one, then you’re coming home.”

Home. He’d wondered before if home was a feeling. He’d felt it every time he was in the bar with Celeste, or grabbing waffles, or with her staring at the stars or even the ceiling.

He wondered if he’d ever feel home again.

***

Alexa looked at Calum. He’d not been impressed to be there. Every time Celeste came out in a new white dress, he’d put on a big happy face, but as soon as Celeste was gone he’d frown again, sitting back and sighing.

“Aren’t you happy for her?” Alexa asked. She’d heard about Calum and Celeste being good friends. Hell, part of Alexa wondered if Calum had surpassed her on the friend scale. Not that Alexa had minded, she was busy and working in LA more and more, which made it harder to keep up with Celeste.

“Yeah. Of course.” Calum said.

“You don’t look happy.” Alexa pointed out.

Before Calum could respond, Celeste called for Alexa’s help and Alexa disappeared. Calum pulled out his phone, opening Celeste’s Instagram. The newest picture was one he’d taken. Celeste bending over the pool table to take a shot. She’d kicked his ass that night, and Calum smiled sadly, wondering if she’d still be up for dodgy bar nights after she was married.

Movement caught his eye and he looked up.

Celeste was standing there in the new wedding dress. It had a form-fitting corset that showed off her curves. Plain white and silky with harsher lines rather than a softly rounded neckline. Beautiful tulle layers of soft white fabric puffed out from under the corset.

She looked like a princess.

Calum’s heart leaped in his chest and he looked at her with eyes that betrayed everything… to Alexa, who was watching him carefully.

“What do you guys think?” Celeste asked, spinning.

“It’s the one.” Calum stated.

“I agree.” Alexa nodded.

Celeste beamed, her whole body alight with happiness as she looked at him, “I think so too.”

Celeste turned to go back into the changeroom and Alexa caught Calum’s eye, she frowned at him and Calum looked away.

Alexa felt bad for Calum, and as she helped Celeste out of the dress, Alexa also realized how much respect she had for the man. He’d said he was coming to the wedding. Alexa wondered if that was true.

***

He couldn’t do it.

He had to do it.

Calum sighed, leaning over the sink and splashing water onto his face. When he stood up, the face looking back at him in the mirror seemed put together.

Calum wished it was true.

The door to the bathroom opened and Alexa peeked her head in, “Cal?”

“This is the men’s bathroom.” Calum said, upset that she was disrupting him when he needed time alone.

“Celeste wanted me to come check on you.”

The anger in Calum’s shoulders disappeared and he took a deep breath, turning to Alexa, “I’m fine.” he lied.

Alexa stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, “you’re at your best friend's rehearsal dinner the night before her wedding. Your best friend, who I might add, you’re in love with.”

Calum swallowed thickly, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“It’s okay to admit it to someone Calum.” Alexa said, “I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Calum sighed, running a hand through his curls, “it’s my own fucking fault.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. I should have said something.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Calum said, voice rising, “but I should have. Before the wedding, before the engagement, before-” he cut himself off, turning to rest his hands on the sink again, head bowed, “it doesn’t matter.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re a really great guy.” Alexa said. There was a pause, then the bathroom door opened.

Celeste stuck her head in, eyes drifting between Alexa and Calum. For a moment she was expressionless, then she smiled, “what are you two up to?”

“Just talking.” Alexa said, “Calum needs to tell you something.”

Celeste entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She looked radiant as ever, in a soft lavender silky dress that Calum longed to touch. It lit up the green of her eyes and the tanness of her skin and Calum’s mouth went dry looking at her.

It had hurt to spend the whole dinner seated next to her, watching her laugh with Harry. Calum could barely stand it anymore.

“So…” Celeste said, “what’s up?” she looked between Alexa and Calum again.

“I’m going to give you two privacy.” Alexa said, quickly leaving.

Celeste turned to Calum, concern on her face, “is something wrong?”

Calum’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Celeste waited patiently, searching his face for a sign of what was to come.

This was the time to say it. The time to tell her how he felt.

He couldn’t do it.

Couldn’t bear the thought of making her upset, two days before her wedding.

“You’re not coming to the wedding are you?” Celeste frowned.

“No.” Calum breathed out before he could stop himself. He wouldn’t have said it on his own, wouldn't have brought it up, but now that she had… now that she was verbalizing it, he realized there was no way in hell he’d be able to go. Celeste’s eyes were welling with tears and Calum was quick to wipe them away before they could drip down her chin and tarnish her dress, “hey, it’s not you, I uh- work.”

The lie also slipped out before he could stop it. He couldn’t make her think it was her fault. Couldn’t tell her the truth.

“Work called.” he said, sounding more certain, “there’s a new thing they’re trying on my car so I have to get on a plane.”

“You’re flying out?” Celeste asked in confusion, “but your tournament just ended? I thought you were home for good? I planned the wedding so you could come-”

Calum’s heart broke at her words. He brushed more tears away from her face, hands cupping her cheeks. Celeste grabbed his wrists, looking up at him with those big green eyes.

His voice cracked when he spoke, “I’m sorry.”

Celeste moved his hands away from her face and hugged him, her body pressed against his front. Calum’s arms wrapped around her, “you’re going to have a great wedding.” he said, voice hoarse, “big and white and just what you wanted.”

Celeste cried harder and Calum wanted to go outside and crash his ferrari into a wall.

The door to the bathroom opened and Harry peaked his head in, immediately entering when he saw Celeste crying, “What happened?!” Harry asked.

Celeste pulled away from Calum and stepped instead into Harry’s arms, not saying anything as she cried.

“I got called in for work so I can’t make the wedding, I'm flying out tonight.” Calum said. It was easier to lie to Harry, “Celeste is upset I won't be there.”

Harry studied Calum for a moment, then he nodded, “I'm sorry you can’t make it.”

“Me too.” he paused, “I'll go grab Alexa, she’ll have makeup, I don't want to ruin your night-”

“When are you leaving?” Celeste asked suddenly, turning to look at him.

“In two hours.” he lied, eager to have an excuse to leave.

He was glad Celeste was too shocked by the sudden turn of events to ask many questions or prod him for answers. He didn't have any answers. Knew the lies were weak.

Calum turned to leave but Celeste grabbed his hand, “when do you come back?”

“I don’t know.” Calum answered. He didn't know anything.

He’d go to Italy in a few days, that was Ferrari's home base. He’d learn some more Italian so his mechanics could talk to him, he’d-

“Calum?”

“Yeah?”

Celeste opened her mouth then closed it, then opened it again “don’t hurt yourself.”

“I won’t.” Calum looked at her quizzically, unsure where the sudden warning had come from, “send me pictures from the wedding okay?” he wouldn’t look at them.

Celeste nodded. She said nothing else and neither did Calum.

He left the bathroom, bumping into Alexa in the hallway, “what happened?!” Alexa asked, shocked by the tears that were welling in Calum’s eyes.

“I’m skipping the wedding.”

“Did you tell her you love her?” Alexa whispered, following Calum as he attempted to leave the venue.

“No.”

“So what happened?!”

“Told her I’m leaving the country tonight for work-”

“Calum!” Alexa grabbed his arm and made him stop, looking around to make sure no one was looking at them, “you can’t leave.”

“I’m going to go to Italy-”

“You can’t!” Alexa insisted.

“Why not?” Calum asked, beginning to get angry.

“Just-” Alexa looked around again, voice lowering, “please stay in town. Until after the wedding, then you can go wherever you want, you can be out of here tomorrow night. But… trust me Calum. It’s better if you’re here.”

“Why?”

“I just… I have a feeling.”

“A feeling?” Calum laughed, but there was no humour in it.

“Celeste is my best friend. She’s never said anything to me about you but-” Alexa cut herself off as a server walked by, looking at the two brunettes huddled together in secrecy, “just don’t leave the country. Promise me.”

Calum sighed, “fine. I’ll stay, but I’m getting a ticket for tomorrow night. then I’m gone.”

“Okay.”

Calum studied Celeste’s best friend. Wondered what she was thinking. Wondered what she couldn’t say.

***

Celeste had managed to get herself put together for the remaining rehearsal dinner, it was near done anyways. She’d gone home with Alexa, to the apartment they shared when they were both in the city.

Celeste would be moving out as soon as she returned from her honeymoon and her things were already in boxes, a suitcase packed for the trip Harry had planned to celebrate the wedding.

Alexa watched Celeste mope around. If Alexa didn’t know any better, she would have assumed Celeste had just been dumped.

Except that she hadn’t.

“Your wedding is tomorrow, aren’t you excited?” Alexa asked, passing a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream to her friend.

“Yeah,” Celeste frowned, “but Cal won’t be there.”

“Harry will. That’s what matters right?”

Celeste took a deep breath, “yeah.”

“What are you thinking Celeste?” Alexa asked, a question she’d become accustomed to asking. Celeste didn't open up much, even when prodded.

“I don’t know.” Celeste fell down onto her bed, careful not to drop the ice cream.

Her eyes went to the wedding dress hanging there, then to the picture of her and Calum that they’d taken in Italy months earlier. The two of them at Ferrari HQ where he’d shown her around and explained all the cars to her, talking in mangled Italian to the workers who’d smiled at his attempts.

Celeste groaned loudly, “well. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“Uh huh.” Alexa didn’t sound too convinced.

***

Celeste paced back and forth, hands on her hips. It was an odd sight but not a surprising one for Alexa who stood there watching the fully dressed bride have a panic attack.

“What time is it?!” Celeste asked suddenly, turning to look at Alexa.

“Eleven forty. wedding is in twenty minutes.”

“Oh my god.” Celeste fell onto a chair, hiding her face in her hands while careful not to smudge her makeup.

“Talk to me Celeste.” Alexa said, kneeling in front of her friend.

Celeste looked at Alexa from behind her fingers, then took a deep breath. For a moment Alexa thought Celeste would actually open up, then her mouth shut, “this is a mess.” Celeste whispered.

Alexa sighed, “Celeste. Is it possible, that the reason you were so upset when Calum left last night, is because you wanted him at the wedding-”

“Of course I want him there!” Celeste frowned.

“But maybe not as someone in the crowd? Maybe as the groom?” Alexa asked.

Celeste looked shocked for a moment, staring at her friend as if she’d just said she believed the earth was flat, “what?”

“You and Calum.” Alexa said softly, “do you love him?”

“Of course I love him.”

“As more than a friend.” Alexa specified.

“I-” Celeste looked distressed, “I’m getting married to Harry-”

“Just answer the question.” Alexa took Celeste’s hand gently.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. He chose work over being at my wedding and left the country last night-”

“He doesn’t have work today, and he didn’t leave the country.”

“What?!”

“He didn't come because he couldn’t stand to see you with Harry anymore.”

“What?!” Celeste said, louder this time.

“He loves you.”

Celeste stood up abruptly and Alexa followed suit. Alexa had expected Celeste to be ranting, but the girl in front of her was oddly silent.

Celeste’s hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone. She hit speaker and the sound of ringing filled the room.

“Celeste? Are you okay?” Calum’s voice was worried.

“You lied.”

“What?”

“You’re still in New York?” her voice cracked. The line was quiet, Celeste bit her lip, “can… can you come, and bring your car please?”

“I-”

“Calum please.” Celeste said.

She’d never been one to beg, but there she was. Begging in her wedding dress.

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Please hurry.”

***

Calum got out of the car but it didn’t matter, Celeste was already running down the steps. Her hands clutched the dress, lifting it up as to not dirty it.

She was, in every sense of the word, a runaway bride.

And Calum had never been more in love with her.

He held the door open for the car. He’d chosen the one without a top, it was old but still luxurious. A few girls had told him it was the black version of the car people drove off into the sunset in Grease, but Calum had never fact-checked that claim.

Celeste was beaming. Glowing really. And Calum was smiling back at her, helping her tuck her entire dress into the car before he closed the door and ran to the driver's seat.

The car roared to life, like a battle cry, or perhaps a battle won.

“I need to go to my apartment.” Celeste said and Calum didn’t question it.

She’d yet to tell him anything. But since they were driving away from the church, Calum guessed the wedding was over. He was guilty that it made him happy.

The radio was playing club music, the type of hype music Calum liked to drive to, and Celeste turned it up. Her hair was getting messed up by the air whipping by them but Celeste was laughing, arms in the air.

She looked beautiful. Like a girl going to her wedding, not one running away.

Calum snuck glances at her at the first red light.

He could almost forget about Harry.

Until they drove up to the apartment and Harry was waiting there, leaning against his car. One of his friends was in the driver's seat, but he didn't get out of the car.

The look on Harry’s face was stony and it was obvious to Calum that he knew what was coming. “Calum, I need to talk to him is that okay?”

“Of course.” Calum answered.

Like Harry’s driver, Calum stayed in his car. Watching his best friend, the bride to be, get out and walk towards Harry. They were both dressed for the wedding, and it was odd to see them out on the New York street, even if it was a quiet one.

“Celeste, we need to be at the church-” Harry said.

“Harry, I love you but I can't marry you.” Celeste stated, “and I’m so sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”

Harry was quiet.

“You’re one of the most wonderful people I've ever met.” Celeste continued, “and I needed to tell you this in person, but I can't do this. We’ve only been seeing each other for six months and we’re rushing things, don’t you think we’re rushing things?”

Harry sighed but nodded, he’d had the feeling too.

“Besides, we’re amazing friends and I do love you Harry, but I’m not in love with you.”

“Not the way you are with Calum.” Harry stated.

It knocked the air out of Celeste’s lungs. It was as if everyone had known her feelings except her, and maybe Calum, “I-”

“It’s okay.” Harry held up a hand, “s’ not like I would have been able to live in New York forever, and you can’t give up your sodding chicken and waffles.”

“Don’t bash the deep-fried chicken and waffles Harold.” Celeste said, faking offense, but then she was smiling and so was Harry.

“Come here.” Harry said, opening his arms.

They hugged and Celeste was happy neither of them were crying. It showed that this was right.

“I’m not going to deal with wedding guests.” Harry mused while pulling away.

“Me neither.” Celeste said, “we could both just not show up? That sounds like a good song.”

“You have left me with a lot of material.” Harry laughed, “well, I'll see you around Celeste.”

“See you around Harry.” Celeste said fondly, giving the brit one last smile before he got into his car and left. Then she bounded over to the car, leaning down to rest her arms on Calum’s door, “hey.”

“That looked like it went okay.” Calum said.

“It did. So, my bags are packed upstairs for a honeymoon that I’m not going on… what do you say we go somewhere?”

Calum smiled, “where to princess?”

“Take me back to Monte Carlo.”

***

The sound of the hotel room door opening woke Celeste up, her eyes landing on Calum. They’d arrived the night before and had immediately passed out, both too jetlagged to do much. Calum offered her a smile and Celeste stretched, yawning the words “where were you?”

“Wanted to get you breakfast but I didn't think the stuff downstairs was up to your standards.” Calum said, leaning on a wall. He wasn’t sure where to stand.

They were in Monaco.

They’d talked and watched movies the entire flight but neither had brought up the wedding.

He wasn’t sure where he stood with her. Wasn’t sure what he was allowed to ask.

Celeste could feel his awkwardness as she studied him. Then she stood up, adjusting the Ferrari shirt she was wearing. “Calum?”

“Hm?”

“Come here?”

Calum smiled softly, uncrossing his arms over his chest, he took a few steps forward. Celeste held out her arms and pulled Calum to her, looking up at him, “Calum. Do you know I love you?”

“Yeah.” Calum said, he’d heard it many times, after every phone call, after every ride he gave her home after a hangout.

“Do you know I'm in love with you?”

Calum’s breath caught in his chest and he wet his lips, mind racing. The thought that he was the reason for her ditching her wedding had crossed his mind but he’d pushed it to the side, instead deciding to be, as always, Celeste’s friend.

“Calum?” Celeste breathed his name, brushing her fingers over his cheekbone.

Instead of speaking he kissed her.

He’d gone so long not saying the words ringing through his brain, they could wait a little while longer.

His lips were soft on Celeste’s at first, hesitant, as if he was afraid she would pull away. Only when Celeste wrapped her arms around the back of his neck did he get more comfortable, one hand cupping her face while the other went to her waist, pulling her closer.

Calum pulled away and his entire body shuddered for a moment, in something like pure ecstasy, maybe shock.

Celeste smiled up at him, kissing his lips once more softly, “Are you okay?” she asked.

Calum laughed, returning her grin, he shook his head a little, “I just-” he couldn’t find the right words to explain how he was feeling, Celeste waited patiently and- god, he loved her so much.

She could see it in his eyes.

Calum’s fingers dug into Celeste’s hips and she beamed at him, brushing her fingers against his cheeks. She could feel what was unsaid and almost appreciated it more because he couldn’t find the words to say it. She’d always had a connection with Calum that seemed to be on another level, and moments like this confirmed it to her.

Moments like this. She enjoyed the thought of that, of more to come.

“Are you going to kiss me again?” Celeste teased, eyes darting down to look at his lips then up at him again.

Calum kissed her, not as hesitant as the first kiss. His hands went to her waist immediately, one of them dipping down to just above her bum. His fingers bunched in the red fabric and the cool air met Celeste’s ass. She was in a thong, Calum hadn't noticed yet because she’d been covered by the shirt since the night before, but when his hand dipped a little lower, he groaned into her mouth and Celeste knew he’d discovered the flimsy fabric covering her.

His hand kneaded her ass harshly, and Celeste smiled against his lips, loving the way it felt, loving the way Calum was groaning in anticipation. Celeste pressed against his front, already able to feel his hard on straining his grey sweats.

Then Celeste pulled away and Calum let her go, eyes opening questioningly.

Celeste pulled off the Ferrari shirt Calum had given her, revealing her near nudity underneath. Calum licked his lips, eyes focused on her chest. Then Celeste sat down onto the bed, her thick thighs looking deliciously curvy and grabable, Calum couldn’t hold himself back. He was between her legs before he could help himself, kneeling on the floor and tearing off her black silk thong.

“Calum!” Celeste laughed, fingers tangling in his curls. She’d not expected him to be so eager, expected him to go for kissing first. She had no idea how long he’d been waiting to taste her.

Calum’s fingers danced over Celeste’s calf and he moved it to be on his shoulder, his lips trailing up higher and higher. He kissed both thighs, nipping a little at the skin, fingers digging in as he held her in place.

“So pretty.” he mused, more to himself than anything.

Her fingers gripped his curls when his lips finally met her, wrapping around her clit. He’d had enough buildup. Enough teasing. He wanted to hear her moaning his name, wanted to watch her come undone under him.

The first moan was soft, more like a whimper, and Calum’s whole body felt like it was lit in flame. He sucked harder on her clit, fingers digging into her delicious thighs where they were on his shoulders. Her skin was warm and smelled like flowers, he wondered how she always smelled so good.

Celeste’s eyes were closed, lips parted, sinful, soft noises whispered into the cosmos as her lover devoured her.

Her lover… yes, that is what he was.

Calum was her lover in every sense of the word. It had just taken her a long time to realize it. He did everything for her and as he brought her to her first high, her heart filled with love. Love that had always been there, unidentified and growing. Now that she knew what it was, she was never going to let him go.

Calum licked his lips, looking up at Celeste. Her eyes were still closed, chest rising and falling softly as she chased her breath. He took her legs off of his shoulders and Celeste opened her eyes, looking down at him with a lazy smile. A comfortable smile. As if they’d done this a thousand times, “hi.” she said, voice near a whisper.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Her smile widened, “come here.” she said, instead of answering his question.

Calum moved to be on the bed with her, settled between her legs that wrapped around his waist.

He kissed her shoulder first, then her collarbone, moving up her neck before he reached her lips. When he kissed her, he kissed her gently. One of his hands came up to brush over her nipple, earning a soft shudder from Celeste that made him smile against her lips. “You’re so beautiful.” he told her, kisses traveling to her neck as she wrapped her arms around him, a sigh of content leaving her lips, “fucking love you.” he murmerred.

Celeste’s skin felt warm and her heart lurched in her chest. She knew he loved her, but hearing him say it was different. She brought his lips back to hers and kissed him like her life depended on it, part of her thought it did.

The pressure of his hard, clothes cock, against her sensitive entrance had her moaning within seconds, eager to get rid of Calum’s clothes. Soon, his Ferrari shirt has joined the one she was wearing on the floor and his joggers following soon after.

“I wanna top.” Celeste said against Calum’s lips and he paused, giving her a look but agreeing. He got onto his back and watched her straddle him, lining herself up with him. She sank down slowly, both of them groaning at the way it felt.

He had to admit it was a beautiful view. The first bounce had her breasts moving in a way that made Calum’s mouth water. His hands reached up to cup her breasts and Celeste moaned, continuing to bounce up and down on him.

Calum hadn’t had many religious experiences in his life.

This was one of them.

One of his hands went down to her ass, giving it a test smack that made Celeste laugh, her eyes opening. Her hands went to his chest and she leaned over him, kissing his neck while she continued bouncing up and down. He could see the way her ass was moving with each bounce and Calum groaned, eyes closing as he enjoyed the way it felt.

He was usually the top, usually the one doing all the work. It was nice to just lay back and relax and be doted on, especially since he loved her. Every kiss made him tingle and his heart was racing in his chest.

He felt the way he always felt after a race. It was exhilarating.

His arms wrapped around Celeste, slowing her motions so he could roll them so he was on top. The pace he wanted was faster than the one she had been giving him, and now it was his turn to make her feel good.

She looked so beautiful under him, and the feeling of her breasts pressed against his bare chest did not go unnoticed. He wanted to be kissing her, touching her, loving her.

He angled his hips differently, hitting a spot inside of her that had Celeste’s legs tightening around his waist, “holy shit.” she breathed, moaning loudly.

Her fingers went to his curls again, tugging lightly at the dark strands. Their lips were passionate and slow against each other, tongues clashing, teeth biting. Then Calum grabbed one of her hands, interlocking their fingers as he pressed it down into the bed.

“I’m gonna-” Celeste began but Calum cut her off with his lips, pace quickening.

The whole bed was moving with each thrust, and Celeste’s whines were getting louder as he kissed her. He could feel her fluttering around him, a sign of her impending high. Celeste squeezed Calum’s fingers tight, high whimpers stopping as her whole body tensed, orgasm hitting her.

She was so tight around him that Calum came too, thrusts getting sloppy as they rode out their highs. Their kisses were open-mouthed, both of them moaning into each other's mouths.

When they were both done, Calum stopped gripping her hand so hard, instead, he pressed soft kisses over her face. “Fuck, I love you.” he whispered.

Celeste smiled up at him, “I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

***

The usual patrons of the bar watched the gorgeous couple play pool.

She was dressed in red, a colour she’d adopted to support her boyfriend. The colour made her glow, but her boyfriend’s smile was brighter. He watched her with complete adoration, even when she sunk a ball and got one step closer to beating him.

They were the same people they’d been when they were strangers.

He’d quit smoking, claiming he didn't need the high anymore, after all, he was with the love of his life. He still sometimes brought a cigarette or two to give to the bouncers, chatting with them outside before joining Celeste in the bar.

Celeste still played pool with girls who challenged her, but this time, Calum would come to stand behind her. Watching, his arms looped around his girlfriend, enjoying the way she chatted to the girls like they were old friends.

But they were happier, elevated versions of themselves. They’d always dazzled before, but together, they were an unstoppable force. They had the type of happiness people could only dream of.

Calum had always heard that if you dated your best friends, things would be okay.

With Celeste, his best friend, in his arms, he knew it was true. Her smile was contagious, it always had been. Watching her dance away, her dress teasing him, Calum was thankful for everything that had happened.

There’d been a time he hated himself for not talking to her, but it had led him to where they were now. He’d never believed in fate.

He did now.

********

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[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 7 part 1

A/N: So, this chapter got a little bit away from me. And instead of posting all 14k words in one part, I’m splitting it into two parts (I’ll post part 2 tomorrow, though, instead of making you wait a week!) This first part is a lot of tension and even more angst! Their first real fight! And a cliffhanger? Wowza! I also got to make up a lot of Barba’s background in this chapter, so bear with me. Little bit of Spanish that’s also translated right then. According to my friend, Adrian, there’s no “direct translation for motherfucker into Spanish which is why it’s that long.”

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Tags: mentions of cheating, minor character death, screaming/yelling

Words: 7k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Thursday, April 30th. 10:05am

Ever since the night they read about Marco Sorrel, Devon had pushed to train Barba harder in his self-defense training, especially with weapons. For the past three weeks, she taught him to disarm an assailant armed with first a knife—still sheathed—and then her gun, safety on. Barba hadn’t seemed too thrilled about the idea but agreed that it was necessary. And while Devon had to admit that he was pretty good in the training, that meant nothing when it came to the real thing. She had met many an agent who had excelled in training, and then froze in the field, leading to injuries or worse. Plus, the fact that it had been three weeks with no signs of any Aces made Devon uneasy. Very uneasy. She was sleeping less and less, hardly eating, and jumping at every sound. Barba, being his normal, collected self, didn’t seem disturbed by the news; he simply went about his day, doing arraignments, trials, meetings, and whatever the hell else he had to do. Which was a good thing, Devon supposed; it would make her job harder if they were both anxious.

Today was one of those days that was going to drag on forever, Devon knew. They had gotten to the courthouse early, skipping Barba’s office entirely, doing arraignments until almost noon. They then made it to his office for an early lunch, knowing that Barba would be in court for the rest of the day. Not that Devon was complaining; being stuck in the courtroom wasn’t all that bad, even though Barba had mentioned how boring it must be to sit in the gallery all day. But in all honesty, it was a nice break for Devon. She was still aware of people coming in and out, of course, but for the most part, once a trial started, everyone settled in. She didn’t have to worry too much about an attack once in court. And only once had a defendant gotten out of hand. But once he started shouting, the bailiff was on him, dragging him out, before Devon had fully blocked off his path to Barba. She knew he wasn’t in the Aces, but she was still going to protect the man.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. It is pretty personal,” Barba commented, bringing Devon’s mind back to the present. They were just finishing lunch in his office, relaxing before the rush to court. She suddenly realized that he had asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about stuff. What’d you ask?”

 Barba sighed. “We were talking about, uh, past relationships. I asked how your last relationship ended.” Devon remembered now; they were talking about some cases that they both did with SVU, just a walk down memory lane over food. Barba had brought up the Muñoz case, which led to him talking about Yelina. Devon could tell by how his face softened when he spoke of her that she held a special place in his heart. After asking he agreed that yes, while he had flings and relationships since, Yelina was his first true love. After she left him for his best friend, he had found a couple other partners, but none that had gotten as close to him as her. “You always remember your first,” he had said.

Devon smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Does she lie to him? Tell him that she’s had a couple relationships and leave it at that? “I’ve, um…I’ve never really been in a relationship, per se.”

Barba put down his takeout container at that, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I thought guys would be all over you.”

She laughed his comment away, flattered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’ve been, uh, intimate with people before,”—her face flushed. Why was she telling him this?—“but I’m just not the, uh, relationship type, I guess.” Why were they talking about this again? Though, she knew if she wanted to stop, she’d only have to say so. But she was curious about Barba; he was a very private man. She was interested—and a wee bit excited—that he even wanted to open up about this side of him. If that meant that she had to do the same, then so be it.

After a few moments of silence, Barba thinking through his words, he finally asked, “but haven’t you ever wanted to come home to someone?” It was an innocent enough question, but it filled Devon with such a strong sense of yearning. Of course, she did. Who didn’t want someone who would understand them, who would love them unconditionally?

“I mean, it would be nice, yes,” she kept her voice even, neutral. “But I don’t have the time, not with my job. Plus, how would someone react to something like this?” she gestured broadly. “I was out of the state for three years, then home for a week before moving in with a complete stranger, a man…no offense—”

“None taken—”

“--so, how would dating even work when I’m not even home or when I’m sleeping at someone else’s house?” Devon finished, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. She didn’t mean to get so emotional, so personal with the answer. But she was trying to make him understand.

He thought for a while, stabbing at his chicken. “I guess it would be tough with a job like that.” He took a piece out, chewed thoughtfully. “My last relationship ended because I was never home. I put my work first, so she found her home in someone else’s bed.”

Devon sat there, dumbfounded. Someone cheated on him? “What a bitch,” she mumbled. He stifled a chuckle and Devon realized she said that out loud. “Whoops,” she said, hand flying to her mouth. “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be. That was years ago; I’ve moved on,” he replied. Then, “The hardest part was returning the engagement ring.”

Devon’s heart hurt for the man. She couldn’t imagine being so in love, planning on being married to someone, and then to find out they were cheating. She couldn’t think of anything to say; she didn’t think saying sorry would help, but she didn’t want to ask any more probing questions.

“Do you ever plan on getting married?” Barba asked, staring at the desk.

The question caught Devon off-guard; she never really thought about it before. Maybe when she was a kid, as a last-ditch effort to escape her parents. But not anytime recently. “I’m not sure, really. I’ve never considered it…maybe if I met the right person, though I think I’d like to retire before hand. And I could not imagine having a wedding—too expensive. And rings are so old-fashioned and over-rated; have you seen the new movement of people proposing with beautiful, intricate knives?” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. Barba, to his credit, looked up from the desk, smiling and laughing at Devon’s increasingly ridiculous marriage proposals, awkwardness and past pain soon forgotten.

“Mr. Barba?” Carmen said, sticking her head into his office, causing them both to stop their frivolous talk. “Mr. Thompson and Mr. Buchanan are here to see you.”

“There goes the fun,” Barba mumbled. Devon grinned, but moved to stand behind him, bodyguard-style, her normal place by his side.

Courthouse

Thursday, April 30th. 7:08pm

Court had lasted much longer than either of them had thought; the Judge was intent on finishing the trial today, letting tomorrow morning be for closing arguments and then letting the jury deliberate.

“I need to head back to my office; I forgot a file,” Barba had said as he gathered his things. Odd, Barba never forgot anything; man’s head was a steel trap.

 “No problem. I got nowhere to be tonight. You know that we’re still training, though, right? Staying here late doesn’t get you out of it.”

Barba sighed. As much as he knew training was important, his body was still sore from where she hit him, blocking an attack, the night before. “Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t worry; this will all be over soon enough,” Devon commented. It was true; during the trial, Devon’s phone had gone off with an update text from Olivia. 47 Aces were now sitting in jail. 18 reported left, though 5 of those 18 were reportedly no longer in New York. Once they learned that most of the police force were after them, they had picked up and left. So, in reality, unlucky 13 were left active in New York…including Marco Sorrel, who no one seemed able to pinpoint. If Devon was free to move throughout the city, she knew she could track him down. But she had to trust in the NYPD’s abilities.

 Barba was elated at the news—not having to worry about being shot was a weight off his shoulders—but at the same time, he felt upset at the thought of Devon moving out, moving on with her life. He had grown accustomed to her being there; her laugh, her banter, her presence. He didn’t know if they would remain in contact after this was over. He realized that he didn’t want to lose her. And after their talk this morning, he felt…no, he didn’t want to admit it, not to himself, or to anyone else.

They made it to the courthouse elevator, no one else in sight, and started going down to the ground floor. Barba made up his mind; he had to ask, to know if there was any chance of them having…something after the Aces were in jail. “You know, about that…I mean, after this is all over….” Barba started. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped off, Devon first and Barba right on her heels. The words died in his throat as he felt someone grab him roughly from behind, the cold steel of a gun pushing against his head.

Devon had heard his case fall from his hands, turned and had her gun up, aiming right over Barba’s shoulder before her brain had a chance to catch up. How’d I miss him? she thought, chiding herself. Then, her mind went blank, instincts and training kicking in, no room for any other thoughts. The elevator doors closed behind them, effectively pinning Barba and the man against the wall, facing Devon. Devon locked eyes with the man, ignoring Barba’s frightened look, and for a moment she was in a brownstone, looking at Nathan Woods. But she blinked again, and it was a Hispanic man, gun to Barba’s head, tattoo on his neck.

“Drop your gun, or I splatter this bastard’s brains all over the hallway,” Marco Sorrel said. She could feel Barba’s eyes on her, but she stayed focused on Marco, watching his trigger finger, pushing down the panic that was making her heart race.

“Counteroffer; you drop your gun or you’re dead before you pull the trigger,” Devon replied. She held her gun steady despite her rapid pulse, and started shifting her position slowly to the side, taking such small steps, she hoped Marco didn’t notice. This could end one of two ways, and she was deciding how best to approach it.

“Look, la loca es la primera (crazy bitch), I’m not afraid to die. But I’m taking this el cara e verga es el segundo (motherfucker) with me,” he dropped his voice, talking into Barba’s ear, barely loud enough for Devon to hear, “I hope you’ve made peace with whatever God you believe in.”

Devon felt the floor drop out from under her; she made up her mind in that moment. She took another step to the left, gaining a clear shot. She took it, squeezing the trigger. It was like watching a scene in slow motion. One moment, Marco had a gun to Barba’s head. Barba looked terrified, frozen in place. Then, a hole appeared between Marco’s eyes; his head snapped back and red splattered the elevator doors. His body hit the doors, and he slid down until he was slumped against them, gun clattering to the floor. Barba had ducked from the loud gunshot; he stood slowly, shakily, and turned to look at him while Devon slowly lowered her gun. She holstered it, putting the safety on—she knew she’d be turning it over tonight.

People started showing up then; Devon wasn’t sure where they were coming from. But they must have heard the gunshot, the hallways and curved ceiling making a perfect echo chamber. She stepped up to Barba, who was still looking at Marco’s dead body. She reached a hand out to him, saw her hand shaking slightly, clenched it into a fist and dropped it.

“Hey, are you alright? Are you hurt?” she asked, voice surprisingly steady for how shaky she was feeling.

Barba couldn’t take his eyes off the dead man, his face a little green. “You—you killed him. You just murdered a man.” He had whispered it, so matter-of-factly, voice dead.

The tone he had—or lack thereof--hit Devon like a physical blow. She reached out, hand not shaking this time, and took his hand, leading him a little down the hallway, putting the body behind him so that he was forced to look at Devon. That was almost worse; he looked rattled, shaking slightly, his green eyes wide. He yanked his hand out of her grip as if she had stung him.

“Uh, yes, I did…. You heard him; he was going to kill you in the next moment. I saw my shot and I took it; it was a good shoot,” she explained.

Barba had seen dead bodies in the morgue and in autopsy pictures before, but he had never seen someone killed, been close enough to feel the man’s weight fall off him. To fear, even for one moment, that he was the one who was shot. It felt like his brain was moving through sludge; he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It all had happened so fast; it was amazing how quick, how easy it was to kill someone.

“Police are taught to de-escalate a situation. You’re a damn negotiator, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t have to kill him.” Barba didn’t know where this anger came from, but it was a familiar emotion. He knew anger, so he wrapped himself in it like armor, let it protect his frazzled mind.

The rational side of Devon’s mind knew that this was simply a reaction to shock; when she was in the same situation 4 years ago, her reaction was to shut down. But anger, she knew, was also a very normal reaction to shock. Sadly, another reaction to someone yelling is to go on the defensive. And with all of her senses heightened, adrenaline coursing through her, that’s exactly what Devon did, replying, “yeah, I am a negotiator! And I know when a negotiation doesn’t work; I’ve seen enough hostages killed to know what it looks like. I was not going to let that happen to you.”

“He didn’t have to die, though! You know how to disarm perps!” he shot right back.

Devon shook her head, ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “I had no options, Barba. I hesitate, and you die! I shoot the hand with the gun, and there’s a damn good chance I hit you. Like I said, I saw my shot and I took it. Do I wish I didn’t have to kill him? Of course! But I will not apologize for doing my job.”

“That’s not good enough!” Barba yelled.

“Then what is, huh? What would you, a fucking ADA with apparently expert knowledge on hostage situations, have me do?” Devon answered, blood boiling.

Barba had no answer, so he let out an annoyed huff, and pushed past her. He made his way to one of the benches left outside a courtroom, intended for those waiting to go in, and sat down hard. He leaned his face into his hands, elbows on his knees. Devon took deep breaths through her nostrils, knowing that she needed to take a step back, to control this anger that seemed to stem from nowhere. And she needed to try and calm him down, too, whether he liked it or not. But first, she had to make a phone call.

The crowd that had gathered was staying well away from the body, and even further away from the two of them after their shouting match. She was sure that the police had already been called, but Devon still took out her phone and dialed Olivia’s cell, asking her to alert CSU and IAB. While it was true that the FBI had their own Internal Affairs, and Devon would have to talk to them, too, she was technically working for SVU at the moment, so IAB and 1PP would be involved. It was always tricky with them; they loved to remind her that she wasn’t an NYPD officer, but they also loved to throw her under the bus when they thought she fucked up. She had a grim curiosity about what policies they would take with her this time. Once she hung up with Liv, she figured she’d inform Barba.

Without moving closer, Devon spoke to the wall in front of her. “IAB is going to want to talk to you, too. You’re an eyewitness.” Barba sat in silence, no indication that he even heard her. Devon took another deep breath; she was going to have this conversation with him at some point, might as well be now while he wasn’t yelling.

“If you want someone else to protect you, I have no objections. I understand if you don’t trust me now,” she said softly. The words ripped a hole in her heart to say, but it was his right to have a choice, something he didn’t have when Liv shoved Devon onto him. Plus, she couldn’t get the image of his face after Marco was dead out of her mind: the fear, the anger, the betrayal. Like she was the worst person in the world.

Barba had a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind; they swirled, and he couldn’t seem to clear it. He knew he had to answer her tonight, so he finally said, more to the floor than to her, “I just want to go home for the night; get a good night’s rest. I…I need time to process all of this.”

Well, that was normal after having such a near-death experience, and he wasn’t giving her the boot quite yet. Though, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop; by tomorrow, he’d be done with her. Recognizing that the conversation was over, she thought about their sleeping arrangements. IAB wouldn’t allow her to stay with him tonight; it was against protocol. They could concoct a story about all of this, lie for each other. Her adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving her exhausted. But they had to wait for Olivia to get there, to deal with this situation.

Thankfully, they only had to wait another five minutes, though it felt like an eternity in silence. Olivia was somehow the first on the scene, the rest of SVU on her heels. The detectives started clearing the courthouse of spectators, while Liv came over to the agent and counselor. Devon took off her gun and knife, handing them over.

She took them but turned to Barba first. “There will be an unmarked car watching your place tonight. I think you should get a good night’s sleep before talking to officers tomorrow morning. I’ll give you a ride home tonight, and then come by tomorrow for your statement.” He gave her a stiff nod, then Olivia turned to Devon, sighing heavily. “IAB has instructed me to escort you to the hospital for a blood-alcohol test,”

“That’s normal—” Devon started, before Olivia cut her off.

“And then to place you under arrest until they investigate this further.” Ah, there it is, Devon thought.

She smiled grimly. “And when will that be?” Devon asked. Officers had up to 48 hours to report to IAB after an incident like this, and Devon was sure that they’d make her wait the whole time, incarcerated...if they counted her as an officer. They could potentially make her wait indefinitely. As shitty as that was, all she could think about was who would watch Barba tomorrow at work.

Liv shook her head. “I don’t know; they didn’t specify. Detective Rollins will escort you to the hospital, and then to the cage at SVU.” Better than Rikers, Devon thought ruefully. She glanced at Barba, trying to make sure he was alright, but he was still staring at the floor.

Olivia gave her a look full of concern, before nodding to Rollins. Devon placed her hands behind her back and Rollins cuffed her, looking upset that she was the one chosen to do so. She read her her rights as they left the courthouse. Barba finally looked up as she led her away, a tightness in his chest. Arrested for murder…arrested for saving his life.

Liv sat on the bench next to him. “Are you alright, Rafa?”

He pulled his eyes from Devon’s retreating form, looking at Olivia, her expression full of worry. “She saved my life yet again, but by killing someone. I’m...I’m not sure how to feel about it.” He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it could come to this, that she may have to shoot someone to protect him. But his life had almost always been painted in black and white; murder is bad, illegal. Sure, there were exceptions, but they were few and far in between. And even then, he always viewed justifiable homicide as a last resort. Was killing Marco a last resort?

Liv mulled over her thoughts for a while before replying, “I’ve known Devon for years; she wouldn’t shoot someone for no reason.”

Barba suddenly realized that she had no idea what happened here; Devon wasn’t allowed to tell her without having counsel with her, and Barba didn’t count since he was a witness. So, Barba gave her the broad strokes of what had happened, including Marco’s threat that had pushed Devon over the edge and their conversation afterwards. Liv almost stopped him—he shouldn’t be telling her or anyone besides IAB about this—but he wasn’t a trained officer, and he needed to tell someone about this. Might as well be her.

So, Liv listened in silence, nodding along with his tale. She sighed when he finished, saying, “look, Rafa, you know that I’m against murder as much as you are. But this sounds like a good shoot. She shot him not in self-defense, but in defense of you, which may be a stronger pull, especially for someone like Devon. Trust me, though, she’s not nearly as accepting of this outcome as she may seem.”

Barba took that into consideration; maybe killing a man was eating her up inside. He knew that she had shot people before, but he didn’t know if she had killed someone before. And all he had done was yell at her, blaming her for saving his life yet again. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t control himself, his emotions; he knew Devon at this point. She wasn’t some serial killer. She was his friend, and she was risking her life every day making sure he was safe. And now she was in jail.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Liv said, breaking through his thoughts. He picked up his briefcase on the way out, unable to stomach even glancing at the blood on the ground. They rode in silence, enraptured in their own thoughts; Olivia worrying over how IAB would handle this case—she knew that IAB wasn’t particularly fond of SVU’s relationship with the Federal agent—and Barba going over the whole scene in his mind over and over again, from the moment those elevator doors closed to Devon’s back as she was led out in cuffs. After saying their goodbyes, Barba headed into his building. He noticed the unmarked car parked in front, but it didn’t feel like a comfort, not like Devon’s presence felt. He opened the door and locked it behind him, arming the doorstop like she had shown him. His loft seemed so empty, so quiet. Grabbing the thickest book he could find, he checked every room for intruders; a mockery of how professional Devon usually conducted the search. Barba felt foolish doing it himself, book in hand, but he knew it must be done if he wanted any peace tonight; his blood was still rushing in his ears. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he slowly stripped off his jacket and looked at the time. 11:36pm. He knew there was no chance of sleep tonight, but he’d have to try. To hopefully help him sleep, he dug out his favorite bottle of scotch, pouring himself a glass. He had to sort out his mind if he was ever going to sleep, though the alcohol may help calm his nerves, too. Plus, he needed to figure out how tomorrow was going to play out. He’d never talked to IAB before, nor been an eyewitness to a crime…at least, not like this. For court, he had his bullet-proof question tree, his responses to whatever the opposition said written down and memorized. Now, though, he was the one on trial, and he had no idea what to say.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Friday, May 1st. 7:00am

Barba showered in the morning, after tossing and turning all night. He didn’t go to bed until after 1am, but even with how exhausted he was, not to mention slightly drunk, he could not sleep. He kept thinking about the look of conviction in Devon’s eyes as she pulled the trigger, Marco’s dead body, blood splattered everywhere, his anger and fear as he took out all that energy, all that adrenaline, on Devon. Every time he thought about that conversation, a fresh wave of shame washed over him. He knew that victims sometimes lashed out after something traumatic happened, but he wasn’t a victim…right? He never thought of himself as one; he was simply a marked man. But even he knew that was a bunch of crap.

He got a text sometime while in the shower from McCoy, telling him to take the day, and the weekend, off. First of all, he knew that IAB would want to interview Barba about the dead body found by the elevators last night. And second, he knew that Barba probably needed the time off to collect his thoughts after having such a close brush with death. True, McCoy knew the ADA well, knew that he could handle himself and could feasibly work if asked, but the DA knew it would be better to let Barba relax for a couple days.

Don’t worry, I got a continuous on all your cases. McCoy texted him.

Sighing, he got dressed in a suit, though not one of his expensive court suits—this was more of a “weekend” suit, as he liked to call them. Though, Devon loved to tease him that they didn’t look different. He tried to explain it once, about the different material, the different cuts in shape, but she only laughed harder. He came out of his room, mumbling a quiet, “morning,” then looked to the couch when there was no answer, finding it empty. Oh…right, he thought, missing her singsong, perky voice in the morning. Then he realized that that meant there was no coffee made yet.

As he moved in the kitchen. his phone went off, causing him to jump and almost dropped his mug; it was a message from Liv letting him know that IAB had pushed back the meeting and that she would update him with a time when she knew. She would be there in a bit for his statement, and the unmarked car would stay posted until further notice. At least that gave him some time to finalize what he wanted to say to Devon when…if he saw her. He had solidified his testimony that he would say to IAB. With nothing else to do, he sat in his armchair nervously, fiddling with a pen in his hands.

SVU Department

Friday, May 1st. 7:00am

Devon stared at the ceiling of SVU’s holding cell. Thankfully, she was its only occupant all night. Rollins had given her a pillow and a blanket and told her to try and get some sleep, but they both knew that that wasn’t happening. Instead, Devon counted the bars on the walls, did her normal workouts that she performed in Barba’s loft every morning, and thought about anything that wasn’t Barba’s face, full of fear—fear of Marco, or her?—from the night before. But as the time trickled by and night gave way to dawn, Devon was forced to confront last night’s events. She meant what she had said; she wasn’t sorry that she had killed Marco. If she had done nothing, if she had hesitated for even a second longer, there’d be two bodies in the morgue. She was pretty sure the Barba understood that, but she did not expect him to flip out like he did. Shock makes people lash out, she told herself. Though she wasn’t thrilled that she had killed someone, it wasn’t her first time, either. And Barba was right; in a perfect world, she would have been able to de-escalate the situation, even though she knew deep down that she only had the two options; kill or be killed. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She thought back to the fight with Barba; she had dealt with…troublesome victims before: she’d had people yell at her, take a swing at her, threaten her and everyone she loved. So, why was this different? Why did this hurt so much more? A thought in her mind caught her attention. She tried to ignore it, to squish it, but it remained. You love him. She shook her head—no, no! She didn’t, couldn’t. They only met a few months ago! This was just a crush, a superficial infatuation based on living in such close quarters...ignoring the fact that he was ridiculously handsome, smart, funny, caring.... Okay, she had to stop thinking about it. It would pass, it had to.

“Morning,” Fin greeted. Devon jumped, not hearing him approach; she was too wrapped in her thoughts. She sat up and saw that he held a coffee out to her. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this.”

She took the coffee from him. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. She took a sip, letting it warm her; the cell was cold, despite the blanket. “So, what time is it?”

Fin checked his watch before answering, “seven. And bad news, IAB pushed your interview back. No official time yet,” Devon huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes; of course, they were going to make her sweat, waiting in a cell. Plus, it was Friday; they may make her wait all weekend. “Also, they told us to keep you in cuffs until you go into interrogation.”

“Ah, right. IAB: guilty until proven otherwise. Tucker still in charge?”

Fin smirked. “You think that asshole has anything better to do?”

Devon grinned, then took her seat on the bench that served as a bed, trying to calm her nerves. She sipped at her coffee but didn’t really taste it. Her mind was racing again; she wasn’t afraid of IAB, per se, but that wasn’t the only variable here. Tucker already had a deep dislike of Devon. And then there was also Barba’s statement. Was he still pissed at her? Would he throw her under the bus, tell IAB that she didn’t need to kill Marco? She honestly didn’t know, and that worried her most.

The day passed by slowly, but thankfully no other perp was added to the cage. She was only let out to use the restroom, and none of the detectives felt like making her wear the cuffs. Devon sat in silence, going over her testimony again and again, making sure she had an answer for everything. She was going to tell the truth, but IAB was good at twisting words and actions, and she wanted to be prepared. She replayed every moment from the night before…except for the fight with Barba. She knew she’d have to review it eventually, but she really didn’t have the strength after the sleepless night.

The detectives were all busy; Liv and Fin stopped by every now and again to check in, update her on IAB’s timetable and to see if she needed something. Technically, they weren’t allowed to talk about what had happened, even though Devon waived Miranda. It wasn’t until about 2pm that she had any real company. Detective Amaro came into the cage, bringing a plain bologna sandwich for Devon’s lunch. Government money at work.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting up. Amaro surprised her by taking a seat next to her.

“Mind if we talk a little bit? I feel like we haven’t really talked much,” he replied, handing her the sandwich. Devon unwrapped it, took a bite. Better than nothing, and her stomach was empty outside of shitty precinct coffee. It was true, though; besides bringing Barba in for cases, Devon hadn’t really been around SVU enough to really “meet” the new detectives. Not including the awkward hospital visit from the night before with Rollins.

“Uh, sure, as long as we don’t talk about last night; don’t want IAB coming down on your head, too. What’s on your mind?”

He held out his hand for her to shake. “Detective Nick Amaro. Transferred from narcotics. Been in SVU for a little over a year, but I don’t see myself doing anything else. Partnered first with Benson, and now Rollins. And trust me, I don’t need another reason to have IAB coming after me.”

Devon shook his hand, a little bemused that he was introducing himself. “Ah, Senior Special Agent Devon Motely. FBI for 20 years; started as negotiator and added on undercover. Don’t have a partner, but I do have a team, much like NYPD’s ESU. I trust them with my life, even if I don’t work with them as often as I’d like.”

Amaro sat for a moment, taking in her words. “I looked in your jacket, this is your third kill. Last two were clean, too.” He seemed a little nervous talking about her personal file but hid it well with a charming smile.

Third in the jacket, Devon mentally corrected, and that doesn’t include firefights, where it’s impossible to tell who shot whom. But that wasn’t something she was going to bring up, not now. Devon remembered the other two that were in her file, though. The first had haunted her for weeks afterwards, even if he did deserve it. The man was a bastard; trafficked young girls, even “tested” them out, to make sure they could perform. He had run when Devon confronted him, then started shooting once cornered. She just happened to get him first, total luck, and she knew it. Probably why she didn’t sleep for two weeks afterwards. The second one still hurt, even years later. It was a 22-year-old man—a kid, really—who was caught in a bad situation. He was abused, both physically and sexually, by his father since he was 13. Then one day, he snapped. Took a gun, went to his parent’s house. Devon was called in to try and de-escalate the situation. She got out of her car, and gunshots went off. The kid had shot both parents, then came out the front door just as Devon was rushing in. He had the gun facing down at the ground and didn’t raise it fast enough by the time he shot, hitting Devon in the hip. She reacted on instinct alone, shooting him in the stomach. He died in her arms, bled out before EMTs could get there. She still had nightmares about it, every time she looked at the scar on her hip. She was lucky; the bullet had gone clean through, hitting nothing. A one in a million shot.

“Devon?” Amaro asked, pulling Devon out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I, uh, I have shot two people before Marco, correct,” she replied. “Wish I hadn’t, but things happen on the job. I’m sure you know that.”

Amaro nodded. “Yeah, I—I’ve taken some shots before, too.” He let out a breath. “Takes a toll after a while, huh?” Devon agreed. It came with the job, and therapy was a lifesaver. But some scars took longer to heal than others. “So, how did this one go down?”

Wait, was he trying to interrogate her? Come in as a friend and pry into the case? Or was Devon looking into it too much? She wasn’t sure, but she also didn’t know the guy.

“I think that Tucker would be pretty pissed if I talked to an SVU detective about this,” she deflected, keeping her voice light.

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to grill you or anything. But I agree; he already doesn’t care for me, anyways. Don’t need to give him more ammunition against me.”

“That’s something we have in common. You think they had to ‘push back’ this investigation because IAB is busy? CSU still processing info? Nah, Tucker hates my guts,” Devon chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“I think that’s just Tucker,” Amaro replied, smiling.

Just then, Fin walked up. Amaro stood to leave, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just so you know, they finally set a time. 3pm.” Fin announced. Thank god; having a set time took some of the weight off Devon’s shoulders, but it did make her stomach drop all the same. Both Amaro and Fin left then, Amaro giving Devon a small smile, a peace offering after her accusation.

Fin came back 20 minutes later and reluctantly cuffed Devon once more. At least he left them a little loose, so she wasn’t losing circulation. He took her to his squad car, and he, along with Rollins, drove her to IAB’s headquarters.