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teaandransacking · 2 years

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a million little times

Lucy Carlyle x Anthony Lockwood.

Words: 1,300 ~ Content: kissing, I guess a tiny bit smutty if you squint, hurt/angst.

Lucy wakes from an afternoon nap - ghost-hunting is not a career for anyone who likes a natural circadian rhythm - groggy, and pads downstairs for a cup of tea. The house is quiet. George is away overnight at some East London pop-up that marketed itself as a cleaning product/ academia crossover (actual Heaven for George), and Lockwood is in the basement sorting out supplies.

Or, she thought he was. As the kettle boils, Lucy gazes absently out of the window, eyes trailing the pink fingers of dusk walking themselves across the sky, and it’s then she sees it, on top of the loaf of bread - a note with her name in Lockwood’s scrawl.

Lucy

Went on a recce for a new client.

Back soon

She sighs, half worried, half pissed off. His shoulder isn’t fully recovered, and she’d asked him not to go anywhere without her or George, but this is Anthony bloody Lockwood here; he always does whatever he pleases. Perhaps less so since the Bone Glass, but, she reasons, it must be hard to change the habit of a lifetime.

She makes tea and drinks it, reads, watches telly.

The hour grows late, and she finds herself pacing the living room waiting, and that pisses her off.

By the time the door opens, she’s all but worn a path through the hallway floor, and she’s spitting chips. When Lockwood closes the door behind him, all swishing coat and nonchalant expression, she’s in his face in a heartbeat.

“Hey, Luce-”

“Oh, no you don’t. Do not “hey Luce” me. What did you think you were doing, gallivanting off like that, without so much as a word-”

Surprise flashes across his face. “I left a note-”

“While I was asleep!” She snaps back.

He’s irritatingly calm, sliding his hands into the pockets of that black coat that looks too good on him, like it was tailored especially for his lean figure and long stride. “I wasn’t aware I had to ask your permission.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be like that. It hasn’t been that long since you were literally shot, and-” the memory of it, seeing him slumped over, the bloom of red on his usually pristine white shirt, cracks her wide open inside and she presses her hands to her face, tears burning hot as they rush down her cheeks.

And just like that, his cocksure, let-no-one-in facade drops and his hands shoot out to steady her, holding her up, his hands cupping her elbows gently, like she might break.

“I’m sorry, Luce. I’m sorry. I’m such a bastard.”

She hiccups and manages, “At least you’re not a dead bastard. That’s all I want. For you not to be dead.”

She peeks at him through her fingers and his eyes are dark and tired but soft. He always looks at her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen; will ever see.

“I’m trying my best,” he whispers, and she thinks that maybe he actually is, and her fear isn’t that he won’t try, but that perhaps his card is marked and his time is running out, their time is running out, like sand through an hourglass, and the thought that she has limited time with him makes her bold; makes her do the thing she’s thought of a million little times.

She lowers her hands so he can see her face, and steps forward, crowding him until he has to fall back against the door, caged in.

Lockwood’s cocoa-brown gaze searches her face, but now, there’s something dark and hot in there that she’s seen at least a dozen times a day - in longing stares across the breakfast table, in glances in the middle of rapier fights, when he says goodnight over a cup of tea.

“Please,” he says, so softly she almost doesn’t hear, and that little plea, that tiny spark of daylight in the coat of darkness he wears like a second skin, is enough. She leans up on her toes and presses her mouth to his, and just before her eyes shut, she sees his flutter closed.

He tastes of cold night air, earl grey tea, and a gasp of mint, and as his lips part under hers, she never ever wants to go back to not kissing him ever again.

His hands slide around to her back, pulling her closer, so their bodies line up, and they fit perfectly. Being this close to him, something settles inside her, a feeling of belonging, of what they’ve both missed their entire lives. It’s all she’s wanted, to belong to someone, to be theirs as much as they are hers.

Lockwood murmurs her name and she cups his cheek, feels the soft scrape of a day’s growth of stubble, too faint to see, a secret only she’ll know, and she wants more of that, more things about him only she’ll know, things she can hug close to her when she’s alone and missing him.

“Can I-” she mumbles against his lips, her fingers working at the lapels of his coat.

“Yeah. Yes. Yes,” he mumbles back, and she pushes it off his shoulders and it pools on the floor at his feet in a whisper of fabric, and she spreads her hands over his chest, warm under the pliable cloth of his shirt, and his heart is beating so fast, matching the ragged tattoo of hers under her blue jumper.

He’s lean but solid, a legacy of years of training with his rapier, of leaping through graveyards and free-running over rooftops, and she lets her hands wander, cupping her fingers around his upper arms as she presses into him, and she hears a needy little moan and realises that it’s come from her own lips.

“Luce,” Lockwood groans, and his voice is strangled. “Can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about this.”

About as often as I’ve thought about it, Lucy almost says, but instead she tries to commit those words in his voice to her memory, so she can bring them out and enjoy them later, over and over.

“How come you didn’t make a move?” she asks softly, stroking her thumb over the slight bulge of his bicep under the formal dress shirt.

His throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes lowered, gaze riveted on her face. Whatever Lockwood does, it has his full attention. The laser focus is heady, addictive. His hands are warm on her back, steadying. At her question, he huffs softly. “I’m a mess, Luce. A black hole of repression. I’m the last thing you need-”

She can’t stand him talking himself down; she hates it even more than she hates being told what to do, and how to feel, she shuts him up by kissing him again, and this time it’s fierce. Tongues and teeth and murmured endearments - she never wants Lockwood to call her anything except “darling” in that James Bond smooth accent - and when Lockwood takes her hands and leads them to his lazily knotted tie, she catches the meaning. It’s easy to undo it, lay it on his shoulders. Easier still to free the first button of his shirt from his eyelet, and then another, and another. And each little sliver of his bare skin is like another secret, binding him to her. His breath hitches as Lucy spreads her palm over his heart, and she looks up at him in the soft glow from the hallway lamp, and she asks him to take her up to bed.

#locklyle #lucewood #anthony lockwood x lucy carlyle #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fic

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solticeenery · 6 months

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"Lockwood!" Lucy screams when a big grey, black and white ball of fur rolls down the stairs, kind of squeaks and rushes between her feet somewhere under the couch.

"What's wrong, Luce?" Anthony asks leaving his sister's room and closing the door behind him.

"What. Is. This?" she hisses pointing in direction of living room.

"What exactly?" Lockwood smiles cautiously not knowing what to expect. They are officially dating for a year now, but he's still confused and a bit scared, when Lucy is so angry. He slowly approaches her, keeping the distance between them. Just in case Lucy decides to throw something like she sometimes does when she's pissed. And she definitely looks like that right now. "If you... Specify the problem, we can come up with some kind of solution."

Lucy sighs heavily, trying to calm down, and reminds herself, that Lockwood isn't always the one and only reason of every single disaster happening here. George can be responsible for it not less than Anthony himself. Sometimes it's just Kipps with his concerning but harmless sense of humour. Maybe there's apocalypse coming, because Holly suddenly decided to make fun of them. There are variations of what exactly happened. That's why Lucy takes a deep breath and starts again.

"Anthony, my dear, why is there a raccoon in our house?" she definitely doesn't have any strength left to control the way she addresses Lockwood, when everyone is in the kitchen and can hear every single word. Excluding Holly, she's probably in the office sorting some papers.

"A what..?" Lockwood is obviously startled. "Luce, I'm not sure if I heard you loud and clear, could you please repeat?"

"Sure!" nervous laughter escapes her lungs. "There is a raccoon in our house and I'd like to know, why is it there. To be more specific, under the couch in living room."

"Nope, I heard everything right on first try, a raccoon, ha-ha, okay, whatever, w h a t. T h e. F u c k ?! I beg your pardon but I don't have other words right now?"

"Don't worry, hon, me too" Lucy smiles, relieved, that Lockwood has nothing to do with this incident, and comes to him just to snug in his arms for a second as an apology for shouting at the most precious person in her entire life. He holds her gently, buries his face against her neck and takes a slow deep breath, presumably processing the existence of raccoon on Portland Row 35. Not an easy type of acceptance, but they don't have a choice. First and foremost because Lucy can already guess, whose brilliant idea it was. Flo (please burn in hell) Bones.

No, she does like Flo when she is helpful, but otherwise Lucy prefers to avoid her as much as possible. Mostly because she doesn't like relic-men whoever they are and however useful they can be. She already learned that it's easier when relic-girl stays out of her sight and doesn't bother her with some stupid jokes and meaningful gazes. Lucy has had enough. The Skull overdid all possible norms in first months of her and Lockwood dating.

"So... Who are we interrogating now? George? Quill? Holly?" Lucy tilts her head and rests it on Lockwood's shoulder, admiring their perfect height difference.

"Uh... Whatever you wanna ask, I don't know anything?" sound of Holly's voice makes her shiver a bit and turn around. And see that their assistant just came to work. "Sorry, I know, I'm late, I..."

"It's alright, Holly," Lockwood says softly and calmingly squeezes Lucy's shoulder. "Just don't enter the living room until I allow it, okay?"

"Okay?" Holly is obviously confused and looks at the room uncertainly. "May I ask why?"

"There is a raccoon under the couch," Lucy answers and an expression of pure shock and disbelief on Holly's face is just adorable and worth every inch of this ball of fur.

"A what now? Raccoon?! How?!!"

"If only we knew. But I have an idea," Lockwood giggles and raises his voice. "George! Could you please come for a second."

The chatter in the kitchen suddenly stops and not long after George appears in the hallway with a mug of tea. Lucy can spot Kipps behind him, sipping his morning coffee and definitely eavesdropping.

"Morning," George yawns. "What has already happened?"

"A raccoon happened!" Holly answers instead of Lockwood. "Who left the backdoor opened? You? Or Quill?" Kipps freezes. They all once saw, how angry Holly can be and how dangerous for everyone else it is. Enough to say, that noone wanted to be the target of Holly's anger. It was scarier than all types of ghosts together in one room.

George blinks couple times. Looks at the couch. Frowns, when he hears some suspicious noises underneath it. And suddenly bursts into laughter.

"Oh, you mean Charcoal!" the noises stop, and a small black nose shows up between two blankets, sniffing. "Come here, boy, it's okay." The raccoon rushes into George's open arms, hides its fluffy head under his chin and silently cries. "Yeah, yeah, I know, she can be rude, don't blame her."

"I bet you won't survive the night," Quill shakes his head. "Either Holly or Lucy are gonna kill you."

"Nah, c'mon, Charcoal is too cute, who's gonna look after him, if I'm gone?"

"Flo," Kipps shrugs. "She brought this fur ball here 'till tomorrow morning, and I'm looking forward to her taking this monster away."

"So relic-girl it is," Holly sighs, rolls her eyes and goes to the kitchen to make some tea for them. And Lucy can already guess on that annoyed-angry look on Holly's face that neither Kipps nor George get their mugs refilled. Not as if it bothers them. Not as if Lucy or Lockwood want to disagree with their assistant.

"So... Are we done for now?" George asks burying his face in raccoon's fur.

"Ew, how can you do that?" Lucy grimaces. "He probably was digging in the trash lately. I wouldn't be surprised I mean, it's Flo we're talking about."

"I bathed him this morning! He's clean!"

"You know what, Lockwood," Holly says coming back to the doorway, "I'm cleaning your bathroom with bleach and vinegar today. Or better. George, you are making it, I don't want to know where this fluffy devil was and what could it bring on him."

"Agreed," Lockwood chuckles and turns to Lucy. "We have to meet the client today, don't you mind if I use your bathroom? I don't want to risk my pretty face getting peeled off after Charcoal's presence."

"Oh, sure," Lucy smiles. "I don't want you to risk it either."

She expects George to say something to it, something sarcastic and funny, but the silence is so loud and Lockwood's grin is so sly that it takes some time untill she understands what did her friends hear in these words.

"Yeah, take your time I suppose," George waves his hand. Lucy can see Kipps biting his lips in desperate attempt not to die from laughter. And Holly just sighs heavily.

"I expect both of you to get down to the front door at the noon. Maybe earlier if you manage it, but not later."

Lucy narrows her eyes ready to answer something sarcastic but Lockwood just pulls her upstairs, winking to the others. As soon as they close the door to her room, Lockwood throws his arms around her waist and gently pushes his forehead against hers.

"You can't kill them, Luce."

"Yeah, yeah, as if you would ever allow it."

"Or injure them in any way."

"Not even nudge someone?"

Lockwood frowns, thinking. "George. For the raccoon. He deserves it. But noone else."

Lucy wants to remind him, that he also doesn't like whenever their friends are joking about their relationship. But his soft warm lips meet hers, and in an instant the world stops existing. They won't be ready at the noon, of course Holly understood it.

The last thought Lucy can catch before loosing herself in Lockwood's arms is that maybe — just maybe — she should thank Flo for bringing Charcoal at their place. Because she definitely heard the most awaited words whispered against her lips.

"I think my last name suits you better."

And Lucy can deny it.

It surely does.

#lockwood and co #headcanon #locklyle #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #why is it so difficult to write in foreign language #my brain is broken sos #this grammar makes me crazy #yes it's a raccoon #i love raccoons #Flo is the main shipper in this house and you can't change my mind #fanfic #fanfiction #locklyle fanfiction

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thewhumpcaretaker · 8 months

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The Broken Veil: Chapter 1 - Let Me In

Photo by Vladimir Fedotov on Unsplash

If you're coming over from the preview of this chapter, new content starts at "Out of the plane and into the high-class underbelly of Rome."

TW: grief, crying, nightmare, brief mention of suicidal ideation

Summary: John Wick has just agreed to kill Gianna D'Antonio, repaying the marker that gave him a life with Helen. However, Helen is trying to contact John from the afterlife, to show him that it is possible to stop the cycle of violence – not by forfeiting his own life, but by creating a fundamental shift in international systems and perhaps even the balance of good and evil in this world. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. She’s coming back.

“He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. “Come in! come in!” he sobbed. “Cathy, do come. Oh, do—once more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!” The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.” - Mr. Lockwood, speaking of Heathcliff, Wuthering Heights

Autumn evening in New York reels between gold and grey. A pale white sky bruises over with grey smog. Even the sky is beaten in New York, and yet even the sky sparkles. Golden streetlamps and distant red flashes hang as earthly stars between the glassy black voids of skyscraper walls. Airport whiskey sparkles amber in John Wick’s grasp, and his inward body buzzes faintly against its motionless exterior. Not drunk, not tipsy, not that it would matter. He knows himself drunk, drugged, tired, bleeding, the way the machine of his body handles in every state.

On the street below, a child in a woolen pea coat grabs onto his mother’s hand as they step up into the queue to check luggage. From the bar, John can’t see their faces, only the knit caps crowning both their heads. The boy has a backpack as his carry-on, and it’s too large for him. He shifts uncomfortably. At his movement, the mother fusses and leans down to adjust it. John’s eyes are fixed on her. They begin walking again and the child, excited by something on the far side of the taxi line, dashes towards oncoming traffic. She pulls the little boy back from the street as a car swings recklessly close to the curb. John flinches away from the scene. It was hardly a close call – the kid had a long way to go before reaching the road, and even then, no doubt the car could have swerved at that speed. But it’s the sentiment of the thing, her tenderness…another swig of whiskey so he can’t finish the thought, and he turns from the window.

Drifting, playing the businessman without effort, scanning the crowd, uneasy with this moment of peace between wars. Stay in the moment anyway. Black wingtips clicking too crisply on grimy tile. A glimpse of his reflection in the storefront of a candy shop, an impeccable mask. First class is boarding at JFK Gate 11, direct to Rome. No threats among the passengers – not that he expected any, but an enclosed box in the sky is a bad place to run into an enemy. It’s an opportunity he’s exploited himself in the past. A cordial smile to the flight attendant.

Now there is no more moment to stay in. Only the trans-Atlantic stretch of night, brutally alone.

He doesn’t want to be here. He knows how the machine of his body handles in every state, and right now he handles it by tricking it into doing what it’s ordered to do. Don’t think about doing anything, don’t think about killing. Just sit still, stare straight ahead, and don’t talk yourself out of this job. The job right now is to stare at the blinking light on the wing of the plane and not move, that’s all. He remembers Gianna in their youth. She didn’t want to be a part of all this. She never had much in common with Santino. His ruthlessness, sure, but it was in service of something other than a desperate grasp for authority. She lived her life her way, pursued pleasure quietly between business, on her own terms. Don’t think about it. He thinks about how to do it instead. It’ll be right to give her a moment to face her death. Worth the risk. He owes her that much. Or is that the body rebelling again? Don’t think about it at all. Go to sleep.

He leans back and shuts himself down.

***

He’s making coffee for Helen. The bag crinkles as he scoops rich grounds into the machine. This feels so vivid, he can even smell it. He freezes. Feels vivid…this isn’t real. Lucid dream. They are always so fragile, they don’t have much time. Where is she? Movement, out of the corner of his eye. Between the kitchen curtains, he can see her outside in the garden, her back to him. The way her hair falls above the cotton of a simple sundress, the way it just touches her shoulders…she is before him, he is ready to do anything to get to her. “Helen!”

She turns towards him and her face flares with a mirror of his own desperation. She points to the front door and disappears to the left, and he runs to meet her. There is a strange vastness to the entryway, he can’t reach the far end, but the door is already open. Only the screen is locked, and she’s trying the latch, silhouetted in light. He can feel his racing pulse all the way through his wrists now. She’s looking at him with so much urgency, his heart rattles almost sickeningly with each test of the latch and she’s saying over and over, “Rome, John, Rome! The moment is coming. Let me in.”

***

When he gasps awake, his lungs are already heavy with tears. There’s something darkly gorgeous about the disoriented longing still raging through him like an adrenaline shot and he lets it linger. Hope.

It takes him several minutes to even become irritated with that final twist. A play on words, a stupid, too-obvious, unoriginal trick of the unconscious, lacking the elegance she deserves. “Home, John, home. The moment is coming. Let me in.” If I ever can, I always will. Believe me. But I can’t. He crushes a sob against his ribcage with a deep inhale, swallows, and buries his face in his hands for a moment. Don’t even go there, don’t even imagine the impossible. Then he watches the sun make sheens of silver over the jagged European coastline, still basking in the memory of how she fought to reach him.

***

From the edge of the finite, a form withdraws, regathering strength but burning with the lingering sight of him.

***

Out of the plane and into the high-class underbelly of Rome: this…this he can work with. Preparations are in order. Efficiency. Right answers. It doesn’t hurt that these preparations involve only the finest toys of every kind. Fresh suits, fresh intel, fresh guns… There he stands, one beautiful machine encountering another. Half deliberately and half by accident, he lets the rush take the place of guilt and misery as he cocks a Benelli M4 with all the force of his shoulders, gripping it just as hard as he would if he were fighting for his life. It responds deftly despite its size. What a weapon.

The routine of preparations solidifies his resolve on a physical, Pavlovian level. A wave of calm descends slowly, a winding back, the first twinges of adrenaline pregaming his muscles. Excitement. Regrettable as it may be, grim as its flavor might taste, that's what this efficient hyperfocus really is.

But it doesn’t last.

There’s several hours left until nightfall. What to do? Sit in the Continental, stewing? No. He begins to wander ancient streets. New York reels between gold and grey, but Rome is just gold. It is all archways and domes, stability, unity, an unrelenting sense of holiness. The dream is still coloring his thoughts with terrible hope. “Let me in,” she said.

Why not.

He buys a single rose from a sweet young shopkeeper and carries it by the stem back out in into the crisp late afternoon. Fortunately, she was too intimidated by his appearance to ask who it’s for. It’s a dark orange rose, and a fine specimen despite one petal blemished with a yellow tip. It’s almost the same color as Gianna’s hair, from what he remembers.

In a little courtyard by a cathedral, he takes a seat on a bench. There’s no one around. Even the sun is hidden by the shadow of the belfry. The courtyard is trimmed with hedges that shelter it from the street in a pocket of quietude. He sets the rose beside him, pulls out a lighter, and holds the flame against its head. He doesn’t speak. But he prays.

Helen…I don’t think you can hear me. But maybe I’m wrong.

I have to do this. I know it isn’t ideal. But to defy the marker means death, and I can’t die. It’s not that I don’t want to. But your memory lives in me. As long as I live, my love for you lives, and if I die, it’s cut short, and no one knows what happens to me, to my soul, to my love for you. So I give glory to you in every moment, for as long as I can. It’s the only thing I care about. I won’t stop. I won’t give up. I’m honoring the oath that gave me five years with you, and I’m living. That part…that is what you would want. This is my offering to you. I love you, Helen.

There’s a small pile of ashes next to him on the bench. Fuck. He’s crying again.

***

She’s too frantic for that serene equilibrium to express her existence. A pulse in the deep matches his breathing. In, and the pulse draws back. Out, and it rushes forward again, stronger this time. She slams herself at the barrier, and it’s almost (almost!) as if her body strikes a wall.

***

He wipes his face and exhales, relieved, more peaceful. Resolve solidifies its hold over him. He’s doing the right thing, or at least doing the wrong thing for her. He walks back to the Continental, his eyes flat with certainty. Gianna will be dead in a few hours and he will be a free man. Survive. Execute. He’ll take a shower, prepare for the arrival of the new suit. He’ll enjoy this party. The door of his suite clicks open and he’s almost smiling as he steps inside.

There’s a rose on the bed.

A dark orange rose.

A knock at the door.

“Delivery for you, Mr. Wick.”

He steps aside, watching in a daze as the concierge places packages onto the table. His custom suit, finished as a rush job, and his selection of weaponry. “Did anyone else enter this room while I was away?”

“Certainly not, sir. We offer only the highest security.” The man pauses. “Did you find anything to be amiss?”

“N-no.” Better not to explain.

The concierge’s phone rings as he picks up the last package. “Excuse me, my apologies Mr. Wick.” He steps into the hall for a moment. He’s talking discretely about another guest, some impropriety in their manner of conducting business. Some attempt to make amends with the Continental. “Well then you tell him, offer not accepted. The offer is not accepted. It has been returned to him because the offer is not accepted.” Three times, he said it.

The man reenters with the final package. “Are you well, sir?”

There’s a beat before John can manage to speak. “Yes. Thank you.” He shuts the door without looking away from the rose.

He approaches slowly, staring at it like a bomb.

He touches the thorns, lifts it, turns it over in his hands. It’s real. Is someone trying to psych him out of the job?

It has a yellow blemish on the tip of one petal.

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick whumpee #john x helen #angst #dacryphilia #men crying #emotional whump #hurt/no comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #forced to kill trope #ao3 crosspost #chapter 1

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avengingmikaelsonlover · 20 days

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Prompt Character List......

Denny Duquette

Clark Kent

Lincoln [The 100]

Nyko [The 100]

Marcus Kane [The 100]

Kelly Severide

Matt Casey

{Ethan} Hawkins {I think that's his name}

Jimmy Borelli

Frank Castle

Max [The Resident]

Klaus Mikaelson

Wade Wilson

Kol Mikaelson

Bill Cadogan [The 100]

Elijah Mikaelson

Russell Lightbourn [7th] [The 100]

Finn Mikaelson

Damon Salvatore

Logan

Matt Murdoch

Shane Walsh

Rick Grimes

Eugene

Paul {Jesus}

Lex Luthor

Negan Smith

Aegon II {House of The Dragon}

Robb Stark {Game of Thrones}

Jon Snow {Game of Thrones}

Aemond “One Eye” {House of The Dragon}

Thoros of Myr {GOT

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Pietro Maximoff

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Winn Schott

Jack Reacher

Andy Barber

Henry Delarue

Henry 8th [Other Boleyn Girl-Tudors]

Charles Brandon [Tudors] [Henry Cavil]

Richard of Shrewsbury [The White Princess]

Richard 3rd [The White Queen]

Cesare Borgia [Borgias-2007]

Henry [7th] [The White Princess]

Philip Blake [The Governor]

Reuben Palchuk

Glenn Morrison

Mason Lockwood

Scott Lang

Hope Van Dyne

Joker [Suicide Squad]

Harley Quinn [Suicide Squad]

Miles Quaritch [Avatar]

Nathanial Taylor [Terranova]

Lucas Taylor [Terranova]

Eddie Brock

Eddie Brock with Venom

Spiderman [Peter Parker] {Tom Holland]

Hannibal Lecter [Hannibal]

Frederick Chilton [Hannibal]

Raoul De Chagny [Phantom of the Opera]

Mathias Vogel [Tomb Raider 2018]

Johann Struensee [Royal Affair]

Ido Dyson [Alita Battle Angel]

Geralt of Rivia {Henry Cavil} [The Witcher]

Dusan [Downsized] {Christoph Waltz}

Multiple Characters [From the Same Show]

Qaletaqa Walker [Fear the Walking Dead]

Travis [Fear the Walking Dead]

Daryl Dixon

Meryl Dixon

Alexander Grayson [Dracula] {Jonathan Rhys-Meyers]

Vlad Dracula [Dracula Untold] {Luke Evans}

Deckard Shaw

Owen Shaw

Dominic Toretto

Luke Hobbs

Tormund Giantsbane

Normand Nordstrom

Dante Reyes

Connor Slaughter

Stephen Strange

Erik Lehnsherr {Magneto}

Gambit [Remy LeBeau] {Taylor Kitsch}

Kraven {Aaron Taylor-Johnson]

Chon [Savages]

Ben [savages]

Ben and Chon [Savages]

Miguel “Lado’ Arroyo [Savages]

Haldir

Elrond

Thranduil

Fili

Kili

Thorin Oakenshield

Miguel O'Hara

Troy Otto

Hector [Troy]

Black Adam/Teth Adam

Superman [Henry Cavil]

August Walker [Mission Impossible? -6]

The Collector [Guardians of The Galaxy]

Yondu [Guardians of The Galaxy]

Ronan [Guardians of The Galaxy]

Carol Danvers [Marvels]

Grant Ward [S.H.I.E.L.D.]

Jim Shannon [Terra Nova]

Director Mace [S.H.I.E.L.D.]

Barry Allen [Flash TV]

Arthur Curry

Peter Quill {Star Lord}

Owen Grady [Jurassic World]

Ajax {Francis Freeman} [Deadpool]

Zapan [Alita Battle Angel]

Martouf [SG-1]

Martouf/Lantash [SG-1]

Ra [Stargate Movie]

Zipacna [SG-1]

Ba'al [Stargate-Multi Appearances]

Carson Beckett [SG-A]

Varro [SG-U]

Wade Wilson {Alternate Universe}

Judge Turpin [Sweeney Todd Demon Barber]

Severus Snape

Lucius Malfoy

Sirius Black

Voldemort

Xerxes [300]

Aaron Hotchner [BAU]

Spencer Reid [BAU]

Derek Morgan [BAU]

Luke Alvarez [BAU]

Emily Prentiss [BAU]

Jake Riley [Containment]

Ichabod Crane [Sleepy Hollow] {TV}

Jack Daniels | Whiskey [Kingsman Golden Circle]

Sam Winchester [Supernatural]

Dean Winchester [Supernatural]

Crowley [Supernatural]

John Wick [John Wick]

Joel Miller [Last of Us]

Ned [Pushing Daisy's]

Cleon {Empire-All Clones} [Foundation]

Ethan Sawyer [Those Who Wish Me Dead]

Rafael Barba [Law and Order SVU]

Master Chief John-118 [Halo TV 2022]

Christian Grey [50 Shades of Grey Movie Series]

Tequila [Kingsman Golden Circle]

Tom Chandler [Last Ship]

Mike Slattery [Last Ship]

Mills [65]

Guy [Free Guy]

Erik Green

Phil Constantino

Bill Kohler

Asmodeus

Stolas-Blitz

Lucifer [Helluva Boss]

Lucifer [Lucifer]

Adam [Hazbin Hotel]

The Ghoul [Fallout]

Richard B. Riddick [Riddick]

Kaulder [The Last Witch Hunter]

Beauregard ‘Bo’ [House of Wax]

Vincent ‘Vince’ [House of Wax]

Sebastian Monroe [Revolution]

Garret [Twilight]

Emmett [Twilight]

Carlisle [Twilight]

Jasper [Twilight]

Aro [Twilight]

Caius [Twilight]

Marcus [Twilight]

Paul Lahote [Twilight]

Jared Cameron [Twilight]

Sam Uley [Twilight]

Billy Black [Twilight]

Charlie Swan [Twilight]

Dimitri Belikov [Vampire Academy]

Lucien [Underworld]

Vasiliy Fet [The Strain]

Gabriel Bolivar [The Strain]

Cyrus Grissom [Con-Air]

Sabas [Underworld]

Braxton [The accountant]

Griff [Baby Driver]

Brad Bodnick [Wolf of Wall Street]

Matt Rayburn [Wind River]

Kandomere [Bright]

Ransom Drysdale [Knives Out]

John Proudstar [Gifted | X- Men] {Thunderbird}

Warpath {John Proudstar's Brother}

Kilgrave [Jessica Jones] [David Tenant]

Johnny Storm [Fantastic 4] [Chris Evans]

Miami Man [Bad Batch]

#fandom ships #movies #character list #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics

0 notes

duchezss · 1 year

Text

I just noticed that in the first scene we ever see George in he’s wearing pink. Pink shirt, and a pinkish-redish flannel, but he’s wearing orange pants. In every scene after that he’s always wearing orange, it’s his color, but tbh I think it’s more than that. To me orange represents his shield, he had like a half a shield with Lockwood, but once Lucy came in it dialed all the way up. Now keeping in mind all of this, the only time we see him with zero orange is the very last scene in the kitchen. He’s wearing a pink shirt, salmon flannel, and blue jeans. I think this signifies how he trusts both of them completely, that and he now truthfully believes he belongs.

When Lucy goes to portland row she is wearing all blue with her signature blue jacket. Throughout the entire series she’s always in blue. Blue to me represents her hesitation to change. She left everything to come to London, and she is holding onto the one thing she still has. Now once again comes the final scene. Here she’s wearing a blue, orange, and black cardigan. It’s the first time she really wore Lockwood or George’s colors, and to me it signifies growth. She knows she still might be out of her element, that everyday could bring new impossible changes, but that now she has her friends, her family to stand by her side and have her back.

Lockwood is a little different. He’s the only one to basically wear one outfit the entire time. He’s always wearing black pants, a white button down, a tie, and a long coat. To me this feels like his desire for consistency and routine shining through. I also can’t help but feel he dresses this way in an attempt to show maturity and command respect. His color is black, and I think it represents all the pain he still carries with him. It’s nagging and always with him. Now cut to the last scene once more. He’s wearing a grey shirt and jeans, but black isn’t absent. He’s arm is in a black sling. I think this shows that his pain will always be there, threatening him with darkness, but now Lucy and George will be there to guide him back to the light.

#I think a perhaps looked into this too much #IDC COSTUME DEPARTMENT ATE #this show is still taking over if that wasn't clear #idc I will never stop talking about it #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim

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handicappedbuenchico · 1 year

Note

🖊 — any tattoos? 😍 — celebrity crush(es)?🤔 — what genre(s)/theme(s) do you struggle to write the most?

🖊 — any tattoos?

Nope! Getting a tattoo is one of those things that I've thought about, don't get me wrong! I just...I have sensory issues related to being touched, especially with sharp objects like needles, and that combined with my low pain tolerance would make the whole 'getting a tattoo' experience like a real form of hell for me, ya know? Besides that, I wouldn't even know what I would want to have tattooed on me, or even where I would put a tattoo.

😍 — celebrity crush(es)?

☝🏻🫣Do...Do I have to continue on with this answer? I mean LOOK AT THIS MAN??? B.reckin M.eyer was my first and only celebrity crush, even before I knew I was a lesbian. Now that I am a proud lesbian, I can say that he is my ONLY male exception, like he could do just about anything with or to me and I would enthusiastically agree and thank him. I'm also talking any era B.reckin M.eyer, idc if it's Greg Randazzo, Jon Arbuckle, Travis Birkenstock, or even my boy Ted Lockwood, I will smash and date every single time. It's also a funny coincidence that on the first of this month, I revealed publicly on this account that I had a crush on B.reckin, and now you essentially just asked me to self-report again lmaoooo thank you Ed. (also finding that GIF was a happy accident, but I'm also not complaining 🫣🫣🫣)

🤔 — what genre(s)/theme(s) do you struggle to write the most?

Ah the genres/themes I struggle with the most... this should be fun. Now, I know that this is going to seem quite unbelievable, given that a lot of my writing has been revolving around these two genres lately, but for me writing erotica and romance is a struggle. I think it's because those two genres encapsulate RL experiences that I have yet to have, and it really makes me cringe when that lack of experience shows in my writing. For reference, it's one of the reasons I had to stop doing K.inktober after like, the sixth day. ((This also may or may not be an explanation as to why all those NSFW gif memes sitting in my askbox are gonna take a while to be responded to, ty for patience and I'm sorry 💀)) In terms of themes that I struggle with, I tend to struggle with themes revolving around coming-of-age, as I didn't really get to experience such a thing. My childhood and teenage years kind of just..passed me by with little to no fanfare? I didn't experience anything that Hollywood tricked me into believing I would. I mean, I also grew up poor yo-yoing between a major city's nicer section to it's ghettos so 💀💀💀 Another theme I tend to struggle with are ones based around morality. Now, I have a concrete thought process, and I tend to see most situations in black and white. I'm sure that, just by that description of how my mind tends to operate alone, you can see why morality as a theme tends to be a struggle for me. Morality isn't always black and white, sometimes there's patches of grey nuance. Sometimes people do objectively bad things for good reasons, sometimes the reverse of that is true. My brain struggling to see those little specks of grey in all the black and white makes writing those kind of scenarios a struggle and a half.

#trashcollected

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casxmorgan · 4 years

Text

Books Books Books

100 Years of Solitude

11.22.63

120 Days of Sodom

1491

1984

A Brief History of Time

A Canticle for Leibowitz

A Child Called It

A Clockwork Orange

A Confederacy of Dunces

A History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters

A Land Fit for Heroes Trilogy

A Little Life

A Naked Singularity

A People's History of the United States

A Scanner Darkly

A Series of Unfortunate Events

A Short History of Nearly Everything

A Song of Ice and Fire

A Storm of Swords

A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments

A Thousand Splendid Suns

A Walk in the Woods

A World Lit Only by Fire

Accursed Kings

Alice in Wonderland

All Quiet on the Western Front

All the Light We Cannot See

All the Pretty Horses

America, the Book

American Gods

American Psycho

And then There Were None

Angela’s Ashes

Animal Farm

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Anna Karenina

Anything Terry Pratchett, But, Mort is My Favorite

Anything Written by Robin Hobb

Apt Pupil

Artemis Fowl

Asimov's Guide to the Bible

Asoiaf

Atlas Shrugged

Bartimeaus

Batman: the Long Halloween

Battle Royale

Beat the Turtle Drum

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Belgariad Series

Beloved

Berserk

Bestiario

Black Company

Blankets/habibi

Blind Faith

Blindness

Blood Meridian

Blood and Guts: a History of Surgery

Bluest Eye

Brandon Sanderson

Brave New World

Breakfast of Champions

Bridge to Terabithia

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: an Indian History of the American West

Calvin and Hobbs

Candide

Carrie

Cat's Cradle

Catch 22

Cats Cradle

Chaos

Child of God

Choke

Chuck Palahniuk

City of Ember

City of Thieves

Cloud

Collapse

Come Closer

Complaint

Confessions of a Mask

Contact

Conversation in the Cathedral

Cosmos

Crime and Punishment

Dan Brown

David

Dead Birds Singing

Dead Mountain: the Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

Delta Venus

Die Räuber (the Robbers)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Don Quixote

Dragonlance

Dune

Dying of the Light

East of Eden

Educated

Empire of Sin: a Story of Sex, Jazz, Murder, and the Battle for Modern New Orleans

Enders Game

Enders Shadow

Escape from Camp 14

Ever Since Darwin

Every Man Dies Alone

Everybody Poops

Everything is Illuminated

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Fahrenheit 451

Far from the Madding Crowd

Faust

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

Feet of Clay

Fight Club

First Law

Flowers for Algernon

Flowers in the Attic

Foundation

Foundation Series

Foundation Trilogy

Frankenstein

Freakonomics

Fun Home

Galapagos

Geek Love

Gerald’s Game

Ghost Story

Go Ask Alice

Go Dog Go

Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid

Goldfinch

Gone Girl

Gone with the Wind

Good Omens

Grapes of Wrath

Great Expectations

Greg Egan

Guards! Guards!

Guns Germs and Steel

Guts (short Story)

Half a World

Ham on Rye

Hannibal Rising

Hard Boiled Wonderland

Hatchet

Haunted

Hawaii

Heart Shaped Box

Heart of Darkness

Hellbound Heart

Hellraiser

Hell’s Angels

Helter Skelter

His Dark Materials

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Hogg

Holocaust by Bullets

House of Leaves

How to Cook for Fourty Humans

How to Win Friends and Influence People

Huckleberry Finn

Hyperion

I Am America, and So Can You

I Am the Messenger

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

I Was Dr. Mengele’s Assistant

In Cold Blood

In Search of Our Mother's Gardens

Independent People

Infinite Jest

Into Thin Air

Into the Wild

Introduction to Linear Algebra

Invisible Monsters

Ishmael

Jacques Le Fataliste

Jane Eyre

Jaunt

Job: a Comedy of Justice

John Dies at the End

John Grisham

Johnathan Livingston Seagull

Johnny Got His Gun

Jon Ronson

Journal of a Novel

Jurassic Park

Justine

L'histoire D'o

Lamb

Last Exit to Brooklyn

Les Miserables

Lies My Teacher Told Me

Life of Pi

Limits and Renewals

Little House in the Big Woods

Lockwood & Co.

Lolita

Looking for Trouble

Lord Foul’s Bane

Lord of the Flies

Lyddie

Malazan Book of the Fallen

Maldoror

Manufacturing Consent: the Political Economy of the Mass Media

Man’s Search for Meaning

Mark Twain’s Autobiography

Maus

Meditations

Megamorphs (series)

Mein Kampf

Memnooch the Devil

Metro 2033

Michael Crichton

Middlesex

Mindhunter

Misery

Mistborn

Moby Dick

Mrs. Dalloway

My Side of the Mountain

My Sweet Audrina

Nacht über Der Prärie (night over the Prairie)

Naked Lunch

Name of the Wind

Neuromancer

Never Let Me Go

Neverwhere

New York

Night

Night Shift

Norwegian Wood

Notes from Underground

Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea

Of Mice and Men

Of Nightingales That Weep

Ohio

Old Mans War

Old Mother West Wind

On Heroes and Tombs

On Laughter and Forgetting

On the Road

One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest

One Hundred Years of Solitude

One of Us

Painted Bird

Patrick Rothfuss

Perfume: the Story of a Murderer

Persepolis

Pet Sematary

Peter Pan

Pillars of the Earth

Poisonwood Bible

Pride and Predjudice

Ready Player One

Rebecca

Red Mars

Red Night (series)

Red Shirts

Red Storm Rising

Redwall

Replay

Requiem for a Dream

Revenge

Riftwar Saga

Ringworld

Roald Dahl

Rolls of Thunder, Hear My Cry

Round Ireland with a Fridge

Running with Scissors

Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes

Sapiens, a Brief History of Humankind

Scary Stories to Read in the Dark

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Schindler’s List

Sein Und Zeit

Shades of Grey

Sharp Objects

Shattered Dreams

Sherlock Holmes

Sho-gun

Siddhartha

Sisypho

Skin and Other Stories

Slaughterhouse Five

Smoke & Mirrors

Snow Crash

Soldier Son

Sometimes a Great Notion

Sphere

Starship Troopers

Stiff, the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

Storied Life of A.j. Fikry

Stormlight Archives

Story of the Eye

Stranger in a Strange Land

Surely, You're Joking

Survivor Type (short Story)

Suttree

Swan Song

Tale of Two Cities

Tales of the South Pacific

The Alchemist

The Altered Carbon Trilogy

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Art of Deception

The Art of Fielding

The Art of War

The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation

The Autobiography of Henry Viii

The Autobiography of Malcolm X

The Beach

The Bell Jar

The Bible

The Bloody Chamber

The Book Thief

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

The Brothers Karamazov

The Call of Cthulu and Other Weird Stories

The Cask of Amontillado (short Story)

The Catcher in the Rye

The Chronicles of Narnia

The Clown

The Color out of Space

The Communist Manifesto

The Complete Fiction of H.p. Lovecraft

The Count of Monte Cristo

The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime

The Dagger and the Coin

The Damage Done

The Dark Tower

The Declaration of Independence, the Us Constitution, and the Bill of Rights

The Devil in the White City

The Dharma Bums

The Diamond Age

The Dice Man

The Discworld Series

The Dresden Files

The Elegant Universe

The First Law Trilogy

The Forever War

The Foundation Trilogy

The Gentleman Bastard Sequence

The Geography of Nowhere

The Girl Next Door

The Girl on the Milk Carton

The Giver

The Giving Tree

The God of Small Things

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gilly Hopkins

The Hagakure

The Half a World Trilogy

The Handmaid’s Tale

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Hiding Place

The History of Love

The Hobbit

The Hot Zone

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

The Hyperion Cantos

The Jaunt

The Jungle

The Key to Midnight

The Killing Star

The Kingkiller Chronicles

The Kite Runner

The Last Question (short Story)

The Lies of Lock Lamora

The Little Prince

The Long Walk

The Lord of the Rings

The Lottery (short Story)

The Lovely Bones

The Magicians

The Magus

The Martian

The Master and Margarita

The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect

The Monster at the End of This Book

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

The Music of Eric Zahn (short Story)

The Name of the Wind & the Wise Man's Fear

The Necronomicon

The New Age of Adventure: Ten Years of Great Writing

The Night Circus

The Nightmare Box

The Odyssey

The Omnivore's Dilemma

The Orphan Master’s Son

The Outsiders

The Painted Bird

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Plague

The Prince

The Prince of Tides

The Princess Bride

The Prophet

The Queen’s Gambit

The Rape of Nanking

The Red Dwarf

The Republic

The Rifter Saga

The Road

The Satanic Verses

The Screwtape Letters

The Secret History

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Selfish Gene

The Shining

The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer

The Silmarillion

The Sirens of Titan

The Six Wives of Henry the 8th

The Solitude of Prime Numbers

The Speaker of the Dead

The Stars My Destination

The Stormlight Archive

The Story of My Tits

The Stranger

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck

The Suspicions of Mr. Witcher

The Tao of Pooh

The Things They Carried

The Time Machine

The Time Traveller’s Wife

The Tin Drum

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green

The Wasp Factory

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

The World According to Garp

The Yellow Wallpaper

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Things Fall Apart

Thirsty

This Blinding Absence of Light

Tiger!

Time Enough for Love

To Kill a Mockingbird

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Toni Morrison

Too Many Magicians

Traumnovelle

Tuesdays with Morrie

Tuf Voyaging

Undeniable

Under Plum Lake

Universe in a Nutshell

Unwind

Uzumaki

Various

Village Life in Late Tsarist Russia

Walden

War & Peace

War and Peace

Warriors: Bluestar’s Prophecy

Watchers

Water for Elephants

Watership Down

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Wheel of Time

When Rabbit Howls

Where the Red Fern Grows

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Why I Am Not a Christian

Why People Believe Weird Things

Wizards First Rule

Wool

World War Z

Worm

Wuthering Heights

You Can Choose to Be Happy

Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

#some of these are fucked up #but #all the better

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hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis · 4 years

Text

Master Lists

*An updated master list to make it more streamline*

Sorry for all the long list and all the loopholes but hoping the other lists fill up soon so they’re not so empty

Let me know if any of the shows/movies i’d write for interest you

OG Master (No longer updated)

Secret Santa Master Lists

2020

2022

The 100

The Vampire Diaries

Series: Caught In Between (Tag: TVDCIB) || Niklaus Mikaelson x OC

Will write for:

- Damon Salvatore

Movie Nights (Request)

- Stefan Salvatore - Elena Gilbert - Jeremy Gilbert - Tyler Lockwood - Matt Donovan - Kai Parker - Katerina/Katherine Petrova

The Originals

Series: Under A New Moon (Tag: TOUNM) || Niklaus Mikaelson x OC || Sequel to Caught In Between

- Niklaus Mikaelson - Elijah Mikaelson - Rebekah Mikaelson - Kol Mikaelson - Freya Mikaelson - Marcel Gerard - Davina Claire -Haley Marshall -Mikaelson Family

Trouble in Paradise (The Originals x MCU crossover) (Request)

Divergent

*Have not read books, all fics will be based off of movie*

(Mini) Series: The Distance Between Us || Eric Coulter x OC

-Beatice/Tris Prior -Tobias Eaton/Four

Unspoken Love (Request)

-Eric Coulter

Comfort Songs (Request)

-Christina

Shadow and Bone

*In the process of reading first book...Unsure if I will write, but open to any requests* *I did watch the show*

- Alina Starkov -Malyen Oretsev -Kaz Brekker -Inej Ghafa -Jesper Fahey -Six of Crows Gang -General Kirigan/Darkling -Nina Zenik -Genya Safin

Those Grey Eyes (Request)

Just an Assistant (Request)

Outer Banks

- JJ Maybank

Untitled JJ piece

- John B. Routledge - Pope Heyward -Kiara Carrera -Sarah Cameron

Julie and the Phantoms

-Luke Patterson

Songwriting

Big Break (Request)

-Julie Molina -Alex Mercer -Reggie Peters -The Gang

Sleepover! (Request)

Arrowverse

Arrow

- Oliver Queen/Green Arrow - Thea Queen/Speedy - Roy Harper/Arsenal - Felicity Smoak/Overwatch - Laurel Lance/Black Canary - Team Arrow

The Flash

- Barry Allen/The Flash - Iris West-Allen - Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost - Wally West/Kid Flash - Team Flash

Supergirl

- Kara Danvers/Supergirl - Alex Danvers

Love Above All (Request)

- Lena Luthor - Mon-El

DC’s Legends of Tomorrow

- Sara Lance/White Canary (Arrow) - Ray Palmer/The Atom (Arrow) - Zari Tomaz - John Constantine - Rip Hunter - Nora Dahrk - Team Legends

Agents of Shield

Will write for:

- Phil Coulson - Melinda May

More than One Savior (Request)

- Daisy “Skye” Johnson/Quake

Out of Control Sway (Request)

- Jemma Simmons - Leo Fitz - Grant Ward

Marvel Cinematic Universe

*not my edit*

Please ask who i’d write for; there are too many characters to list

-Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Trouble in Paradise (The Originals x MCU crossover) (Request)

The Magicians

Will write for:

- Julia Wicker - Eliot Waugh - Margo Hanson - Alice Quinn - Quentin Coldwater - Fen - Todd

#The 100 #the vampire diaries #arrowverse #arrow #the flash #supergirl #legends of tomorrow #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#marvel cinematic universe #the magicians #hyperionmaster #outer banks #julie and the phantoms

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insertdeeplyrics · 4 years

Text

The new guy

Hello! Well, here you have it, my first Destiel fanfic! I plan to write more, but I wanted this share this one first, as it has been sitting on my computer for around two years. Sorry if it sucks! Also, any type of feedback is appreciated, as I want to improve my writing skills (which are quite rusty hehehe). Finally, if there are any grammatical mistakes or expressions that are a bit off, I apologize, English is not my first language. I hope you like it! :)

It was Dean’s first day at the force after spending six months away undercover to take out a drug ring. He had been dreaming about this day for ages, not being able to have any contact with his family or friends was difficult enough on its own, but to spend the best part of his time stuck with criminals was just plain torture. Besides, he was not big on changes, he liked stability and routines, that’s the main reason why he avoided going undercover unless there was no other option left. He spent all morning carefully choosing his outfit, trying to feel more like himself than he had been these past few months. As he opened the closet, he quickly spotted his favorite shirt: the light blue one that his mother gave him for his birthday three years ago and that made his green eyes pop. He remembered he used to wear a dark blue tie with it, alongside some grey dress pants, so he went ahead and put the outfit together. He took the badge from his bedside table, wearing it like a necklace. After he left the house, he took a quick glance at himself in the mirror as a small smile crept upon his lips: he might still feel like Jason Damien on the inside, but he sure as hell nailed the Dean Winchester look. Perhaps if he cut that ridiculously long sandy blonde mane he was forced to grow out, he would retrieve a little part of himself.

The drive to the precinct was a rather intense one, as all of Dean’s anxiety started to kick in. What if his partners didn’t recognize him? Or what if any of them had had an accident while on duty and they were gone? What if the precinct was different? What if he was different? Dean rushed through the busy streets of New York, almost running a couple of the red lights. After fifteen minutes of car horns, some blasphemies and taking a wrong turn, he arrived at the 99th precinct. He barely even made it to the elevator, which was closing its doors when Dean arrived. Luckily, one of the men inside noticed the panic in his face and held it open for a few seconds. Dean sent him a grateful look and a quick smile and then proceeded to stress over how he was going to react when he finally saw his friends after some long, hard six months. As soon as the doors of the elevator opened, revealing the second floor of the 99th precinct, he was instantly filled with a sense of relief: everything still looked the same. People were going back and forth all over the office, a phone always ringing on the background, some officers taking statements or locking up some crook. In the middle of the office were his colleagues standing in a circle with their backs turned from him. Not quite the welcome he was expecting. He walked towards them, his heart pounding. Once he was close enough, he noticed a man amongst the group, around whom the circle was created. By the quick glance he took, he saw that the unknown man had raven black hair and a tall and well-built frame.

“Hey, guys! Look who’s back!”, shouted Charlie as soon as she saw the sandy blond man. Everyone turned their attention to Dean, who was instantly tackled with hugs and words of relief and happiness. He didn’t even have time to properly process the situation.

“Oh, how stupid of us!” said Charlie while he was still caught in a whirlwind of people. “Let me introduce you to C. J. Novak —He has been transferred from the 96.” Dean was still a bit disoriented due to the overwhelming welcome, but something changed in him when he was met with the blue-eyed man who was leaning on Detective Rogers’ desk, observing the scene with his hands in his pockets. Now that he was closer to him, Dean noticed he had piercing blue eyes, rather chapped lips, a squared jaw and a five o’clock shadow. He was wearing a white buttoned up shirt that hinted at his worked-out body, as well as some black suit pants.

Dean stretched his arm and put his hand out for C. J. to shake. “Dean Winchester”

“So I’ve heard. Pleasure to meet you.” He had a deep voice, which took Dean by surprise. They didn’t break eye contact once while they were shaking hands. He didn’t feel quite right about the new guy, there was something about him that made him uneasy. For the few seconds —that felt like ages— that the handshake lasted, Dean forgot that there were people around them. He was too distracted by the man’s eyes and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Tension started to build up between the two detectives, the atmosphere notably shifting to a dense and heavy one.

“Winchester, good to have you back!” the tall and broad frame of his boss, Captain Singer, appeared in front of him, forcing him to remove his green eyes from the new guy. The tension evaporated, and Dean found himself releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “If you don’t mind, I would like to see you in my office.”

“See you guys later” Dean took a last glance to the new guy before he followed the older man to his office.

On the way there, he ran into some co-workers who quickly greeted him and congratulated him for the success of his mission. Once they reached their destination, just a few steps away from the elevator, the Captain closed the door and motioned him to sit down on the chair in front of his desk.

“Winchester, it’s a pleasure to have you back on the team. I know how hard it can be to go undercover, but it really pays off: The Lockwood family has been finally sent to jail thanks to your inside information. You are one of our best detectives.”

“Thank you, sir. All I want to do is go back to my regular job and move on.”

“About that” Captain Singer paused, avoiding eye contact. Dean had been working with the older man long enough to know what it meant. “There had been some changes around here while you were gone.”

There it was. Ever since he saw the new guy, he knew that something was off and that he wouldn’t be the only thing new around here.

“A few of your colleagues have been forced to leave the force due to getting hurt while on duty, Detectives Rogers and Joseph. I know you had worked with them on numerous cases, so I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I am also sad to inform you that Detective Masters passed away a few weeks after you left. She was trying to stop a mugging and, while she was chasing the criminal, she suffered a heart attack from which she never recovered. I’m only telling you this because I know how close you two were. Sorry, Dean”.

The news hit him hard. The only thing he could do was just to remain silent, his eyes fixed on the carpeted floor of Captain Singer’s office, trying to process all the information. Hearing about Detective Rogers and Joseph was a bitter pill to swallow, but he comforted himself thinking that at least they were alive, but Detective Masters was a different story. She was the first partner he ever had, the one with whom he worked his first case. It was she who showed him the ropes, who taught him how to be a competent detective. Before leaving, Dean had the hardest time saying goodbye to her.

“I’m sorry” said the Captain. “I understand it’s a lot to digest.” Dean nodded his head, attempting to swallow the lump on his throat. He stayed in silence for a few more seconds, trying to compose himself a little bit.

“Thank you for telling me, Captain.” Singer’s features softened.

“Anyway, I won’t hold you any longer, you can go back to work. And Winchester, once again, good job.” He dedicated him a small smile before burying his head in a never-ending-pile of files.

Once Dean got back to his desk, he retrieved that sense of familiarity that got lost during his conversation with the Captain. Everything was exactly how he left it, his pencil holder sitting at the far left corner of his desk, filled mostly with blue pens and a few pencils that were halfway down their size, some paper clips and rubber bands scattered next to it, the picture of him and his brother Sam on their very first trip to New York on the opposite corner and the all-too-familiar folder full of cases neatly stacked at the side. Dean smiled to himself: things were still the same. His smile was quickly turned into a furrow when he saw the blue-eyed man from before plop down on the desk right in front of him.

“You’re not Charlie” Dean thought at loud when he saw his partner, taken aback by the sudden intrusion.

“And you’re not Brad Pitt, but I guess we’ll have to make do” the comment took him by surprise. Now he was a hundred percent convinced he didn’t like the guy. “They promoted Detective Bradbury a few months ago, so they moved her to the third floor.”

“She got promoted? That’s good to hear!”

“Yes, it was big news around here. The celebration party was insane.”

“You threw a party?” Dean asked quietly, a pang of jealousy spreading through his chest. He knew it wasn’t fair to feel upset by that, after all, he was undercover, and he couldn’t reach out to anyone.

“Of course! She has been working hard for years to become a Sargent!” C. J. Novak huffed.

“Exactly how long have you been working here?” Dean asked, unable to keep his anger from showing.

Weeks passed and Dean was now more convinced than ever that the chances of the new guy —he refused to acknowledge that he had been around for more than a few weeks— and him becoming friends were zero to none. Ever since the first day, Dean felt suspicious of him, which lead to becoming surly whenever C. J. was around, which was all the time given that they sat in front of each other. Perhaps some of his negative energy rubbed onto his partner, because, soon enough, Novak started being standoffish. The atmosphere surrounding their desks was almost too heavy for anyone to handle, so they steered away from the negative environment the two men managed to create. That they were practically at daggers dawn took Dean’s friends by surprise, since they knew them both and thought they would have gotten on like a house on fire by now. And every time they asked the sandy blond why he disliked the blue-eyed detective so much, he was at a loss of words. He didn’t know why C. J. got on his nerves so much, all he knew is that he did and that was a good enough reason to not give him the time of the day.

But it all changed once they worked their first case together. Up until that point, they had managed to avoid doing anything together, Dean making the most efforts to dodge the situation. But this time, there was no way out: Captain Singer was tired of the excuses he kept coming out with and gave him the order to work with Detective Novak.

“So, there was no way to talk Captain Singer out of this.” Dean walked to C. J. and threw the file on his desk. He received a long sigh from his partner.

“So, what do we do?”

“I guess we go check the crime scene” replied the green-eyed man with resignation.

Rather hesitantly, they got into a police car and hit the road. C. J. read through the file, since his partner barely gave him time to even see what the case was about at the precinct. The atmosphere in the car was tense, Dean had his jaw clenched and he focused on the road, trying his best to forget that another person was in the car with him.

“So, stabbed through the heart at a dentist office.” C. J. tried to make the air lighter, aiming for small talk. At his partner’s silent response, he went on talking. “No murder weapon and only just one witness, it sure looks interesting. What do you think?”

“I think you should stop talking. Look, I don’t think neither of us is happy with this situation, so let’s get this over with as soon as possible. No small talk, no trying to socialize with each other. I hope this is just a one-time thing, so let’s just stick strictly to business, okay?” C. J. looked at him, frustration clear in his eyes and resumed to sit in silence while gazing out the window.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the dentist office where the crime was committed. Surprisingly enough, the office floor was completely clean, and if it weren’t for the dead body in the middle of the room, it would be impossible to know that someone had been a murdered. The corpse was lying on his back, a stab wound on his chest. Some other officers were already there, taking pictures and examining the crime scene. The witness, a middle-aged woman with short black hair was waiting outside the office, fidgeting with her hands and her gaze fixed on the entrance door.

“Detectives Winchester and Novak, NYPD. Are you Ruby Campbell?”

“Yes, I am.” C. J. took a notepad and a pen out of his jacket to take her testimony, which earned him a dirty look from Dean.

“So, what can you tell us about last night? When did you find the body?” asked the dark-haired detective with his deep voice, which made Dean’s blood boil for whatever reason.

“I’m the receptionist here. I usually help Doctor Jason close, but I had to leave early because it was my daughter’s school play. When I came to work this morning, I saw that his car was still parked, which caught my attention since he was supposed to leave today to visit his family in Detroit. I went to his office and found him dead on the floor.” The woman told her story with tears in her eyes, and her voice broke a couple of times while she was narrating the events.

C. J. wrote everything down on his notepad and comforted the witness, showing tremendous care and tenderness, which became too much for Dean, who excused himself and went to check the body while his partner made further questions.

“What are your thoughts on the crime scene, Detective Winchester?” asked Detective Novak in a serious tone, trying to engage in a professional conversation.

Dean, who tried to ignore the chills he got when he heard his partner’s deep voice address him as ‘Detective Winchester’, angered at the fact that the other man was still willing to have a conversation with him. He gripped the steering wheel even harder, his knuckles turning white.

“The witness can be ruled out, her alibi checks out, I looked at the security cameras.” The blue-eyed man read through his notes, resolved in carrying on with the conversation even if his partner was giving him the cold shoulder. “What we have to do when we arrive at the precinct is to call the victim’s family, they probably are still waiting for him to show up in Detroit.”

“Just shut up!” roared Dean, unable to take the sound of his voice anymore. “This is hard enough; you don’t have to fill the silence with whatever comes to your mind. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your stupid thoughts and theories on the case. I know we have to work this thing together, but I swear to God, if I have to hear another word come out of your mouth, I’m leaving this car.” He took a quick glance at his partner, who had a furrowed brow and his hands turned into fists.

“Stop the car” Detective Novak said quietly.

“What?” asked Dean in disbelief.

“STOP THE DAMN CAR.” Intimidated by his partner reaction, the green-eyed detective pulled up at the side of the road. “We’ve been working this case for less than three hours and you have been nothing but hell on wheels!” yelled C. J., looking directly into his green eyes. “Look, I don’t care if you have been nothing but a dick to me, even if I had been nothing but nice to you ever since you came back; I’m fine with you bossing me around as if I were your fucking assistant, but what I won’t tolerate is you putting my professional integrity on the line. Whether you like it or not, we are working this case together, so swallow your damn pride, because we are talking murder here, Dean, there’s too much at stake. So, stop behaving like a damn child and start acting like the great detective everyone claims you are.”

Dean was speechless. Once he composed himself from the original shock, he got angrier than before. He knew damn well that he was being more than unfair to C. J., and he hated to admit that the other detective was right. So, he shot him a dirty look, which gained him an exasperated sigh from the blue-eyed detective and drove back to the precinct.

Once they arrived at the office, their tension and bad temper spread through the whole room, like a dark cloud blocking the sun rays, letting everyone know that a storm was coming. The always busy and noisy precinct turned silent, as if afraid to set one of them off. Everyone steered clear of the two detectives, who went their separate ways as quickly as possible, sick of the other’s company. Dean went straight to the coffee room, in desperate need of caffeine to get through the rest of the day, while C. J. went to his desk to start with the paperwork. After twenty minutes, Dean had calmed down enough to go back to work. However, as he was about to leave, a furious Charlie approached him, forcing him to stay in the coffee room.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Winchester?!” she yelled, poking his chest with her finger, while Dean was left with his arms up in the air in defense. “I’ve just talked to C. J. and he has told me about how much of an asshole you have been to him. At first, I thought you were being salty about this whole new partner thing, but this has gone way too far. Pull your head out of your ass, apologize to C. J., and work the damn case.” As she spoke, she got up in Dean’s personal space, until he was backed into a wall, her finger never leaving his chest. Charlie could be intimidating when she put her mind to it. She sent him one last threating look and stormed out the room.

As soon as he processed Charlie’s threat, he straightened himself up and returned to his desk. It bothered him to admit that they were both right, he was well aware of being unreasonable and unfair, but he just couldn’t do anything about how he felt about the guy, he still had this weird feeling about him. However, for everyone’s sake, he decided to put his feelings aside and work the damn case. The sooner he ripped the band-aid off, the better.

He set a cup of coffee on Detective Novak’s desk, who looked up from his computer screen and eyed the beverage confused.

“Consider it a peace offering”, said Dean flatly, as he himself started his computer up, hiding behind its screen while peering from the corner of his eye his partner’s reaction. The other detective looked intermittently at him and the cup, still suspicious of the whole affair, until he finally caved in and took a sip of the coffee.

At first, they exchanged short and to-the-point sentences, a lot of formality still surrounding them. But as the case progressed and they were forced to stay late at night, they evolved from being at arm’s length, to getting along, some would even say they even became friendly. It was during those nights that the two of them bonded, which left Dean wondering why he had been so rude towards the other man for such a long time. By the end of the case, they were both as thick as thieves.

“Heya, Angel” Dean greeted the dark-haired man as he set a cup of coffee on his desk, a custom he had adopted since they had buried the hatchet.

“How long are you going to keep calling me that?”

“What, you don’t like it? Would you rather I called you Castiel, the angel of Thursday?” replied amused, a playful grin on his face.

“I knew it was a bad idea to tell you my name” said C. J., obviously fed up with the nickname his colleague had decided to give him. Dean just laughed.

“Anyway, I was just dropping by to bring you your coffee. Charlie found a lead on a case she has been working on for weeks and she asked me to be her back-up, so we’re leaving in a few minutes. Any advice?” asked the sandy blond man while leaning against C. J.’s desk, with no intention at all to leave.

“A few: don’t piss Charlie off, follow her every order and listen to her. Oh, and don’t get shot again, I would hate to lose my drink slave. I forgot how life is like when you have to get coffee for yourself.”

“First of all, I technically didn’t get shot last time, a bullet grazed my arm. But don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me so easily.” Dean winked at his partner, who started blushing. “Though, getting shot doesn’t sound that bad, I might do it again.” He moved closer to the dark-haired man, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I mean, it was really cute seeing how worried you were and how much you took care of me. Also, I heard scars make you more attractive. Perhaps you should get one yourself, that way you could get laid.”

“You know what, Winchester, blow me” C. J. rolled his eyes, trying to remember why he was still friends with such an idiot.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Blushing, the detective punched him playfully in the arm while Dean just laughed.

“Hey, Winchester! What the hell, man? I’ve been waiting ten minutes for you in the car! Stop flirting with Novak and let’s go!” yelled Charlie from the elevator, anger spilling from her voice.

“Gotta go, duty calls” Dean got up from his partner’s desk, putting a hand on his chest, while looking up, trying to add dramatism to the situation, which gained him a snort from his co-worker.

“I meant what I said earlier, Dean! Be careful!” shouted C. J. as his partner was approaching the elevator and meeting with the redheaded detective. He turned around and blew him a kiss. C. J. just rolled his eyes and went back to his work.

“Asshole” muttered under his breath, while a small smile made its way onto his lips.

“What was all that about, Dean?” asked Charlie once they were on their way to a drugstore, the last place Charlie’s suspect had been seen.

“What do you mean?”

“Do I really need to explain it?” her tone full of exasperation. She was met with the dumbfounded expression of her colleague, forcing her to go on. “The non-stop flirting? The long-lasting eye sex? The heart-eyes you give each other when the other is not looking?”

“Oh, that” Dean suddenly felt shy and awkward. “It’s nothing. You know that I like flirting and C. J.'s so easy to mess with… Besides, I don’t swing that way.” The last comment got a snort from the redhead.

“Yeah, you’re as straight a circle, honey” she muttered under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“No, I heard you mumbling. What do you have to say?” Dean pressed on.

Charlie remained silent for a few seconds, debating whether she should speak or not.

“Well, this is probably not my place to say and this is something you’re supposed to figure out on your own, but it seems like you need a nudge in the right direction.” She paused, choosing her words carefully in order not to sound rude or patronizing.

“I’m not following” said Dean, confused. His whole body suddenly became tense. He could hear his heart beating in his head.

“Do you remember Lisa?”

“Of course, we dated for three years. But I don’t know what she has to do with any of this.”

“Remember his brother, the one you had a major crush on? Don’t even try to deny it”, she stopped him, seeing Dean was already opening his mouth in defense, “you might have played it off as admiring him for being a firefighter, but man, you couldn’t stop staring at him when he was around, completely ignoring your then girlfriend. You were drooling after him! She even stopped including him in our plans when you were around.”

Dean chewed his bottom lip as he remembered how the aforementioned girlfriend broke up with him, her words engraved in his mind: ‘You have some stuff to figure out, until then, I don’t think you can fully love me.’ He thought she meant something completely different, given that during the last years of their relationship, he was in a dark place and all she wanted was for him to get his shit together.

“And last year’s Christmas party? You probably won’t remember this because you were pretty wasted, but you spent all night flirting with the male bartender, with whom you ended up making out by closing time.”

“I don’t remember that” said the green-eyed detective, his voice small.

“Of course you don’t! You practically drank yourself senseless!” scoffed the redhead. “And now C. J. and your initial so-called hatred for the poor guy. I mean, I spent endless coffee breaks hearing you ramble on and on about him and how much he got into your nerves for doing the littlest of things that no one even noticed. And then you guys declared a truce and began flirting like crazy, getting to a point where everyone tries to avoid you two, because you guys are so chummy, that anyone who is with you two instantly feels like they are third-wheeling.” Dean felt his cheeks burn, as he bowed his head down, looking at his hands, ashamed.

“What are trying to say? That I am gay?” he quietly asked, trying to make sense of what Charlie was throwing his way.

“Well, that’s something you need to figure out,” she said in a much softer tone, “And you know that whatever happens, we’ll always have your back, right?” he just nodded, still trying to process everything, his gaze still fixed on his hands.

After the heart to heart with Charlie, Dean felt more self-conscious around C. J. He toned down his flirting, which got the other man confused, who had already gotten used to his partner’s overly confident, snarky, and teasing remarks. Dean was also more distracted at work, usually messing up various forms and spacing out during coffee breaks or at lunch, not really listening to his partners’ stories of whatever arrest they had made that day. Those subtle changes didn’t go over C. J.’s head, who started worrying if something of a greater scale had happened to his desk partner.

“Hey, Dean-o” greeted C. J., who bumped into him on the coffee room.

“Hey.” Replied the other man softly, not really looking up from his cup of coffee, deep in thought.

“So, how are you?” the dark-haired detective sat down on the chair next to him.

“Fine, I guess.” Dean started playing with the plastic stick, stirring his coffee.

“Is there something bothering you, Dean?” C. J. placed his hand on the other man’s forearm, making him look up from his coffee and directing his green eyes on Novak’s hand placement. “You seem off these days.”

“It’s just that I have recently found something and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

“You have done more than you think.” Dean finally looked him in the eyes and offered him a genuine smile, which gained him another from his partner, easing his worries.

In that moment, Dean realized how hopelessly in love he was with C. J. Novak. He had spent these past few months not only trying to embrace his new-found bisexuality, but also figuring out how he felt about the deep-voiced detective. He initially thought he had a crush and that it would eventually go away, but seeing that he failed to stay away from his partner long enough to get over his stupid infatuation, he realized that it was probably bigger than he had deemed it at first. Still, he was new to all this consciously-flirting-with-guys thing, so he didn’t really know how to express his feelings to him. Besides, there was also the chance that C. J. wasn’t into dudes, so Dean decided that it was better to not act on his feelings and be content with giving him longing looks from behind the computer when the other detective wasn’t looking. It took some more weeks and a lot of soul-searching and awkward family conversations for Dean to finally build up enough courage to go back to their original aggressive flirting, which C. J. received with a smile and a ‘that’s the Winchester I know’. It wasn’t until he eavesdropped on one of C. J.’s phone calls to his sister and he made a passing comment about his previous boyfriend that Dean decided to ask the guy out, as Charlie was so adamant about every time the subject was brought up.

“Morning, sunshine!” like every morning, Dean set the coffee on his partner’s desk while he leaned against it. “Wow, you look like crap.” C. J. had dark circles around his eyes, droopy eyelids, and black strands of hair were sticking out in every direction.

“Gee, thanks Dean, you look stunning as always.” The sandy blond detective was sure that C. J. would’ve rolled his eyes if it weren’t because he was so tired. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Rough night?”

“Yeah” the blue-eyed detective sighed. “My neighbors recently had a baby, and she spent all night crying her lungs out. I barely got any sleep” as in cue, a yawn made its appearance.

“If you want to hit the sack on the break room, I won’t tell anyone. Maybe I’ll even join you, I’ve been told I make a great big spoon” said Dean proudly, moving closer to his colleague.

“Oh, Winchester, ever the tease. Tell me, do you actually plan on following through with all the propositions you have been making me all these months?” C. J. blurted out, leaving Dean speechless.

This isn’t exactly how he had expected to ask the man out, he was waiting for the perfect moment, like going to a shootout and after almost losing his life, he would return to the precinct and C. J. would run to his arms and probably then Dean would have enough courage to ask him on a date. But then again, in his head they were already married with two children, a dog, and a house in the suburbs. So, this was as good a moment as any.

“I am. In fact, how do you feel about dinner tonight at my place? Not to brag, but Charlie has remarked several times that my cooking skills are out of this world.” He tried to sound nonchalant and suave, but a sudden tremble on his voice and the constant fidgeting with his hands gave him away.

“Wait, are you serious? Are you asking me on a date?” C. J. shot his head up and looked at the sandy blonde man, who quickly glanced at him before returning his gaze to the floor, his head bowed down.

“I mean, if that’s what you want.” A smile appeared on C. J.’s face; any trace of tiredness erased from his features.

“Fucking finally” muttered the blue-eyed man. He took Dean’s red tie in his hand and pulled it, forcing the other man to bend forward, planting a kiss on his lips.

Everything leading up to it happened in slow motion for Dean. A million thoughts were rushing through his mind, when he suddenly felt a strong grip on his tie, and then before he knew it, detective Novak’s lips were on his own. It took him a few seconds to take in what was happening, but when he did, he gave into the kiss. When they pulled away, Dean was left dumbfounded, still not a hundred percent sure that if what just happened was real.

“So, tonight at 7.30?” was all that the green-eyed detective managed to stammer out. The other detective laughed, looking him with tender eyes.

“Yeah, I think I can make it.” They smiled at each other. “What took you so long?”

“I don’t know” replied Dean genuinely, going in for another kiss.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel au #castiel novak #dean winchester #destiel oneshot #destiel is forever #enemies to lovers

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