#Best moment is when the media ask him about Charles and he just grabs Charles and pulls him into the interview

[lucithornz]

I have decided I aspire to give as few fucks about other peoples' opinions as Max Verstappen. Every clip I have seen of him talking to the media has been delightfully full of "Fuck this" vibes XD

Meanwhile any question longer than like a sentence causes Charles to zone out and forget what's happening around him. And then he turns Canadian. Polite af, apologetic, earnest, and probably too nice for his own good XD

Everyone else seems to be some combination of these two approaches. It's beautiful XD

I am begging you to watch Kimi Raikonnen press interviews, he perfected the craft here

Max is very much a "I do not give a fuck about anything that isn't serious racing" and we love him for it

Charles getting giggly during interviews gives me new life

MAX

[toasttt11]

not a secret

summary: being the youngest sister of brad marchand meant trying to not fall for the new goalie

jeremy swayman x reader

Being the younger sister of Brad Marchand is interesting and definitely amusing especially being ten years younger than him and the youngest of her four siblings.

Her entire life she can only remember Brad playing hockey and most of her life he’s been in the NHL.

Maybe that’s why she grew to love catching content for hockey and started being an admin for her college hockey team before being offered a job with the Boston Bruins, coincidentally working with her brother.

She loved living in Boston doing the job she dreamed up and being close to her brother and his family.

Over the past two seasons working with the Bruins she had grown close to the team and they all treat her as a little sister and nothing more because Brad would smack them.

She was scrolling on her laptop looking at the photos she took last game when someone plopped down next to her, Charlie McAvoy, “Yes Charls.”

Charlie grinned at his best friend, “Did you meet Sway yet?”

She slowly shook her head no.

Jeremy Swayman the newest player to be called up to the Bruins and a goalie.

“Come on you have to meet him.” Charlie decided grabbing her arm softly and pulling her up ignoring her protests, he dragged her through the halls towards where he saw Jeremy last.

“Sway!” Charlie called out seeing Swayman walking out of the locker room.

Jeremy turned around and froze looking at the girl walking next to Charlie, she was stunning.

“Sway this is our overworking social media superstar.” Charlie grinned and nudged her to shake hands with Jeremy.

“Hi.” She softly spoke as she shook his much larger hand, why did the most attractive person she has ever seen have to be her brother’s teammate.

“Hi.” Jeremy softly whispered back smirking softly back and gently shaking her hand.

They both froze as their hands touched and stared at each other both slightly confused.

Jeremy opened his mouth about to ask her name when Brad came out of the locker room.

“You aren’t bothering the rookie little sister.” Brad called out smirking as he walked over to his baby sister ruffling her hair making her groan as he tossed an arm over her shoulders.

Jeremy froze his face falling quickly as he realized the beautiful girl he just met is his teammates little sister but specifically his captains sister. He closed his eyes trying to not groan out loud.

“I just met him.” She snipped back at her brother rolling her eyes at his annoying self. Her gaze softened slightly as she looked back at Jeremy.

“Good.” Brad grinned squeezing her shoulder in a brotherly fashion making her roll her eyes again, “You coming with me?” Brad asked his sister and she nodded.

Brad waved bye at the boys and started dragging his sister with him.

She looked back seeing Jeremy still watching her and smiled slighter waving making Jeremy grin and wave back.

“Oh boy.” Charlie mumbled catching the interactions between the two shaking his head.

The interactions continued between the two for the next few months, shared smiled across the rinks, lingering touches, small insides jokes, Jeremy always doing media to see her.

They thought they were being secretive but it was extremely obvious to the whole team especially Brad. The team was honestly surprised Brad has been letting things go on between the two knowing how protective he is of her baby sister and yet he lets Jeremy flirt with her.

The flirting and longing glances all came to a head after Jeremy’s first shutout win of his career.

Jeremy didn’t manage to get a moment alone with her for a while until after he took a shower and did his post game routine and finally he found her standing alone in the hallway scrolling on her phone.

“Hey!” Jeremy called out softly jogging over to her running a hand through his wet hair.

“Hey Jere.” She softly said back flashing a soft smile, “Congrats!” She gently congratulated him again putting her phone away and standing on her tippy toes to hug him softly.

Jeremy froze slight but immediately beamed once he registered that she was hugging and hugged her softly back, “Thank you.” Jeremy responded quietly back closing his eyes enjoying the hug much more than he should.

She pulled back slowly looking up at him as she did only to see Jeremy already starting at her with soft look on his face and a look in his eyes she didn’t know yet but one she wanted to see again.

Jeremy swallowed slightly and focusing on the way his body was still buzzing with the adrenaline from his first shut out win and a major career accomplishment, it was enough to finally give him the courage to do something he had been dying to do for months now.

Jeremy slowly and tentatively cupped her face his thumb softly brushing against her cheekbone and as she froze and starred at him at shock, “Tell me to stop.” Jeremy whispered breathlessly as he leaned closer to her, his eyes flickering around her face like they do for pucks on the ice.

She slightly nodded her head and immediately Jeremy closed the distance between their lips, a a distance finally closing that they both dreamed for.

She let out a sigh against his lips as she stood up even more on her toes and Jeremy’s arm wrapped around her waist holding her closer to him and his other hand cupped the back of her head holding her delicately against his lips.

Jeremy desperately kissed her back, he knew he shouldn’t have been thinking about kissing her as much as he has since he met her but he has and it’s a dream come true.

Jeremy made a small disproving sound as she pulled back slightly to catch her breath making her smile and her fingers gently brush against his lips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” Jeremy admitted to her their foreheads resting against each others.

“Me too.” She whispered back beaming up at him her nose scrunching from how wide her smile was. Jeremy wanted that specific smile directed at him everyday.

From then they started keeping their new relationship a secret and they thought they were doing well, keeping their interactions friendly.

Everyone knew.

They are extremely obvious and it was easy to see how they finally got together and how they would both disappear at the same time.

A lot of the team questioned Brad why he didn’t say anything even though he obviously knew his baby sister was dating the rookie goalie.

He honestly just found it amusing seeing them trying to hide it that he didn’t say anything, he didn’t care they were dating because out of all the Bruins, Sway is the one Brad would want dating his sister.

So Brad let them keep their relationship a “secret.” for months and he never said anything.

Until it was getting close to playoffs and the boys were talking about the WAG jackets and Brad noticed Sway was a bit disappointed as he didn’t say anything about having a girlfriend. Brad smirked as he came up with an idea.

Brad had his wife Katrina make a WAG jacket for Jeremy and he brought it to the practice as Brad wanted to give it to Jeremey.

“Sway!” Brad called out once practice was over with a grin, Jeremy turned around raising an eyebrow as Brad tossed him a jacket, “For my sister.” Brad smirked as he explained.

Jeremy’s eyes widened in shock as he looked at the thing Brad tossed him and Brad’s words, “You knew?” Jeremy didn’t freak out as Brad didn’t seem mad just amused.

“You guys are not good at hiding it.” Brad exclaimed smirking as he remembered all the times he saw the two trying to hide it.

Brad walked over to Jeremy, “Just take care of her.” Brad clapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder giving him a serious nod.

“Promise.” Jeremy promised quickly as that’s all he wanted was to care of the girl he loves.

“Then it’s all good.” Brad smirked his annoying smirk, “Now go give that to my sister.”

Jeremy laughed and nodded before he walked out.

Jeremy opened the door to his apartment and smiled seeing her shoes and purse by the door.

“J?” She called out softly from the couch where she is bundled in Jeremy’s clothes.

“Hi Honey.” Jeremy called back taking off his shoes and jacket before walking to the couch and smiled seeing her looking so comfortable on his couch in his clothes.

Jeremy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“What’s that?” She asked curiously noticing he was holding something in his hand.

“Oh a present from your brother.” Jermey chuckled shaking his head still shocked that they worried for months about Brad finding out and he didn’t even care.

“My brother?” She looked confused as she sat up and Jermey handed her the jacket.

She froze in shock looking at the jacket, “He knows?” She stammered out looking at Jermey for an answer.

“Apparently we aren’t good at hiding it.” Jermey sheepishly answered rubbing the back of his head, “He didn’t care though seemed to find it funny we were hiding it.”

She shook her head fondly, “Of course he did.”

She stood up and put the jacket on and turned around showing the back to Jermey, “Well how does it look?”

Jermey swallowed dryly standing up slowly, “You are wearing more things with my name on them.” Jermey mumbled licking his lips as he got closer to her and moved her hair off her back and seeing his name on her back.

Jermey pressed a gentle kiss to her neck.

She laughed softly at his words and hummed happily as she leaned against him and he pressed kisses down her neck.

She guessed they never have to the keep it a secret anyways.

[mythos-writes]

My Ferrari

Toto Wolff x Ferrari principal (wife) reader

Plot: Toto and his wife use the grid as ponds in their plans to mess with each other... inspired by @pucksandpower Social Media AU cause I think it's so cute

Formula 1 Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: fluffy moments, Lewis and Charles getting 'kidnapped', google translated german + italian,

Lewis was walking by the Ferarri paddock, minding his business and preparing for free practice. His music playing in his AirPods, when he heard a voice trying to get his attention.

“Lewis!” a voice gets his attention. He takes out a bud and looks around. He sees (Y/N) Wolff running up to him.

“Hey, (Y/N), what can I do for you?” He asks, still clueless about her plans.

“I want to play with Toto a little, and I need your help,” she explains but keeps it vague.

“Ok, with what?” he asks, not noticing Charles and Carlos coming up behind him.

“GET HIM!” she yells. Lewis feels arms around him, and him leaving the ground. “What are you going?!” he says, trying to not giggle because he knows he won’t get hurt.

“You are going to be my ransom against your famous principal,” She says with a smile. They take him into the garage and to (Y/N)’s office. They place him on a folding chair and tie him up in some take they had found in the garage.

All Lewis could do is give (Y/N) a ‘why do you have to drag me into this’ look. Once the two drivers finished tapping up the other driver, they were giggling like toddlers getting a pass for bad behaviour. “Thanks’ you two, you guys are good to go,” she tells her drivers.

“(Y/N) what is all this for?” Lewis questions, knowing she couldn’t hide things from him. [Things that were non-racing related] 

“I know your season hasn’t been the best, and I just wanted to have some fun. Even though we’re rivals, we’re also family and it hurts seeing Toto come off a race and just look frustrated and sad. So I’m trying to just have some fun,” she tells.

“ I appreciate that you’re trying to cheer him up…BUT… why do you have to drag me into this?” he questions, pulling at the tap a little. 

“Oh, because you’re his golden child, and it would be easier to get Carlos and Charles to carry you than George,” she says while pulling her phone out. “And don’t worry, you’ll be out of the tap, just as soon as I get a picture, to send to Toto,” she states while getting a few pictures. 

"Perfect, now I'm going to take the tap off, but you can't return to the Mercedes paddock just yet," she states. Lewis moves to the couch and lays out. "Yeah, I figured as much."

Toto was walking around the Paddock, looking for Lewis. He wasn’t in his driver's room, and he wasn’t with Roscoe, cause Angela took the pup on his paddock walk. He asked George and the other team members but hadn’t seen him. His phone pings, as he gets a series of texts. He sees his wife's name pop up and he feels a smile grow. But when he opens the texts, he tries not to laugh. 

He is greeted with a photo of Lewis tied up with a nervous face on. The text that followed almost made him laugh...

Toto, I have in my possession I have your precious 7-time champion. If you want him back before free practice, you must meet my demands. If you bring yourself and some food from your catering to your dear wife. Then you’ll leave with your precious driver. If not met, Lewis will become a Ferarri driver

Toto looks up and he see’s Goerge talking to Alex Albon just outside of the paddock. He waived the two over. 

“What can we do for you boos man?” Alex asks. 

“Well you two, I had a job for you…”

Charles was getting ready for the practice and he was doing his normal pre-race routine. Because of this, he didn’t hear George or Alex sneak up behind him. George grabbed his hands and Alex grabbed his legs, and they started to carry him off to the Mercedes paddock. 

“What are you two doing?!” Charles asks, he is confused about why he is being dragged into this. Before they could answer, Ted Kravitz spotted the ‘kidnapping’ of Charles  Leclerc. 

“We have just spotted Alex Albon and George Russell carrying Ferarri’s Charles Leclerc. George what is going on here?” he asks. 

“We’re just working orders by the boss,” he replies as they walk into the garage. 

By now, (Y/N) had untapped Lewis, and he was just chilling out in her office. Her phone pinged, notifying her that she had gotten a text. When she opened it, she was shocked to be greeted by a picture of Charles, tapped up just like how they had Lewis. A text followed the picture that read… 

Two can play this game, Liebe. If you want your driver back, I suggest we make a truce and do a driver swap on neutral ground… in front of the McLaren paddock in 20 minutes. If you can’t meet these requirements, Charles will become the newest Mercedes driver this weekend... Also, bring some of Ferarri's catering coffee, you know how I like my coffee

She showed Lewis the texts, and he just started giggling at Charles's face. The two looked at each other, knowing the fun and games were coming to an end. 

“Well, it looks like we need to stop at the coffee booth before we meet my dearest husband,” (Y/N) comments before getting ready to meet the Meracdes principal. 

The end of the 20 minutes was closely approaching, and by now, the whole grid and paddocks knew what was happening between the two teams. So when they saw Toto standing with George and Charles, at one end, outside of the entrance of McLaren’s paddock. The other racers and team principals were standing outside, waiting for the Ferarri principal and the famous Mercedes driver.

“There they are,” someone yells out. Everyone looked up and saw the people of the hour come walking over, with a minute to spare. (Y/N), Carlos and Lewis stop and face off with Toto, George and Charles.

“Do you have what I asked for?” she yells across, they’re about 2 meters apart. Toto raised a bag, that was filled with her favourites from catering.

“And you?” he questions. She holds up the cup of coffee, made how he likes it. He walks closer, signalling she walks towards him. They meet in the middle and hand off their trades. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, amore,” she says with a smile. Toto rolls his eyes, but he found this whole thing amusing. He brought her into a hug, causing the grid to burst out into comedic cheers.  

“Come find me before heading back to the hotel,” he whispers in her ear. She nods.

“Does this mean we can go back to our teams now?!” Lewis yells. The two laugh at the driver’s antics. 

“Yes, you can go back Lewis,” she says as the two drivers swap back to their right teams.

“May the best team win,” he says with his cheeky smile. “May the best team win,” she replies with the same smile. The FIA marshals come by and dismiss everyone, as free practice was about to start.

After free practice and they had their debriefs, (Y/N) made her way to the Mercedes paddock. She was ready for the qualifying race tomorrow. She notified some of the Mercedes crew to let Toto know that she was there. As she waited for him, she ended up finishing some last-minute emails on her phone.

“ Geez, and they call me a workaholic,” Toto’s voice breaks her concentration. She looked up to see him walking towards her. (Y/N) put her phone away and greeted him with a hug. Both teams performed well in practice and had a bright weekend. 

“Come on, we have a long day tomorrow,” she says, just wanting to get room service and get some well-needed cuddles. They get into the car and made their way back to the hotel. It was quiet for most of the drive. 

“So about the antic you pulled,” Toto broke the silence. She looked over at him in the driver's seat. “That was quite the start of the weekend,” he says, trying to stay stoic. 

“Well, I know that this season hasn’t been the one you were expecting, and I hated coming home and seeing you so disappointed and frustrated. So, I decided to have a little fun,” she explains herself. Toto brought his hand to her lap and wrapped his large hand around her smaller one. He brought her hand up to his mouth and placed a soft kiss against the back of her hand. 

“I appreciate that Liebe, and I must say, I did have fun today,” he says, remembering the way he recruited drivers to do his bidding. She smiles and returned the kiss he just placed on her hand. 

“I’m glad that my plan worked,” she replies. Silence fell between the two, but it was a peaceful and comfortable silence. 

“The next time you plan to kidnap one of my drivers again, I’m just going to steal you and have Charles and Carlos come to rescue you,” he comments, causing her to erupt into laughter. Their relationship had its ups and downs, but right now it was the perfect relationship anyone could dream of. 

~~~~~~~~~

google translate:

German: Love- Liebe

Italian: My Love- amore

[fictional-babes-inc]

Take Out & Teasing | EA69 & LN4 (ft. EJ21 & MV1)

Summary: Lando trying to take care of his pregnant wife and plan dinner with his in Laws turns into a teasing session for Max.

Author’s Note: Hi there! This is a lil snippet from my F1 DR that my best friend ( @shellybee456 ) and I wrote about our OC’s after they get married. Both girls are racers in the grid and are sisters.

~Elena Camille Jimenez~

Elena is Emilie’s older sister,she has been racing since 2018 with Mercedes, took a break from 23-25 to be Emilie’s Race engineer for Redbull then joins Ferrari in 2026. Elena was born Feb. 7th, 1997, she is the same age as Max and Charles and raced in karting with them. She is Spanish and Monegasque.

~Emilié Rosalie Auclair~

Emilie is Elena’s younger sister, she started racing in 2022 with Redbull taking over Checo’s seat. She races with them until 2025 then races with Andretti in 2026. She wins the 24, 25, and 26 WDCs. She takes a break in 2027 when she gets pregnant with Lando. Emilie was born on Sept. 3rd, 1999. Emilie is just Monegasque because the girls have different dads.

—————————————————————————————————————

April 2027

Melbourne, Australia

"Émmie?" Lando called out as he entered their hotel room, only to be answered with silence.

A bit surprising considering Gearbox usually greeted him at the door irregardless of what Émilie was doing.

A quick search found Émilie curled up in on the couch fast asleep, Gearbox only lifting her head to receive a few head scratches.

The days of constant travel and lack of caffeine had finally taken its toll, leaving her utterly exhausted, enough so that she'd finally admitted defeat that morning and stayed at the hotel to nap, letting him go to the track and media day by himself for the first time since the season had started.

Clearly, Gearbox had picked up on it too if the Australian shepherd hadn't even gotten up to greet him.

He watched her for a few moments, unable to stop the way that a small smile crept across his face. Émilie was always pretty, but she looked truly beautiful asleep like this, features relaxed and the evening sun casting her in a golden hue.

She was wearing one of his McLaren hoodies, her hair tied up in a now loose bun with the blanket pulled up to her shoulder.

Lando moved closer and knelt down, placing a light kiss on her hair.

She made a little noise and burrowed further into the bedding, hiding from the cool air of the room.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he rose to his feet, Gearbox hopping off the couch, following him into the bedroom to change out of his team kit and into comfier lounge clothes.

While in the bedroom he texted Elena and Max, letting them know that Émilie was sleeping and that he'd ask about dinner later. Gearbox rested her chin on his knee.

It was silly really, but sometimes he couldn't believe he was in a relationship with Émilie. Like a genuinely real one, not the stupid friends-with-benefits-ignoring-their-feelings thing they had going for so many years. Not just that, but they were actually married. And Émilie was pregnant with their baby, a little girl.

It made him giddy still, just thinking about it. They'd have a baby by summer break and less then 2 years ago they weren't even talking to each other anymore.

He checked on her again once he'd changed, still finding her asleep.

Lando hummed to himself and moved into the small kitchenette, picking an apple and peanut butter from the counter with the intention to cut it up and eat it. Once she awoke he'd ask about dinner.

Halfway through he considered the fact that she probably hadn't eaten in a while, so he grabbed another apple to cut up for her.

Halfway through the second apple(the first still wasn't finished) he cut his finger, which meant a trip back to their room to dig through Émilie's bag to find her first aid kit for a plaster.

Once he'd cleaned and covered his cut, Lando returned to the kitchenette and cleaned up the blood before returning to his task of preparing a snack for them.

While he continued his task, arms wrapped themselves around his torso and a weight was rested between his shoulder blades.

He couldn't stop himself from grinning, "Hi princess." He was rewarded with a noise more like a bear then his wife.

Continuing his task, Lando finished cutting up the apples, shuffling a bit in her arms to grab two bowls, placing the apple slices and a spoonful of peanut butter in separate bowls.

Once everything was finished, he turned in Émilie's arms, cradling her face in his hands to give her a soft kiss before grinning at her.

"Hi."

"Why do you have a plaster on?" Emilie yawns out cutely when she notices it on the Brit’s finger.

He grimaced and showed her his finger, which made her wrinkle her nose. "I promise i didn't get anything on the apples, plus i cleaned the knife before continuing."

She sighs and tucks her head under his chin. "What am i going to do with you?" He shrugged, "I'd say marry me but you already did that."

She snorted and pulled back to give him another kiss before letting go and grabbing the apples. "Come on."

He followed after her, arching a brow when he realized she was not just wearing his hoodie but also a pair of his sweatpants.

"Are those mine?"

She paused and looked down, making a face when she looked up, "I need to buy new clothes."

He sat down and winced on her behalf before pulling her down into his lap. Lando peppered her in slobbery kisses, his arms wrapped around her waist keeping her from attempting to run away from him. "I like you in my clothes."

He grinned at her, when she gave him an unimpressed look, setting the apple bowls on the side table and wrapped her arms around his neck placing her own kisses on his cheek, "you're a menace."

He opened his mouth to say something but then his stomach growled, interrupting the moment.

She laughed at him before reaching over and grabbing an apple slice that she fed to him.

"I was supposed to ask you what you wanted for dinner." He explained once he swallowed.

She hummed and offered him a shrug, "There's an Italian place nearby that Oscar and Logan like that I've wanted to try, we could order that."

He nodded and grabbed her phone off the side table and handed it to her, "Use my card."

"I made more than you last year." She mumbled, looking up from the restaurants website on her phone.

"But yet that hasn't stopped you from requesting my card in the past."

She made a noise of indignation and smacked his chest, both of them laughing.

Their phones buzzed and Émilie looked at the message, muttering under her breath in French. Lando placed his chin on her shoulder and read the message, snorting.

Elena: do you want us to pick up dinner and bring it over since Em is sleeping?

Elena: and pregnant... 🤭

Émilie: fuck you too Lena.

Elena: oh you're awake.

Elena: what do you want for dinner?

Émilie: I want chicken parm and Lando wants chicken Alfredo.

"I do?" Lando remarked raising his eyebrow at his wife.

The smartass remark earned him an elbow to the ribs.

Émilie: and Mia wants fucking Tuna.

Max: are you sure Lando will still want to kiss you if eat fish?

Elena: The real question is, are you sure he's gonna want to keep the kid if she's a fish eater?

"She's got a point." Lando murmured, "I don't know if I can accept our baby if she eats fish."

Émilie groaned, "I hate you all."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her neck. "My parents would kill me if I they didn't get to meet their newest grandchild. You know how they are with Mila and Athena.”

She sighed and looked back at the chat.

Émilie: he doesn't get a choice if he wants to keep up with his family, his parents would disown him and keep me and Mia.

Lando huffed indignantly, nipping her ear before grabbing his own phone, "behave Émmie."

Lando: Slander and lies, don't believe a word she says.

Max: Unfortunately, the only lies I see here are yours, buddy.

Elena: do the lies include her dinner order?

Émilie: I'm going to kill all 3 of you if my fucking Italian isn't here when you 2 shit heads get here.

Lando gasped, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Wow and from my own wife."

Émilie huffed and set her phone down, ignoring whatever his sister-in-law retaliated with.

"If they don't bring my food-"

"Our food-"

"I am going to strangle her and leave Max a widower and Ferrari without their second driver." She pressed on, completely ignoring his correction.

"Violent."

She huffed, "you should have married someone else if you wanted a passive wife."

She paused a moment before patting his bicep, "now tell me about the day while we wait."

An hour later there was a knock at the day, and Émile shifted off Lando's lap so he could answer.

"We have your food!" Max called as he an Elena entered the hotel room. "Please don't hurt us."

Émilie rose to her feet and joined them all in the kitchen, eyeing the grocery bag on the counter with contempt before hugging her sister and brother-in-law.

"I'll decide what to do with you after I eat."

They ended up spreading out in the living room, Elena and Émilie on the couch while the boys pulled chairs in from the dining room.

"So, what's the latest gossip in the paddock?" Émilie asked once they'd all settled.

"Rumor has it Charles isn't driving for Ferrari next year." Elena said, making both Émilie and Elena stare at her.

"No way." Émilie gasped, not seeming to care about the food she flicked onto the floor when she leaned forward. "He's been with them forever!"

Gearbox happily cleaned it up.

Elena nodded, "I know! When I was in contract talks with legal they didn't mention him like they normally did. And when I asked about him they side stepped my question."

She paused and watched Gearbox, "they also asked who else I'd like to drive with if given the opportunity."

Lando tilted his head, "who'd you say?"

"Freddy."

Émmie smiled, clearly happy with that statement. Lando couldn't help himself from also smiling.

She was so pretty when she smiled like that, cheeks dusted pink in happiness.

"You know seeing you both so helplessly in love with each other now makes all those years of listening to Lando pine worth it." Max grumbled, distracting Lando's train of thought.

"Hey-"

Elena scoffed and ignored Lando, "if you thought he was bad you can not imagine what Émilie was-"

"I literally have so much dirt on the both of you," Émilie interrupted. She pointed her fork at Elena, "I'm your sister," she pointed the fork at Max, "and I was your teammate. I suffered the most."

Max turned a bit red, "I wasn't that bad." Lando snorted, "yes you were. Especially after she started dating Oscar." Émilie huffed, "that was bad, and I was getting an earful from Logan about it too."

Max was bright red at this point, pointedly not looking at his wife. "Ok so maybe-"

"There were so many times we were on the phone together and Max would just waltz into your drivers room and start complaining." Lando talked right over Max, not caring that his brother-in-law was trying to talk. "It was good gossip."

"All I wanted was a few minutes of peace with my fiancé and instead I got to play therapist to my ex-boyfriend." Émilie grumbled, pulling a pillow into her lap. "While on the phone with my fiancé!"

Elena was doubled over laughing now, "oh my god you were such a dork! I can't believe you went to my sister of all people about your feelings."

"And Charles." Max mumbled, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment, "and Danny. Lando too I guess."

"Awe that's so sweet, you were such a lovesick dork." Elena giggled, wrapping her arms around Max's neck, then kissing his cheek. Max turned his head to kiss his wife fully. Knowing that he was helplessly in love with her and even if they would tease him forever at least he had her to himself now.

Gearbox whined and attempted to shove her nose between them, making everyone laugh.

“Well I guess that’s our queue, let’s go eat dinner.” Elena chuckled as she pulled away from Max to go get dinner ready. She could already tell it was going to be a great night.

[macybeckham7]

4 moments with F1 drivers with reader

1. YN getting her first win of her F1 career

‘WOOO get in there Yn! Your first of many!’ your team principals voice appears in your ears. Your racing career just plays in front of you, from when you were on the Go Karting track, being the only girl and everyone not taking you seriously. How your father was your number one fan, how you would watch races together every Sunday, watching Schumacher, Vettel, Hamilton all win races and be in the record books. You climb out of the car, the car that many people doubted you even deserved, many people putting a time bomb over your head not thinking you will survive your rookie season. The crowd was deafening, you feeling so much love from the crowd who helped you get through the difficult conditions. You run to your team, getting many head taps and a ‘Get in there!’. You lift your visor up, two people suddenly appear, orange arms wrap around your middle and picks you up and jumps around. Once your feet were back on the floor Charles was there. Just your eyes were showing but he looked just happy as you were feeling, you both kept hitting each other, before hugging each other tightly. Max shaking your head, telling you that you have officially arrived and he is looking forward to the rest of the season. ‘The drinks are on you tonight’ Carlos winks.

2. It was Yn’s birthday, they get everyone together for a surprise birthday breakfast.

No one mentioned it being your birthday, everyone’s attention was on the packed weekend with a sprint weekend. It wasn’t until Lance appeared, and suggested that you go for coffee and some breakfast. You linked arms with him and walked around the quiet circuit, he opened the door to hospitality. You thought you heard someone shushing before you rounded the corner with a room full of people, Ted walked over as everyone called out ‘Happy Birthday!’. He placed a birthday hat on your head and you all sat around a table. Fernando appeared with a cake and everyone started singing, you got birthday bumps of Liam and Franco. You knowing that it was a big deal getting all the drivers in the same room, around the same table mid season and making them all leave their debates at the door and just there to celebrate you.

3. The older drivers bringing Yn under their wing

Yn always wanted to learn, whether it was small things how to handle the car around certain circuits or weather conditions. During red flags Yn was often seen stood next to Fernando, he would be explaining something, how to fight on the track with the likes of Max or Lewis. Lewis would always be happy to speak to her and give her some knowledge. She would smile and explain ‘why wouldn’t I want to learn from them? they have been around for a long time, they know what they are on about’. Which Fernando laughs when he gets asked about being called old. Many times throughout the seasons Brundle mentions ‘Wonder if they are questioning why they taught her that, that was a good overtake from her’. Many people said you had the best attributes from Alonso and Hamilton, and you were the best student for them.

4. Drivers being protective over Yn when fans were around

You had travelled with a few of the boys to Vegas, as you left the airport you were met with a few fans. There was a lot of blinded lights from the media taking photos of you. Lando and Carlos stop to look backwards to you. You were chatting to some fans, they knew you could handle yourself but they wanted to keep you close. Carlos wraps his arm around you as Lando grabs your hand and pulls you away from many fans and to the car. You arrived at the track, you were ambushed by fans you had a herd of them all following you. Lewis comes driving by on his scooter, you put your hand up to let him to see you, you manages to get them to give you room, you quickly jump on the back of his scooter. Hugging him as he gets you to safety as he jokes that he can’t let you die by a herd of wolves.

[creativeashproductions]

Hiking Buddy // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Once upon a time you could joke that quaratine bordom was the cause of the mass amount of 2020 pregnancies. Well you could until you found yourself in the same boat...or shall we say crib?? Go on the journey as Y/N reveals the pregnancy to Charlie and later their friends.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of vomiting, pregnancy, and fluff.

Words: 2.5k

Requested: Yes. Anon

A/N: Someone asked for dad!Charlie and I couldn’t resist.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will be through commenting on the posts!

I take requests as well!

Masterlist

Pulled from deep in your chest was a groan at the dizziness rushing from the bedroom into the bathroom. The tile floor cool to the touch as your body was flush on the bathroom floor recovering from the bout of sickness. The fortunate thing about the pandemic was that you had no obligations taking you out of the home. Sitting up, you sat back against the white porcelain tub grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of your date with the toilet.

Slowly you found your grounding enough to shakily stand on two feet to brush your teeth to get rid of the nasty aftertaste. Your eyes found the pale expression of your reflection fading as nausea faded as well.

“This is tainting naps for me.” You muttered under your breath, washing your hands before proceeding to splash your face.

Your social media had been flooded with many people in your personal life and celebrities announcing pregnancies. You and Charlie often made teasing remarks about if people were so bored. Guess you couldn’t joke about it anymore.

Your hand splayed across the bare skin under the band shirt hanging loose on your form with a small smile. It had been a hectic year getting married to Charlie while filming the first season of Julie and the Phantoms. The plan had been to wait a few years to enjoy your careers and marriage before children. Get more established in the film industry as a woman was necessary, but you couldn’t get mad. This child would be a gift.

“I’d appreciate if I don’t have gross cravings okay? I have to put up with your dad’s questionable food combinations. I may throw up looking at it.” You muttered smiling at the smooth skin you couldn’t wait to grow into a bump.

At the beginning of the pandemic, you, along with Charlie, had flown back to Canada. Living outside of city limits, Charlie was able to still hike and meet up with family in a safe condition. You grew more as a couple as well.

Turning the light off in the bathroom, you made your way to slip your faux fur lined grey and burgundy moccasins—the mid-afternoon sun shining through the windows of the bedroom giving a picturesque view of the forest. Charlie was more than likely in the home gym you had thrown together once arriving at the home.

“I have an idea a little one.” You spoke to the little life you carried inside your womb. After the positive pregnancy and your confirmation with the OB/GYN, you had ordered a few items.

First, it was baby-sized pair of hiking boots to go with a forest green, that matched Charlie’s eyes, onesie with black lettering. The lettering saying ‘And so the Adventure Begins’. The background had with trees and mountains. As nature enthusiasts, you thought it would be perfect.

The box had arrived early this morning when Charlie had been in the shower giving you time to hide it. Now you just had to mention you wanted to go hiking with him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Charlie spoke, kissing your forehead as he walked into the home. His first instinct to grab a snack after his workout, “How was your nap?”

“Energized me. Hey, are you too tired to go on a short hike?” You questioned filling a glass with water to hand to him. His smile was thanks enough as he tugged you to sit in his lap.

“We haven’t gone on one in quite a while. What brought it on?” Charlie asked, wrapping his arms around to finish his protein bar. His chin coming to rest of your shoulder familiarly; you relaxed into his chest.

“It’s a nice day. We’ve been cooped up in the house for a while. Just wanna get out.” You replied heart doing a flutter when his arms wrapped around your midsection.

“Let me get a few things,” Charlie spoke gently, pushing you up to the job to the spare bedroom. The closet kept the supplies you used for hikes, like the first aid kit that he started bringing after you cut your knee once.

As he collected the items, you quickly changed into clothing acceptable for the hike and shoving the things into the backpack. Slipping it on, you met your husband at the front door lacing up your boots. Charlie lifted the house keys in his hands before he tugged you outside, excited for the escape. His hand never leaving yours, you found the well-used trail you had explored countless times.

“Are you feeling better?” Charlie asked, swinging your hands together, refusing to release his grip. His eyes glancing over to catch your expression.

“I think I was overtired.” You replied, keeping your eyes on the trail looking for the rock you wanted to use.

Charlie’s phone was pulled out to make a short video.

“Get yourself a partner that suggests a hike before you.” Charlie slowed to press a kiss to your flushed cheek, “No but seriously. I’m incredibly lucky to have someone like my wife here.”

“Oh, shush.” You snickered as he intentionally pulled you to a stop to press kisses all over your face. His grin and his love would melt the hearts of his followers. Charlie returned the phone to his pocket as he hummed the melody to Unsaid Emily.

“Be right back.” Charlie spoke, squeezing your hand as he jogged to the forest, “I drank too much coffee this morning!”

You couldn’t help the laugh at his blunt words and his typical caffeine intake, but it gave you the perfect opportunity. Using the limited time, you were quick to place the onesie on the rock with the baby hiking boots near the shoulder. You had forgone on asking for a sonogram picture so you could share that moment with Charlie.

“I always forget to pee before we leave the house. Good thing we live near nature.” Charlie spoke jogging closer to where you were hiding the items behind you.

“Do you think green or mine?” You asked, bringing an expression of confusion on your husband’s face. He stepped closer halting when you stepped to the side, “I think yours. I love your eyes.”

Charlie was frozen entirely at the surprise you had planted in his short absence. He didn’t even notice he had moved until the soft cotton of the onesie brushed his fingertips. With his attention solely on the boots, he hadn’t seen you had a stepped up a camera to catch his reaction.

“Are those…?”

“They won’t need the boots in our arms, but I thought we could match.” You continued shifting with the camera to catch his wonder-filled gaze. His expression melted your heart as he gently caressed the side of the boot from his crouched position.

“We’re-“

“-getting a new hiking buddy.” You finished beaming as Charlie lunged you swing you in his arms, “Okay Char. I’d prefer not throwing up again.”

Charlie stumbled back glancing around the area, “I love how you surprised me, but what if you had fallen? I can’t have my loves hurt.”

 “Charlie. We’re on an easy trail, not Everest. I’m fine.” You deadpanned watching his cheeks flush at your response, “But I would like to get home. I’m so hungry.”

September 2020

Emma Roberts, Sasha Pieterse, Bindi Irwin, High School Music alumni Ashley Tisdale, and Hilary Duff were only a handful of celebrities welcoming babies. If hiding your marriage with Charlie was hard during filming, hiding the pregnancy was harder with your friends. Especially hitting seven months with a big bump concealed with camera angles.

You wanted to keep the news under wraps, so the media focused on the show, not your pregnancy at an early age. Of course, your friends were suspicious of Charlie’s posts and stories, not showing their favourite Gillespie. Carolynn knew just by the fullness of your face barely noticeable to the others.

“Oof.” You breathed wincing at the sharp kick to your ribs from Sprout. Charlie’s concerned gaze glancing over from his interview.

Swiftly rubbing the area, the kick happened your fingers returned to flip the page of the pregnancy book. You had grown used to the concern Charlie carried, he always had his phone fully charged on his hikes. Hikes you hadn’t taken since you surprised him with the little boots; it had been a disagreement, but you got where he was coming from.

“I’m fine, Charles.” You spoke, forcing him to turn his attention back to the closing interview. Once he turned the camera off, he rushed over to crouch in front of the couch, placing his hands on your stretched belly.

“Thought we had a deal Sprout.” He cooed caressing the band shirt covering your stretched skin, “Don’t hurt your mama.”

Your face twisted as the baby shifted, while you were enthralled by the fact you were carrying a child it felt like an alien. It was weird feeling something move inside and kick your damn inside like a fucking soccer ball.

“I can’t wait for the baby to be out.” You groaned, hiding the smile as Charlie’s lips pressed against your belly. You couldn’t wait to see him interact with his child.

“I say we name him Luke.” Charlie teased shifting you ahead so he could slide behind you in the usual position. His fingers immediately massaging your stiff shoulders and neck.

“I like Alex better. He’s the best Phantom.” You retorted reaching up to hold his hands, “Sensitive and his sarcasm? Immaculate.”

“We can table the options at a later time.” Charlie quickly replied chuckling as you moved position once more to rest against his chest. His fingers finding their way into your silky hair, pregnancy hormones had sped up hair growth.

“Hey-“ Your words fractured as your phone buzzed with a FaceTime request from Jeremy. Charlie quickly answered with a snicker as your response was cut off.

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of you two on your couch, “My wife and I had drinks with our family. Carolynn slipped and told me something interesting.”

You and your husband froze as Carolynn sheepishly joined her husband in their white bedroom with a quick apology. Guess the cat was out of the bag.

“You guys are having a kid?” Jeremy asked, taking in the two actors he had quickly become good friends with during filming. His mind recalling a moment at his wedding when you guys had disappeared for a good twenty minutes.

March 2020

The Shada wedding had been gorgeous and like a dream to see someone you saw as a brother find his other half. Your hand was kept tight in your husband’s sitting among Owen, Tori and Kenny himself. Owen had snuck himself and Tori wine while Kenny turned his eye to the underage drinking.

“Wanna take a walk?” Charlie murmured in your ear as Jeremy and Carolynn made their way around their guests. His hot breath sending a chill down your spine as his left hand came to rest on your thigh.

The romantic atmosphere with the wine you had had during dinner lowered your inhibitions that you and Charlie snuck to the less used bathroom. You two quickly gave evidence that wedding hookups were very real. You managed to sneak back into the reception where dancing was taking place; a perfect story to why you and Charlie were a little dishevelled.

“Hey!” Owen called seeing you two join him on the floor. The wine had blinded his view of the very obvious couple, Owen knew from catching you two what a quickie appearance looked like.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink Bud.” Charlie spoke to the teenager as Jeremy made his way over to his friends, “Congrats Jer!”

“Thanks, man! When will we get the Gillespie wedding we didn’t get?” Jeremy called over the music beaming when his new wife plastered herself to Jeremy.

“Maybe in the next year.” You retorted twirling in Charlie’s arms thanks to the dance lessons of boot camp.

“Oh my god. Little Gillespie was conceived at our wedding.” Jeremy spoke, leaning back to his wife, “You’d be due in November, right?”

Your cheeks burned as Jeremy and Carolynn put the pieces together swiftly, “Well can we keep this a secret until October? I don’t want to take attention away from the show.”

“You should tell the others.” Jeremy suggested squeezing his wife’s hand, “They might think Charlie kidnapped a baby otherwise.”

Agreeing to announce to your friends Charlie had set up a video hangout with Owen, Mads, Savannah, Jeremy and even Kenny. It was in the later evening with the hiking boots out of shot and your shirt and belly below the camera view.

“Hey, guys!” Charlie greeted his friends as everyone entered the video, “Insane how many fan edits there are!”

“So cool!” Mads beamed addressing Kenny, “Thanks for giving me the chance to be involved in the coolest project.”

“You did all the work.” Kenny waved it off, taking in the cast of one of his favourite projects to date. You all meshed together so perfectly even if your character was only recurring like Sav.

“Hey, Kenny can we get your opinion on something?” You asked, gaining everyone’s attention and excitement after only using texting with the group. Morning sickness and fatigue had depleted your desire to be physically seen.

Kenny nodded, leading you to grab the baby hiking boots, “Do you think these are adequate enough to run from the witches?”

It was utterly silent as Charlie raised the little plaque he had ordered. The plaque included the Hocus Pocus witches in front of a cream moon, faces featureless other than eyebrows and lips. The corner had a cobweb with a little spider and just under it said ‘Winnie, I smell…a child’ with the pregnancy test snug in the cut out. Your favourite was the ‘it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus’ under the test.

“No way!” Owen screamed as all hell broke loose with the others. Charlie beamed at the sheer excitement on their faces.

“You’re having a baby?” Kenny murmured with a smile at the touching announcement and acting being involved.

“Charlie suggested the Hocus Pocus theme because we may have kept it to ourselves and our family?” Your voice went up a few octaves as the truth broke free.

“You haven’t had the kid, right?” Mads questioned peering in the background behind you finding nothing.

“Hopefully we have our hiking buddy in November on the due date. I don’t want to overdue, this kid weighs a ton.” You moaned snuggling into Charlie’s side, “We defin-“

“Jer’s wedding.” Owen interrupted with narrowed eyes, “You disappeared and came back with-“

“-O there is a child present.” Sav joked getting Mads to scoff at her, but everyone made a face as they recalled your disappearing act.

“Oh, your house must be filled with gross food combos. I hope the baby gets Y/N’s looks and taste buds.” Mads called hanging up before Charlie could retort at her. His eyes rolled, but the smile told another story, but slowly each of their friends said their goodbyes.

“At least Owen won’t go spilling the news to anyone.” You snorted playing your hand on Charlie’s large one splayed across your tummy.

You had a lot to thank Kenny for too. Without being cast by him, you wouldn’t have met your friends which in turn would mean you wouldn’t have been at Jer’s wedding. That would have been tragic since his marriage is the sole reason you had a child due in two months.

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[mahixa]

so @maxricciardo messaged me earlier today and maybe possibly probably inspired me to write this cute, fluffy lestappen fic. Listen, she’s great and she deserves to read something nice and comforting about Max after today’s race. And for any of you searching for something sweet and a short fic about the boys being happy together - I hope you will enjoy it as well.

You can read it on ao3 [HERE]

ship: lestappen

word count: 1734

fluff. It’s fluff. Boys kissing. Fluffity fluff. Let there be fluff. Max realises his feelings for Charles and thinks Charles is pretty. We all agree with Max.

The interviewer is someone Max has never seen before during their press conferences. He looks like he could live and survive on drama alone. Beastliness shines dangerously in his eyes and the way he tilts his head before he asks Max the question indicates deviousness.

Max doesn’t like this at all.

“So, Max,” his voice is obnoxious already. “We all know how painfully honest you can be. Let me ask you about Charles Leclerc.”

Something stings Max’s chest. It has been difficult couple of days for Charles, with his bad last racing weekend and a lot of family burden going on right now. The Monegasque, if asked about it, would kindly state that everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about.

But Max knows Charles and he is aware when things become too much for him. And it’s obvious that Charles has his ups and downs. Should anyone be surprised by that? No one. And yet the media keep doing what they do best – they wait for the smallest mistake, the tiniest inconvenience, and they dig deep into the topic. They remind Max of vultures, always ready to find a person during their weak moments and portray such person as the biggest victim possible. A loser. Rend their vulnerable skin and make them bleed for the sake of the headline. Pain them black and white.

For the media everything is zero to one. You either win, or you lose. You drive or you crash. There’s no in between.

And Charles is sitting right next to Max during this press conference, and Max can feel him switching his position uncomfortably as they both hear the begging of question.

“Charles seems to like creating controversy,” the man states the biggest lie Max has heard in a while and dares to continue speaking. “And recently he has been loosing his nerves in the most crucial moments. He is, let’s say, not good under pressure these days. Does it even make him a good driver then?”

Something boils inside Max.

“Does any of it have something to do with the upcoming date of Charles’ father’s death? Should Charles continue to drive during this weekend, or is he a threat to others? Clearly he might be, with his mental condition.”

The conference room goes completely silent.

Max doesn’t take his eyes off of the interviewer. He doesn’t even blink. His gaze must look dangerous enough for everyone to make them to look at him and the man multiple times, anticipating the answer. Max lifts his chin defiantly and squints, and it sends unspoken fulmination all across the room. Someone clears his throat nervously.

“You know,” Max starts, joining his hands together. “I think it takes some fucking audacity to come to this room and say such things about one of the greatest driver of this generation.” Someone gasps in the room and everyone lifts their cameras up. “So you come here, and you have your confidence, and well. You have to be confident, for sure, to ask such dumb questions and state such idiotic statements, clearly not understanding what does it mean to be a normal human in this sport, having better and worse days. So no. Charles is more than the questions about his father, he is more than your silly cheap mind games and neither him, or me, will waste our time on you. And he will drive with us on Sunday. He’s the best person out there when it comes to mental strenght and he doesn’t deserve such crap from the media. So shut up. Next question,” he finishes and points at another man.

His heart is beating incredibly fast and he can hardly hear another question. His mouth is dry, palms sweaty and his legs bouncing nervously.

He does his best to ignore Charles’ stunned look on his face and Lewis’ dropped jaw.

When Max comes back to his hotel room he is exhausted and doesn’t really know why. He has dealt with stupid interviewers on more than one occasion by now, and he thinks he should be able to handle this situation better. Not that he regrets saying what he said.

He just doesn’t know why it caused such him such an emotional response.

Before he can think about it more, there’s a soft knock on the door and there’s only one person who knocks like that.

“Come in, Charles.”

Charles’ smile is small and almost timid, as he enters the room and then looks around. Max smiles to himself, observing a very awkward Charles. As if he wasn’t here yesterday to see the room. And the day before.

“I, eh,” he starts, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to say thank you, Max.”

Max doesn’t know how to react to his cheeks which turn bright red.

Charles has always been like that. Like that? So like what? Max thinks, forcing himself to finally understand what he has been feeling for so long, searching in his head for the best word to describe the other man.

Lovely. Charles has always been quite lovely, he admits to himself.

That describes Charles pretty well, actually. And now Max thinks about all those moments they shared together, from the early karting days too. Their fights and arguments when they were children, and Charles coming to check on Max after their races. Bringing him his home-made cookies or lemonade, and thanking Max. Or saying he is sorry. And these confessions were always a bit clumsy, always a bit awkward, but the words were always there. Charles might not always look the most confident during moments like this, but he always is there. Ready to speak and be tender when other people hide themselves and run away from confrontation. Charles is ready to say the things Max is often unable to.

Today’s press conference was different, though. It was the first time Max said so many things about Charles. In a room full of people, on top of that – people who were paying attention to his every word. Wasn’t that rather stupid, to go off like that? But that question has to be one of the dumbest and most arrogant he has heard in a long while. And it was about Charles.

No one should ever talk about Charles like that.

Not about Charles. How dare they? Have they ever seen the way he drives? The way he trains? How he can stay under pressure? The way he achieves his goals and keeps his cool even in the most stressful moments?

Have they seen the way Charles smiles? The way he rolls his eyes when he sees something silly or the way he wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but truly, truly laughs? Have they seen the way Charles can’t cook or dance, but he likes to do these things and it makes it even more enjoyable to observe him?

And what about the way Charles sleeps, with his lips slightly parted and his strong chest moving up and down? Or the way he gets excited over the stupidest TV programs Max doesn’t understand, but doesn’t mind when Charles asks him to watch them together, already too fascinated by the way Charles comments on things? And the way he plays the piano. The way he chooses songs and hums to himself when he plays.

The way he sneezes and then apologizes for it. The way Charles can assemble furniture from IKEA, and refuse to use any instruction, but somehow his chaotic energy helps him manage? And Max knows how it looks like.

Because Charles helped him with his furnitures.

Charles has always been there. When Max was sick and didn’t want to take any pills, Charles was there. Brining him his mum’s soup and talking how much he likes the fact that they both live in Monaco now. And when Max got completely wasted in one of those bars they like to go to, it was Charles who helped him get clean from all the unpleasant post-party aspects of the night. And he didn’t complain. He didn’t make a sound. He took off Max’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and helped him shower. He made sure Max made it to bed and he placed a glass of water on his bedside table.

Charles was there when Max won his most important races and he was there to celebrate it with him. He was there when Max argued with his father and when it all looked like a lost cause. He was there to rub soothing circles on Max’s back with his gentle hand and embrace him with his soft voice.

And he always says “thank you” and “I’m sorry” when other people could never do it, for different reasons. Charles has always been brave and able to rise above others. Be a bigger person.

Charles is kind and lovely.

And so damn handsome.

It all makes Max’s head dizzy. The realisation of his feelings washes over him and he has to grab the chair not to stumble. What now?

Charles looks beautiful in his blue hoodie, messy hair and his confused smile. He looks way too soft to remain reasonable or sensible about this.

“Those things you said during the press conference, did you mean them?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Max nods, coming closer to Charles who doesn’t move away. His eyes are focused on Max’s and he licks his lips.

“I meant every word,” Max says, his voice becoming almost a whisper, as he moves even closer and cups Charles’ face with his hand. “Jesus, Charles.”

Charles closes his eyes at the contact and breathes in through his nose. He looks stunning and Max is mesmerised.

“Kiss me,” Charles whispers, not opening his eyes. “Please.”

Max feels like melting. He slowly cups Charles’ face with both his hands.

“Look at me,” Max whispers back, and when Charles opens his eyes slightly, Max places a kiss on Charles’ forehead.

Then on his cheek. And then the other.

And then they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Charles’ arms around Max’s shoulders and Max’s hands on Charles’ waist. It’s the softest thing to kiss Charles, his lips eager and opened and lovely, lovely, so, so lovely, and warm.

Max moves them around the room so Charles can fall on the bed, and as soon as he does, Max climbs on top of him. The way Charles’ reaches out for him, the way he holds him closer, kissing him harder and deeper – that definitely goes on top of “the different ways of Charles Leclerc” list Max has made.

And Charles is beautiful under his touch, and he glows like a golden, Autumn sun, and he sounds like the softest, warm melody.

“I meant every word,” Max says between kisses and touches, between moans and sighs. “Every word.”

[stolethekey]

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

hello! this is for the (final!) @b99fandomevents—i can’t believe how far these two (and this show) have come, and i’m gonna miss them so much. i got to write this for @amydancepants-peralta, who wanted a fic where jake and amy have a disatrous first date, and then amy decides to transfer to chicago—jake has three days to convince her to stay.

enjoy! (you can also read this on ao3.)

It’s their first date, and it’s a disaster.

Neither of them has said anything in the ten minutes since they’ve sat down. Jake buries his nose into the menu, hoping that he looks occupied enough with choosing an entrée to excuse the heavy silence that has settled over the table. A few feet away, in the other side of the booth, Amy does the same thing.

A young man in a pressed suit and tie approaches their table, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes!” Amy nearly leaps at the chance to talk to someone who is not Jake. Jake tries not to feel too hurt by the desperate excitement in her voice. “I’ll take the chicken piccata, please.”

Jake lingers around the chicken parmesan but ends up going with a steak, because he’s determined to show Amy and maybe himself that he can eat like an adult. They pass their silk-embossed menus to the waiter, sip their waters, and suddenly it’s too quiet again.

“You got a haircut,” Jake notices, wringing his hands nervously under the table.

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long, and then Jake says, “This is awkward.”

Amy chokes out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Another moment passes. Jake swallows the non-existent saliva in his mouth. Their waiter, mercifully, returns with their food a few minutes later. Jake doesn’t want him to leave. He does, of course, and then they’re left in that terrible silence again.

Jake makes it through half his steak before speaking again. “Should we, um, just get really drunk?”

Amy grimaces, reaching for her water. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated. “If we can’t do this sober, what’s the point?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s stomach, but he stabs his fork into his a piece of broccoli anyway. - It’s the day after their first date, and Amy asks for a transfer.

Jake learns about this through a wail from the evidence lockup that he hears from a good twenty yards away. He bursts through the door, frantic, to find Charles curled in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Charles gets out the details in between sobs, or at least enough details that Jake gets most of the picture. Amy put in a transfer to Chicago, it’s been granted on account of an emergency vacancy that needs to be filled, and she has three days left at the Nine-Nine.

“Three days,” Charles gasps, tears streaming out of his eyes. “Three days, you have to convince her to stay, Jake, you have to—”

“Hold on,” Jake says desperately, watching Charles dab at his face with a completely saturated tissue. “Let me get you another box of Kleenex.”

He opens the door to leave and runs straight into the source of Charles’s despair, in the flesh.

“Oh,” says Amy.

Jake closes the door behind him before Charles can see her and have a heart attack, then crosses his arms. “Is it true? Are you leaving?”

Amy has the grace to look self-conscious, shuffling her feet and shoving her hands in her pockets. She nods, and Jake feels strangely like the walls are swimming around him.

It just makes sense, she says. She has family there, and New York is too crowded, too expensive, and maybe Chicago is a better place to live anyway.

“Is this because of me?” Jake demands. “Because of…you know…our date?”

“No, of course not.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.

Jake scoffs before stalking past her into the bullpen, ignoring her half-hearted call of his name. He blinks back the hot, furious tears forming in his eyes, and internally he starts a calendar. - On Day One, Jake calls in sick to work.

He responds to the “r u ok??” texts from Charles, Rosa, Gina, and Terry with a copy-and-pasted “I’m ok. Just feeling gross.” He ignores the ones that mention Amy. He also pretends like he doesn’t notice that Amy hasn’t sent him anything.

The morning is spent mindlessly scrolling through his social media beneath his blankets, with no regard for time or his grumbling stomach.

At noon, Charles posts a picture of the squad from Halloween with the caption “Gonna miss my favorite Halloween-hater. #SayonaraSantiago.” Jake decides he’s had enough Instagram for the day and finally hauls himself out of bed.

He orders a pizza, then turns his phone off and the TV on. Inadvertently, the pizza becomes both lunch and dinner and one Die Hard movie becomes a marathon—and before he knows it, the sky outside his apartment is dark.

“Well, that was productive,” Jake mutters, brushing the pizza crumbs off his lap before standing up to toss his trash into the garbage.

On Day Two, they aren’t talking to each other.

Amy looks up almost timidly as he walks out of the elevator, then waits until he reached his desk to let out a small, hesitant “Hi.”

Jake grabs the file waiting for him on his desk and walks out of the bullpen without looking at her.

So, strictly speaking, this is mostly his fault.

That fact does not do anything to quell the mixture of anger and hurt writhing in his stomach. He spends the day furiously completing paperwork in an empty interrogation room, jabbing his pen so furiously into the paper that he rips a hole in an I-918 and has to start over.

At noon, Rosa stops by with a turkey sub, which she drops wordlessly on the desk in front of him before sliding back out the door.

At five, he has completed more paperwork than he has in the last month combined. He drops the stack of files on Terry’s desk, forces a smile, and says, “Finally caught up on all those forms you’ve been hounding me about.”

Terry, his eyes piercing and slightly concerned, does not laugh. “Dismissed.”

It’s Day Three, and Holt has had enough.

He assigns Jake and Amy to label evidence in the lockup together, much to Jake’s chagrin. Amy turns and speeds off without a word. Jake turns towards Holt with a big, reproachful protest on the tip of his tongue but is cut off by Holt’s raised eyebrows and stern expression.

“Peralta, you need to get over yourself.”

“What?”

“You need to get over yourself,” Holt repeats. “Your partner of six years is leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t spoken to her in three days.”

Jake snorts, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, she’s leaving because of me, so—”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Holt says, not unkindly. “If you let her leave like this, you might never get the chance to talk to her again.”

Jake stares at the ground, furiously attempting to dig a hole in the ground with his toe.

“I know you don’t want this to be the way things end.” Holt’s voice is gentle, and Jake can’t bring himself to look up. “It would be unwise to let your pride get in the way of your last chance to save your friendship.”

“Whatever,” Jake mutters irritably, but something uncomfortable has begun to form in his gut. “Gimme that Sharpie so I can go write case numbers on a bunch of ziplock bags.”

Jake does not, in fact, get over himself—at least not for the first few hours. He chooses to instead label evidence in the same furious silence that has occupied his past three days, pretending he doesn’t see the furtive, almost timid glances Amy throws his way every few minutes.

Then he walks to a bodega for lunch and realizes mid-chew that this is Amy’s last lunch at the Nine-Nine, and the uncomfortable thing in his stomach grows a lot bigger.

He finally swallows his pride on his walk back to the precinct, and when he re-enters the evidence lockup the thing in his stomach has started feeling a lot more like guilt.

Amy walks in a few minutes after him, tossing a balled-up sandwich wrapper into the trash, and notices that he’s watching her. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jake says quickly. “I do.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, and Jake’s heart sinks a little.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” Jake says. “For how I reacted, and for icing you out the past few days. It was immature of me, and stupid, and I should’ve been an adult about it, but—well, I guess we both know I suck at that sometimes.”

Amy snorts, but her expression has softened slightly. “Thank you.”

“And I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jake continues, almost determinedly. “We’re gonna make this the best day you’ve ever had at the Nine-Nine.”

Amy laughs slightly. “I don’t think that’s possible, given the amount of work we have left.”

“Who cares?” Jake shrugs. “The best part of work has always been the people anyway.”

And for all the organizational skills Jake may lack, he sure knows how to delegate. All it takes is a couple text messages to a new, Amy-less precinct group chat and the rest of the Nine-Nine is off. Gina cashes in on a favor and gets Shaw’s to close its doors for the evening. Rosa makes a last-minute motorcycle trip to a local party store and uses a sizable amount of cash and her surprising aesthetic skill to acquire a large box of decorations. Charles says, “leave the food to me,” and no one is brave enough to question him about it.

Jake stays with Amy on the floor of the evidence lockup. They talk and laugh as they work, reminiscing about their years at the Nine-Nine and the particularly memorable perps they’ve brought in.

There’s also a supercut of the stuff that wasn’t work at all—the precinct parties, Charles saving Thanksgiving, the Boyle-Linetti wedding. There are the Halloween heists, the Jimmy Jabs, and there’s the Bet, with a capital B. Neither of them mentions the last one, but Jake is definitely thinking about it.

“Remember that time Terry tried to do the full bullpen and almost knocked a tooth out?” Amy asks, grinning widely. “I thought Sharon was gonna pull him out of the force immediately.”

“You have no faith,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I knew she’d let him stay.”

“You did not.” Amy points at him, narrowing her eyes. “You were so scared when she came to pick him up.”

“I was not—”

“So scared. I’ve never seen a grown man visibly tremble like that, but—”

“God, shut up.” Jake throws a balled-up piece of tape at her, and she laughs. It’s a real one, this time, one that’s bright and infectious.

They let it fade into a gentle silence, one that’s more comfortable than the ones of the past few days.

There’s a beat, and then Jake says, “Don’t go to Chicago.”

He expects Amy to be surprised by this change of subject—to recoil and give an affronted, “what?”

Instead, she sighs, long and slow, and closes the manila folder in front of her. “Jake—”

“I mean, I know it’s your decision, and I respect that,” Jake says quickly. “And if you truly meant what you said to me earlier, about how it’s important to be near your family and it’s a better place for you to live and you’ve grown out of New York—if that’s really the reason you’re leaving, then that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll shut up about it and we can just have a big blowout goodbye party and you can leave.”

Amy picks at the edge of her boot and says nothing.

“But if it’s not—if you’re leaving because of what happened on our date—I don’t want to be the reason you give this up, Amy. I know how much you love it here, and this place loves you too. Captain Holt is a phenomenal mentor to you, we both know that, and you might not get that in Chicago—you’ve done so much good work here that I know you’re proud of, and I can’t be the reason you don’t have that anymore.”

Amy looks at him, her eyes a stormy mix of unreadable emotions, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Jake says, splaying out his hands in front of him. “That date was kind of a disaster, we both know that. And I think it’s because we were both trying too hard, because we cared too much. Because we’re friends, Amy, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t care if we never date. I don’t care if I never get to hug you, or kiss you, or do any of the things I’ve so desperately wanted to do. I just can’t lose your friendship. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and an even better friend, and I would be more than happy to just be friends with you for the rest of my life. God knows it’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve plenty,” Amy says softly.

Jake swallows the way that makes his chest flutter. “I’m just saying—I’m laying my cards all out on the table, here. I want you to stay, and I respect it if you don’t want that. But please don’t let me be the reason for you leaving.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Amy gives him a small, wistful smile that says everything Jake needs to hear.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Party at Shaw’s it is, then.”

Amy slaps the last label on a duffle bag, checks her watch, and stands. “I’m actually taking off early—I need to clear up some stuff at City Hall before I leave. I’ll meet you there?”

“Oh,” Jake says, a little dumbfounded.

Amy notices his expression and shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s not—I mean, this has been settled for days, Holt knows, I was always leaving at three today. So it’s not, like, spontaneous, you know. I would’ve told you earlier, but—"

“I was being an ass. Yeah.”

Amy gives him that little sad smile again, and Jake wants to kick a wall. “I’ll see you at the bar,” she says, almost gently.

Jake forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” - When he pushes through the doors of his favorite bar a few hours later, Jake is expecting loud music, streamers, and—if Gina’s Instagram stories were credible—possibly Mario Lopez. Instead, the bar is completely empty.

There are no balloons, no decorations—the only set table is in the middle of the floor, and on it sits a pizza, two salads, and two glasses of water.

“What—what is this?” Jake mutters, mostly to himself.

“A dinner between two friends,” Amy says, emerging from behind the bar. She gives him a small, slightly nervous smile. “And if it goes well, a second date.”

Jake blinks.

“You were right,” Amy tells him, carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to the table. “Our friendship is the most important thing, here, and it means a lot to both of us. I mean, that’s why we were trying so hard in the first place, right? Neither of us wanted it to fail.”

Jake nods in silent assent, not trusting whatever his mouth would say if he let it.

“But it did fail. Miserably.”

“Uh-huh,” Jake says, somewhat stupidly.

“So the worst thing that could happen has already happened, and we’ve gotten through it. And I think—I think, now, having gone through the past few days, we know enough to give it another shot. As long as we set very clear boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” Jake repeats. “Boundaries are good.”

“Yeah,” says Amy with a slightly amused smile. “So, we’re friends. Really good friends. And that’s what we have to protect, above anything. So this is not necessarily a date. It’s a dinner, and we’re a pair of very good friends who are gonna eat it. And if we want to, afterwards, we can decide to call it a date.”

“Can you do that?” Jake asks. “Label something a date after it’s already happened?”

“Who cares?” Amy smirks. “Since when have you followed rules?”

Jake swallows and shrugs.

“Anyway, if it’s awkward, or weird, then we move past it. It’s a slightly awkward moment between friends that doesn’t have to mean anything. No more silent treatment, no more rash decisions, just two friends who are still friends afterwards. Got it?”

“Afterwards,” Jake says slowly. “So—Chicago—”

“Yeah, I’m not going,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling. “That was a dumb thing I did to avoid this guy I went on a terrible date with.”

A broad grin starts to make its way across Jake’s face. “He sounds like he sucks.”

Amy laughs, then pulls out a chair and points at it. “So—pizza?”

The grin on Jake’s face softens into something smaller, something gentler. “Definitely.”

They each take a slice, then a bite, and Jake will never admit it—but it’s the best Meat Supreme he’s ever tasted.

[zielleromanova]

02| Life Happens

-2 Years Later-

Cora E. | Everhart Mansion, New York City | 1:00 p.m.

I felt numb to my core. I could hear and see perfectly, but nothing was truly registering in my mind. It seemed like it was just yesterday, but in reality, it's been eight days since my mother passed away. I remember that day crystal clear.

I heard a certain knock on my bedroom door, and I immediately rushed over to yank it open while holding my phone. I was busy scrolling through social media. On the other side stood Charles, the old family butler. He had a deep frown on his face, a distressed gaze in his eyes, which was abnormal considering the fact that he was one of the most positive and kind men I have met. He was usually bearing a smiling face whenever I saw him.

"What's the matter, Charles?" I asked him, worried that something bad happened.

He opened his mouth to speak up, but then closed it again. He looked at me, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"Something terrible happened, Miss Cora. It's about Miss Katherine." He started. My attention was caught the moment he said something terrible happened, but now I was on high alert, knowing that it was related to my mom.

"What happened?" I inquired, a bit uneasy.

Again, Charles looked hesitant and looked down at the floor for a good 60 seconds.

"Charles?" I called out to him. "Is everything alright?"

"Your mother is gone, Miss Cora. She's died in her sleep last night. "

I froze, his words slowly sinking into my brain and heart like extremely sharp blades. The phone I was holding crashed to the ground, turning into shards of plastic and glass, as my eyes went wide as saucers. My mouth felt dry, and my throat felt scorched. Charles stood in front of me with an apologetic look on his face.

"P-please tell me this is all just a cruel joke," I begged under my breath.

"I am sorry, Miss Cora, but your mother has been declared dead. " he responded.

Death. The one thing I never feared. Thinking about it now, I realized I wasn't afraid to die, but I feared for the ones that I loved.

I tried to utter a word. I tried to say anything that I could say. But I couldn't. Instead, I let out a choked sob and collapsed to my knees. Charles was by my side, rocking me back and forth as I continued to sob.

My mother was gone. I wasn't even able to spend much time with her yet because I spent most of my childhood in Russia. I wanted to turn back time and be able to hear my mother sing me to sleep once again. But I couldn't do that. She was gone.

I snapped out of the flashback, wiping my eyes with the hem of my shirt. I reached out to grab a glass of water right beside me when I heard a resounding knock from the heavy oak doors of my bedroom. Taking my last sip of water, I set the glass down.

"Come in," I called out in a hoarse voice, a reminder that I hadn't spoken to anyone that much in the past days, and instead had been crying my eyes out. Poor things must be as red as blood by now.

The door creaked open, and a face looked in. A face that I did not want to see right now. Or any other day for that matter.

"Oh, it's you," I whispered to myself. My father strode the room with long, graceful steps, and stopped just in front of my bed.

"I heard you haven't been eating much the past days. " he stated with the famous strictness in his voice.

"As if  you care," I say coldly. "Where were you when my bones were being broken back in Russia? As you can see, I'm am perfectly fine."

"You know perfectly well that you are not fine... and do not talk to me like that. I am your father." he scolds me, and it causes me to scoff aloud.

"Oh? What are you gonna do, father? Build a dungeon in the basement And lock me in there?" venom was laced in my voice as I said that.

"Despite what you might believe, I'm your father, not your jailor, Coralynn. " He responds angrily.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" I ask him in a snarky tone. I don't remember you caring for me before, I add in my head, but I don't let it reach my lips. I'm not in the mood for a fight.

My father glares at me with his stunning amber eyes. The eyes that I inherited.

He kept silent, but to me, it seemed like he was biting his tongue from saying something to me. I scoffed once more and looked away from him, rolling my eyes. I knew I was being mean and disrespectful, but I couldn't help it.

"Whatever," I sneered, proceeding to walk away from him.

My father continues to look at me in silence for a while, before continuing. "You are going to study in Gotham for this year. It might be better for you if you stay away from New York for the time being. "

"Hah!" I scoffed, "you truly do have a knack for deciding where I will stay without even asking me, huh? Nevermind, you've never cared anyway. "

"I am doing what's best for you. " he stated, keeping a cool demeanor. But let's be real. I know deep down inside his chest, it's a burning lava pit.

"Oh really? Is that what you thought when sent me to Russia for, I don't know, almost my whole life?! Because of you, I never got to spend real quality time with my mother! And now she's dead and gone!" I started out calmly, but nearing the end, the tone of my voice began to rise steadily.

My father's gaze softened. "Cora," he began softly, as if he wanted to say something to comfort me. But I didn't care whatever he has to say. I cut him off by holding up my right hand to his face. It did the trick.

"You know what? Screw this crap. I'm gonna follow through and go study in Gotham. I'll do literally anything just to get away from you. " I sneer, immediately rising to my feet and going over to one of the cupboards in my room. I drag my suitcase from the inside of the cupboard and carry it over to my bed, opening it up and setting it on the soft foam.

I went to my walk-in wardrobe and retrieved some shirts before going back to the empty suitcase lying on my bed.

My father stood in the doorway, watching me silently as I moved around the room to pack my stuff. I didn't mind. The faster I could finish packing, the sooner I could leave Manhattan, and the sooner I could get away from him.

I was about to go to my bathroom to gather my body wash, loofah,  shampoo, and conditioner when my dad spoke up.

"Your mother loved you." He murmured softly, but loud enough for me to unmistakably hear it. I stopped in my tracks and turned my head slightly in his direction. A million thoughts were racing through my head, wondering how I should respond.

"I know she did," I whisper quietly, but I know he had heard me. 'But what about you?'  My mind automatically inquired. I desperately wanted to ask him that. It was at the tip of my tongue. Instead, I bit my lower lip and continued with what I was supposed to do.

I passed by the large wall mirror in my room, and I saw my dad's reflection in it. He looked like he really wanted to say something, and I was silently begging him to speak up. Say whatever he wants. Anything. But he left without another word, shutting the door softly as he walked away. I sighed softly.

I'll see you around father.

[julie-streep]

We are a couple!

Ritz Hotel, London, January 1999

Camilla was enjoying her sister birthday party, she had danced, drink and laughed with her friends and family, but now that was almost time to leave she had to admit that she was nervous, very nervous, her hands were shaking slightly and she absolutely needed a cigarette to calm her nerves. She sighed deeply taking a sip of her gin and tonic and looking at the door nervously. 

"Are you ok Milla?" - asked Annabel looking at her sister concerned. 

"I am fine, just a bit nervous" - Camilla smiled weakly, trying not to think too much about what would happen in just a few minutes. 

"It's going to be fine and it's going to be the first step into a new life for you and Charles" - Annabel smiled encouraging, she was very happy for her big sister and relieved that Camilla and Charles could start to live out in the open, she had always helped them during all the years they have been a secret couple, she had always supported her sister, even if sometimes she did not approve of their relationship, but she always saw how happy Charles and Camilla were together and she loved her sister dearly, so she had gladly suggested to Camilla to have their first picture together be taken after her party and now even though she knew Camilla was nervous she was happy that they could finally come out of the shadow and be free. 

"I know and I am ready, it is just all those photographers..." - Camilla sighed again. 

"You know I don't like all this attention and I am afraid of what they will say tomorrow, I know we will be in every paper and..." - at that moment Charles arrived placing his hand on Camilla's waist. 

"Hello ladies" - Charles smiled at Annabel and kissed Camilla on her cheek, the two women smiled back to the prince. 

"Are you ready, my darling?" - Charles had a big smile on his face, he had waited for this moment almost his entire life, at least from the moment he had laid his eyes on Camilla in 1970, and he couldn't be more ready, more prepared or more willing to do this next step into their relationship. Annabel smiled at them and decided to leave the two lovers alone before their big moment. 

"I ... I am a bit nervous" - Camilla confessed to the love of her life looking nervously at her hands. 

"I know my darling, but don't worry, everything is going to be fine and I am going to be there with you, always" - Charles took Camilla's hands in his and kissed her softly trying to give her a bit of strength and comfort and she smiled sweetly. 

"Can I have another kiss?" - she asked smiling brightly to her love. Charles smiled back and gave her another kiss, deeper this time to show her just how much he loved her and how much this moment meant to him, the moment when they will finally face the world together, as a couple, for the first time. Charles knew that this was particularly difficult for Camilla, she did not like the spotlight and he knew that she was under a lot of pressure and she was nervous because she wanted this night to go perfectly well and he knew that it was his fault if she had to go through this so he tried to reassure her as best as he could. 

"You will do amazing, it will be just a few steps and we will go immediately in the car" - Camilla nodded, she knew what they had to do, they went over the plan so many times with his staff and she was ready, but she was still nervous, not only for this moment but especially for what it will mean for their future, even if she could not wait to begin this new chapter with him, she hoped it will be brighter and happier. 

"I am ready" - said Camilla confident, giving Charles one last soft kiss on his lips. 

"I love you darling" - Charles smiled at the woman he had loved for almost 30 years and together they began to walk towards the door. Before stepping outside they said goodbye to Laura, Tom, and Annabel, wishing her again an happy birthday and the three smiled at the couple and gave them a big hug and good luck. Then the couple took one last breath before leaving. When they stepped outside they were suddenly hit by hundred of flashes, lots of photographers were placed in front of the entrance to the hotel and they were all there to take the first official picture of the heir to the throne and his long term love, there was a certain amount of expectation and enthusiasm in the air, all the world had waited years for this photo and no one wanted to miss it. The couple walked the few steps smiling to the cameras and talking briefly with each other, but without touching, Charles had made it absolutely clear to his spin doctor that he did not want to attract even more attention or give the media, even more, to talk about and Camilla had immediately agreed with the idea, she did not want even more publicity and scrutiny. After few seconds they quickly entered the car that would drove them away from all those photographers and once at home they could finally be able to relax and celebrate their new life as a couple. Camilla was shocked about how many photos were taken, she could barely see where she was going, the only thought in her mind was that soon everything will be over, she smiled and followed Charles, who led the way, and when she reached the car she entered as quickly as possible, taking a sigh of relief. 

"We did it" - said Charles smiling when the car started to move. Camilla nodded, she was hoping that after this the paparazzi will be less interested in them and she was also relieved that it was over. After a couple of minutes, they were finally out of the crowded street and out of the flashes of lights and Charles grabbed Camilla's hand kissing it lightly. 

"I am so proud of you darling" - Charles was beaming, they were finally officially a couple, no more hiding, no more secrets, no more fear of being photographed together, now they could finally start their life together, out of the shadow. 

"I am glad it is over" - Camilla was now starting to relax again and to feel all the pressure sliding away. 

"Me too and now we are officially a couple. I couldn't be happier" - said Charles softly and enthusiastically before stroking her cheek and kissing her sweetly on her inviting red lips. 

"I love you" - Charles kissed her again, more passionately this time, he could not contain his happiness, he felt like the most fortunate man on earth and he could not wait to arrive home to show her just how much he loved her and how much happy she had made him. 

"I love you too darling" - Camilla smiled and rested her head on Charles' shoulder, they were an official couple now, she still could not believe it, she hoped the public now would start to accept her as Charles' companion, as his life partner and stopped considering her as the other woman and she wished they could finally be happy without any more scandals or drama. She wanted nothing more than to make Charles, the man she loved, happy and looking at his face now she could see how content and relaxed he was and she had to smile, things were starting to look brighter for them and she hoped that from now on she would always saw that beautiful smile on Charles' face because he deserved a bit of happiness and she did too and of course she was always happy when her favorite prince was happy.

English is not my native language, sorry for the errors.

[antique-teacups]

sunshine in L.A.

A/N: kind of an original character piece but also not entirely.  i just was having a great time writing! hope you folks enjoy!

word count: 3k

There was something about her twenties that never felt quite right, worn like a sweater a size to large. She watched as her friends floated from relationships and friendships seamlessly, while she felt caught. In what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Part of her hoped with time that feeling would fade, become background static instead of pumping along with her heartbeat. Going with the current, she did exactly what was expected of her. Attended college, albeit a community college, but college none the less. Part time work covered what financial aid wouldn’t, even scraping enough together to buy a beater car.

Time drifted on and the feeling stayed, haunting and hollow. Avoiding the problem didn’t lessen its size but it never grew. In the back of her mind constantly. Social media was the worst part, watching her friends flourish and flower, while it took everything in her to remain sane and present. Two years flew by in the blink of an eye and she were left with a tiny degree she was not sure she really wanted. When the opportunity did present itself, she knew it was one she could not possibly pass up.

She knew that even in L.A these demons could surface but maybe the constant sun could choke them out. Packing her meager belongings into the back of her car, she pointed it in the direction of L.A. Whether she actually ended up in the sunshine state wasn’t the point, but rather, it was to get out. Stop the cycle before it became the only focal point of her life. It took longer than it should’ve, she passed the days slowly. Each spent behind the wheel simply heading west.

L.A. was a zoo. She worked your way through the city with fascination and hopefulness. She was certain of one thing and uncertain of many. She hoped to write but was willing to do just about anything to make money. Well, just about anything, she still harbored some self-respect.

L.A. had of a way of worming its way into your heart, no matter how shitty people made it seem. Each self-respecting L.A citizen hated the city as much as they loved it. She found a decent studio apartment, managed to get a job as a barista quickly, and spent the first month slinging caffeine in the daytime and writing into the wee hours of the morning. Cash was always tight, considering she did live in one of the most expensive cities, but there was semblance of happiness. It was clawing it’s way in on the edges of her life.

The customers were not particularly strange, at least not always. There were a couple of memorable moments, but most days passed by in monotony. She knew customers by their orders, not names. These small moments between the register and picking up their coffee offered she a small window into their world. These hints they dropped left her wondering about their lives outside their order and these four walls. Who were these people who flocked to the shop like cattle to slaughter?

She certainly played favorites, every barista did, with both customers and coworkers. There were those who made the days a little brighter. The first was her coworker James. Somewhere in his twenties like her but an old soul. He came to work in sweaters, cooper rimmed circular glasses, and disheveled hair on the daily. He was welcoming and warm and chased away some of the darkness.

The two of them became instant friends. He would wait after work to hang out, get drinks on the weekend, and spend Sunday brunch complaining about his hangover. At first, she was confronted with the concern that maybe he was worming into her life in hopes of it ending in a relationship, but as soon as she met his boyfriend Scott, that fear was put to rest. In a way, she chose the two of them as family. She spent countless hours with them, at ease with the way things were.

In James, she confided most of her fears and a lot of her guilt. The backstory of her life surprising him but explaining the front she put up. Tragedy often bores the strongest soldiers. In the year she had been in L.A, James helped her pick up the pieces and put herself together, an unrepayable favor. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and she were destined to spend it with James and Scott.

“James, I’m running to the grocery store after work and if you play your cards right there might just be a bottle of Prosecco with your name on it.” she joked over the espresso machine, a sly smile on her lips. James and her always bantered at work, often to the amusement of the customers and other coworkers.

James matches her smile, “Oh honey, you act like I would actually need to play my cards to get it, I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He chuckles and turns back to the drawer. The day was getting late, closing time just mere hours away. She was practically counting down the hours till she could curl up on his couch and binge “New Girl”, the new obsession for the two of them.

“I like to pretend it’s the other way around, but I would admit you are right, James. But besides that, anything else?” she asked, hardly looking at him. There was unspoken communication between you two most days, a glance could tell a story. “I was thinking pizza this fine Wednesday night. But I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

“And break the Wednesday night pizza tradition, how absurd!” James feigns hurt, a hand over his heart and concerned expression painting his face. “The table is already set, we can’t go making changes now, silly girl.”

“Then pizza and prosecco it is. Perfect.” She giggled and sent a curt nod in his direction. The entire conversation was an open invitation for him to change the plans, but he never did. Wednesday night was always reserved for the two of them. They devoured pizza and whatever show they were working on. It was sacred to them both.

The rest of the day passed quickly, the sun just barely setting when she and James locked the shop doors. A brief hug and a quick exchange of words and the two of them were off in opposite directions. A pit stop at the grocery store and then to James’ place. He would order the pizza in, as per tradition. Tasked with grabbing the drinks and whatever bits she needed, she would be to his place shortly.

Her car sat tucked in the back lot, warm from sitting in the sun. Cranking the window open once she had climbed inside, turning on the radio, she set off to the grocery store. It was smaller than most that scattered around L.A, which is why it was her favorite. She did not have to fight the yoga obsessed mothers to get through the aisles or hope the hipsters didn’t pick through the all the good stuff before she got a chance to be there. The old man, who she assumed owned it, knew her by name. Often, he would gift products just a day out of date to her. He did save your ass more than once.

“Charles, what’s the good word for today?” She asked, swinging the door open and nabbing a basket.

Smiling, he gushed, “I beat the finalist in Jeopardy today, but I’m here and he’s there,” shrugging he went on, “I put some of those cookies you like in the back, they went out of date yesterday, Dandelion.” Charles had been using the nickname since she had started coming here. She was totally convinced he had to be her guardian angel. When she asked him where it came from, his response surprised her. “Like the weed, you always come back. You are full of fire and strong. I can see it.” She felt partial to this grocery store. She ended up here for a reason.

“Great, I was craving something sweet all day. Remind me, I have got something for you in my bag before I go. Don’t worry, nothing poisonous.” Jokingly she added.

Charles had a love for Jim Harrison. Often when she was browsing at old bookstores or garage sale’s she would stumble across one for him. He probably owned nearly every single book published by Harrison, but always acted thankful and surprised when she presented him with another. She wanted to make sure he knew how much she appreciated him in a way of more than just saying thank you.

She scanned the aisles looking for the familiar packaging of her favorites. She hardly noticed the boy till she had practically run into his back.

“Another one in Charles good graces, a rare species.” He teased.

Chuckling, “That must mean there are people on Charles bad side, which I highly doubt.” He was home strung, as far as she could tell. Clean cut and not looking for a lot of attention, judging by his all black attire. “I’m assuming you’re one of the lucky ones, too.” She implored.

“Thankfully, I have managed to make my way into one of his chosen few. Even without it, I would still come here. This is the only grocery store where I don’t have to cross my fingers and hope all the good stuff isn’t picked over. Charles seems to have a force field to keep this place hidden. Certainly, the best kept secret of L.A.,” he pauses, searching your face, “you work at the coffee shop on Sunset, Eight-Fold Coffee, right?”

“Guiltily is charged, Mr. iced latte with almond milk,” tapping your temple, “steel trap. I only know people’s drinks, not their names, sorry. I was wondering if you looked familiar or if it was just the lighting.”

Extending a hand, cheekily responding, “David. The name’s David Dobrik, or iced latte if you please.”  His smile was easy and charming, you couldn’t help but stare. His entire posture oozed ease, you couldn’t quite decide if he was trying to flirt or simply be friendly. Of course, that wonderful friend called self-doubt started to crawl its way into your chest, so it was time to go.

Flashing him what you hoped was a friendly parting smile, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It was nice finally meeting in more than just an ‘iced latte with almond milk’ kind of way. I’ll see you around. I have promised the roommate a night in and if I don’t come through, the world might stop turning.” Turning on her heel, tossing David a small wave, she headed for the register. All the things she needed forgotten.

She set the single bottle on the counter and wait for Charles to ring it up. Silence elapses, you lost entirely in your own thoughts.

“Dandelion?”

“Huh, what?” she missed what he asked, cheeks flushing at him catching her in dreamland.

“Lots on your mind today?” Charles inquired, a knowing look on his face.

Smiling and rolling her eyes, “I respect the fishing for a morsel of mind but maybe when inquiring minds aren’t near.” she winks. Digging in your bag, she pulls the book for him, Returning to Earth, out. “I found it at a garage sale this weekend and thought you could add to your collection. But this one, is to expand your horizons.” She pulls The Pleasures of the Damned by Charles Bukowski out. “I’ll need it back but keep it as long as you need, I know where to find you. See you around Charles.” She pays and get ready to go, sneaking one last glance in David’s direction. Grabbing onto her bag with the prosecco and cookies tucked in, she heads for the doors. One last look to the aisles and she can see David still tucked amongst them, scouring for something in the sea. A shake of her head and she is out the doors.

Tossing the bag in the passenger seat, she meanders down the streets towards James. A stampede of thoughts about David comes and goes. It was just mutual acknowledgement that the two of them did in fact kind of know each other. Yet, she found herself wondering if she should tell James about him, see if he had any insight on the guy. The thought felt foolish considering it was just a run in at the grocery store, nothing more.

Charles knew more about her then he let on. He knew her heart was kind but had been through a lot, he knew you were loyal and strong, but he knew also knew when her heart would tell you who to let in. David did not need much from that grocery store, mostly some alone time. His inquiring mind also wanted some more information on the barista who stole his breath away. As he left that day, Charles told him something he would carry with him for a while. “People like her, they guard their hearts, but hers is golden. It won’t always be shut.”

Opening the door to James and Scott’s apartment, she could smell the pizza. Her mouth was already watering. James rounded the corner into view between the small kitchen and living.

“I was beginning to wonder if you bailed.” He poked.

“On you, never.” Rolling her eyes.

“I am almost flattered.” He made for the bag in her hand, noticing the cookies right away. “Charles treats you like your one of his own grand kids. One of the people placed on that golden list.”

“About Charles coveted list, I ran into a guy from the coffee shop. David? Iced latte with almond milk, dresses like an unemployed ninja. Do you know anything about him?” She asked trying to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

James searches her face before continuing. “A sudden interest in a customer, more like prominent interest. I’ve noticed the favorites you play with him.” He flashes you a joking grin. “I don’t know much about him honestly. I’ve heard whisperings from the other baristas that he has some youtube channel, not much else. He seems nice.” Bumping his shoulder with hers, “It wouldn’t hurt if you tried to be friends with him. It’s not a crime to branch out. I would not be insulted if you did. I worry that maybe you don’t because I take up a lot of your time.”

“Certainly not, you take up a perfect amount of my time. I just, remember how hard it is for me to be friends with people, I guess. I am a lifelong hermit. Plus, if he’s doing that whole ‘social media career’, he might not be the kind of friend I want.” Socializing was never her strong suit and if David’s preferred choice was blasting his life across the platforms, maybe she would take a pass.

The two of you vegged out on the couch way past what was a reasonable time, both scheduled to open tomorrow. He was on her mind all night, the little she knew about him had her mind doing circles. He seemed innocent enough, a good guy if Charles liked him.

 The sun shown through the windows all morning, bringing a warming light to the coffee shop. All day you hoped he would pop in, yet, it went unanswered. Clocking out, she nabbed her notebook and a mug of coffee, making her way to the bank of windows along the window. She tried to keep her mind from wandering, yet it seemed impossible. Perhaps she scared him off.

“I figured you were a writer. Nobody suggests poetry books, Bukowski especially, unless they are a writer. Or terribly sad, but judging by the notebook, I’d say the first.” David said, standing next to you bathed in the afternoon sun. He looked as though he just woke up but in a delicious way. His hair was messy and his eyes warm. She could not help but bath in the light emanating from him.

A small smile spread on her lips, “You’re a fan?”

“I saw it on Charles counter on my out yesterday. A simple Google Search did the trick. Guy seems kind of dark for you.” A blush plays on David’s cheeks. “I was hoping to run into you today. Listen, me and my friends are going to this party tonight, would you be interested?”

“Uh,” glancing behind the counter you see James shaking his yes vigorous, “sure, why not?” It seemed in David’s presence, the hole in her chest seemed to lessen some.

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 9 ~The Fury & The Beast~

Claire was motionless. She was looking straight ahead, frozen and unblinking. Her awareness was gradually peeling away like she was being split in two. She knew she was no longer in her body and was observing the activities through a goldfish bowl. It was all very dream-like, everything was starting to shimmer like their atoms couldn't hold together, and the colours seemed too bright and the people too close. This sense of detachment frequently happened to Claire when she's about to perform surgery. It was a kind coping mechanism to help her deal with stress and anxiety and aid her surgical work with precision and efficiency. 

"Claire! Claire! Are ye alright? Look at me!" 

She turned. It was Geillis. Claire looked at her face, and she thought it looked like it was made of wax and it was animated by some alien spirit. She smiled at her friend, but it was an empty smile. "I think I need a drink," Claire murmured. She didn't recognise her own voice - it sounded very garbled and distorted, like someone speaking through a very long metal pipe.

"Aye, of course, ye dae...c'mon," Geillis said as she led her away towards the bar. She was concerned about Claire. She knew that look from their medical student days whenever they performed a mock dissection. Her face would become expressionless, and her actions very clinical. And although Claire was fully functional, she was very robotic. Geillis wanted to shake her and slap her on the face to bring her back, but she couldn't. Not in front of all these people. Instead, she ordered a double whisky and made her drink it straight.  Damn ye, Fraser! Damn ye!

It worked. It wasn't long before Claire was sputtering and coughing. And when she came around, the pain was etched on her face.

"Oh God Geillis, what the fuck!" Reality suddenly hit Claire like a massive wallop to her stomach, and the continuous piercing sensation in her heart was returning again.

Joe was there, his firm grip on her arm was supporting her. "Sweetheart, shall we go outside for some fresh air?" he said softly, as Gail looked on.

"No! No! Just let me be, I need a moment alone. Please." Claire's voice cracked. Joe and Geillis knew she was trying to hold it together, but they could only watch helplessly as their friend walked away and headed for the bathroom.

..........

Jamie saw it, plain as day. He couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear to see the pain in Claire's eyes. It was the first thing Jamie noticed before all the insanity began. His head was reeling, and his heart was fragmenting piece by piece as he bore witness to Claire's anguish. In all his life, Jamie had never seen hurt with that much intensity, and it pained him to see Claire like this. He wanted to go to her, but he felt trapped. Confined. Ambushed. Everything was happening too fast for him to get a grip of reality. Annalise's hand felt heavy like manacles on his arm, weighing him down. 

"Smile sweetheart, you wanted this remember. Now look happy," Annalise said through her teeth as she smiled and posed at every snap of the camera.

That's when he snapped. Seething, he could no longer go on with the pretence. "There is no engagement!" Jamie bellowed, making everyone nearby jump. Not caring anymore, he roughly grabbed Annalise by the elbow, steering her through the crowd, brushing past stunned onlookers.

"Jamie! Let go...you're hurting me," she hissed as she tried to yank off her arms from his firm grip.

Ignoring her, Jamie led her out of the ballroom and into an empty conference room. He was fervently praying that Claire would still be around once he dealt with this awful mess.  Oh, Christ Claire, I'm so sorry!  Away from prying eyes, he turned Annalise around to face him, maybe too harshly. He didn't give a damn. "What the fuck was that all about?" Jamie asked in a dangerously, calm voice. He wanted to yell at her but refrained from doing so.

"What do you mean Jamie... I thought you wanted this..." she retorted.

"No, I didna want this. I never did. Neither did ye." He snarled, his temper was quickly mounting.

She glowered at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Noticing her confusion, he took a deep breath, feeling frustrated and sick in the stomach. "All these is a fucking farce. Don't ye get it?" He ran his hand through his hair in agitation. "Think back, Annalise, think back for Christ sake! Think back to the time when we started seeing each other. We were dating...we were young....we didn't even talk about any future. Ye loved yer parties, and I was intoxicated with my achievement. Neither of us understood the concept of marriage, let alone even thought about it. When my uncle fell into hardship, I wanted to help. Then yer father came along and dangled the opportunity for me to retrieve my uncle's vineyard...well, that's if I married ye. I dinna ken what he's been telling ye but back then I was willing to do anything to save my uncle's failing business...." Jamie's words came pouring out, unrestrained.

They were both still for a while. Jamie watched Annalise absorbed his revelation.

Then she closed her eyes and exhaled deeply as if a burden was lifted. She lingered a moment to compose herself. "It's all about those shares, then?"

Jamie nodded. 

Pondering, she carried on. "So papa bribed you." It was stated more as a fact rather than a question. She shook her head in disbelief and paced back and forth until she found her next words. "Thinking back...you know... us...I did like you Jamie, and you liked me, and we had fun, but we were never in-love, were we?"

"No. We weren't," Jamie admitted. "But I liked ye enough to go through with the marriage. I thought I was doing something honourable by agreeing to yer father's wishes. But I was wrong. I know that now. Ye would have hated me eventually if I married ye and brought ye here to Scotland. Ye've never liked it here. And I don't want to be anywhere else in the world, but here in the highlands." Jamie paused, trying to think about the best way to soften the blow. "If it's any consolation to ye, I would have tried my utmost best to be a good husband, but that's no guarantee for a happy marriage."

" Fils de pute!"  she cursed under her breath.  " My papa is one manipulative, piece of shit! And it's true...I hate it here. The rain, the greyness, the cold. It rains all the time and living here would have made me miserable." She paused, taking a deep breath. "You see Jamie, I have always followed papa's orders. I had no choice. I've never worked a day in my life, and he holds the purse's string. Sometimes he would threaten me if I didn't comply. His usual threat was to cut off my allowance. So if he says jump, the only acceptable response would be, how high? Do you remember Charles Gauloise? I was in love with him, but he was married. We were having an affair, and I wanted him to leave his wife. So when you asked me to marry you, I thought it was a perfect opportunity to make him jealous and please papa as well. Papa wanted us married because he thought with your name connected to our family name, it would boost his own business. Then Charles found out about our engagement, and when he promised to leave his wife, I broke off our engagement at once. I thought if Charles married me, I would be free from my father's clutches. Unfortunately, Charles' promises were nothing but empty promises. And I fell more than once for his lies; hence, I broke off our engagement twice. I remember now clearly, how relieved you looked when I broke off our engagement. You didn't even look disappointed."

Ignoring the last statement, Jamie demanded, "And how about tonight? What was that all about? For fuck sake, it was like a fucking circus out there. And you fucking knew well I hated all the media attention."

Annalise sighed, feeling resigned. "Everything that happened tonight was papa's design after you told him you didn't want anything to do with Château Cheval Blanc. He was afraid that if your name weren't attached to the business, it would no longer thrive. God, I don't even know why he is hanging on to that stupid vineyard. He hates it, and he doesn't even know a thing about wine-making. So you did do me a favour by telling those people there's no engagement."

Jamie was stunned by the admission, and he softened up a bit. "Christ Annalise, why didn't ye tell me? I could have helped ye. All this would have never happened if ye told me." 

"Helped me how Jamie? We were both played. I am hopeless without my father's money. Don't get me wrong, he loves me dearly, but he loves himself more. At least now, I don't have to continue this fucking charade."

"Ye're not hopeless Annalise! Ye're a talented painter. Any gallery in Paris will exhibit yer work, and ye have a well-known name to boot." Jamie didn't know whether to feel sorry for her or feel exasperated at her spoiled behaviour. Either way, he was eager to get this conversation over with and go find Claire.

She remained silent, pondering what he just said.

When she didn't say anything, Jamie continued. "Ye see, I hung on to our relationship because I thought one day ye will agree to marry me and finally I would be able to restore Château Cheval Blanc as a Fraser legacy. But like ye, I couldn't keep this up...so I decided to draw the line and give up the vineyard because..."

"Because you're in love," Annalise added sighing. "It's that woman in red, right?"

Jamie nodded, failing miserably to conceal his emotion as the picture of Claire's anguished face replayed on his mind.

"I saw earlier the way you looked at her. You have never looked at me that way...not once," she said sadly, thinking of Charles. 

Jamie didn't want to waste any more time. He had to go and find Claire. "Annalise, I'm sorry...I need to see her now. Will ye be alright if I leave ye?" Jamie asked, his voice hoarse.

She smiled weakly. "Of course. You go get your girl. And I'm so sorry for fucking this up for you."

"No lass, it was me who fucked up. I should have told her the truth from the beginning. Dinna worry." He smiled back in reassurance.

"So friends again?"

"Aye, of course."

"Hug?"

"NO! No hug. No offence but I'm in a lot of trouble already so we will leave it at that if ye dinna mind."

Annalise laughed. "Go then!"

Just as Jamie was about to leave, the door opened. "Jaime, we have a problem. Yer uncle is blind drunk and causing problems," Rupert announced.  What the fuck now!

..........

Claire applied cold water to her neck and temple after sitting in the toilet cubicle for the longest time. Despite the heat on her face, she was shivering. Claire didn't want to think of Jamie. She didn't want to cry. All she wanted to do was go home, curl up in a ball and sleep.  It's alright Beauchamp, you can do this! Just breathe! 

The sudden opening of the door made her jump, and the sound of the music from the ballroom drifted in, reminding Claire where she was. As she turned around, she found herself staring at a very inebriated Dougal McKenzie, Jamie's uncle.

"Weel, weel, what do we have here? The pretty wee lady in red..." he slurred as he swayed on his feet. He had his hands on both sides of the door frame to support himself, and his handsome face was puffy from too much alcohol.

"Dougal, this is the ladies room..." Claire explained, hoping he will turn around and leave. His presence was giving her ominous feeling.

Dougal gave her a lopsided smile as he took a step forward. "Och I see that...an' I can see one very, very pretty lady."

Claire tried to go around him, but he was reaching out for her. Slightly tipsy herself, she floundered a bit and almost lost her balance.

"Come here and give me a wee kiss. I promise not to tell Jamie..." he garbled as he took another step forward.

There was hardly any room to manoeuvre as Claire tried to sidestep him. Before she could make her next move, she was cornered as he pitched forward and grabbed hold of her waist. He pulled her to him as he groped at her breast, but the struggle was futile - he was a large man, and his grip was strong despite his state. She tried to squirm out of his embrace. "Let go of me you damn fool or I'll scream!" 

She tried her hardest to push from his chest, but he didn't budge. Then panic set in when he tried to lift her dress, and before she could scream, a large hand took him by the shoulder and the next thing she knew, Dougal was slumped on the floor.

Claire stared in disbelief. It was all like a blur. One minute he was pawing her and the next minute, he's been decked.

"Oh my God, oh my God, he's hurt!" she whispered. Claire didn't even notice Jamie standing there. Everything happened so fast that she didn't see him throwing a punch. All her focus was on the injured man, sprawled lifeless-like at her feet. Oblivious to Jamie's presence, she knelt down by the immobile body and checked his pulse. The doctor in her had taken over, and everything else evaporated.

Then he touched her. "Sassenach are ye alright?" Jamie asked softly as he took off his plaid to placed it over her shoulders. He noticed she had been trembling the whole time. To his relief, she wrapped it tight around her.

"Oh Jamie, it's you...please help me turn him over to his side. He's had too much alcohol, he might choke on his own vomit," she said in a voice that was flat and unfeeling. "And please call an ambulance just to make sure he's alright." 

Jamie helped her turn Dougal but was confused with her response. Claire seemed to be in some sort of trance.

Then she stood up, pulling the plaid tighter around her. "Right Jamie, I have to get going...and remember, call an ambulance please." She patted him on the arm before turning away,

Gently he touched her, again "Sassenach, please look at me, we need to talk...please..." Jamie was beginning to be alarmed.  Oh, God, Claire, please.

The moment he touched her for the second time, Claire suddenly snapped out from her stupor and whipped around to face him, her eyes bright with anger, and her cheeks flushed red. "Don't touch me, " she hissed through clenched teeth. Jamie nearly staggered backwards at the sudden change of demeanour.

"Sassenach please, it's not what ye think..." he pleaded. Jamie was groping in the dark for the right words.

"Not what I think? How do you know what I think! Tell me this James Fraser..." she stepped forward, her face contorted in pain and was mere inches from his, "What am I to you? Huh? TELL ME!"

"Claire, I beg ye, come with me. We have a room here in the hotel..." he implored. He wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her, but he knew there was very little chance of that happening soon.

"A room? Is that it... you think I'll come up with you and everything will be alright? How many women have you taken in that room? And answer my question...WHAT AM I TO YOU? Answer me, damn you." Claire was panting like some wild banshee, and she couldn't stop. "Well, you know what, you fucking bloody Scot, I think you think that I'm just another girl you can stick your cock in and warm your bed while we play little cottage in the woods. That's all I am to you. I'm just another cunt to fuck. Isn't it? Admit it, James Fraser, ADMIT IT YOU BASTARD!" This time Claire was yelling.

Jamie grabbed her arm and pulled her closer until they were nose to nose. His anger was beginning to rise, not towards Claire but because of the whole situation. He only wanted a perfect evening for her, and it was all going very wrong. "Sassenach, ye have a filthy mouth on ye...will ye pipe down please."

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" she yelled.

There was a moment of silence as Jamie and Claire swayed from each other, both stunned by the outburst. They were both hurting and had no idea how to end the madness. Claire wanted so much to be in his arms, but there were so many unanswered questions. And Jamie thought it would be as easy as saying I'm sorry.

He took a cautious step towards her, and for the first time in his life, Jamie bared his true feelings. Gone was the mask. The veil lifted, and his face was one of despair. "Sassenach please, ye're tearing my guts out."

Claire saw his pain, and she wanted to reach out, but before she could, Annalise showed up at the door, her eyes widening at the sight of Dougal's slumped body. "Is everything alright? I heard shouting." At the sight of her, Claire remembered why they were in this predicament. She felt her blood boil all over again.

Seizing control, Claire straightened her shoulder and stared directly at Annalise, "I was just telling your fiance that he should remind his uncle to keep his cock to himself." Claire looked back at Jamie. "I guess he had a boner to pick with me."

Then she walked off, leaving them to stare after her.

"Sassenach! Wait!"

She kept walking, Jamie's plaid still around her and she could smell his aftershave on the fabric. She didn't cry even though her heart was breaking. She kept on walking past a sea of faces aware Jamie was following. She didn't look back. She ignored the nods and glances. She kept walking. Then she bumped into Geillis.

"Claire, we'll take ye home, alright?" She nodded still stupefied from recent events. "Joe and Gail are outside getting the car, and I will get our coats. Will ye wait in the lobby for me?" Claire could only nod again. 

Then she kept on walking again, this time towards the lobby, but Jamie was getting nearer. She quickened her pace and was relieved when she saw Tom Christie. Claire went to him.

"Claire! Are ye alright? Ye don't look too good." He touched her elbow lightly, steering her aside.

"No, I don't feel right. Can you please accompany me outside...Joe is waiting for me there."

"Of course..." Tom put his arms around Claire and escorted her out of the hotel. Jamie could only stand and watch as they walked away.

..........

Jamie left the ball early and went to the cottage. It was very dark. He let himself in, but there was no sign of Claire. He went to the kitchen and saw the pile of morning dishes still unwashed. On the counter was a mug of half-drunk Earl Grey tea. It had Claire's lipstick mark on it. Jaime cleared, washed and dried the dishes. Then he went to the lounge and picked up the cushions from the floor and placed them on the couch and then made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. In the bedroom, he lied on Claire's side of the bed and hoped that when he wakes up the following morning, everything that happened that night was just a nightmare.

[ardentmuse]

Together (Charlie Weasley x Reader)

Harry Potter (HPHM) - Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: Meeting the twins reminds you of the family you miss in Jacob’s absence. But Charlie is determined to remind you of the family you’ve chosen, and the love you had in your heart to share, too. 

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings: angst, fluff, assumes you took Charlie with you to the third vault

Masterlist

A/N: At the library today. Still in love with Charlie, even if Jam City is trying to stop me. Song lyrics are made up. 

“The curse-breaker!?” Fred shrieked as he ran across the courtyard. You were sitting alongside the fountain, just waiting for the Weasley boys to make their appearance. Everything was such chaos at the welcome dinner that you hadn’t yet had the opportunity to meet the “heart and soul” of the Weasley family, as Charlie had called them with a laugh. And Fred, the boy who had just leapt into the seat beside you, all grin and jittery energy, was the vibrant heart to George’s cool soul, indeed. 

“Tell me everything!” the young ginger began, bouncing on his own hands as his knees knocked against yours where you sat. “Did you really set this courtyard on fire with shooting stars last year?” 

George popped down beside his matching sibling. 

“Did you really fight off a dragon?” asked the second twin in quick follow-up. 

“Did you really get apparated by Mad-Eye Moody?” 

“Did you really use polyjuice potion to impersonate Professor Snape?” 

“How did you know--” you begin, finally processing their rapid statements.

“And did you know our brother has a huge crush on you?” Fred said with a cheeky grin just as Charlie finally finished the long walk to join your little introductory party.

Charlie grabbed Fred by the collar to lift him from his place pressed firmly against your shoulder. 

“Alright, that’s enough, Fred,” Charlie said as he placed his little brother down on his feet beside him. Charlie rustled the twins hair as red spread fiercely up his neck and across his cheeks. 

“I’m not Fred,” Fred said with the slightest twitch of his upper lip, “That’s Fred.” 

Charlie just sighed, “De-gnoming scar, left elbow, Fred.” Redirecting his attention to you, Charlie scratched his neck. ““Sorry, Y/N, they are just really eager to meet you.”

“Eager?” George questioned, “You mean bloody thrilled. Charlie’s only been talking about you non-stop for years now--”

“What did I say, George?”

George pulled on his vest and cleared his throat once, putting on his best Charlie impression, “‘You know how much I like Y/N, so please don’t make this awkward for me--” 

Charlie’s hand was upon George’s mouth as quickly as he could move. His nervous chuckle was enough for you to know the boys aren’t lying. The knowledge had your cheeks heating too. You found yourself staring deeply into Charlie’s beautiful chestnut eyes, ones you had seen so many times before but without the sort of clarity you felt in your chest right now. As if understanding, Charlie smiled.

George struggled out of his brother’s hold, interrupting the moment with a flailing of his arms. 

“Y/N, let me formally introduce you to Fred and George Weasley,” Charlie announced in an effort to steer the meeting back on track.

As if remembering himself, Fred offered you his hand, “Pleasure to meet you, curse-breaker.” 

When you gave the young boy your hand, he immediately turned your hand to kiss the knuckles in the lowest bow he could muster.

“We, the best of the Weasley siblings, are at your pranking service.”

You were laughing at the seriousness on the boy’s face, his movements like that of meeting the Queen now that he remembered his company. 

“Nice to meet you. Charlie’s said only good things.” 

George laughed, “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one.” Leaning over the Charlie, the twin added, “I think you’re in, dear Charles,” which earned him a rather intense eye roll.

It was dark in the courtyard by the time the Weasley twins had finished up their line-up of questions. They were leaning their heads against each other, trying their hardest not to fall asleep as you finished detailing your encounter with your brother in the last cursed vault. 

“Woah,” George managed between yawns. 

Charlie was sitting beside you, his elbow bumping yours as he leaned forward, his warmth spreading to you as you leaned in just a little, the chill of the Scottish night giving you goosebumps. Charlie’s hand found your thigh as he pushed himself up to stand. 

“Okay, I think it’s time to get you two to bed. I have Prefect rounds soon, and I’d be a right old hypocrite if I don’t get you both back by curfew.” 

Fred bolted upright, energy surging through him suddenly. “But we didn’t even hear about Moody!” 

“That’s going to stay a secret for another day,” you sigh, watching Fred help his brother stand and the affectionate way Charlie guided them by the shoulders away from the fountain. 

“Night, Y/N!” the boys shouted over their shoulders as Charlie wrangled them away. 

Just as the castle doors shut behind them, the tears began to flow. 

An hour later, your eyes mostly dry as you watched the canopy of stars above you, you heard the intense creak of wood and crash of someone joining you in the courtyard, but you couldn’t motivate yourself to move.

Fleece covered your legs as a shadow moved beside you. The warmth you liked so much against your shoulder once again returned to you.

“I was worried when you didn’t show up for the start of our rounds,” Charlie said, reaching under his coat to grab your hand, tentative at first as his fingers brushed yours, but once you turned your palm upward in invitation, he interlocked your fingers and squeezed. 

“I just need a few more minutes,” you said still staring at the stars. But as the moonlight caught your face, Charlie saw the tear stains running down your face. 

He sighed before pulling your hand into his own lap.

“Talk to me,” he whispered as he let his fingers run along your thumb in comfort. 

And immediately, the words came rushing out of your mouth, about the love you witnessed between the Weasley brothers, your desperation to have your family united again, the bittersweet sense of appreciation and abandonment that came with releasing Jacob from his prison, the callous nature of all your friends pretending like their trauma from a single cursed vault experience was somehow worse that the years of torture you’d undergone at the hands of R and the media and the Hogwarts staff that valued their reputation more than the life of your brother and the countless students impacted by the dark magic ruling the castle, and more than anything just how alone you felt knowing you’d never be a normal teenage with regular dreams and a family to tease.

“We’re your family,” Charlie whispered once you finished, wiping away the new tears on your face. “The Weasleys are your family,” he said with more confidence now, more like a promise than a statement of truth. 

All you could do was smile and hiccup as the stars continued their incessant glow, mockingly beautiful. 

“What we went through last year was traumatic. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same,”Charlie turned to you fully now, waiting for your eyes to meet his. “But I will never presume to understand your loss. Never.” 

You settled into a comfortable silence, the crickets chirping and the soft crest of lake water against the rock face just below filling the void. Your hands never separated as you allowed your head to fall softly against his shoulder. 

“Do you remember what I always used to say when we’d play gobstones out here?” Charlie asked. 

“That your mother makes good tea?” you laughed.

Charlie let out a breath, “Besides that.” 

You simply shrugged. 

“That I’d make you an official Weasley some day.”

His words lingered. You felt him swallow. 

“We’re a little young for the official part,” he said, and as though catching himself he added with quick breath, “I mean, it’s not like we’re even dating or anything, not that I expect you to date me or even want to--” his chest rose as he took a deep breath. “I can’t make you an official Weasley yet, but you’re an honorary one already. Jacob may be gone for now, but Bill’s your brother all the same. The twins idolize you like a sibling. Mum and Dad support you, even had a sit-down with Moody after he stole you away to make sure no harm came to you. And I--” 

“You what?” you whispered. But Charlie didn’t answer, instead he took your hand and pulled you to standing.

“Dance with me?” he asked. 

His hand gently found your waist, pulling you into his chest. The warm smell of honeysuckle filled your nose as your tears wet his shirt. You sighed into him, your ear pushing against his chest, the rhythm of his heart aligned with the night noises in a soft symphony of comfort and calm. 

Your hand on his shoulder lazily played with the holes in the knit of his jumper. 

In a moment, Charlie was leading you forward in a soft sway, no different than the kind you imagined when you pictured your Celestial ball date that never came to be. 

And then Charlie’s voice found your ear, a soft hum of pleasure in the tune of Annabel Harpie’s latest love ballad. And your voice filled the humming with the words you knew by heart, ones you had listened to all summer as you thought about the beautiful, kind young man standing before you. 

“They say we’re too young for real love,

Too young to know our souls

But we watch the same stars above

And feel their longing pull

Pulling us together 

Together, no matter what dark takes us

Together, no matter what magic wins

Together, together something beautiful…” 

Charlie’s hand parted from your hip as you began humming in time with him, the rest of the words feeling like they revealed way too much of your soul. His fingertips found your chin and soon his lips were upon yours, slow and intentional, moving in the rhythm you established with your tune, determined to make the most of the moment the stars have granted you. 

You gripped tight into his shirt, praying your mouth would convey the words your mouth had failed time and time again to share with him. His fingers caressed the space behind you ear with eager strokes, begging you to dive in, to turn the kiss from an innocent exploration to a promise, a fulfillment of your heart’s greatest desire. And promise you did.

“Together?” Charlie asked in a whisper against your mouth the instant he pulled away.

“Yes,” you said, the tingling of your mouth somehow strengthening you. “Together.” 

Charlie laughed. He threw his head back and let out a belly-laugh so full, the fullest you had heard since you escaped that chamber months ago. His grip found your hips again as he took him the stars. 

“Together,” he whispered into the night before turning his face to you once more.

“And definitely something beautiful,” he managed before kissing you again, full and slow and with longing. 

It was easy to lose yourself to him but a soft ringing from the bell towers at the entrance gates pulled you away. 

Charlie smiled at you once again, “Feeling better?” 

You nodded, feeling the tears pooling at your eyes once again though for the joy of what you had, not the sadness at what you had lost. 

Charlie’s hands found yours once again as he gathered your things and led you inside to your prefect rounds. 

“Come, love,” he said, a sweat forming in his palm as he tried out the new pet name, “It’s been two hours so I can guarantee Fred and George have been out of bed for at least fifteen minutes already.” 

You laughed, knowing the truth of Charlie’s words. Your gripped tightly at his hand, letting your heart slowly fill, sharing your burdens for the first time since your brother disappeared six years ago, together.

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[marvelmando]

tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - two

notes: this story definitely isn’t taking off like i hoped it would, but honestly i don’t really care. this is the one project i’ve kept working on, and i’m almost done with it. for the twenty or so people that have liked and reblogged the past two chapters, thank you guys so much. i do realize that p.parker x reader imagines are always going to be more popular, but i’m really proud of this story, and how much i’ve put into it. 

dedicated to the wonderful anon that sent me a message last week, you really kept me inspired to keep uploading. if you ever choose to make a blog, please shoot me a message, i’d love to become friends! i struggle with anxiety too, so i would understand if you didn’t haha

contains: swearing, probably

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 4.7k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

“UH, IT’S NOTHING—NOTHING!” Spider-Man shouted back, his voice growing increasingly high-pitched. He looked back at the boy with wide eyes.

“You’re the Spider-Man,” the boy said breathlessly. He seemed to have not noticed Marin yet. “From YouTube.”

Spider-Man, apparently forgetting that there was a girl in the room, smacked the emblem on his chest, his suit deflating and Marin watched as it pooled around his ankles in a red and blue puddle of cloth—leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Marin stared unabashedly at the hero’s chiseled chest and stomach. “I’m not, I’m not!” He protested desperately.

“You were on the ceiling!”

“No, I wasn’t—Ned, what are you doing in my room?!”

“May let me in! You said we were going to finish the Death Star!”

“That was the Death Star?” Marin blurted, causing the boy—Ned—to whip around at the sound of her voice.

Before anyone could react, the door to Spider-Man’s room opened, revealing a beautiful woman in her fifties waving a rag in front of her face as a cloud of smoke trailed in from behind her. Spider-Man scrambled over to Ned, subtly nudging the suit underneath a pile of loose clothing with his foot.

“That turkey meatloaf recipe is a disaster!” The woman laughed, pulling out her clip and letting her long chestnut hair spill over her shoulders. Finally getting a good look around the room, her eyes immediately landed on Marin. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know Peter had a girl over! I don’t believe he’s introduced us yet?”

Marin’s eyes flicked over to the half-naked boy who looked very uncomfortable to be caught in this situation. So that was his name. “Oh—I’m, uh, Marin.” She smiled at the woman. Luckily, the room was dark enough to hide the dark shadow of dried blood crusting on her chin.

“I’m May, Peter’s aunt; nice to meet you! So, let’s go to dinner. Thai? Ned, Marin, you want Thai?”

“Yes,” Ned said immediately, ogling at May, but Peter shook his head.

“No.” He answered for them. “They’ve got a thing to do.”

“A thing to do… after.” Ned tried to reason with Peter.

“Well that’s too bad, Ned, but Marin has to come! You’ve never brought a girl home, Peter!” She backed away, clearly refusing to take no for an answer. As she was halfway out the door, she gestured to Peter’s naked chest. “Maybe put on some clothes, especially in front of female company, Pete.”

As soon as the door shut behind her, Ned whisper-yelled, “Oh, she doesn’t know?!”

Peter whirled around, grabbing the closest shirt and tugging it on roughly. “Nobody knows! Well, expect Marin, and now you. And Mr. Stark knows because he made my suit, but that’s it!”

“You know Tony Stark?” Marin gasped the same time Ned choked, “Tony Stark made you that?!”

Peter looked exasperated.

“Are you an Avenger?” Ned gasped.

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, basically.” Marin’s eyes widened with no small amount of awe.

Ned grabbed the railing of the top bunk like he was going to faint. Peter stepped in close to him. “Ned you cannot tell anybody about this, you have to keep it a secret,” Peter begged.

“A secret? Why?”

“You know what she’s like!” Peter gestured at the door, presumably referring to his aunt. “If she finds out people try and kill me every single night, she’s not gonna let me do this anymore!” He was quiet, but his voice was squeaky. “C’mon, Ned, please.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll level with you. I don’t think I can keep this a secret—this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me! Peter—!”

“Ned, May cannot know—I cannot do that to her right now. You know?” Peter’s voice wavered. “I mean, with everything that’s happened with her, I… please.”

Marin glanced at Peter, whose back was facing her. She could hear the familiar heartache laced in his pleading tone, and she silently wondered what this boy had been through to make him sound like that.

“Okay,” Ned relented after a brief pause.

“Just… swear it, okay?”

“I swear.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…”

“I cannot believe this is happening right now.” Peter paces, his hands flying up to his hair, reminding Marin of the night they first met.

“Can I try the suit on?”

“No.”

“How does it work? Is it magnets? How do you shoot the strings?”

Marin giggled at Ned’s curiosity, how he managed to shift the mood from sullen to hyper in mere seconds. She watched Peter groan in frustration.

“I’m gonna tell you about this at school tomorrow.” Peter said, hurrying Ned out the door.

“Great.” Ned nodded but stopped short at the door. “Wait! You!” He turned, pointing accusingly at Marin. Her eyes widened. “How do you know about this? Peter, how do you know her?”

“Uh,” Marin stammered, blood rushing up her neck to her cheeks and ears.

“Uh, the internship! Yeah, we met through the internship.” Peter nodded like he was trying to convince himself, too. Marin was strangely grateful that he wasn’t revealing her powers. Wait, she thought. What internship?

“So… how do you do this… and the internship?” Ned queried.

Peter stared at him in disbelief. “This… is the internship.”

Ned let out a long ahhhh as Peter pushed him out the door. When he shut it behind him, he grimaced, clutching his head.

After a moment, as Peter reflected to himself, Marin tried breaking the silence. “That went well.”

Peter huffed. “Why are you even still here?” He muttered, grabbing the closest pair of sweatpants and pulling them on angrily.

Marin paled, stunned at Peter’s sudden harshness. She opened her mouth, about to either apologize or defend herself, when the door swung open, and May peeked her head in the room.

“You two ready for Thai?”

+++

To say dinner was awkward would be the understatement of the century.

May insisted that Marin take a seat next to Peter, who sat stiffly in his chair the whole time, refusing to look Marin in the eye, and say no more than two words at a time. Marin had guzzled down water from the sink in the restaurant’s bathroom as soon as they’d arrived, so the blooming bruise on her nose and cheek could heal before May would notice, as well as wash away any dried blood. Her entire face still ached from the injuries and the weird tingly feeling she got when she used her powers to heal herself, but at least she didn’t look beat up anymore.

“So… how did you two meet?” May attempted to alleviate the tension.

“Um, the… internship?” Marin supplied uncertainly when Peter stayed silent. She still didn’t know what internship Peter had meant, but she knew that it was in her best interest to keep the stories the same if she wanted to keep her secret from Ned and May.

“The internship…” May repeated wearily, shaking her head. Marin felt a spike of panic. Did she not know about the internship? Or did she know about it, and know that she was lying? May poked at her larb. “I have to tell you… not a fan of that Tony Stark. Peter’s distracted all the time; he’s got him in his head.”

Marin snuck a wide-eyed glance in Peter’s direction while May’s head was down at her plate. Not only did he have a suit made by Tony Stark, but he also worked for him?! Peter raised his head to look incredulously at May.

On the TV behind May, Marin recognized the image that was being shown on the local news. It was the dilapidated remains of the corner store from earlier that night—Delmar’s Deli shop, it was apparently called.

“…after an ATM robbery was thwarted by Queens’ own colorful local crime stopper: Spider-Man, accompanied by an unidentified ally. As they attempted to foil their heist, a powerful blast was sett off, slicing through the bodega across the street. Miraculously, no one was harmed. Officials have not yet been able to identify the other powered individual shown in the CCTV footage, but experts say that she has the ability to control water.”

Marin was still studying the clips of the CCTV footage when May turned around to face her and Peter. “If you two spot something like that happening, you turn and you run the other way.”

Marin shared a look with Peter when May was distracted. He made some sort of words of agreement and mentioned something about a new backpack. Marin had lost focus as she worried about being recorded and broadcasted over the news—her face was obscured and her clothes were generic and non-descript enough to conceal her identity, but if there was any chance that Charles was monitoring social media for her location, she knew he could recognize her in an instant. Besides, she doubted that there was a lot of hydrokinetics apart from herself, and especially not ones that coincidentally show up on the news the same day they run away. The only thing she could do was hope that Charles wouldn’t see it.

“Oh, Marin!” May said suddenly, causing Marin to jump in her seat, caught off guard. “I meant to ask, how are you getting home? Do you need a ride?”

Marin winced slightly, shaking her head as her cheeks warmed. “No, I don’t really… I don’t really have a home, right now.” She shrugged and took a bite of her noodles.

“What?” May cried out, looking distressed. Marin’s heart throbbed at the genuine concern in her eyes. “What about your parents?”

“Um…” Marin gulped, glancing briefly at an equally confused Peter before staring down at her dinner. The food rolled uncomfortably in her stomach. “My parents… um, are dead.”

“Oh, honey,” May sighed sympathetically. “But… you must live with someone, right? What about any relatives?”

Marin shook her head. If she had any, she certainly didn’t know them. She searched for an explanation that was as truthful as she was willing, without giving away the hint that she was a mutant. She obviously didn’t know Peter’s secret, and Marin still didn’t want to reveal that particular secret yet (if ever). Besides, even if she hadn’t resolved to keep it from Peter, Marin knew how humans normally reacted to mutants, anyway. “I lived in a… group home, but they, uh, kicked me out today, so…”

May shook her head defiantly. “You can stay with us for the time being. Right, Pete?”

Marin risked a peek at the boy, who stared at her with shock, guilt, and empathy in his warm brown eyes. He nodded. She smiled gratefully at the kind, beautiful woman, and finished her dinner with a newfound sense of hope.

Back at the apartment, Peter pulled Marin into his room.

“Marin… I’m sorry,” he wrung his hands together nervously. “For what I said earlier, I didn’t know that you… that your parents…”

“It’s alright, Peter.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he looked strangely relieved. For all that he could snap at people, Marin saw the genuine kindness in him, and it warmed her heart.

“For what it’s worth,” Peter looked down at his bare feet, his dark curls falling around his head. “My parents are dead, too.” Marin nodded, giving him a knowing smile. She didn’t console him; she knew that he didn’t need it, just as she didn’t. It made sense to her, then, why Peter lived alone with his aunt.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” He asked eventually. Marin nodded.

After staring at her for a moment, Peter reached into his closet and pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Here,” he handed the bundle of clothes to her. “These were from… before, so they should fit you.”

Marin didn’t know how Peter got his powers, but he obviously wasn’t born with them if his aunt didn’t know about them. So, she assumed by ‘before’, he meant before his transformation. She took the clothes with a shy smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Marin noticed the reddening of Peter’s stuck-out ears when she exited the bathroom, wearing his clothes. Grinning to herself, she helped Peter put a sheet over the couch’s cushions and grabbed a blanket and pillow. As she tucked herself into the makeshift bed, Peter went to turn off the table lamp.

“Goodnight, Peter.” She whispered into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Marin.” He responded just as softly, and she didn’t need to see him to know that Peter was smiling warmly down at her.

+++

Waking up early the next morning wasn’t as insufferable as one would expect it to be.

Used to early mornings from her days at the Institute, Marin had no trouble waking up at seven-thirty in the morning to walk Ned and Peter to school. For all May knew, Marin had been previously homeschooled, and didn’t expect Marin to keep up those sorts of appearances. But Marin had plans for the day, and she figured she might as well get an early start.

Marin sipped quietly on her ice-cold bottle of water as she and Peter descended the floors of the apartment complex in the elevator.

Once they exited the building, Ned was already waiting for them with a plethora of odd questions.

Marin laughed and rolled her eyes at the inane questions Ned had come up with, but the group of three slowed down once they reached the intersection where Marin and Spider-Man had been the previous night.

“Whoa,” Ned breathed. “You were here?”

Police officers and firefighters swarmed in and out of the two damaged buildings, emergency vehicles blocking off the center square pavement between them. Marin felt light-headed as she took in the extent of the damage, now easily exposed in the daylight.

“And you were with that other dude, right? The water-bender?” Ned asked.

Marin wasn’t sure whether to be offended or relieved that people thought she was a boy in the footage. “”’Water-bender’?” She scoffed because she definitely hadn’t heard that one before.

Peter gave her a warning look, but Ned only shrugged. “That’s what people are calling her on Twitter, at least.” He looked at Peter. “But you could’ve died, though, Peter.”

A moment of eerie silence passed as the three assessed the scene in front of them, only to be interrupted by Ned.

“Do you lay eggs?”

+++

Marin parted ways with Peter and Ned after they reached the edges of their high school. “Are you sure you’re fine getting back by yourself?” Peter had asked when Ned walked ahead and out of earshot.

Marin had given him a knowing smirk. “I can handle myself just fine, webs.”

He had hesitantly nodded, pulling away from her and giving her a small wave before disappearing into the sea of teenagers. Marin looked longingly at the camaraderie she noticed between groups of friends, before turning determinedly on her heel.

Shoving her hands into her hoodie’s pockets and her bottle tucked under her arm, Marin made her way back to the Metro entrance. She’d borrowed Peter’s spare metro card, taking the J train over to the East River, then switching to the F train to get to Midtown Manhattan. The train cars were smelly and packed with bodies, but Marin found a surprising comfort in the new sensation of becoming invisible in a crowd of strangers.

Stepping out into the busy streets of Manhattan, Marin took a deep breath in through her nose to settle her jumping nerves. According to a tourist map she’d picked up while waiting for the F train, her destination couldn’t have been far.

Sure enough, it only took her ten minutes of maneuvering the streets of the busy city to reach it. Folding the map back up, she tucked it into her jeans’ back pocket and adjusted her grip on her water bottle. Draining the rest of her water for courage, Marin marched her way inside the Stark Tower.

Unsure of where to go, but determined to get there, Marin stopped at the front desk in the lobby, presuming it was some sort of receptionist’s desk. A woman sat perched in the ergonomic chair, her acrylic nails tapping away at a fancy, touch-screened device.

“Hi, I’m here to see Tony Stark.” Marin announced, and the lady glanced up at her, unimpressed. She belatedly wondered if Mr. Stark was even here.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked, bored.

Marin clenched her jaw. Nuts, she thought, what do I do now? Panicking, Marin blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I’m his daughter.”

The lady narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Mr. Stark doesn’t have a daughter.”

“Tell that to my mother,” Marin sneered her lie. “I need to speak to my father. Immediately. My mother is dying and I need to speak to him.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll scream.” Marin threatened, placing a flat hand on the desk, leaning over as menacingly as she could. “And I’ll be sure to tell everyone that Tony Stark had his orphaned daughter dragged out by security.”

The lady glared up at her but eventually pulled out a phone. “Mr. Hogan? A girl is in the lobby, claiming that she is Mr. Stark’s daughter.” A pause as Mr. Hogan responded. “Her mother is apparently dying and she needs to speak to Mr. Stark.” Another pause, this one longer. “Alright, I’ll send her up.”

Marin smiled sweetly as the lady handed her a visitor’s badge, one that allowed access to the top several floors. She told her what floor to go to with a poorly restrained scowl.

Marin clipped the badge to her hoodie and jogged over to the closest elevator. There was already a crowd of people crammed into the boxcar, and Marin asked a gentleman in a nice suit to press the button that flashed ‘97’.

Sweat gathered on her chest and uncomfortably ran down the groove between her breasts, causing her to grimace and rub it away as discreetly as she could. Both men and women exited and entered the elevator as it stopped several times throughout the trip, and by the time she reached the thirtieth floor, she was the only passenger left.

Now that the car was empty and blissfully devoid of nicely-dressed adults, Marin noticed soft piano music flowing from the speakers above her. She tugged off her hoodie and straightened her faded and slightly distressed Led Zeppelin shirt. Marin stared at her reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator’s car, nervously rearranging her bangs.

The elevator dinged musically as the doors opened to reveal floor ninety-seven. It was a massively open space, with luxurious black couches surrounding possibly the biggest flat-screen TV Marin had ever seen, and a fully furnished kitchen on the opposite side—complete with polished marble countertops and fancy kitchen appliances of all kinds. Marin stepped out onto a plush rug that covered the narrowed entrance that led from the elevator to the rest of the room, privately wanting to take off her shoes so she could run her toes through the soft fibers.

She glimpsed around, and when she didn’t see anyone, she called out, “Hello? Mr. Stark?”

“Who the hell are you?” A voice spoke up from behind her. Marin whirled around, coming face-to-face with the man she’d idolized for years. Even through his long sleeve shirt and a graphic tee over it, she could still see the faintly circular glow of his arc reactor.

Reigning in her excitement, she thrust out her hand. “I’m Marin Frost.”

Tony Stark looked down at her hand and back up to her face. He tentatively took her hand and shook it. “Tony Stark. Now, what are you doing here, kid?”

“I’m not actually your daughter,” Marin confessed sheepishly, and Mr. Stark rolled his eyes.

“No shit, kid. Although, you probably could be the right age…” he trailed off thoughtfully.

“Trust me, I’m not.” She rocked on her heels. “I’m here to talk about a position.”

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. “A position, huh? What for?”

“To be an Avenger.” She simply said, and he just stared at her.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He grabbed her shoulder, pushing her toward the elevator. “You—”

“Wait!” She cried. “I know Peter!”

Mr. Stark stilled behind her, then turned her around. “Peter Parker?” He looked at her suspiciously.

“Yes. Well—I don’t know his last name, but—”

“And how do you know him? School? Neighbors? Lovers?”

Marin grimaced. “No to all of them. I’ve got powers, too.” She said, and Mr. Stark released her, giving her a signal to explain. “I met Peter a few months ago when I tried to stop a robbery, but he was already there—but I had to go back home and I hadn’t seen him until yesterday, when I got kicked out of my home and went to Queens to find Spider-Man—but then I learned that his name is Peter and that he worked for you; so I came to find you because I want to be an Avenger and help save people.” Marin rushed out to explain.

Tony Stark looked at her for a solid minute, presumably trying to decide whether she was lying or not. Or crazy.

Eventually, he just sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “You want something to eat, kid?” He strutted past her into the kitchen. Nodding, Marin followed and sat at the kitchen’s bar, facing the billionaire as he pulled out some grapes. “Sorry, haven’t restocked in a while.”

Stacking them in a ceramic bowl, Mr. Stark handed the grapes to the girl. She picked at them ravenously, not realizing how hungry she was until she had food in her mouth. Mr. Stark watched her scarf down the grapes, looking concerned.

“So… you got kicked out of your home?” When Marin nodded, Mr. Stark asked why.

Marin’s hand hovered momentarily as she reached to pluck a grape from the stem. “They hated me,” she whispered, almost ashamed. “The other kids hated me, or feared me for what I could do, and I was alone. Even the adults, it turns out,” she laughed dryly. “They all thought I was some sort of… monster. And they wanted to control me—to lock me away so I couldn’t hurt anyone else like they… like they thought I wanted to.” Her face crumpled in disgust. “They thought that I liked hurting people. I wasn’t—I didn’t really get kicked out, but I never belonged there. I left because I was never supposed to stay, and it’s not like anyone wanted me to stay, either. I couldn’t stand to stay in a place where no one believed me. Where no one knew who I really was, and still hated me anyway.”

Her eyes burned and her nose ached like she was going to cry, but she held it back, instead, distracting herself with picking the rest of the grapes from the stem. She blinked until the tears cleared from her vision, and was surprised to see empathy on Tony’s face. She cleared her throat, and he nodded.

“So, what can you do, Marin?” He asked, obviously changing the subject, for which Marin was grateful.

“I can manipulate water,” she started, grabbing her empty water bottle and unscrewing the lid. “Can you fill this up, please?” She handed it to Mr. Stark, who obliged. When he handed it back, now full, she set it down in front of her and pulled out a sphere of water about the size of her fist with her mind. “I can freeze it, boil it, grab things with it, and I can even use it to heal minor wounds on other people, though I’m better at healing myself.”

Tony looked mildly impressed as she shifted the water between phases to prove her point, which was more than she was expecting.

“And I have nine years of martial arts training, as well as expert aim with weapons of all kinds. I’m also interested in fluid mechanics, obviously, and mechanical engineering. I’ve also dabbled in some types of physics. I particularly enjoy quantum physics.” Marin listed.

Tony Stark stared into her eyes for a beat. “Where are you from, kid?” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Marin through narrowed eyes. “How’d you get these powers?”

“I was born with them.” It was technically the truth, although she wasn’t about to tell him her secret. Even though she had the advantage of knowing Peter now, she still wasn’t certain that if she told Mr. Stark the complete truth, he wouldn’t send her back to the Institute.

Mr. Stark sighed. “Yeah, but where are your parents?”

“They died when I was six.” She stated, chewing on another grape. She siphoned the blob of water back into her container. “’s why I was sent to a group home.”

“And you want to be an Avenger, is that right?”

“I do.” Marin straightened in her seat, tilting her chin up confidently.

Tony Stark paused. “Got a code name?”

Marin grimaced, recalling the awful name given to her as an X-Man. “Not any good ones.”

“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll come up with something.”

Marin grinned.

+++

“Marin, you home?” Peter’s voice carried through the apartment later that day, to where Marin lounged against the sofa with a random book in her hands. “Marin we’ve gotta talk—is that a Stark hoodie?”

Marin caught Peter’s eye, smiling. “Yeah! I went to his house today—I was lucky to catch him right before he left for India or something—and I—”

“Wait, wait, wait, what?!” Peter threw his backpack off his shoulder and came to sit next to her on the couch. “What do you mean, you went to his house?! You mean the Tower? Why on earth would you go there; I thought you were trying to lay low!”

Marin creased her eyebrows. “Well if you would let me finish—I showed him my powers and asked if I could join the Avengers!”

Peter stared at her with his jaw dropped. “What?!”

“He was impressed by my abilities, and even though I can’t join the Avengers—because apparently, they’re not a ‘thing’ right now, or whatever—he knows that I don’t really have a home and I guess he felt really bad for me, because he was going to let me stay in a hotel for a while,” she rambled excitedly. “But I told him that I was staying with you for now, and he didn’t like that I wasn’t going to school so he went ahead and enrolled me in yours!”

A brief moment of silence passed. Suddenly, Peter shot to his feet with his hands in his hair and paced the living room. Marin was grateful that May was out on a grocery run at the moment. “What the hell; what the hell?! You’re going to Midtown now?! You don’t even have an official guardian!”

“Oh, Mr. Stark said he’d take care of that stuff,” Marin interjected. She tilted her head in thought. “I don’t know why May doesn’t like him—he seems like a really nice guy!”

Peter slumped back down on the couch. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

“I—” Marin started, but then realized how distressed Peter seemed. “What’s wrong?”

Peter exhaled. “Ned told everyone in our gym class that I ‘know’ Spider-Man,” he made quotations with his fingers, then passed a hand through his hair. Marin was beginning to recognize it as a nervous tick. “And there’s this guy at my school who hates me for some reason, and he doesn’t even believe that I’ve got the internship with Mr. Stark. So, he convinced me to go to this really popular girl’s party tomorrow night, and bring Spider-Man as my guest. I don’t even like parties,” he whined, throwing his head back against a cushion.

Marin thought for a moment, before suggesting, “I could come with you? Maybe I could wear the suit and pretend to be you?”

Peter sat up, shaking his head. “No; knowing Flash, he’s gonna want to make you show off your powers, and you can’t very well climb up onto the ceiling, too.”

So, it’s not the suit that lets him do that, she noted. “Maybe I could distract them, then? Tell them you ran off to find him while Spider-Man shows up, and leave shortly after?”

Peter thought for a few seconds and nodded slowly. “That… could work.”

Marin clapped once, rising to her feet. “Alright, let’s get this party started!”

Peter just rolled his eyes.

[demaury]

boys online. chapter 2. (social media influencers au)

7916. 124. 10. These are the numbers that define Eliott and Lucas’ relationship, either they want it or not. 7916 kilometers between them, from Paris to Vancouver. 124 days since they first said ‘I love you’ last spring. And nearly 10 hours, until… well, until they meet for the first time. (ao3)

MANON CHATON

vu aujourd’hui à 20:34

i'm so in love

fuck what’s happening to me

😂

i get that you found eliott

i was getting a little worried here

it’s been literally five minutes!!!

sure, jan

so that means your flight landed somewhere in poland

because you should have arrived a whiiiiile ago if you were in paris 😏😂

i was taking five minutes to make-out with my bf

i bet you did 👀

is he a good kisser at least?

the best

i'm so whipped

you’re so whipped

but it’s cute

“Missing home already?”

Lucas looks up from his phone and cranes his neck just as Eliott slides in the seat next to him, carefully setting the two Styrofoam cups he just retrieved from the barista on the table. They’re waiting for the cab Lucas ordered after Eliott showed up and Starbucks seemed like the better option they had at the moment — at least once they stopped sharing oxygen and saliva long enough to get behind that idea.

“Not a fucking chance,” he grins as he locks his phone. He leans closer into Eliott’s personal space and the smile his boyfriend gives him back turns the cheekiest comments he can ever come up with into wobbling knees and fluttering stomach. “Thank you,” he says, punctuating it with a peck on Eliott’s lips.

He proceeds to grab his part of their order while Eliott settles more comfortably next to him — and, Lucas notices, even closer. “I received the text from the company, they said our car should be waiting for us at 9,” Eliott says, checking the text as he speaks. “We should probably get ready to take the commute soon I guess.”

“Guess so, yeah.” Lucas stretches his arms high above his head and scrunches up his face. “I’m beat, the flight was so long.”

It’s been two years since he last came to France, and damn has he forgotten how boring spending nearly ten hours in a plane was. After his parents’ divorce he had only come back a handful of times, generally to spend a few days in Nice with his paternal grandmother when his dad was in the mood to bother forcing him to do stuff, so it wasn’t like he was really used to making 8h+ flights abroad. Mostly he knows he should be thankful because there’s been no assholery behavior and no crying baby or tantrum-y kid.

“Can’t wait to see these eyes without the bags underneath,” Eliott teases, pocking to his cheek playfully.

Lucas bats his hand away just for the sake of it, but it’s not harsh and Eliott knows him too well to even question. “Well, sorry for you, but the bags are rooming with me,” he huffs. “I tried to stay awake last night to sleep during the flight. Worked tremendously, as you can see.”

“They are nice bags,” Eliott decides, shrugging slightly. “I could get used to it, they make your eyes pop in the end.”

Lucas tilts his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “You didn’t sound so sappy over FaceTime, I feel lied to,” he says, playing with his cup nonchalantly. “Now I wonder what else is different.”

Eliott seems to ponder his answer, and Lucas stares, obvious and unapologetic. It’s not a big reveal that his boyfriend is even more beautiful in person than he already is in pictures, and it still amazes him even after all this time and an entire day spent obsessing over it that one day they met as friends, last April. Eliott had a family member getting married somewhere near Calgary and it was just too good of an opportunity to miss it. Right after the wedding Eliott had hopped in a plane for Vancouver and they had spent the day hanging out and touring around Vancouver. Well, Eliott had toured around Vancouver. Lucas, for his part, had mostly followed and occasionally taken his eyes away from Eliott long enough to gesture at some place.

“You’re right,” Eliott says, sounding awfully serious. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something that might affect our relationship, but I need to get it off my chest so that you can be prepared.”

Lucas isn’t sure where he’s going with it, but Eliott shifts on his chair to face him without looking like he’s waiting for an answer. His grey eyes meet Lucas’, deep and serious, and it takes Lucas most of his willpower to keep his mind on tracks, when all he wants to do is reach out and touch that perfect jawline of Eliott’s.

“I’ll be the sappiest of the saps,” Eliott declares, ignoring when Lucas bursts out laughing. “I have my boyfriend in town for two small weeks, so you better be ready for all the cheesiness in the world because I fully intend to make the most of it,” he concludes.

Lucas shifts too, facing him. “So that’s not our first date?”, he asks, faking surprise.

“In a Starbucks coffee?” Eliott scoffs. “Please, I have standards. I was just desperately trying to give you a caffeine boost to keep you up on your two feet.”

Lucas cocks an eyebrow. “The cheesiest boyfriend in the world wouldn’t mind picking his boyfriend up, just saying.”

“You want me to do that?”, Eliott deadpans, cocking an eyebrow too.

“Jesus, no,” Lucas huffs a laugh, shaking his head, and Eliott joins him.

He doesn’t really know why he freaked out some 24h ago, when everything seems as simple as it should be. They’re easily navigating between banter and cutesy declarations, and it’s something Lucas always dreamed of finding in a boyfriend. Eliott reaches out, his fingers threading through Lucas’ hair.

“We should get going,” he says, pressing a soft kiss on Lucas’ lips. “Last thing I want is so miss our commute and end up dragging my sleepy boyfriend all the way out.”

Lucas snorts, taking a sip from his coffee. “I’m not a child, I’ll let you know. I can stay awake one more hour.”

*

Lucas doesn’t stay awake one more hour.

Which is totally fine, if you ask Eliott. They’ve been in the car for roughly fifteen minutes when Lucas’ head falls on his shoulder, pretty eyes closed and his grip loosening ever so slightly around Eliott’s fingers.

“Jetlag doesn’t forgive,” the taxi driver says, sententious, as he peeks in the rear-view mirror halfway through a story involving electric bikes. “Where are you guys coming from?”

“He lives in Canada,” Eliott replies, and it’s still a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that this reality, them together in the same town, isn’t one that is meant to last. “I live in the 11e though.”

His attention drifts away as the driver manages to find another topic of conversation involving Eliott’s area of Paris, focusing instead on the soft patterns he traces with his fingers on the inside of Lucas’ wrist. At this point, the only thing keeping Eliott from reaching for his phone to snap a selfie of them both is that he doesn’t have the heart to take either of his hands away from a sleepy Lucas. Hear him out, he can tear his eyes away from him, it’s just that he gets to hear Lucas laugh and smile and angrily venting when things don’t go the way he wants them to go, but sleep is something he’s never been able to witness. And, like, Eliott is completely, utterly in love with Lucas but he knows by now that he can be a real pain in the ass when he wants to be — so seeing him soft and cute like that, he’s not ready to pass on it just yet.

The road from the airport isn’t all that long, given the general state of the Parisian traffic, and when they get to rue Dangeau, where Lucas’ hotel is situated, it’s been around forty minutes since they left Roissy-Charles-de-Gaulle. The sleeping arrangement got him thinking, when they were planning Lucas’ trip to France, because they had been together for less than three months, and the last thing he wanted was for Lucas to feel pressured about anything. Granted, it had taken him less time to lose his virginity to Lucille when they were younger, but it doesn’t mean it’s a race either. His boyfriend was still 17 back then, and Eliott distinctly remembers worrying a whole night about all the things he could possibly say that could send the wrong message whatsoever. The good side is that ever since he managed to man the fuck up and confess his feelings to Lucas, things have been (mostly) easy to navigate between them and Lucas has (mostly) been on the same page — he said he didn’t want to rush things either, but simply because they deserved to make things ‘the right way’, which is still a fair point, albeit a bit different. In the end they have both agreed to the hotel thing, and the more thoughts Eliott puts into it, the more natural it felt.

He releases Lucas’ hand as the car parks just across the street on a delivery spot, and it gets him to stir and mumble. “Note to self,” he groans as Eliott unbuckles his seatbelt, rubbing his eyes from his hand, “coffee doesn’t hold a candle to a nine-hour jetlag.”

“Will you manage to walk inside or do I have to pick you up?”, Eliott enquires, barely biting back a smirk.

Lucas squints his eyes. “Look at you making fun of me.” He pouts, and he unbuckles his seatbelt before sliding out through the door he chucked open. “I’ll manage, since you’re so nice to ask.”

Eliott snorts and hops off through his own door while Lucas retrieves his luggage from the driver. The man greets them warmly before getting back in and driving away. The hotel Lucas picked isn’t particularly fancy, it’s actually one of those hotels you’d walk by without really noticing. Despite being three floors high, it’s squeezed between a flower shop and a restaurant selling kebabs, in a narrow one-way street, but Eliott is almost surprised by how comfy it feels as soon as they push past the door of the lobby. Lucas goes to retrieve the key to his hotel room, and he allows himself a moment to check his phone in the meantime, but there’s nothing there that requires his undivided attention like his boyfriend does. A couple of notifications and texts from his friends that he puts on hold for the time being, when Lucas makes sign for him to join as he’s climbing upstairs.

“Home sweet home,” Lucas sighs, dropping himself flat on the bed as soon as they get in.

“It’s a nice hotel,” Eliott observes thoughtfully, closing the door behind him. “And at least you aren’t far from my place.”

Lucas props himself back up on his elbows. “It’s still too far,” he complains.

Eliott snorts and shakes his head. “It’s really not. And you’re literally on automatic pilot now, you need to sleep.”

“I know that.” Lucas pauses. “I just- I don’t know, I just want you to stay. Here. With me.”

“But we agreed that we would take it slow,” Eliott says, frowning a little.

“Of course, yes,” Lucas replies quickly, and Eliott isn’t sure but he thinks Lucas might be blushing. “But I want cuddles.” And he goes on, raising his arms and making grabby hands in his direction.

Eliott takes in Lucas’ tired eyes, his pouty lips, his messy hair and his grabby hands, and it’s not even that he feels himself cave in, because he had already stopped fighting himself the moment Lucas first asked, but there’s literally not a single good reason for him to leave this hotel room now. The first thing he does, before answering even, is kicking off his shoes, then he looks back up and Lucas’ grin is worth everything in the world.

“Let’s cuddle then,” Eliott says.

As soon as he plops down next to him, Lucas immediately drags him in a laying position and worms his way between his arms.

*

Having a sleeping boyfriend in bed he’s trying not to wake up is something Lucas isn’t quite used to, in complete honesty. Jake was his first relationship after he came out, and it hadn’t lasted three full months, so it’s not like he really managed to make his marks as a not-single guy. Point is, disentangling himself from Eliott’s arms has been surprisingly stressful, and he hates his bladder for forcing him out of his living safety blanket, but he hates his brain even more for making him stare pointlessly at an invisible spot for about an hour before that.

Jetlag is a fucking bitch, he thinks grumpily as he closes the lid and flushes the toilet, motioning to the sink to wash his hands. There’s a mirror hanging off the wall above the basin, and the glance he spares it isn’t really helpful. He literally has red circles on top of the black ones now, and it makes a weird Halloween-ish look with his blue eyes — which he’s positive isn’t attractive in any part of the world.

He retrieves his phone from the nightstand on his side of the bed, eyes squinting when he unlocks it, after padding as quietly as possible out of the bathroom and trying desperately to remember how the furniture is displayed so that he doesn’t end up splitting his knee open in the frame of the bed on his way.

“Lucas?”

Eliott’s sleepy voice makes Lucas startle stupidly and he smiles sheepishly in the ray of light emanating from his phone. “Yeah, I’m here.”

There’s a pause and Eliott motions some more in the bed, rubbing his eye from the heel of his hand. He’s wearing his tee-shirt from yesterday and his black briefs are peeking out from where the comforter is thrown back. “Is it morning already?”

“Nah, I just went to the bathroom. Sorry for waking you up.”

Eliott frowns and nods. “Oh. Right. Aren’t you coming back?”

“I can’t sleep,” Lucas admits. “I’ll probably just toss and turn.”

Eliott props himself up on an elbow. “It’s fine. Come here,” he says, voice still a bit rough from sleep and hair a little messier than usual. “We can watch a movie or something.”

Lucas huffs a chuckle. “Eliott, it’s 2.30 in the morning, go back to sleep.”

“So what, I don’t get to have cuddles at 2.30?”

Lucas stares, taken aback. “Fuck, of course you do,” he says, practically throwing his phone on the nightstand as he hops in the bed, and just like that the room is pitch-black all over again. “Let’s keep the movie for another time though.”

They don’t quite cuddle, not like they were before Lucas got up, and not like they were when they first fell asleep. They’re merely facing each other, Eliott’s arm snaking its way around his waist, gentle and light as they pull him just a tiny bit closer.

“It’s fine,” he says, tracing circles on Lucas’ side. “We can just talk.”                

Lucas slides an arm under his head, looking in the direction of Eliott’s voice, almost as if he could make out his features in the night, were he trying hard enough. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” his boyfriend whispers, and Lucas feels him shrugging slightly. “What’s the first thing you could think about asking me?”

Lucas ponders the question. Objectively there’s still a whole bunch of things he would want to know about Eliott, simply because he wants to know everything there’s to know, but there’s something intimate and unique about being with him like this, his attention undivided. They have nowhere else to be, no one else to bother them, not a single kilometer between them. It’s just them, in this moment, and he feels emboldened enough to ask: “When did you know you had feelings for me?”

There’s a silence, and Eliott’s fingers stop their gentle dance on his side. “It doesn’t really depict me IN a good light,” Eliott admits.

“C’mon on, tell me,” Lucas says, wriggling a tad closer. “I know it was when you were still with Lucille, you told me that already.”

“Alright,” Eliott says. “The exact moment, uh?” Lucas nods, even if Eliott can’t see it. “I was having sex with Lucille.” Another silence. “I thought about you to finish.”

Oh. Well, he can’t say he’s feeling bad, which he’s simultaneously certain is the opposite of the reaction he should be having. Probably because his boyfriend did not mentally cheat on him while they were having sex.

“I told you, it doesn’t really make me the perfect boyfriend after that,” Eliott mumbles.

Lucas shakes his head, mostly for himself, and he reaches out to run his hand up Eliott’s arm. “Actually, I think you’re doing really great so far.”

“So far, uh?” Eliott muses.

“Yes. So far. Your turn.”

Eliott takes a second to think. “Why did you date Jake if you weren’t all that interested in him?”

“It doesn’t really make me a Saint either.”

The fingers are back to grazing his side through the material of his shirt. “I think I’ll handle it. I think I already know, in fact.”

Lucas drops his gaze, uselessly, he knows, but it’s a reflex he can’t help. “I was in love with you,” he admits. “You had gotten back with Lucille. It was, like, the third time it was happening in the short time we had known each other, I just thought there’d never be a place for me in your life.”

It feels strangely liberating to get it off his chest. It’s not the biggest secret of his life, and it’s not his most bitter moment either. But going back to these few months, where Eliott had managed to occupy so much space in his life all the while being still so out of reach, it still makes his heart clench a little on instinct — like the vague memory of a physical pain.

“The tables turned,” Eliott says and Lucas smiles.

“Kind of, yeah.”

Eliott pulls himself closer, and Lucas shifts a little, welcoming his boyfriend’s frame in his arms as Eliott nestles his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m so happy to have you with me,” he whispers.

*

[vernonfielding]

Life Writes Its Own Stories

Chapter 3! (And at AO3.)

Amy was deep in thought, eyes gone unfocused as she stared at her computer screen and tried to will a new lede to reveal itself, when a thunk to her forehead snapped her back to reality.

“Ow!” Amy looked up and found Gina already preparing another ball of paper, probably weighted with something like a rock, or an actual paper weight.

“I wasn’t trying to hit you. But I’m also not sorry that I did,” Gina said. She tossed the next ball, which Amy managed to duck. The third one hit her phone and knocked the headset off the receiver.

“What the hell, Gina?”

“I need to kill that horrible machine.” Gina launched another paper ball, which bounced an inch from the police scanner on Amy’s desk. “Oh, so close!”

“Knock it off,” Amy said. “I need that.”

“It’s distracting,” Gina said.

“Just ignore it. Everyone else does.”.

“No we don’t,” Charles called from across the newsroom.

“Come on! Every newsroom has a police scanner.” Amy glanced around at her coworkers, looking for a friendly face, and paused hopefully on Terry.

“It’s not 1985,” Terry said. “Just follow the news online like everyone else, Santiago.”

“You all are terrible journalists.” Amy grabbed the scanner and moved it to a more protected spot on her desk, right beside her hard copy of the Associated Press Stylebook and a stack of battered Yellow Pages.

She’d had no idea everyone else was bothered by the scanner. It spit out a constant stream of static and mumbled police jargon, but to Amy it was like white noise. She’d grown up around police scanners and had developed an innate ability to ignore them when nothing was happening and hone right in when the chatter got interesting. Apparently it was not a skill hardwired into all reporters.

“Why do you need that anyway?” Gina said, approaching Amy’s desk and snapping up the scanner. “Doesn’t your Deep Throat give you all your stories now?”

“He’s not my Deep Throat,” Amy said. She reached for her scanner and Gina pulled it away.

“Whatever, Bernstein.” Gina dropped the scanner in Amy’s trash can and walked away.

“And I’m not the Bernstein!” Amy called after her. “I’m totally the Woodward!”

Terry came up and plucked her scanner out of the trash, setting it back on her desk. “Just ignore her,” he said. “She’s always wanted a Deep Throat.”

In truth, Amy was secretly thrilled that she had a real-life “deep throat” in Peralta, even if their interactions weren’t nearly as cool as the ones from All the President’s Men. They hadn’t once met in a creepy parking lot after midnight. She didn’t have a gross but admittedly cool code name for him. And the tips he gave her weren’t exactly going to save democracy.

Still, he was texting her. Kind of a lot. And okay, most of it was immature and needling – he especially liked giving her a hard time when her stories were buried in the back of the paper or failed to get any traction on Twitter. But every now and then he’d pass on something useful.

It had started soon after the Poloski story ran. Peralta had texted her the next day to congratulate her, which she had taken as a polite way for him to acknowledge that he wasn’t mad at her for calling him. Then a week later he’d texted again, in response to a short story she’d written about a local bank robbery – he’d suggested that she ask if the latest robbery was connected to a series of thefts from the previous year, and sure enough, Scully confirmed they were. She hadn’t gotten on the front page, but it was information no other reporters had.

After that, the texts started coming more regularly. Often it was just feedback – or, more precisely, critical commentary. And it wasn’t always her articles. After Hitchcock wrote a piece about NYPD overtime expenses pulling money out of city programs for public health and homeless services, Peralta sent Amy a three-paragraph text asking whether he and his partner should have just clocked off at 5 when they were pursuing that serial stabber last year. Amy wrote back: “Send a letter to the editor.” Peralta replied with a zombie emoji.

A few times he texted about Gina’s columns, mostly to complain about her liberal use of anonymous sources – a critique that Amy privately agreed with. When Charles wrote an unsigned, negative review of Sal’s pizza in the Bulletin’s restaurant column, Jake demanded a retraction. She didn’t reply.

His comments on her stories tended to be more specific. Once, he texted her an hour before the print deadline to tell her she’d misspelled another detective’s name in a story he’d read online; she’d had time to fix it for the next day’s newspaper, saving herself an embarrassing correction. Another time he wrote that a headline on her story was obviously biased against cops, and though Amy had texted back “I don’t write the headlines,” she’d agreed with him, and asked Charles to revise it online.

They’d had one honest-to-goodness text fight. She’d written an article about two officers accused of threatening a man and forcibly removing him from his home during a robbery investigation. In his formal complaint, the man said the officers had been drunk, and the interactions he described made the officers look at best incredibly unprofessional, and at worst criminally derelict. The NYPD wouldn’t comment except to say that it was conducting an internal investigation.

“Those are good cops you just trashed,” Peralta wrote to her that night.

“Give me their side of the story and I’ll write it,” Amy texted back. She was crashed on her couch, exhausted after spending the day trying to track down the two officers for comment and arguing with Scully – who was either secretly brilliant at evading questions, or the most inept public information officer in all of the NYPD.

“You know I can’t do that,” Peralta texted.

“Then tell me what I’m supposed to do if no one will talk,” Amy wrote, stabbing at the letters.

“So its better to write a one-sided, inaccurate story than not publish at all? That’s crap.”

“”It’s,” Amy wrote, and immediately felt like an asshole.

Peralta texted back an eyeroll emoji, which she deserved.

“It’s my job to hold people in power accountable for their actions,” Amy wrote. “I’m not going to apologize for that. NYPD wants its side in the paper, they have to talk to me.”

She watched her screen as he worked on his reply.

“It’s not fair,” he wrote.

Amy thought for a moment and finally wrote, “No. It’s not.”

She didn’t hear from him for a few days after that and she thought maybe that was it. He’d probably figured out that he had way more to lose than gain by talking to her. Then, before she’d even gotten out of bed one morning, he texted a name and a link to a short item she’d written about a dead body found in the East River. And that was how Amy was the first to report that a highly placed mafia boss had been shot and killed, his body dumped in the water.

Two days later he gave her an exclusive on a Park Slope millennial family being arrested for dealing methamphetamine through a fake moms group.

(He also tipped her off to a Greenpoint storefront selling organic, gluten-free, sugar-free Twinkies, but Amy replied that wasn’t a crime. Peralta texted back a handcuffs emoji. She ended up writing the story for the features section. It went viral on Facebook.)

Eventually, Amy decided he needed a fake name in her contacts. She called him Pineapples – for some reason it just popped into her brain  – and every time a new message from him appeared on her screen, she felt a little jolt of adrenaline.

She told herself it was just the anticipation of the next big story.

+++

“And his name is…Pepper! Officer Pepper O’Pigeon. I’ll take questions now.”

Scully swept his hands toward the giant pigeon in question and a few of the littler kids at his side clapped politely. Amy sighed and turned off her voice recorder. One of the TV reporters weakly asked if Officer Pepper O’Pigeon was a boy or girl pigeon and Amy didn’t stick around for the answer.

Free of the clutch of reporters looking for a cheap and easy feature story for the day, Amy took one last glance around the scene. She’d come to this press conference against her better judgment mostly because it was being held at the 99th Precinct. Scully liked to shift these kinds of “community building” press conferences among the various precincts so they all got a share of positive media attention, and normally Amy skipped them. She’d told herself yesterday that she was coming to this one because the precinct was between her apartment and the Bulletin offices – it was just a stop along the way to work – but if she was honest, she’d come because she was hoping to spot Detective Peralta.

Now, she realized that had been dumb. There were no cops here at all except for Scully and two uniforms who looked so young they might well have been interns. Except she didn’t think the NYPD did interns. She’d have to look that up later.

Amy shoved her phone in her purse and headed back toward the subway, trying to decide if she should take the train the rest of the way in or just walk the mile and a half. She passed a coffee shop and the smell of fresh ground beans hit her brain like something illegal. She’d found herself out of coffee at home that morning and decided to try skipping it altogether, but clearly she was not meant for cold turkey. Amy neatly sidestepped into the coffee shop.

She recognized it immediately as a cop hangout. There were two uniforms in line at the register, and a couple of plain-clothes with badges snapped to their belts perched on stools at the front window. A parking patrol officer sat at a corner table with a newspaper – sadly, The Times – spread out before her.

Amy walked up to the register just as the uniforms finished ordering and asked for a large coffee with room. At the side counter, she reached for the nonfat milk to the far right, just as someone came up beside her and made a move for the full-fat in front of her.

“Excuse me-”

“Sorry-”

Amy glanced up and stopped, hand in midair. She stared into the wide, brown eyes of Detective Peralta.

“Detective-”

His eyes widened even more and he shook his head. Amy snapped her mouth shut. Peralta quickly looked back over his shoulder to the rest of the coffee shop, then turned and said under his breath, “We can’t talk.”

“Oh-”

“Here you go,” he said, in a slightly louder than necessary voice, and handed her the milk she’d been reaching for.

“Oh,” Amy said again. “Thanks. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Peralta darted a quick glance in her direction.

They topped off their drinks in silence, and Peralta left first. Amy followed a minute after, feeling dazed. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her face felt warm, like she was blushing. She looked toward the 99th Precinct when she stepped outside the coffee shop, but Peralta was nowhere in sight. Her heart sank, and Amy thought back to the panicked look on his face, and also the fact that he was actually much cuter than she’d remembered.

She glanced down the street toward the precinct one more time, then moved on in the opposite direction. She was definitely going to have to walk to work now, just to burn off this weird adrenaline rush. Amy pulled out her phone to check the time – and saw a text on the screen.

“Bailey Fountain. 20 min.”

Amy didn’t think twice. She spun on her heel and headed toward Prospect Park.

+++

Jake jogged most of the way down Flatbush toward the park, glancing at his cell phone as the trees came into view. He’d had to check in at the precinct before ducking out again, and it had taken him a few minutes to shake Rosa. She’d asked him outright why he was acting so weird and he’d said he was acting totally normal and she’d given him that terrifying eyebrow sneer and he knew he’d be answering more questions later. At least he’d have some time to devise answers.

He slowed to a walk as he crossed Plaza Street and stepped into the park proper, the hum of traffic now muffled by the trees. He looked around for Santiago as he climbed the steps toward the fountain, and spotted her right away, on the closest bench. He was ten minutes late, but he paused anyway, then stepped a few feet to his right, so he was partly behind a tree. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted a moment to watch her, before she knew he was there.

When he’d met her, very briefly, at the press conference a few weeks ago, he’d had just a few seconds to look at her and notice that she was cute. Now, as he walked the thin line between cop and creep and watched her from behind a tree, he had to admit that the Vulture was right: Santiago was hot. Except that wouldn’t have been the first word he’d use to describe her. She was, simply, beautiful. A woman who would catch his attention in a crowded bar or in line at the corner bodega, who would probably be as gorgeous in an evening gown as she would yoga pants and a hoodie.

At the moment, she was wearing a bright blue button-down shirt and black slacks, and her hair was down, part of it cascading over one shoulder and literally shimmering in the morning sunshine. He was standing close enough to see she had her phone in her hands and was typing on it, thumbs tapping away. She had her bag still slung over her shoulder and tucked into her side, which was sensible given how common purse snatches were in the park.

Though her head was bent to look at her phone, her back was straight, her shoulders squared, and she gave off a distinct ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe that Jake respected. But there was something about her that made him feel strangely precious toward her nonetheless – the pout of her lips, or the faint line between her eyebrows, some softness that he couldn’t quite articulate.

She looked up from her phone suddenly, and Jake neatly stepped out from the tree before she could catch him being a weirdo. He gave a little wave as he approached.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, as he sat beside her on the bench.

“It’s fine.” She set her phone in her lap and turned slightly toward him. “I’m sorry about, well, the whole not playing it cool thing at the coffee shop. I wasn’t expecting to see you there.”

“Right, the coffee shop across the street from a police precinct is a totally weird place to run into a cop,” Jake said, but he was grinning.

“I was expecting cops, but not my cop,” Santiago said, which caused Jake to snort-laugh.

“Oh, so I belong to you?”

“You know what I mean,” Santiago said with a hint of exasperation, though he could tell she was trying not to smile.

They lapsed into silence, the bubble of the fountain unnaturally loud to Jake. He wished he’d brought his coffee with him just so he’d have something to do with his hands. Beside him, Santiago was turning her phone over and over, until she finally seemed to realize what she was doing and stuffed it in her purse.

“So, what-”

“Look, I-”

They both stopped and laughed a little.

“You go,” Santiago said.

“I was just going to ask if there was something you wanted to talk about,” Jake said. “I mean, something in particular. I know I was the one who said we should meet here but I got the impression you had something on your mind. At the coffee shop.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it was just a look on your face, like you were about to ask a question.”

“Oh.” Her eyes crinkled in bemusement. “Well, I guess I did. Only actually, no, it wasn’t a question. But I did have something I wanted to say. I mean, not like a speech or anything, just something that’s been on my mind lately.”

Jake bit his tongue to keep from teasing her about being flustered. Instead he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Santiago pursed her lips and frowned for a moment, then turned to fully face him.

“I guess I just wanted to say thanks. For, you know, helping me out so much.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked him in the eye. “I know you’re putting your career on the line by talking to me, and meanwhile I’m getting all this credit at work. And there’s not really anything I can do to change that, I mean, short of offering you bribes, which would be totally unethical and I would never do. So, yeah, there’s nothing I can do, except just acknowledge what you’re doing and say thanks.”

She paused and took a deep breath. Jake stared into her eyes, which were sparkling in the sunlight. He realized he should probably say something in response.

“You’re welcome.” And then he thought over everything she had just told him, and he added, “But you’re not the only one benefitting. As much as it pains me to admit this – and believe me, it really, truly does – your articles have helped put away a few bad guys. That’s all I’m trying to do at the end of the day.”

Santiago offered him a small smile and shrugged. “I’m glad to hear that, but I still feel like I’m the only one really getting anything out of this relationship.”

Jake startled at that, and Santiago’s eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed.

“Transaction,” Santiago said, quickly. “I’m getting everything out of this transaction. Not a relationship. It’s a professional thing. Totally-”

“Transactional?” Jake supplied, when she trailed off.

Santiago nodded weakly, her whole face now glowing pink. He started laughing, and then found he couldn’t stop. Santiago buried her face in her hands, but when he was still laughing a minute later she slapped him on the shoulder, and then hit him a couple more times until he caught his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ve just never seen anyone blush that hard, that fast before.”

“I can’t help my physical reaction,” Santiago said, indignant.

“Title of your sex tape!”

“What?” Santiago’s forehead creased in confusion until she figured out what he meant, and then she hit him again. He just grinned back at her.

“I had no idea you were such an immature jerk,” Santiago said, but there wasn’t any real spite in her tone.

Still, he softened his smile. “It was only a matter of time.”

They fell into another silence, this one less tense. Jake thought again about what she’d said in her oddly poignant speech, turning the words over in his head. He turned to face her, leaning an elbow on the back of the bench.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I haven’t had to deal with a lot of reporters firsthand, but from what I’ve seen they’re usually pretty useless. Like, getting stuff wrong and just being lazy, sometimes actually working against us.”

“Like with that story I did, on the drunk cops,” Santiago said.

Jake bristled – he hadn’t meant to accuse her of anything. “Not exactly. Look, I’m sorry I lost it with that story, but I know those guys, and they’re good cops.”

“I get it,” Santiago said. “I mean, I wish I could get all the facts too. I don’t like having to write only half the story.”

“And that’s the crazy part – I believe you.” Jake let them both sit with that a moment, and then he cleared his throat, feeling suddenly shy about oversharing. “Usually I just avoid journalists.”

Santiago chuckled. “You haven’t avoided me,”

“No,” Jake said. “Kind of the opposite, right? I guess trust you.”

She flashed a smile at that, then turned thoughtful. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

Jake shrugged, and thought it over. “That first time, I was just pissed about what was happening with that asshole cop who’d killed his ex, and I wanted to tell someone. And you were there.”

Santiago gave a short laugh. “Thanks, that makes me feel so special.”

“But then,” he said, grinning at her, “you wrote that story and it actually worked, and you wrote the next one and that helped too. And I guess I realized – we were kind of on the same side.”

He paused and bit his lip, unsure whether he should say more. He looked off in the distance, at the fountain water sparkling in the sunshine. “I like helping people. And I like doing it with you.”

Jake could feel Santiago staring at him, but when he looked over she ducked her head as she smiled. She was blushing again.

“Title of your sex tape?” she said.

Jake doubled over laughing.

+++

Amy had a literal spring in her step as she jogged down the stairs to the subway to head into the newsroom. She was hardly even surprised when her train happened to arrive just as she got to the platform – it felt like the kind of day for pleasant coincidences – and she smiled to herself as she climbed on with a few other passengers and found an open seat halfway down the car.

Talking with Peralta had been unexpectedly exhilarating. For a moment she’d been taken aback by how attractive she found him – the mess of curly hair, the tech-bro hoodie, the scuffed sneakers, and what looked like a honey-mustard stain on his plaid shirt wouldn’t usually add up to her type. But there was something charming and easy about him, in his smile and his eyes that practically glowed with warmth. She’d blushed more times with him on that bench in 20 minutes than she could recall in all of the previous year. But it had been a good kind of blush, the kind that came from friendly teasing and not embarrassment or shame.

And in between the sex-tape jokes and the laughter at her expense, she’d been genuinely touched by what he’d said about trusting her. Trust was a journalist’s most valuable commodity, and it was something Amy knew had to be earned, more in this day and age than ever before. That she’d earned it from him – someone she’d already decided was smart and decent, whom she trusted too – was wonderful.

He’d even given her another tip, just before they wrapped up their impromptu rendezvous.

“I can’t vouch for this one personally,” he said. “I’m not involved. I’ve just heard some stuff like, third-hand.”

“That’s all right,” Amy said, as she dug through her purse for her pen and notebook. “It’s actually easier for me to ask questions if I don’t have to worry about protecting my source’s identity.”

He flicked up his eyebrows in surprise.

“What?” Amy said. “I mean, I’ll still be careful.”

“No, of course.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I guess I just didn’t realize how much thought you might have to put into protecting me.”

There had been something in his tone of voice, almost timid, that made him seem suddenly vulnerable. It had sent a jolt of what Amy could only describe as affection straight to her gut.

On the subway, Amy pulled out her notebook and read over the notes she’d jotted down from Peralta. He was right, his information was more rumor than fact, and it would take a lot of digging to prove it.

What he’d heard was that corrections officers at the Brooklyn Detention Center were sometimes covertly recording confidential conversations between inmates and their lawyers, then sharing those recording with the district attorney’s office. If it was true, that was a major civil rights violation.

The city’s jails were overseen by the Department of Correction, not the NYPD, but Peralta said that aside from being appalled by the abuse of prisoners’ rights, he and other detectives were worried that the correction officers were putting their NYPD cases in jeopardy.

Amy took some more notes as the subway rumbled through the tunnels, writing a list of questions she’d need to ask and sources she’d need to contact. This story would take some major reporting, which meant she was going to have to ask Terry for permission to step back from her daily crime-writing duties. She flipped a page in her notebook and started crafting a memo for him, detailing why the story was important and what she’d need to report and write it.

By the time she got to the newsroom, Amy was feeling pumped. She stopped by Terry’s desk before she even went to her own and told him she had a big story and would send him details right away. She’d emailed her memo by noon.

“Charles,” she said, picking up her purse and marching over to his desk. “I’m feeling brave today. Let’s get lunch – you choose.”

+++

Amy’s good mood lasted through lunch; she hadn’t actually thrown up from the sheep-muzzle soup, after all.

But she was instantly wary when she saw who was waiting at her desk when she returned. Gina sat slouched in Amy’s own chair, flipping through the notebook that Amy hadn’t realized she’d left on her desk. Amy took a moment to berate herself for leaving the newsroom without a notebook, then braced herself for Gina.

“What’s up?” Amy said, trying to play it casual.

“I hear you’ve got a big story.”

“Maybe. Holt hasn’t signed off on it.” Amy stared down at Gina, who just smirked back up at her. “Can I have my desk back now?”

“Is this another one from your little tipster? You’re getting a reputation, you know.” Gina snapped shut Amy’s notebook but made no move to get up.

Something in Gina’s tone made Amy’s hackles rise, and she planted her hands on her hips and said, “What do you mean by ‘reputation’?”

Gina just smirked some more. Amy could feel the anger pooling in her stomach and she was gearing up to lay into her about how entirely unprofessional, unacceptable and just plain mean it was to accuse a reporter of exchanging sexual favors for information when Gina burst out laughing.

“Girl, I’m kidding,” she said, and tossed Amy’s notebook on her desk.

“You- what?”

“Look, honestly, I’m pretty impressed you’ve developed such a good source so fast. It took me twice as long to get my first and I’m at least four times as attractive as you.” Amy just gaped at her as Gina stood up and gave her a little punch in the shoulder. “Seriously, if you need any help working this one, let me know. I’ve got some contacts at Brooklyn Detention. Most of the guards hate me but the ones who like me love me.”

“Er, thanks,” Amy said. “I mean, I still don’t know if Holt’s going to-”

“Oh, he will.”

And as if on cue, Holt called out from his office, “Santiago. Jeffords.”

Gina winked and sashayed back to her desk. Amy stood staring after her, mind reeling from the Linetti roller coaster, until Terry walked up and took her by the elbow.

“C’mon,” he said, “our captain calls.”

“Right,” Amy said, shaking her head. She grabbed her notebook and a pen, and followed Terry.

Holt hadn’t actually been with the Bulletin for much longer than Amy, and his office was largely bare of the personal knick-knacks and ethically acceptable gifts that most journalists seemed to hoard – though whether that was because he was still new or he just wasn’t the type to collect stuff, Amy couldn’t have said. She and Terry took seats opposite Holt’s desk, and he folded his hands over what Amy assumed was a printout of her memo. She was surprised he’d not only read it already, but was ready to discuss it with her.

Holt tapped a finger on the top page. “These are some serious allegations.” 

“Yes, they are,” Terry said. Amy forced herself not to fidget.

“And you don’t have much proof of anything, is that correct?” He was looking right at Amy, so she nodded.

“No, sir,” she said. “Not yet.”

“Proving this is going to take some extensive reporting – public records requests, interviews with inmates. You’re going to need someone with actual information to go on the record,” Holt said.

“Yes.” Amy nodded again. “Um, Gina, she said she might have some contacts for me. And I know a couple people in the public defender’s office.”

Holt studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to bounce a leg or wring her hands. Amy understood why he was hesitating – to get this story, she’d have to take a break from her regular police beat, which would put pressure on the rest of the staff to cover for her. Stories like this one were an investment of time and people and, therefore, money, and a newspaper like the Bulletin didn’t have much of any of that.

And on top of that, Amy was a rookie. She hadn’t even been a journalist for more than a few months, and this would be her first big investigation. A few big scoops in recent weeks were marks in her favor, but she knew she hadn’t proven herself yet, not really.

“Your source on this, you trust him? Or her?” Holt said.

Amy nodded at once. “I do.”

“Very well,” Holt said. “You have three weeks.”

Amy clenched her jaw to keep from screaming with joy, and nodded her head in quiet acknowledgement. Outside Holt’s office, Terry gave her a high-five.

“Pressure’s on now, Santiago.”

Amy’s stomach was already in knots and her pits were starting to sweat, but she said, seriously, “Pressure’s what I eat for breakfast.”

She ignored Gina’s snicker and the paper airplane that hit the back of her head.

CHAPTER 4