#i don’t think he owns any jeans. he might have a suit somewhere for weddings and funerals

[dandelion-wings]

For the Sara-in-Mondstadt AU:

Mondstadt doesn’t do marriages, at least not like other nations. It’s far more a free love type of place than any other nation—a direct result of being the City of Freedom. Marriage actually doesn’t legally exist in Mondstadt. “Married” is just a relationship status, like “dating” or the famous “it’s complicated”. If a couple (or more, Mondstadt doesn’t get too caught up on concepts like monogamy either) says they’re married, that’s that, and they can break it off just as easily. It hasn’t been a legal concept since the years under the nobility, and was discarded as a legal concept alongside the nobility. No paperwork, no marriage contract, no super fancy weddings—nothing. Just ‘You wanna be my wife? Ok, then I guess you’re my wife now’ and that’s that. The only people that really care more than that nowadays are the remnants of the Lawrence clan. Married couples don’t even bother changing their names—Frederick and Seamus didn’t, for instance, and it’s why the sisters had different last names even before their parents separated.

Which then makes things interesting when foreign diplomats keep trying to offer political marriages, not understanding that political marriage just isn’t a thing in Mondstadt. Inazuma has been particularly obstinate—with other nations, they only have to be told off once or twice, and then it doesn’t become a problem again until they forget after a generation or two. With Inazuma, though, Jean’s pretty sure the actual diplomats get the message. The problem is that whoever’s in charge of them back on Inazuma itself is about as reasonable as a brick wall and refuses to accept that other nations might have different political cultures from Inazuma, and is too far away for Jean to give them a talking to personally (seriously, he’s shit at his job, probably some rich nobleman’s son given that position so he couldn’t fuck up anything that was more important).

So Sara ends up getting offered to Jean anyways, even though the actual in-person diplomats are only doing so out of obligation before they try sending her somewhere else that actually does do political marriages (like Liyue). But Jean reads between the lines and realizes they’re just trying to get Sara out of the country so she doesn’t get caught up in a purge, and she accepts even though it won’t actually be the diplomatic victory the guy in charge of foreign relations back in Inazuma thinks it will.

Maybe some extra Sara angst results as she deprecates herself for being ‘not even good enough for a real political marriage’ or something similar to that once she realizes the marriage isn’t actually going to get Inazuma a useful ally like the foreign relations guy at home told her it would?

Anon, I really love that headcanon about marriages! It's very suited to Mondstadt, and fun to think about. :> It's definitely one that works well for some of my poly concepts!

Unfortunately it doesn't work for me with this particular AU, because part of this one's appeal for me is the same as all my other arranged-marriage/marriage-of-convenience AUs (of which I have many, even if I have actually managed to write and post few). It's the concept of two people being legally tied together due to circumstances they might not necessarily have chosen on their own, and the ways that they negotiate that. Part of which for this one is Jean and Sara deciding what their marriage looks like for themselves, and another part of which is also Jean and Lisa dealing with having their own relationship disrupted. With the setup you're proposing, those things go away....

(I am definitely nabbing 'Jean reads between the lines and realizes they’re just trying to get Sara out of the country' as a partial rationale for why she does accept, though, because admittedly I'd been struggling with making the political/trade reasons work on their own.)

[fingertipsmp3]

Having an immediate family who never really do anything toxic or dramatic is really funny because the smallest thing can cause dissent since they’re not really used to conflict

[gryffindors-weasley]

For The Very First Time

Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Sirius Black just might be more sentimental than you think when he takes you on a trip down memory lane.

Prompt used: “Sorry how do you spell that?”

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: mild angst, smoking, fluff, kissing

A/N: This is for @sweeterthansammy ’s 1k writing challenge! I hope you enjoy. Flash backs are italicized, and the prompt I used is bolded!

The weather was a little bit chillier now that the sun was dipping down in the sky, chilly enough for a sweater or a light jacket. Something you didn’t have much time to think about with the spontaneity of Sirius’ plans and just how urgent he’d been making them out to be. Really, there was no rush and he knew that, of course he knew that, but he was far too eager for his own good and you knew that.

You were certain he’d under dressed when you found him standing by the front door, leaning against the frame in that tattered old jean jacket. The one there’s no chance in him getting rid of, not in a million years. It’s got a myriad of holes here and there in the faded, washed out denim, the cuffs having seen better days as the frayed material dangles down half torn. A miscellaneous pin from James is still on there, even that bright yellow smiley face is stuck on the collar that you’d put there ages ago. It was more than a well worn article of clothing, that much was for sure.

You managed to break away from James and Lily’s conversation, more so Lily, and any other time you wouldn’t have minded a single bit. You absolutely wouldn’t have, but with Sirius calling you from the floor below in the small Potter home, you find yourself having no choice but to give in to saving the conversation for later in favor of quieting the raven haired wizard.

You walk down the stairs until equally tattered converse come into view, then those same old black denim jeans, the those frayed jean jacket cuffs. You smell the distinct smell, something that’d only further been confirmed as you reach the very last step.

“Either I’m a fool, or time just stopped,” he says, flicking the ashes from his cigarette as he smiled down at you.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, the kind of smile he knows isn’t a hundred percent sweet.

“I think you’re just a fool, Pads,” you say, that smile widening a fraction. There it is. He walked right into that one and he knew it, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t think Mr. Potter would approve of you smoking in his beloved family home.”

“Which is exactly why I’m standing outside,” he grins before bringing the cigarette back to his lips, throwing his hands up as he takes one step backwards through the threshold of the doorway just so he can officially say that he is in fact outside and not at all breaking the rules of the residence.

Sirius Black liked to bend the rules when he could, he liked to walk on the wild side just about every chance he got no matter how trivial it may be. He claims it’s the only way to be, claims that’s what having fun is all about and anything less is boring. Nonchalance is simply in his nature.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” you counter, hopping off the very last step when he tugged on your hand to urge you out the door.

He pulled the door shut behind him and stopped you in your tracks, making you turn on your heel before you could take another step forward. You look up at him with a narrowed gaze and await an explanation as to just why it is he’s gone and stopped you when all he’s done the past ten minutes is tell you how desperately he’d wanted to go. So you stand and your stare and you watch as smoke blows past parted lips, lips that quirk upwards in a smile as he looks at you.

In that moment, he dips down, pressing his lips on yours in a kiss that’s as smoky as ever and the gesture alone has your smile pressing into his kiss. A smile that’s genuine just as much as it’s teasing.

“I thought we had somewhere to be?” You say, breaking away as you look up at him with a raised brow.

“We do,” he says, taking another puff before you snag the cigarette right from between his fingers, dropping it to the little stone walkway before putting it out beneath your boot.

You take notice of his pursed lips that fight a smile, at the squinted gaze he’s got set on you as you spin on your heel and walk ahead, leaving him to stand there and stare after you for a fleeting moment or two. You’ve got all the amusement in the world sitting on your expression and he doesn’t even need to see it to know it, he can tell just by simply hearing the laugh fall from your lips. He can see it as he catches up to you within a second’s time.

“How very rude of you,” he says in faux offense, but it’s not too long before you feel the tips of his fingers brushing against yours.

“How very generous of me,” you counter, and his scoff doesn’t go unheard.

The next time you look up at him, he’s got those sunshine yellow shades on, those obnoxiously yellow sunglasses that sit on his nose seemingly more often than not. James had gotten them for him at the town fair just a few years back, a gift just for laughs that he’d gotten with the rest of his tickets. They were bright and they were bold and very much fitting for the year nineteen-eighty-one, but he’d gone and kept them. Of course he did.

Sirius Black kept every single thing his friends have ever given him no matter how ridiculous or trivial it may have seemed. Even when he was just a child still stuck in his dreaded family home, he’d saved a shoe box from a pair of dress shoes he absolutely hated wearing, one pair of dozens that inevitably got scuffed up just a little too much for the liking of his parents before they’d gone and bought him a new pair to look more presentable for the family image. Aside from that, he’d kept a shoe box, one that he had tucked under his bed.

Inside were all the letters that James and Remus had sent him by owl over summer break, each and every letter even if it was simply James complaining about some nonsensical thing or a joke or if it was Remus writing to see if he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter yet. He kept all of them. He kept the four leaf clover James had stumbled upon, and he kept that special quill Remus had swiped from Snape. He never knew his best friend had a knack for being mischievous until that moment.

He’d read those letters on his best nights and his worst, read them just for so. They were tattered and worn at the creases where they were folded, but he didn’t plan on getting rid of them any time soon.

Over the years that sentimental collection grew and grew, adding to it a myriad of pressed flowers and leaves from Lily, and bookmarks from Remus, postcards from James that were the absolute most ridiculous he could find. You added to it with miscellaneous letters and a guitar pick you thought he might like. He never used it, he didn’t want to ruin it. He kept that feather boa you’d found and even that lucky coin. He kept it all.

Sirius Black was more sentimental than he let on, he’s got a softer heart than he showcased to most, he kept every one of those things no matter how stupid or trivial it may seem to someone else. But he’d never in a million years admit it. James had found it once, but he never said a word about it.

“You never did tell me where we’re going,” you say, kicking a pebble out of your way as you walked along the cracked sidewalk.

“I believe that’s the point of a surprise, love,” he says, and you catch his smile as you look up at him, lips pursed as you nudge him with your elbow.

“You’re terrible at surprises,” you tease, your smile in your voice and had he not been wearing those sunglasses at sunset, you’d have been able to see his eye roll. But you knew him well enough to know he’d gone and done it regardless of the visual confirmation.

“Have I ever told you you’re a pain?” He asked, his chuckle following his words as he grins ahead, glancing down at you briefly.

“Yes, and I take that as a compliment,” you say, hearing his continued laughter as he shakes his head.

You try and put the pieces together, try and pick up any hints to put together any form of information that just might lead you in the direction of where you could possibly be going. It was in town, that you knew for certain. It was somewhere, local otherwise he’d have taken Mr. Potter’s car. The attire was no use in a giveaway because there was not a single chance there’d be an occasion where you’d find Sirius taking you somewhere in which you’d need to dress to the nines. The days of pristine suits and freshly polished shoes were far behind him, he hated dressing up with everything that he had.

He didn’t even dress up above and beyond for James and Lily’s wedding; well, he did, but he dressed down his suit with a half loosened tie that wound up being a headband and that tattered pair of converse. And he even wore those same old yellow sunglasses.

It was early evening, and things don’t tend to stay open for that much longer, so that narrows things down just a little bit more. Makes things just a little bit clearer, but it all proved to be not as helpful as you’d like it to be.

The small town was dotted with street lamps casting the area in a warm glow as it began to get darker and darker outside. The surrounding trees held reddening leaves that dropped and fluttered to the ground when the breeze sifted through them. And it’s only then that it hits you, the smell of coffee and spice that wafts through the air the closer you get. The sweetened air the closer you got. You even heard that familiar little clang of the bell over the door.

It wasn’t until then that you’d realized that maybe this was his surprise, that it absolutely was judging by the way he’d been biting the inside of his cheek to stifle his grin.

“Sirius Black, is this what I think it is?” You ask, your brow raised as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

Your question is answered when that smile breaks through, when you do indeed stop in front of the door to that ever familiar coffee shop and he holds the door open for you to step inside. It’s noticeably warmer than the chilly weather outside, cozier than ever as the smell of coffee washes over you. It looked just the same as when you were here last, felt just as inviting as it always did.

There were a few carved pumpkins sitting outside the door, an assortment of fall decorations littering inside the small shop. Each of the little wooden tables have cozy orange table cloths, and string lights are hung. The entirety of the shop smelled like fall festive drinks and what was left of the pumpkin rolls and muffins, not to mention the sweeter than sweet scented candles that were lit.

He tugged on your hand as he stepped up to the counter.

“Can I get a black coffee with two creams and a hot chocolate?” He asks, dropping your hand to dig around for his wallet in the pocket of his jacket.

That was another thing, Mr. Potter had gifted him that very same wallet a handful of years ago. It was a hand-me-down, but that was the least of his concerns when he was given the leather wallet. He didn’t care about the scratches or worn corners. That was the first real gift he’d ever gotten that had true thoughtfulness behind it.

He remembered your order like the back of his hand, and he’d gotten the same thing every single time.

The drinks were ready in no time and he put some money on the counter with a little extra for a tip, handing you yours as he headed towards that ever familiar table tucked away in the corner by the window.

He ran his hand through his hair, sitting those sunglasses back on the top of his head once more to push his hair out of his face. Your smile was fond as you looked at him, a stubborn chunk of black hair dipping over his forehead and brushing against the tip of his nose anyway.

“Remember this place, love?” He asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“As if I’d ever forget,” you say, a laugh leaving your lips.

Of course you did, it was hard to forget the one and only place you’d met Sirius black in a few years back.

It was a hectic afternoon, customer after customer flooding into the coffee shop especially now that the fall season was sweeping in at last. Things were always busy around this time of year, things were always busy around this time of day, so you’d come to expect the rush hour by now after all this time you’ve worked there.

Things were fairly simple once you got the hang of it, once you were able to do things with a practiced ease and it made the line of customers a little bit easier to move along. Most of them you knew by name, most of them you knew their orders because they never failed to get the very same thing each and every day that they came in. Some of them came in every day, some of them came in every week, some of them even had a select day of the week that they stopped in for their usual order.

It was one of the things you liked about working there. The regular customers were friendly as ever and made the workload a little easier given the prior knowledge of just what they get and how they like it, and it makes the time fly just a little bit faster.

The day hadn’t been your finest, you’d gone and spilled half a cup of hot chocolate on your apron, one you didn’t have the time to swap out and you’re quite sure you’d still had a smear of flour on your face from catching up on baking that morning before opening time. But that clumsiness was only in your nature and it was everything you expected from yourself.

“Y/n, can you cover up front? There’s someone waiting.”

That clumsiness only heightened at the sight of a new face, one you don’t believe you’ve seen frequent the shop before. He’s got a mess of black hair he keeps tucking behind his ear, yellow sunglasses dangling from the collar of a Queen t-shirt as his gaze focuses out of the window to his left. He’s got a pack of cigarettes tucked in the front pocket of his jean jacket and pin on the other.

You quit your staring, you quit while you were ahead as you smoothed your coffee stained apron.

“What can I get for you today?” You ask, capturing his attention as he looks at you.

You swallow thickly as your gaze meets gray eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You take notice of the dimple in his chin and the strands of dark hair that dip down over his forehead as he leans against the counter.

“Just a black coffee with two creams, please,” he says.

“Your name?”

“Sirius.”

You nod with a smile as you snag a cup and the marker from your pocket, turning on your heel to head towards the coffee as you uncapped your marker before you very quickly made that realization and spun back around. In the process, you nearly tripped over your own two feet and you can feel the heat blossoming in your cheeks.

“Sorry, how do you spell that?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

You hear the softness of chuckle as he looks at you, surprisingly not out of mocking even with the way you just made a fool of yourself in front of him. He spelled it out for you with a smile, and you turned away without tripping this time. You made his drink just how he’d asked, your heart racing in your chest the entirety of the two minutes it took to make it as you thought about his smile.

You tried your best to stall, to steal a little bit more time before you had to go back to the counter to face him once more. To give yourself a little more time to let the heat in your cheeks cool off.

You pressed on the lid to his cup and took a breath, turning around and heading back to the counter where he stood leaning against it still.

“One coffee with two creams for Sirius,” you say, setting the to-go cup on the counter as he dug around his pocket for some money.

He counted it out in his palm as his hair fell in his eyes, quickly brushed away as he ran his hand through his hair and set the money down in exchange for his drink, and a little extra for a tip.

You notice the way his gaze lingers on you for a little bit longer, you notice it as the seconds pass and your heart races. It lingers on you and you can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up as he does, spinning the cup in his hand out of an absentminded habit as his gray gaze finally meets yours.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, pointing to his own cheek as a signal for your own face.

Your hand shoots up immediately to swipe across your cheek, the heat in your face flooding back once more as you swipe your fingers across your skin, pulling back to see that dreaded flour on your face that you knew was bound to be there from that morning.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say with a laugh and a smile, his following soon after as he nods.

There’s a sort of tension that simmers as you meet his gaze once more, as it bounces to his smile and you’re not quite sure if time actually stopped or if this is some cliche moving moment happening to you in the middle of your shift, or neither and you’re just being ridiculous. That, it’s probably that one.

Either way, you find yourself interrupted by the ding of the bell to your side on the counter from a customer growing impatient, a call of your name sounding over your shoulder just behind you. It all brings you back to reality.

“Have a nice day, Sirius,” you say, watching as he nods.

“I’ll see you around.”

With that, he offers you that same smile that had your mind on it for a ridiculous amount of time, that smile that made your heart race, and he turned away and headed out that door with a little ding of the bell over the door. He headed down the sidewalk as he snagged a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it before he disappeared around the corner.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Sirius asks, grabbing your attention as he gazes at you over the rim of his cup, gray eyes full of amusement.

“About what?” You ask, playing into it with a half smile even though you know you’re bound to be met with a tease.

“That time you tripped over your own two feet. I mean, do I really have that effect on people, love?” He jest, feeling you kick his foot just under the table.

There it is.

“Must you be so cocky, Pads?” You ask, your gaze glimmering with amusement as you purse your lips.

“I’m afraid I must,” he says.

You roll your eyes as you sip on your drink, eyeing the smile forming on his lips. “What?”

He chuckles as he shakes his head, his gaze dropping down as he swirls his drink in his hands and bites the inside of his cheek. His stare is more amused than ever as he looks at you again, that same lingering gaze set on you in the very same way it had been all those years ago and you knew it couldn’t have meant anything good. If it was anything like that very first time, you were bound to feel your cheeks grow hot even though you’ve known the troublemaker for years.

He doesn’t say anything at first, quiet as he lifts his hand and swipes it across the top of your lip and all the way to the corner of your mouth. He’s just as amused as he wipes away some hot chocolate that’s been left behind from your sip, his chuckle immediate.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, and you hear that teasing tone in his voice that he’s always got, that mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I truly think it’s you that’s the pain,” you huff, biting back your smile.

He chuckles. “‘S that so?”

You nod as you smile at him. “Very much so.”

He bites his lip momentarily as he looks at you, that pesky chunk of his hair falling back down in his face. “I take that as a compliment.”

He used your earlier words, of course he did, that’s just how Sirius Black is. Taunting and teasing in the most lighthearted of ways and that’s something that’s always been so, that’s something that always will be so forever and ever.

He’s got the tip of the arm of his sunglasses between his teeth, having given up on using them to hold back his hair as he looks around the little coffee shop where it all began, as he looks out the window at passers by, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he feels your gaze on him. It widens a fraction as he feels you get up, feels you swing around the edge of the table to take a seat in the booth bench next to him rather than sit across from him.

You’re quiet for a few moments as you rest your head on his shoulder. The foot traffic in the shop was dwindling as it neared closing time, growing less and less busy until it was starting to become just the two of you there. But you weren’t so focused on the details, not when you’ve been in your own little world with the one stealing your attention right next to you as you sat in your usual booth in the corner.

This was it, this was where it all began, this was where you’d met the chaos that is Sirius Black. The chaos that’s brought nothing but good into your life, nothing but a thrilling excitement that only he could bring.

You lift your head and look up at him, his gaze falling on you within a moment’s time. You see that smile, that smile that makes your heart race a mile a minute. You see it and you mirror it as you look at him. It’s only a matter of seconds before you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet and tasting of hot chocolate and coffee and a little bit of that smoke that never quite left his lips.

You kiss him before you wrap your hands around your cup, feeling his eyes on you. You take a sip as you stifle your smile, the arm of his glasses between his teeth once more as that smile he’s got remains as you look at him. You smile when you look away, head shaking as you nudge his foot with yours.

This is where it all began a handful of years ago. This is where you met Sirius Black for the very first time.

—

Tags: @nancybycrs @pogueslandia @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @writeroutoftime @awritingtree @lilypad-55449 @medalloway-blog @vicouscirce @mon4907 @violetrainbow412-blog

[marvels-writings]

Dreams

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Requested by: hi! i love your imagines and i was wondering if you could do a natasha or carol imagine where the reader is their wife and is pregnant but hasn't told them yet, the rest of the team don't know about the reader so when the reader arrives at the tower the avengers attack her but because the reader was an agent as well she fought well and was winning when nat or carol come down and tell everyone to stop, the reader than asks if this is a good time to tell her that she is pregnant thanks! <3

Word Count: 1.5k (fluffy)

A/N: Y’all i finally got inspiration back, updates will still be a tiny bit slow, but I think you’ll like this fic

The test lay upside down on the sink, the timer on your phone next to it; ticking off every second that went by. You paced around the bathroom, from one side to the other. You bit your fingernails, an awful habit you meant to put a stop to. But found it hard to at this moment.

This was your third, no, the fourth try. Every failure brought you closer to giving up on this golden dream you'd crafted with Natasha. This idea that you might have children of your own to raise in a large house in the suburbs. To be domestic and at peace with your life.

That chance seemed further with every test.

You jumped as the timer buzzed loudly on the side of the sink. Hurriedly, you switched it off and turned the test over. Your eyes widened as you dropped the device on the ground. It clattered dully as a grin covered your face at the result.

Two lines.

You were pregnant.

Grinning, you grabbed the test to rush out to show it to your wife. You stopped quickly, remembering she was at the Avengers compound. Instead, you picked up your phone, texting her a picture of the test, and trying to call her. No answer.

She needed to know, even if that meant you had to go down to the compound yourself and tell her. You knew she was adamant about keeping you away from her work life, not wanting to involve you in a work that seemed to bring the horrors of her past with the threats of the future. You didn't blame her for wanting to keep you away, even though it was hard not meeting the people she risked her life for.

Debating it in your head, you eventually decided to go tell her. You quickly grabbed your coat, and at Natasha's common insistence, a knife in your jean waistband. The knife would probably be a bad idea in a few months, but you'd rather not be caught without it, for now at least.

Trying to call her one last time, you rushed into your car and began the drive there. The apartment wasn't too far from the compound, not too far from where you worked either. You'd wanted somewhere that both of you could go to work easily from, Natasha had wanted someplace where she could get to you faster.

It worked, but you needed to find a bigger house soon. Maybe somewhere near a lake, or some scenery, so you could go hiking or swimming with them. You could teach them how to swim for the first time, Natasha could teach them all the stars in the sky and the stories behind them.

So many dreams, you wanted them all now that you had the chance.

A bright grin was on your face the whole ride t the compound, barely fading as you walked into the compound. The receptionist greeted you with a supportive nod, knowing you were a SHIELD agent. You flashed them a bright smile as you made your way towards the living areas.

Surprise filled you when you didn't see anyone from the team around, walking through till the common room until you finally saw someone. He wore an army green t-shirt with jeans, casual as he walked around. You greeted him with a smile, about to move past him to find Natasha. He had other plans though, frowning before slamming his hand on the alarm beside him.

"Sam, right?" You asked, stepping back as the sound of the blaring alarms filled the air. He stepped away from you, taking a fighting stance, assuming you were a threat. You laughed at that, the mere idea you would come to attack the home of the country's heroes.

"How do you know my name?" He asked defensively as the other members of the team began to trail into the common room at the commotion. You groaned when you realized they all thought you were planning to hurt them.

Not given a chance to answer his question, you stepped aside to dodge a shield you already knew was coming your way. The move surprised them, Sam quickly moved forwards to attack you, kicking near your head. You batted his leg away from you, throwing him off balance before picking up the shield to throw it back at Steve.

Only half the team was here, Sam, Bucky, Steve, and Tony. All of them equally surprised and apprehensive of your arrival. None gave you the chance to talk as they began to attack, thinking you were hostile. Steve grabbed the shield again to throw it at you, surprised when you dodged it and kicked it towards Bucky.

Out of breath, you panted a little while you waited for them to catch their balance. All the while there was a small smile on your face, imagining their reaction once they found out who you are, especially why you're here. For now, you needed to focus on the suit Tony had summoned into the living room.

"I'm not who you think I am." You breathed, ducking a punch sam tried to send your way, throwing him off balance with a kick to his side. He flinched back, pausing at your words. The rest of them stopped with him, waiting for some answer.

"Who are you?" Steve asked, his shield set firmly in front of him. You opened your mouth to answer, closing it when you realized hardly any of them would believe you. Instead, you chose to show them the wedding ring on your finger. You were ready to provide an explanation when someone spoke from behind you.

"She's my wife."

A grin formed on your face as Natasha came to hug you from behind. You didn't need to turn around to know it was her, merely tilting your face so you could kiss her cheek. Her hand interlaced with yours, her wedding ring matching yours for proof you were sure they didn't need.

Her grip around you tightened as they lowered their guard, greeting you and apologizing for trying to fight you. Her hand was placed firmly on your back as you talked them, wanting to keep you for herself. It was a bit selfish of her not to introduce you to them, wishing to keep you away from this life as much as she could.

Now she could see it wasn't her decision as you proudly showed off your ring, laughing at the stories they told you. Your smile was so bright as you introduced yourself as her wife to everyone who came into the room. She nodded at the surprised glance they sent her, smiling along with you.

It was no secret to you that she had been scared to introduce you to them. Natasha knew that they could never scare you off, nor take you away from her. Not even the heavens could divide her from you. She feared that you might not want to be with her anymore. Maybe you might leave after seeing in person the kind of life she leads.

Now, she knew you won't.

Not when your hand squeezed hers tightly, not when you sent her smile after smile, joy clouding your eyes. Not when you eagerly told them stories about your relationship, proud to be hers. You couldn't leave her, not when you loved her the way you do.

"So why now?" Tony asked, curious as he chewed absently on a toothpick. You grinned brightly, turning to Natasha, hesitance clouding your features quickly. She gave you a supportive nod, hoping you would explain your unexpected, but welcome appearance.

"Is now a good time to tell you?" You asked, nodding towards your stomach, hoping she would get the idea. You knew she didn't by the way she tilted her head to the side curiously. Biting your lip tightly, you weren't sure if she would be okay with telling the rest of the team.

She's spent years hiding you, you didn't know if she wanted to hide the new arrival to your family.

Still biting your lip, you tugged her arm closer to you. Getting the hint, she leaned her ear closer to you so you could whisper. The entire team leaning closer, straining to hear the reasons you had to share.

"I'm pregnant," You whispered, her hand freezing in yours, her eyes widening as her she turned around to meet your eyes. Her eyes held so much doubt, looking up at you as if you held the world in your hands, ready to take it away at any second.

But you nodded, ready to give her the world she deserved.

She had never looked happier as she hugged you tightly, tears pooling in her eyes, her breath hitching as you laughed. Her dreams were so much closer, all because of you. Never had she even dared to think her dreams of a family might become true.

Now, as she told her chosen family excitedly about the expected new arrival, she wouldn't want anything else. She wouldn't need anything more than you by her side and the dreams you'd made together. The dream which would have remained hidden if it had not been for you.

A/N: Tell me what you think!! Comments, reblogs and ask are amazing!!

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[saturnsummer]

the fairytale she never had (will you believe again?)

when sol is invited to a wedding, sol doesn’t think her best friend would follow her. 

aka: solhwi attending a wedding

notes: it just struck me one day, and i really wanted them to see each other outside of the law school moments! while law school defines them, they are certainly people with social activities.

 i adapted this from a similar prompt i saw from a fic many years ago for a separate fandom, and i always wanted to write something similar. this was honestly not met to be multi-part, but i write too much anyways. so multi-part it will be.

 also, it might sound depressing in the initial part where sol is talking about the wedding invitation, but it gets explained later on. 

as always, enjoy! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4135 words

I: 我愿变成童话里, 你爱的那个天使 (i am willing to be the angel of that fairytale you love)

--title inspired by fairytale (童话) by Michael Wong!--

Sol absolutely hates weddings. 

She hated the big social crowds, the way drunk men in tuxedos staggered around with women in one arm and a drink in another. She found no purpose in dressing in lavish gowns, then eating dinner for the next two hours without even feeling full. 

Sol couldn’t blame anyone but herself for this. She can’t help but remember her mother’s failed marriages. The way her biological father left them in the middle of the night, with all their hard earned savings. The way her stepfather, Byeol’s father, would come home drunk and violent towards her mother. It was a memory she couldn’t erase. More than a decade later, she still wakes up in a cold sweat, worrying for her mother and small Byeol’s life. 

She long ago gave up on the concept of love back then. She wasn’t opposed to anyone dating or talking about it, and she certainly didn’t mind short flings. But marriage? Eternal love? The fairytale that everyone hopes to achieve? Sol threw those ideas out of the window. 

So when Sol received a thick, cream-coloured card and envelope, embossed with rose gold foil and flowers, a pretty silver wax seal and her name written in careful strokes of a calligraphy brush, she was stumped. 

Her friend, Im Jiyoon, was getting married. Jiyoon was a good friend of Sol’s, and they occasionally met up for quick meals. Jiyoon was an accountant and climbing the ranks in her company. They lost contact for a period when Sol was in juvie, but they reconnected when Sol was just starting law school. It was only polite that Jiyoon extended invitations to her high school classmate. 

Sol had mixed feelings. The wedding was on a Friday night, which made things good since she didn’t have to wake up early, fitting her schedule properly. But she had nothing to wear. She could borrow a dress and shoes from Yeseul, but the last time she borrowed a shoe from Yeseul, she almost broke her ankle. And she had so much work to catch up on. Yet, not showing up felt rude of her. 

Jiyoon was nice, don’t get her wrong. She was smart, resourceful and lovely to be with in high school. Sol wanted nothing more than for her high school friend to marry the love of her life. But she hasn't been to such social events in years, and being so focussed on school, the legal clinic and contributing to her family, she found it difficult to understand why she needed to go, besides doing it out of courtesy. 

“What’s that?” A familiar voice pipes from behind, drawing her out of her thoughts. There’s the familiar shuffling of several pairs of feet as Sol turns her attention to the one who spoke. Behind her, was Han Joon Hwi with his bag just being set on the table. The rest of the group was just settling in for another study session.

“Ah, nothing important.” She monotonously says before sliding the card in her files. Joon Hwi’s hands catch the card before she can slide it fully and stop her from hiding it from him, or the rest of the group. The rest draw their attention to the expensive card and Sol only stays silent. 

“A wedding? Your friend’s?” Yeseul asks as she picks the card up with perfectly manicured fingers. Turning and feeling the thick paper between her fingers, Yeseul knew it was no cheap manufactured paper. This was expensive, premium, and each card looked handmade from the brush calligraphy. 

“Yeah. But I don’t think I’m going.” Sol says as Yeseul returns her the card and successfully stores it away in her bag. 

“Why not? Don’t you want to be there?” Joon Hwi asks, cocking his head to the side in utter confusion.

“There isn’t much point, is there? I have school and the legal clinic and things to revise for. And besides, I don't have anything to attend in. I just rather send her a gift and treat her a meal.” Sol simply explains. Everyone bombards her with more questions, but she diverts their attention to her paper and the cases they are reviewing today.

Joon Hwi, however, couldn’t get Sol’s reasoning out of his head. He knew Sol well enough to know how much she values her friends, and that she would be willing to drop everything for a friend. Her loyalty was unmatched. It didn’t make sense that she would be held back by her vanity or school work that caused her to not attend such a joyous occasion. 

When everyone is done reviewing the cases and the session ends, Sol is the only one who has her books and papers still scattered all over the table. She still has to review her notes and catch up on a few lectures before she can officially end her day. Joon Hwi was long done, but he stayed put, bringing out a past report he’s done and glancing through it, hopeful to catch any mistakes. The others have headed back or gone to the cafeteria for a meal. 

“Han Joon Hwi, you don’t have to stay for me, you know?” Sol says, her eyes not once looking up as she stays concentrated highlighting her book with a fluorescent orange highlight. She sticks it in her hair when she’s done, raising her head to meet Joon Hwi’s eyes. Joon Hwi only smiles, letting his eyes crinkle. 

“Why don’t you want to attend the wedding?” Joon Hwi asks, still smiling. Sol scoffs. 

“I already said. I’m too busy-” Sol is cut off by Joon Hwi with his teasing. 

“You sure? I think it’s about the groom, though.” Joon Hwi smiles brightly, earning an irritated series of clicks of her tongue from Sol, clearly successful in being teased.

“None of that sort! Who do you think I am, Han Joon Hwi?” Sol rebuts back, throwing her eraser across to him in annoyance.

 Joon Hwi catches it with a laugh, but doesn’t lose eye contact with Sol. A few moments of silence follow, as she looks at the file with the card. Slowly, she draws the card from her file, holding it carefully between her fingers. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be there. I… it’s my first time going to such a social event in such a long time. And the last time I met Jiyoon was a year ago, back in our 1L.” She says softly, letting her fingers brush her calligraphed name.

“I just… rather not go, you know? Treat her to a nice meal somewhere, maybe a couple drinks. Besides, I’m sure she’s just doing it out of courtesy.” She lets out a light laugh. 

Joon Hwi’s heart softens. He’s witnessed Sol in her different elements. The courtroom, where she’s a powerful woman in command, dressed professionally in a suit and hair in a perfect ponytail. The day-to-day her, where she’s comfortably dressed in jeans and her tanned coat, hair in a bun and post it notes on her jacket. She was always so bold, so confident and so full of fire. It never occurred to him that she would be uncomfortable in social events. She was always the life during dinners, with Bokgi. She laughed loudly, engaged in conversations and seemed so comfortable. He remembers how she would help out the old halmeonis with her neighbourhood on some days when he sent her home, or the times she bought ice creams for Byeol’s classmates. She seemed so extroverted, yet so closed off. Eying her, Joon Hwi reaches out and clasps his hand over hers in an attempt to comfort. 

“I never went to school events, you know? Especially since juvie made me miss it. When I redid my high school year, I didn’t go too. There wasn’t much of a point, since I didn’t have a date or many friends to begin with. If it was Dan, she would have gone, being the popular girl she was back then.” Sol softly says, a small smile ghosting her face.

She remembers the day prom arrived for her school. She was expectant, hoping that the boy she liked would invite her. Or maybe the girls that she occasionally had lunch with will invite her to hang out. But all she got was a stone cold silence the weeks leading up to prom. When everyone buzzed on what they were wearing to prom night, she silently put on her headphones, drilling herself into her science assignments. Of course, she wouldn’t be invited.

She knew the rumours floating in school. How Dan was the perfect one, how she was the failed one. She knew everyone knew she went to juvie. She knows how the boys snicker at her when she walks past them, or how the girls gossip and whisper when she’s eating her lunch. Besides, it didn't help that she was poor. She can’t even afford a dress of her own, let alone go to the event.

Realising what she’s said, Sol quickly draws her hand away along with the card and slots it away in her file. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to blabber on. You must think it’s stupid, I think so too. Anyways, do you have the notes Professor Kim...” Sol quickly apologises and diverts her attention to her notes. But Joon Hwi was no longer listening. He was shattered by how the woman sitting in front of him has never been treated like how she should be treated. It was no secret to Joon Hwi that he cared for his friends, but cared a little more for Sol. He was the one that left post-it notes on her table and pretended he didn't. She was the only one that he would let steal a mouth or two from his ramyeon. He could read her moods just from her eyes. He wonders sometimes, if he sees her more than a friend. 

He won’t hide that she’s beautiful. The way her eyes slant in an elegant fashion, her smooth, slightly tanned skin, and her winning smile that he always found his heart beating faster for. He loves the way she smiles at her extra pickles, the way her eyes light up when she sees Byeol, or the way she argues and practices. The tenacity and desire she has to improve inspires him to work as hard as her. 

This is why when Sol spilled the beans, he couldn't help but feel all sorts of emotions. Anger, towards the people in her school, for not realising such a wonderful student. Anger towards her for degrading herself. Sadness, for her not being able to experience such events. 

As Joon Hwi ended the session with her and returned to his room, he made a promise to Sol. He’s convinced it will work, and he begins planning in his head. 

He will show her the fairytale. 

-----

A week passed. 

Sol had to give a reply in a few days and she has not figured out what to say. The wedding was in a month. She knew Jiyoon would be busy... Sol figures that she should just treat Jiyoon after her honeymoon, knowing how she would be away with her husband as newlyweds later on. 

“Still thinking about the wedding?” Joon Hwi nods at her, her head in her hands. Sol, looking defeated, nods. So much for trying to hide. They were at their pantry area of their dorms, Sol stirring her ramyeon, as Joon Hwi slurps his. It was 3am, and they just finished studying. The next day was a weekend, so it didn’t really matter if they slept late, since they got the privilege of sleeping in.

“What do I tell Jiyoon? I don’t want to sound rude.” Sol mumbles, lazily stirring her soggy noodles.

“Go to the wedding.” Joon Hwi says suddenly, continuously slurping. 

“What?!”

“Sol, how many weddings can you even go to in your life? Are you sure you want to miss this one? Besides, you said you haven’t been to social events. Don’t you want to experience it?” Joon Hwi says, adrenaline building in his voice. 

Sol falls silent. She can’t deny that she wants to experience the feeling of being dolled up, the fun that everyone talks about, and the enjoyment that everyone goes through. And Joon Hwi is right; she wants to celebrate with Jiyoon. But her fear of social events and the past was holding her back. 

Joon Hwi could tell the change in her eyes. He gives a sweet smile, knowing that he said enough to change her mind. 

“Joon Hwi, but what if she doesn’t even-” Sol begins doubting herself as she shoots off her doubts and worries. Joon Hwi calms her down with logical reasons, calming her nerves in between his mouths of ramyeon. 

“But... I’ll be alone there, right?” Sol asks, her voice so soft, Joon Hwi barely picks it up. Her ramyeon is still untouched, and the noodles have gotten soggy and cold. Sol is silent for a moment, as she realises how right she is, for once. It wasn’t like she could ask a date, she doesn’t even have one. And her friends from the study group were out of the question. They don’t even know Jiyoon. Joon Hwi quickly brings up his bowl to his face, hopefully covering it as he feels the heat rising to his face.

“I’ll be your plus-one.”

Sol’s eyes light up and her head rises. Did she hear that right? Han Joon Hwi, her plus-one? 

“Oh, no! No, I didn’t mean it like that! Joon Hwi, no, I can’t-” Sol can’t find the right words to say. He can't? He shouldn’t? He doesn't need to? Sol can’t deduce her own reasonings for this argument. She knows her roommate likes him, and she definitely doesn’t want to be the target of her roommate’s stares if she catches wind of this. Besides, Joon Hwi doesn’t like her. She knows, and she doesn’t want him to get any wrong ideas. He’s her best friend, and confidante. She knows, deep down, his heart is someone else's. 

“I want to.” 

Sol freezes as Joon Hwi finishes drinking his soup. Placing the bowl down, he does as best as he can to lock eyes with Sol seriously, showing her he wasn’t teasing. No, this was out of his sincere heart. He knows how nervous she gets in a new environment, and him being next to her was bound to calm her nerves just a little more.

Sol could see the genuine care and want in his eyes. She knows this isn’t one of his jokes or teases. For a split second, she catches herself thinking if he meant something more. That going as a date, was more than just keeping her company, but for something to develop… 

Her face is flushed red as she looks at her puffed noodles and lukewarm soup. She picks her chopsticks up but is stopped by Joon Hwi’s hand as he shifts the bowl toward him, away from her. 

“Get yourself a fresh one. This is the first meal all day, isn’t it?” Joon Hwi calls her out, covering her noodles. Sol wants to argue for her soggy noodles, but she falls silent knowing how he revealed her secret. She hasn’t eaten all day after running reports and studying. Grumbling, she does as instructed and boils another bowl of ramyeon. When she’s back at the table with a fresh, hot, spicy and red bowl, she dives into it, wondering how she managed to survive the whole day. 

Joon Hwi only gives a small smile looking at the girl slurping her noodles with delight and looking at her. Joon Hwi wasn’t lying. He did want to be her plus-one for the wedding. He knew that more than just being a comfort for Sol, he wanted to make this one day a day she could look back and smile at. That she could be pretty, relaxed and happy instead of stressing over her grades, exams and family. 

“Fine.” Sol says as she continues slurping the spicy noodles. She blesses the spiciness of the noodles, such that she could blame her pink blush on it. Joon Hwi, clearing the cold noodles and getting water for both of them tilts his head in confusion. 

“Come with me to the wedding, if you want to.” She mutters softly, almost shy to let him know. To hide her blush and hide her confusion, she lifts the still hot bowl to her face. She drinks the soup, but chokes on the spiciness. Joon Hwi lets out a light chuckle before passing her a bottle of cold water. Sol looks at him with narrowed eyes of annoyance, but graciously takes the water. 

As he watches Sol eat her first bowl, then a second, as Joon Hwi munches on some crackers, he only smiles and laughs at whatever Sol was complaining about her reports and her frustrations at her cases that she picked. He lets out comforting words, but is rebutted back with Sol saying he will never get it because he’s smart unlike her. 

As he went to bed that night, he only gave a giddy smile, burying his face in his sheets. He scored his point of taking Sol out on a date, and was already counting down. He officially succeeded in the first step of his plan. 

The rest of it required a little bit of help. But he knew who to ask. 

-----

“Yeseul! What is it that you need to wake me up on a weekend? I was up until 4am last night!” Sol grumbles as she places her phone on speaker, rubbing her eyes. It was 8am, way too early for Sol to process any emergencies. Well, if it was Yeseul, she would do it any time. 

“Sorry, unnie. But it’s urgent. Could you meet me in 10 minutes at the lobby?” Yeseul’s bright voice echos. Sol notices her roomie’s bed made, pillows nicely fluffed and sheets tucked in neatly in pure perfection. She isn’t surprised, considering how she gets up early anyways.

“Fine.” Sol says and hangs up, getting a fresh change of clothes and heading to the bathroom to wash up. She throws on a hoodie, grabbing her only tanned ochre coat and grabs her bag, before jogging downstairs to the lobby. There, Yeseul is standing there, with a sling black bag and with one of the many nude heels she has, hair styled to perfection.

“Unnie!” Yeseul waves her hand over. Walking closer, Sol notices two other familiar friends behind as she scoffs. 

“Joonhwi? Bokgi? What are you doing here?” She asks, her hand playing with the strap of her bag unconsciously. She was surprised to see Joonhwi, but even more Bokgi, who usually spends mornings sleeping in. Joonhwi only gives his usual cheeky smile and drags a drowsy Bokgi with him out towards to the main entrance of the school. Dumbfounded, Yeseul takes this moment to link her arm with Sol’s as she leads her out and catch Sol up to their agenda today. 

“What?! You’re bringing me where?” Sol exclaims, her voice echoing throughout the lobby. Yeseul shushes her as she drags a shocked Sol out of school. Yeseul didn't need the whole school to know where Sol was going. 

“Unnie, please? You need a dress for the wedding, and don’t think you are going to go in one of mine or your old ones! Besides, you promised to go shopping with me one day, right?” Yeseul defends herself as Sol sighs. 

Yeseul wasn’t wrong. The wedding was just a week away and she had absolutely nothing to wear. She owned a couple pairs of flats, but they were so old, it would be embarrassing to attend with those. And her dresses were either too big or too small. She was so caught up with school after submitting her reply to Jiyoon, that she would have forgotten about the wedding if it wasn’t for the post-it on her bedside wall. 

“But...but...” Sol couldn’t find any reasons to counter. She knew Yeseul was right. Besides, it’s a weekend. And they had no upcoming tests or projects, so there was no harm in doing something besides studying in the copy room. She nods, defeated, earning a smile from Yeseul. 

“Wait, then why is Joonhwi and- Who’s car is that?!” Sol’s thoughts are cut off when she sees a familiar black sedan waiting by the entrance as Sol and Yeseul just exit. In the car, she manages to see a Joonhwi in the driver’s seat and Bokgi riding shotgun. 

“Yah! Han Joon Hwi! Isn’t this my roomie’s car?” She shouts as she strides a couple of steps when Joonhwi rolls the window down. 

“She loaned me the car for today. Don’t want you carrying so many things back from shopping today.” He replies curtly. Bokgi opens his passenger side door on the right.

“Bokgi-”

“Noona, sit in front. I’m too tired to watch Joonhwi-hyung drive.” Bokgi mutters before he climbs into the backseat with Yeseul. Sol wordlessly settles into the seat next to Joonhwi, who only looks at her with a smile. Sol catches his odd looks and pauses.

“What?”

“Ready for shopping?” He has his cheeky smile on again. Sol glares in annoyance before turning behind to Yeseul. 

“Did you make him drive?” Yeseul shakes her head and spills out her defensive explanation.

“Oppa called me up yesterday! He just said he needed my help to accompany you shopping for a dress!”

“Then, why is Bokgi here? Trying on dresses too?”

“Noona! I’m listening!” Joonhwi only laughs and shakes his head.

“He’s just accompanying me.” Joonhwi says as he begins to drive off. 

Well, Joonhwi wasn't lying. He waited till their quizzes and projects were over before executing this. He knew Sol was busy, and had waited for the busy season to pass before calling Yeseul. He explained that he knew Sol would not go shop for a dress, and he needs her help to accompany him and her. She willingly, too willingly, agreed. 

Next, he asked Sol B if he could borrow her car, knowing how Sol was not going to go home with just one dress and one pair of shoes when Yeseul was involved. Sol B was skeptical, but just passed the keys over to him. Besides, she was going to be in school studying all day; she didn’t need the car. Bokgi joined in, as Joonhwi couldn’t spend hours on end waiting for the ladies to shop. On further thought, Bokgi just might help him out with something. 

“I could go myself with Yeseul. You didn’t have to wake up for this.” Sol mutters just loud enough for him to hear, fiddling with her fingers. Joonhwi returns with a light scoff.

“As if you’ll do it.” Sol glares at him from the side and is ready to punch him, but retracts her hand, knowing she might literally kill everyone in the car. The ride from the school to the bustling heart of Seoul is a rough twenty minute ride. Bokgi takes this time to catch a wink and Sol does the same, but she can't seem to do it. 

Something about Joonhwi bringing her out to buy a dress specially made her heart flutter a bit more than usual. She knew that Joonhwi cared for her. The ways that he left rolls of gimbaps and energy drinks as opposed to coffee on her table during her tough days. The moments when he would offer his jacket as a pillow wordlessly when she wanted to rest her head after hours of studying. The unspoken synchronisation between them was just a showing of how they understood each other inside and out. 

Sol thought nothing of it. She knew him as long as she stepped into school when he saved her from Professor Yang. They spent almost everyday studying, having classes and eating together. After all, they are best friends, and don’t best friends do this? They look out for each other, right?

He is going to be my plus-one at Jiyoon’s wedding. He’s taking me to shop for a dress. 

Sol wonders, truly for the car ride as she stares outside at the blue skies and empty streets of Seoul, if Han Joonhwi meant more than friends to her. If… she wanted more. 

Deep down, she couldn’t deny hoping for more. She liked the way he looked at her, eyes crinkled and smiling in half moons, the sweet smile that she couldn’t help but return. She has never had many relationships, considering her experience in school and afterwards. She was just too busy; too focussed. Seeing how this man cared for her just made her feel so… special. 

She has never felt that way.

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Irresistibly Yours

Chapter 2 - Noise Complaint

Summary - Y/N Y/L/N moves to NYC in hopes for a fresh start after a nasty breakup. There she meets her neighbor, the cynical lawyer, Dean Winchester. A love-hate relationship starts evolving between them ever since they met in the elevator one morning but a desperate situation and a string of lies forces the two friendly rivals to go on a date or rather a fake date. Will sparks fly between them when Dean gets to know Y/N real and up close? Will Y/N finally find her Prince Charming in the grumpy, workaholic, divorce lawyer?

Pairing - Lawyer!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - None expect meanie Dean (Suspicious, isn’t it?)

WC - 2154

Square Filled - Don't put me in this position ( @anyfandomgoesbingo​ )

A/N - I promise the next chapter will have more of Dean and more conflict! This is just the beginning of a very long ride. Enjoy!

Beta’d by @miss-nerd95​

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Series Masterlist               Masterlist 

The silence in the cab on her way back to her apartment gave her the quality time she needed to think. In a few weeks, Meg was getting married and now, since they knew, Y/N had to show up with her 'boyfriend’. She racked her brain, scrambling to come up with a good excuse because it was all a big lie.

Every time, however, she reached two conclusions - either make a fool of herself and admit that she lied or tell everyone that she broke up and be the one person at the wedding that everyone looks down on with pitiful eyes.

There was a third option, which was risque as hell too, cause Y/N barely knew the man and their first meeting did not go so well, but there was definitely something about him that made her blush every time she thought of him.The way he carried himself and the dominating vibes he gave off, sent shivers down her spine. Maybe he wasn't a morning person and she did start blabbering in the elevator the minute she stepped in. She swallowed hard when she remembered the way her name rolled off his tongue. ‘How did he know?’ She wondered.

As Y/N boarded the elevator, she thought about how, she wanted nothing more than to see a certain green-eyed man again. She had been residing in this complex for almost three months but she had never seen the man before. Maybe he was new here, in this apartment building, who knew? Mind plagued by millions of thoughts, Y/N trudged down the empty hallway to her cosy little home.

“Who invented these fucking heels?” She grumbled as she freed her feet out of the painful, yet pretty high heels when she reached the comfort of her own home. Shrugging her coat off, she relaxed as her ass hit the soft mattress of the couch.

“I need a date in seven weeks.” She said, making a mental note of the wedding date. This was the only wedding she ever looked forward to attending where she knew she wouldn't have to face the constant stream of questions involving her dating life and a particular man. All she ever wanted was to be with her close friend on the best day of her life.

“First dress fitting - tomorrow at 10.” Her phone lit up with an incoming text and groaning, she dropped her head backwards. Y/N couldn't even skip the wedding if she wanted to. She was one of the bridesmaids and it wouldn't be fair to both Meg and Cas, if she didn't attend it. A smile graced her frowning face when she remembered the time Cas proposed to her friend on Valentine's Day. Cliche- Y/N would say, but deep down, she knew she just wanted what Cas and Meg had.

A sigh left her lips as she got up, still in her work clothes. She put on some light music as she went into the bathroom to freshen up. After the long, tiring day she had, a warm bath and a Ryan Gosling movie were very much needed. Quickly stripping off, she stepped into the tub. She leaned her head backwards, closing her eyes, as the warm water soothed her aching body and her troubled mind.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone,” Y/N sang along the song, slightly off tune but she didn't care, as she stepped out of the bathroom after some time. She let go of the towel wrapped around her body and stepped into a pair of comfortable pjs. Getting a box cold pizza out from her refrigerator, she turned up the volume of the music playing in her apartment.

“He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, and said,” Y/N yelled out the chorus when she started to heat up the pizza. Her private singing session, however, was cut short by a sudden knock on the door. She grudgingly pressed pause as she walked up to the door to find out the unwanted visitor.

“Excuse me- Ms L/N?” As soon as she opened the door, she was met by a very familiar, deep baritone that had been haunting her.

“Dean Winchester. And please, call me Y/N,” she breathed out. The formality in Dean’s voice made her cringe. Her eyes fell as she took in the man in front.

Dean had gotten rid of the dapper grey suit and slipped into a much laid back look. A black polo t-shirt fitted over his body and plain blue jeans hugging his bowlegs perfectly. The look on his face mirrored the one from the morning and Y/N wondered if he would look better with a smile on. Her train of thoughts were again rudely interrupted by the man speaking.

“I assume you're having somewhat of a casual evening,” Dean said, his hands waving to point at her pjs, making her suddenly self-conscious of her clothing state.

“Y-yeah. How may I help you?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“See, I moved in the apartment right beside you a few days ago, and I think you might have noticed sometime or the other that there are other people living in this building as well,” Dean said, his face not imparting any sort of emotions, “You might be having a casual evening but I can assure you that there's at least one person who is certainly not. Turn the music level down.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open at Dean’s words but she wasn't going to turn down the volume just because a man turned up at her door, asking her to do so. His words were sharp, but his tone was downright rude, and it was definitely not because he wasn't a morning person. The least he could have done was ask her nicely.

“Well, listen here pal, no one's having a problem, other than you. So you can go back to your room, put on some earplugs and do whatever the heck you were doing before you decided to make my day more awful,” Y/N said, taking a threatening stance with hands on her hips, a deep frown on her face.

“I'll file a noise complaint report against you.” Dean warned with his pointer finger right in front of her eyes.

“It's just music. Learn to appreciate the little things in life.” She said while rolling her eyes.

“I'm a very busy man and I got work to do, alright? And speaking about music, play something actually good like Zeppelin and people will personally come up to thank you. This song is not even a classic.” Dean spat back.

“Believe me or not, everyone is a Swiftie at heart.” She smirked with a sarcastic shrug. Dean’s lips twitched in anger as his face grew more rigid before he said, “If you don't lower the volume, expect a noise complaint report delivered with your newspaper tomorrow.” He walked away before Y/N had a chance to even think of a comeback.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean went inside his own apartment room right beside Y/N’s. She glared at the empty hallway before swinging her door shut and walked back to her room towards her amazon echo, turning the music down anyway. She couldn't risk getting a report filed against her, and the man appeared to be dead serious about what he threatened to do.

“Stupid Dean Winchester.” She grumbled.

Squinting at the clock, Y/N woke up the next morning to loud bangs on her door. 7:30 am, it read. Removing the covers, she immediately shivered when the cool air hit her bare legs.

Hair still a mess, she grabbed her robe from the nearby chair, putting it on along with her slippers before she warily made her way to the door. “Dean will be complaining now for sure.” She grumbled as she unlocked her door to reveal her friend standing on the other side in a dishevelled state, eyes red like a mad woman.

“Meg?” Her face scrunched up in confusion as the said woman shoved past her into her apartment. “You’re wearing your shirt inside out.” Y/N closed the door behind her as Meg took a seat on the couch.

“Can I have some water?” Y/N dumbfoundedly nodded at her friend’s request and went to her kitchen to retrieve a glassful. Handing the glass over to her, she sat down next to the brunette who gulped down the entire glass of water in one go. Setting the utensil down on the wooden coffee table in front, she turned towards Y/N with slightly glossy eyes as she spoke, “I don’t want to go and finalise the dresses.”

Her words elicited a laugh from Y/N before she said, “Okay, bridezilla, we can reschedule it. Cas should better watch out!” She chuckled out the last words.

“No, y-you don’t understand!” Meg grabbed her friend’s hands, surprising the latter, “I don’t want to try the dress on at all.” Y/N was utterly surprised over her friend's outburst.

“Honey, you have a wedding in less than two months.” Y/N cooed as a few drops of tears rolled down the bride-to-be’s cheeks. “Meg, talk to me. Did something happen between you two?”

The woman shook her head, letting the other lady in the room know that she didn't have to kick Cas’ ass to her relief, but it confused her even further. Since their engagement five months ago, Meg had been over the moon and had started planning every minute detail with high precision and finesse for her big day.

“What if I'm making a huge mistake?”

“Don’t put me in this position. You know how I am when it comes to-”

“But I need to know, and I trust you.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line before she said, “Cas is the best thing that has ever happened to you-”

“You barely even knew me when I started to go out with him. We have only been together for fifteen months - five of which I have spent being engaged to him. What if I regret this later?” Meg's words were correct. Y/N used to barely talk to her when she had started dating Cas, but all through those eighteen months, as she slowly got to know the pair well enough, she knew that they were clearly meant to be in it for the long haul.

“But I have never seen you regret your decision to be with Cas even once… so why start now?.” Y/N politely answered, her hands letting go of her distraught friend's iron-clad grasp and reaching out to soothe her.

“Sometimes even if you have been with your man for what feels like forever, marrying him might seem to be the worst decision you can ever make, but it doesn't matter how long you have been with him. When you know, you know. Follow your heart.” Meg looked up at her as she mulled her words over before speaking.

“I love him.” She said.

“Then go, be with him.” Y/N smiled. Crisis averted.

A smile started to appear on Meg’s tear stained face as her eyes twinkled with a suggestive glimmer in them. Fiddling with her sparkling ring, she said, “Dean’s good for you. Don't let him go.”

Y/N was taken aback by her friend's supposition. She sat up straight in her seat as heat crept up her neck. Her mind was stuck in a turmoil as she tried to come up with an appropriate response.

“He’s not-Dean is not-” She stuttered, the words got stuck in her throat when she tried to think of a decent excuse. Maybe, this was the universe giving her a chance to take back everything she had said before, but the disheartened look on her friend’s face made her rethink her decision. After all, a little white lie never hurt anybody. “Yeah, he is a good man.” Meg smiled as Y/N played her into the deception game once again.

“Will he be at the wedding?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What are you waiting for? Unless he is a figment of your imagination, ask him! I want to meet this certain Dean Winchester.” Meg giggled.

“I don’t have such vivid imaginations, Meg.” Y/N let out a nervous chuckle. She was now being given an ample amount of opportunities to tell the truth, then why was it so hard for her to deny everything she had said? Maybe she liked living in this utopian world where for once, no one deemed her as the broken, pathetic girl who failed to make a man stay. Maybe deep down, she wanted this damn lie to be true.

“I’ll ask him but you do know how men are about weddings.” She replied, having no knowledge of how to keep her end of the promise.

Chapter 3

Feedback is highly appreciated

If you want to be tagged in the series, lemme know!

[collecting-stories]

Ours - Sonny Carisi

A/N: Just random fluff with Sonny

///

“Have you considered the thought that you might need your own spare bedroom for your suits?” You called, voice carrying down the hall. Sonny was in the kitchen, making dinner because he had sworn that if he ate take out one more time he would ‘lose it’.  

“I got like, ten in rotation. That’s not a lot!” He called back. You could hear his footsteps as he approached, ready, you were sure, to argue his case.  

“Babe, I love you.” You grinned, looking back at him standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Miles of legs in the gray slacks you were particularly fond of, “and I say this as someone who gets way more turned on by you in suits that any sane person should but, ten is a lot.”

“You got plenty of clothes too ya know.” He replied, sitting on the end of the bed and pulling a box toward himself that was labelled ‘Clothing’.  

“I have less pairs of jeans than you have suits.”  

“For now. I know my sister gave ya money for Christmas, no doubt there’ll be three new pairs of jeans hanging in the closet by Monday.” Sonny commented, sifting through the box in front of him. “And don’t even get me started on your yoga pants.”

“You’re not allowed to complain about the yoga tights.”

“And you’re not allowed to complain about the suits.”

You narrowed your eyes, frowning at him. There was no winning an argument against Sonny “what’s for dinner?”

“Lasagna. It’s in the oven.” He replied, standing up once more. “My ma wants to come over this weekend, said she wants to help get everything unpacked.”

“She’s going to rearrange the kitchen.”  

Life had felt like it was getting more and more hectic since Sonny passed his bar exam. You were in the last few months of your PhD program, looking for a new job while Sonny was settling into his. And then the lease was up on your apartment and both of you finally decided to rent somewhere with an extra room. One that his mother had been suggesting would make a good nursery for the last few weeks since you’d begun the move.

“Nah, she’s probably just gonna try and set up a crib in the office,” Sonny joked, reaching out for you.  

Abandoning his suits you went over and wrapped your arms around his waist. “The wedding isn’t for another year, you’d think she would want us married before I start having babies.”  

“As long as no one can tell for sure when you got pregnant I think she’ll be happy.” He teased, kissing your head.  

“Oh god.”

Kids were not just something that Sonny’s mother was obsessed with. You and Sonny had both discussed having children, from the very early days of your relationship it was clear that both of you had the same family goals. Marriage, children, stability. You had an older sister with four kids and all three of Sonny’s sisters had kids. Family was a major part of both your lives and you had always wanted children but it wasn’t until Sonny that you thought it might be possible.  

“She means well.” You finally conceded, “now where’s my lasagna?”

“You sure you aren’t pregnant already?” Sonny asked, releasing you so that he could go to check the lasagna in the oven.  

“I am not. I just have a mild obsession with your lasagna.” You replied. You had discussed pregnancy, in great depth. After Sonny proposed the two of you had a long conversation about when children would happen and what needed to happen first. This place was one of those first steps.  

“I’m just teasing ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always just teasing me.” You laughed, following him into the kitchen. Despite the unpacked boxes that still existed in the kitchen/living room area Sonny had already littered the side of the refrigerator with pictures of family. As you stood, leaning against the counter, you looked over the pictures, candid, posed, school photos, communion photos. “Hey Sonny,”

“What’s up doll?” He asked, looking over at you from his position leaning over the open oven. He was always impatient with his food, checking it fifty times before he was satisfied that it was cooking well.  

“I was over my sister’s yesterday and she has a kid staying with them right now until they place her...” You began, watching Sonny’s face as he stood up, giving you his full attention, “I know we said no kids right now but...she’s so sweet and she’s only three and if we took the first classes my sister said we could probably be cleared pretty quickly. Especially considering your job.”

“You wanna foster?” He asked.

“I know we’ve exclusively talked about kids that we have but...I was thinking...there’s so many kids out there.” You replied. Some people felt weird about fostering kids, as if it was different than physically having a child. It wasn’t that you thought Sonny might not be on board but you weren’t sure how he thought the rest of his family would feel.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “yeah okay.”

“Seriously? You’d go to the classes with me?”

“Of course. I want kids with you...in whatever capacity we have them.” He smiled. “Did you think I’d say no?”

“Not really, no. I was just nervous, it’s a lot to ask someone.” You knew he wouldn’t. He saw kids every day who lacked families that cared for them. He knew how much Liv loved Noah, how much your sister loved her kids. But you had still been nervous to ask. You had both agreed on no kids for a while and now you were asking him to consider fostering.  

“Guess I can’t use the office for extra storage huh?”  

“I don’t think we can use the office for an office.”  

“Well, my ma will be excited. The possibility of grandkids sooner? She’s gonna be over here every day.” He replied.  

“Stop it, you’re trying to ruin this for me.” You laughed.  

“I’m not, I’m just-”

“Just joking?”  

Sonny smiled and kissed you on the forehead before going back to check on his lasagna.  

-

Honestly none of these go anywhere I just keep having random snippet scenarios in my head.

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (2)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (in case u wanna come say hello on main but no pressure)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death, some mentions of sexual situations but nothing explicit, spoilers for season 2 (should probably have tagged ch1 for this too oops)

words: 6607, no regrets

summary: it’s not a date if it’s for work

Author’s note: There is so much research that went into this I would just like to say thank you internet for letting me look up stuff from the comfort of my own home at unholy hours even though I did get very distracted while looking up late 80s wedding dress fashion. Also bless the s2 dvd extra which was a director’s commentary on s2 ep10 and very informative.

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 

(message me if you want to be added to the list. or just message me in general)

and also I urge you to look at the beautiful moodboard that @huliabitch made for me! I love it so much!

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

"All the best from Mr DEA." Diana said as she threw herself down in the seat across from her best friend. Gabriela looked effortlessly glamourous as usual, even though she was just in a blouse and jeans. She just had that air about her, like one of the vintage movie stars, something Diana had never quite been able to match. She was well aware she was downright frumpy in comparison, not one to catch eyes just by walking past. For the most part, that suited her. Gabi tried to seem nonchalant about the greeting.

"Oh?" She sipped gingerly from her drink and put her menu away. "You finally met, then? He's back?"

Diana nodded and stowed away her purse and cardigan. "Yeah, this afternoon and yesterday, in the morning. He seems... nice enough? I don't know. Not a talker, is he? He seems a bit on edge, to be honest. Though I suppose that's to be expected." But despite everything, he still has kindness in his eyes.

Gabi just grinned at her for a long moment, waiting to pounce.

"Yeah, he can be a bit of a grump. ...Handsome though, no?"

Diana sighed, swatting at the other woman with her own menu. "Did it ever occur to you that the newly divorced woman might have had her fill of men for the time being?"

"It has occcurred to me that five years of unchanging, uninspired missionary for half an hour exactly, twice a week, with that wet blanket you married might have left you with the need to really be filled by a man for once."

"Gabriela!" she gasped, choking on thin air and mortification, even though their conversations would often get way more explicit than this. Just never with her being the subject. Gabriela just smiles like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, hailing a waiter to give him their order.

"Speaking of newly divorced: has the dipshit finally signed the papers then?" Diana groaned, throwing her glasses down onto the table to massage her temples.

"No, he's dragging his feet. Which is ridiculous, it's not like I want anything from him. It's not like we're fighting tooth and nail over every other thing, like that American movie, the one we watched on your mom's old VHS player, you know? With Meryl Streep? In any case, now he decides to fight? If you can call that fighting."

"Kramer vs Kramer." Gabi remarked sagely. "Yeah... At least you don't have children together. That could really have gone ugly. I still don't know what you ever saw in that man."

"Oh shut it. I used to be fond of Juan Mateo; I don't know when that changed." Diana huffed, quickly snatching up her glasses when the waiter sailed over with their drinks and appetizer.

"Well that's the problem, you never loved him! And your parents set too good an example; what could ever live up to that?" She took a generous drag from her drink, then dug into the food with hungry abandon. "At least you're finally rid of his snoring. And his mother."

"God, she really hated me. Couldn't bear it that her precious boy brought some lowly scum from the comunas into her pristine middle class home. Marrying me might have just been the only demonstration of free will that man has ever managed." Diana allowed herself to seethe a bit at the memory, taking it out on her food as she stabbed at it roughly. "And I will definitely not miss the snoring."

"Mr DEA barely snores." Gabriela remarked lightly. "Just ...very softly. It's quite cute."

"Since when do you let clients stay to actually sleep?" Diana inquired around a mouthful, brows scrunched. Gabriela hummed thoughtfully, swiping some sauce off her plate with a piece of bread.

"Ah, but he was so tired, poor thing. It wouldn't have been safe to send him back out, he would have crashed his car and died in a ditch somewhere, which would have been a real shame. I just let him nap for an hour or so that one time. Besides, I wasn't in any state to do much myself after he blew my back out." She had a way of being so nonchalant about these things that Diana supposed came from a sort of professional equanimity. Diana possessed no such poise and gawked openly, the wheels turning in her head as she recalled previous conversations and connected dots.

"Oh." She breathed as realization hit. "Oh! No! That was him? You're kidding me. How am supposed to look him in the eye now?" Gabi was already cackling, barely able to hold her laughter as Diana sputtered, recalling the very detailed recounting she'd received after the night in question. "You said you felt that for days after!"

"I did, but it was worth it." Gabi was now subtly holding her sides, having pushed her empty plate away to be collected. "You see, you're my dearest and oldest friend and I only want the best for you."

"I'm sure Mr DEA would be delighted to know of your crude attempts to pimp him out." Diana snarked, pushing her own plate to the side just in time to be whisked away by the waiter. "You're incorrigible. This is serious. Besides, I think he really liked you, actually."

"He liked the illusion of intimacy, like most of my clients. Lonely but with committment issues to the moon and back. It's not like I'm telling you to marry him. I'm just trying to get you properly laid for once." Gabriela scoffed. She could be so detached sometimes. In fact, one could call it downright cynical. But Diana had known her since they were both in pigtails and could detect the care behind even the most jaded words.

"Oh whatever. I request a change of topic. How's your book coming along? Any progress on that chapter that's been giving you so much trouble?" Diana asked sweetly, making the other woman glare at her over the plates with their main courses as they were being set down. Because yes, Gabriela does indeed write more than letters, and she's good, too. Also, two can play this game of being just slightly mean.

--- --- ---

Javier hated team meetings. And now that he was the boss here he couldn't even get out of them. Worse, he had to lead them. He looked over the assembled agents, glad that he had most of their names down by now. Gladder still that this was a DEA-only event and he wouldn't have to deal with any of Stechner's CIA asswads for now.

"Duffy, where are we on the shipments?" He turned to the other man expectantly. Duffy was one of the few agents here that weren't younger than him; he actually had some experience under his belt, unlike all these fucking greenhorns the higher-ups had sent him. He forced himself to pay attention to Agent Duffy's answer, making notes of important dates as he listened. Operation Cornerstone had, at this point, not yet come to full fruition, but if they continued to put in their due dilligence it was almost certain to turn up something useful. When they'd gone through all the points on his agenda, and after clearing up a few uncertainties, he dismissed the roomful of agents.

"Duffy, got another moment?" Javier stopped the other agent as he turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir?" Duffy sat back down and pulled his writing pad back out.

"Have you come up with any ideas for my informant in Calí?" Javier had mentioned this before, seeing as Duffy was one of the agents permanently stationed at the Calí field office. Now that Escobar was gone it would look suspicious if the head of the DEA in the country trekked up to Medellín every other week, and they needed a better way for Miss Rivas to hand over her collected intel. Duffy cleared his throat and caught the eye of one of his colleagues and waved him over.

"Lopez here has had a few ideas, sir. Tony, tell the boss your ideas for drop-offs."

The other agent was younger, handsome in that pretty way that made girls sigh dreamily, going by his own, admittedly remote, memory of high school and college. Lopez hadn't said much during the meeting, but had that eager glint in his eyes that said he wanted to prove himself. Javier had had that same look when he first came down here; it hadn't survived the first year.

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, so I was thinking the public library might be worth a shot." Agent Lopez pulled a notepad from his own case, squinting down at the scrawled chickenscratch. Javier nodded along, encouraging more than praise. He'd have to run these ideas by Miss Rivas anyway, and if she had concerns they were back at square one. But that was a river he intended to cross when the time came and not a second earlier.

--- --- ---

The satphone was also a good instinct because after their preliminary meetings in April, it gets irritatingly difficult to arrange another one for over a month.

"The what now?"

"The 4th International Poetry Festival. It's on from June 2nd to 8th." she explained patiently. "Orietta Lozano, Gloria Gervitz, Blanca Varela!"

"I assume those are poets."

"Obviously."

"You want me to go to a poetry festival with you?"

"No, I'm taking the week off and I'm going to the festival, and I am also free to meet you. I'm just suggesting that maybe your work hours don't all have to be spent in dreariness and drudgery." Something sizzled on the other end of the line where she was making herself dinner while talking to him, and it made Javier's stomach grumble. "A bit of culture is good for the soul, Agent Peña. You'll burn yourself out with how much you work. When was the last time you ever did anything for fun? Read a book? Hell, listened to music?"

Whenever you call me. She always had music on at home. It drifted through the receiver, a soothing background hum that was too soft to truly make out most times. Add to that the fact that he was still sitting in his office at almost half past seven in the evening, and he didn't have a proper counter-argument.

"Alright, fine. 2nd to 8th, I'll see what I can do."

--- --- ---

She was wearing another belted shirt dress, this one pale yellow and sleeveless, the full skirt reaching to just below the knees. It reminded Javier of the style his mother used to wear when he was little. Saturday, June 4th, had him meet up with Miss Rivas at the Teatro Metropolitano in central Medellín. Her dress contrasted against the blocky red building in a way that tugged familiar, but Javier was trying to train himself to not see blood in every instance of red.

"This is quite a way from Envigado." He announced his approach as soon as he was close enough to not have to shout. She jumped a bit, clearly startled, but her lips pulled into a polite smile when she recognized him.

"Agent Peña." She greeted. "No, cultural grandeur doesn't usually make it out to the comunas." She sat back down on the bench and pulled a flyer from her (rather big) purse, thumbing it pensively. Javier sat beside her, not quite at arms' length. Trying to appear wordlessly inviting, if only to mask how at a loss for words she made him feel. He seemed to be no longer used to normal, civil human interaction.

"Right, there is one reading here at the Metropol that starts in about half an hour that I think you might like. It has a few of the international poets; a few of them will be reading in English. Then there's another one later at the Teatro Carlos Vieco that I'm keen on. It's about half an hour on foot between locations, but there's the open air exhibits that only require a small detour." She pointed it all out on the program as she spoke, Javier silently nodding along in acknowledgement. "I've planned it so there's more than enough time for a lunch break. I hate having to rush through things that are meant to be enjoyed. I brought arepas, but there are usually enough street vendors out and about to get something else, if you prefer." She really did talk a lot. That was surprisingly fine by Javier, since it meant he didn't have to. "Though of course if you'd rather just get your intel and go I understand, but I must insist on at least this first reading, Agent Peña. But otherwise I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you have other things to do."

His lips twitched involuntarily and he held his hand out for the program flyer, silently reading it over. None of the names rung any kind of bell. Not that he was much of a poetry aficionado. "Sounds good to me."

She blinked. "Which part?"

He handed her back the flyer, which she took automatically, still eyeing him with uncertainty.

"All of it." She blinked again, looking mildly shocked, the flyer still dangling uselessly from her fingers. "Miss Rivas, I came all the way here and you went through all this trouble planning. It would be a waste to part ways after so short a time."

Truth be told it sounded ...nice. The thought of spending a day just exploring, letting work be work for even just a day (or at least part of it). Despite being an only child, he'd never liked being on his own even when he was young, cherishing every day spent with school friends or any of his numerous cousins. And it wasn't like he'd had to do far less pleasant things for information.

Her expression morphed from uncertain gaping into a wide, pleased smile that he couldn't help but mirror. Maybe she was quite a nice lady after all.

---

"...I have to ask though: What's a ...smit- ...smee-dereen?"

"Smithereens." Javier corrected gently as they exited the venue after the reading. "It means... it's all the small pieces that are left over when something is destroyed. Like with a bomb."

"Hmm," she hummed, pensive as they strolled along with the leisurely flow of the crowd, "I'll have to think a bit more about this." She fished around in her purse, producing bottled water and offering him one. He took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. "How did you like it, Agent Peña? Already regretting agreeing to this?"

"No." Javier found himself replying perhaps a smidgeon too quickly. "No, it's very uh... enriching." And not what he'd expected at all. Though the festival was now in its fourth year running, he'd never had the chance or the wish, really, to attend it before. He'd barely taken note of its existence, too preoccupied with chasing down leads.

"Hm, you don't have to mollify me, Agent Peña. You'll still get your intel, don't worry." Her expression slipped, from an almost serene smile back into that underlying heaviness that he could identify only now that it had been lifted for a short while.

"Miss Rivas," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm just not that good with words. That's why I'm a government agent and not a poet."

That at least made her chuckle a bit. And it was true, too. He felt lighter, in a way, like his mind had been craving a break from the frustrating work of trying to find an in to take down the cartel. Even his shoulders felt less tense here. And it was a beautiful day, too. Warm but not too hot, sunny with a mild breeze. People were out and about around them, festival goers and other citizens alike, mingling freely with a carelessness that would have been unthinkable only a year prior.

"Juan Mateo never wanted to come with me to this." She gestured vaguely at the city and its people around them. "My husband. Ex-husband. Technically still husband because he won't sign the divorce papers." Her features turned tense as she explained, a slight frown appearing between her brows. "Not that it matters now, of course. But goodness, that man had no sense for these things. He thought top shelf coffee was the height of culture. He'd act like going out to a bar one evening every few weeks was a chore beyond compare. Such a martyr!" She huffed and Javier laughed softly, offering to take her bag for a while as she adjusted it on her shoulder for the third time now.

"No, that's alright. It's not heavy. This way." Her hand naturally slipped into the crook of his elbow to steer him down the side of the road and Javier faltered for a moment, cursing himself for wearing a short-sleeved shirt even though it was comfortably warm. He just didn't want to get separated in the bustle of activity, he reasoned. This was a perfectly tame and non-offensive gesture and it would be rude to flinch away, he reasoned. She initiated it, after all. No harm no foul. This was still a professional alliance.

"You think very loudly, Agent Peña." She remarked, lightly squeezing his elbow. "It better not be about work."

"Technically I am at work right now." He countered, covering her hand on his arm with his much larger one and giving it an awkward pat.

"Lucky you." She teased, lightly nudging his side with her elbow.

"Beats paperwork, that's for sure."

They ambled along, weaving through the crowds where they gathered in front of street performers and makeshift stages. Javier couldn't deny that it felt good to feel the sun on his skin, un-recycled air in his lungs; most of all being far away from Stechner and his legion of CIA goons was almost rejuvenating. They fell into a languid rhythm, walking leisurely and stopping every so often to linger a bit where music was being played or more poetry recited, in front of the stalls of local artisans or to look at the sculptures that had been put up as an open air exhibit throughout the city. Every so often, Miss Rivas would tell him some little anecdote, be it about any of the previous festivals or just the city itself. He barely felt the time pass.

By the time they'd made it across the river and to the park wherein the open-air theatre was situated, it was time for a late lunch and Javier felt his stomach start to protest, all that walking serving to work up an appetite.

"...and after school Gabi and I would trek across town to the library and hide by the shelves in the back, the ones with the old classics, and we'd read all the scandalous 19th-century novels about adulteresses and other fallen women. You know, Anna Karenina, Thérèse Raquin, Madame Bovary, Tess of the d'Urbervilles..." Miss Rivas set her bag down and produced a fairly big plastic container from within, setting it on the bench between them. "Perhaps not the most appropriate fare for a couple of fifteen-year-old girls, but it wasn't like we had a whole lot of supervision, you know? It definitely wasn't appropriate to read to a five-year-old, so I guess it's good that Maritza never really paid attention much- Stop my prattling any time, Agent Peña. I know I talk too much; Juan Mateo always used to say so."

Javier paused, an abundantly filled arepa inches from his mouth. "He what now?"

She flushed, looking down and picking at the wrapping paper she'd bundled the food up in. "It's fine, it's not a big deal, really."

"It's not fine." Javier insisted. Told her to shut up, told his own wife that she talked to much! What an ass. He started tearing into the arepa with a glower. They sat in silence for a while, chewing tensely in this little corner of the park at the foot of Cerro Nutibara, in a spot that was fairly hidden among the greenery while still affording a decent view of the city streets below. Javier didn't even know why it irked him so much. There were worse things out there than insensitive husbands. Ex-husbands at that. Still, he seethed quietly in his righteous wrath.

"Wanna see something funny?" She was already digging through her purse, so he didn't see much sense in replying. She pulled a photo from some deep compartment in her wallet, looking down at it thoughtfully for a moment before passing it to him. In his defence, Javier hadn't meant to laugh. It just came out, snorty and half-aborted.

"Hey, at least I managed to evade the poofy sleeves, okay? My mother was dead set on them. She wanted me to look like the English lady… uh, Princess Diana. I think she might have taken the name as a sign."

"That's a.. that's a lot of satin."  And tulle. Javier pressed out, still suppressing his laughter and barely succeeding. He could have pointed out that the mass of ruffles negated any absence of actual puff sleeves, but thought it better to refrain. And it wasn't like she hadn't looked beautiful as a bride, it was more that in that ruffled satin-and-tulle concoction she looked like an unwilling dress-up doll, despite the tasteful off-the-shoulder cut and flattering waistline. It was just... there were a lot of ruffles. There was a lot of dress, period. Paired with an expression that was better suited to a funeral, the effect was almost morbidly comedic.

"Wait till I show you the cake; we were basically identical." It was the dryness of her tone that set him off. There was no suppressing it now, Javier was bellowing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It didn't help that the dress fashion hadn't really strayed very far from the 'bigger and more style' in the years since. All things considered, this was a comparatively simple gown, lacking the mass of sparkly appliqués and abundance of bows and flowers that had been popular in the latter years of the previous decade. It just wasn't a style that suited her personality in any way, at all. Her slender figure was absolutely drowned in the sheer volume of the skirt alone. Hell, it completely overshadowed the already forgettable man standing by her side in the photo. Though 'by her side' was a generous descriptor. There was definitely enough space for the Holy Spirit and then some between the couple.

"My mother spent ages on that damn dress. Her hands looked like pincushions by the time she was done; that's why she wore gloves to the wedding."

"She's a seamstress, right? Your mother?" She'd mentioned it in an offhand comment during one of their previous phone calls.

"She was." Diana confirmed, tucking the picture away again. "Didn't think you'd remember that."

"Of course. I listen to everything you tell me."

Diana chuckled, flushing lightly. "It's not even relevant to the case!"

"I listen to everything you tell me." Javier insisted and started gathering up wrapping paper and such to throw away. A quick look at his watch told him they'd have to get moving soon if they wanted to make it to the theatre on time to get decent seats.

"Right." Diana collected her things to stuff them back into her bag. "So it's a no for ruffles, but what would you have me wear, Agent Peña? What do you think suits me?"

Javier couldn't have told even the most skilled interrogation expert what exactly compelled him to answer, and so readily at that, why he had an opinion at the ready in the first place, or at least that's what he preferred to tell himself.

"I think... something soft and flowy, not a whole lot of embellishments, if any. Clear lines and a light fabric, something you can dance in and be comfortable. Definitely no more satin."

She laughed now, as well, eyes twinkling with what he thought was approval. "You are full of surprises. Should I ever get married again, I'll most certainly engage your services as designer, Agent Peña."

"I'll keep a spot open for you. First consultation is free."

---

How her hand can feel so natural there in the crook of his elbow after hardly a day, he cannot tell. All he knows is that by the time the reading at the open air theatre is done the sun has started to dip in the sky and if this was what his work was like more often he'd perhaps be happier in his workaholic ways. Though they haven't broached the topic of work in hours now, instead ambling half-aimlessly northward towards Conquistadores where he's parked his rental car at the hotel he's staying at. Because it is a long way to Envigado and he insisted on driving her home. Because even though now that Escobar is gone Medellín is much safer, but he's never been one to easily trust a good thing.

It's only when they've crossed the big main street Avenida 33 that Miss Rivas gets quieter. She's obviously  tired following their prolonged outing, but he instantly misses the pleasant hum of her voice, her clever little observations- At the same time, it's a comfortable silence, not one weighed down by expectation. She'd even let down her hair from where it had been up in a ponytail for most of the day, most likely to keep the thick curtain of it away from her neck in the heat and sun.

They're just crossing a smaller square, the edge of it lined with shops, the hole-in-the-wall kind mostly, when she suddenly pulls away with a soft instruction to wait there for just a moment, and he's left to look after her flapping skirt with what is probably not the most dignified expression. Defeated, he sat down on the broad edge of a flowerbed nearby and watched her cross to a food vendor, order, and fish around for her wallet to pay, before turning around again with a plastic cup in each hand. Fresas con crema, he can make out upon her approach, and one corner of his mouth ticks up involuntarily.

"Hungry again?" He teased when she got within earshot, handing him one cup and setting the other down beside him along with her purse.

"There's always space for this in my stomach." She retorted primly. "If you don't want any, all the better."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Thanks for this." He makes a show of cupping the treat protectively, fully knowing he'll have to set it down to unwrap the plastic spoon that came with it. It makes her laugh nonetheless, which imbues him with a strange, fluttery sense of accomplishment.

She's still standing, head thrown back and grinning wide, when her gaze catches on something at the far end of the plaza, and her expression morphs from glee to astonishment to rage so quickly it gives Javier whiplash.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Ripping off her glasses and thrusting them into his hands, she began stalking off.

Two things are fortuitous: one, she had to pass Javier to get to whatever she saw and two, his reflexes are still sharp enough for him to jump up and into her path, even having managed to safely deposit the cup of strawberries and cream.

"Whoa, what the hell is it?"

"I- ...she-" Her voice is strained, her whole body taut like a livewire as she attempts to round him and resume her warpath. On instinct, Javier took a few steps backwards, keeping himself between her and her target. It's only his hands on her shoulders that stall her enough for him to be able to whip his head around and follow her eyeline. That side of the square is empty save for an older lady shuffling along, huffing and puffing and blissfully unaware of the wrathful freight train about to rush her. To say Javier was puzzled would be an understatement.

"What, her? The old woman?"

"That's Hermilda Escobar!" She's shaking so much he has trouble keeping a grip on her. "Look at her! The nerve of that woman to show her face here-" She winds out from under his hands, rounding him with a quick sidestep, and he can only match her speed because his legs are longer.

"Hey!" Javier whisper-shouts to be met with flashing eyes, then repeats it more softly. "Hey. What exactly are you planning to do here, huh?"

"I'm gonna give that self-righteous bitch a piece of my mind is what I'm gonna do!" She retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It's cowing, the single-minded purpose rolling off of her. She's strumming with it, her seething damn near tangible. In her rage, she is ruthless. Javier had no doubt, in that moment, that once let go she might well maul the woman with more than words.

It's instinctive, the way his arm wraps around her. Like the few times he's had to restrain Steve and yet not like that at all. For one Javier doesn't have to go for a near chokehold, though energy-wise her wrath is at least as fierce. So, he wraps one long arm around her waist, hauling her much slighter body against his with a half-turn, her forearms colliding sharply with his chest.

"Easy." He rumbles, his other arm coming up to fold across her shoulders. "Easy. Calm down. Calm down!"

Palms smack against his pectorals and it stings. "Hey!" He tightens his hold around her trembling body, her angry, anguished squirming. Softens his voice. "Hey. Calm down, okay? What're you gonna do, beat up that old woman in the street? Come on, breathe."

The sound that comes out of her is something very closely related to a snarl, and he feels the bite of her nails even through his shirt, but holds fast, continuing to ramble empty phrases with the intent to soothe, or at least distract.

"If you tell me to calm down one more time I will get violent." She promised, hands pushing into his chest in an effort to break his hold. The old woman has almost passed by completely by now, seeming blissfully unaware of the savaging she's escaping. Javier held fast, as tight as he dared, the hand still pinching the pair of glasses between two fingers awkwardly patting at her shoulder while he sways them both, rocking from foot to foot.

By the time Diana has calmed down enough that he feels comfortable loosening his hold, the old woman is long gone from view. He feels her slump in his grip, reflexively tightening his arms again to hold her up.

"Hey," he gentles, lightly nudging the side of her head and thinking, distantly, that all but burying his nose into her soft hair is far too intimate a position for any of this. "Hey, it's alright, I've got you, okay? I've got you."

They're still swaying on the spot, a gentle see-saw motion, and then he felt the hands that had been clenching and unclenching on his chest lose all tension and drop down to the side. She's still shaking, her whole ribcage jumping with the hiccup of suppressed sobs. Somehow, he maneuvers them both around and back the few steps from where their snack and her purse still wait beside the flowerbed.

"Why'd you hand me these, anyway?" It's but a cheap distraction tactic, Javier handed her the glasses back as soon as she sat nevertheless.

"I'm not blind without them." Diana responded tersely, snatching the glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of her dress. When she doesn't deign to elaborate, he sighs and stretches from where he'd sat back on his haunches in front of her, resuming his earlier seat and finally unwrapping the spoon. It's a tense silence for a long moment, her aggravation like a pulse around them. Certainly it gives Javier a good bit to think on.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Don't condescend to me. You may have been closer to the action, but I've lived here all my life." She ripped open her own packet with a vengeance, digging the spoon into her own portion with such force that the sliced strawberries bleed into the white cream. Javier sighed. Took a moment to order his words before they leave his tongue.

"I just need to know if this," he gestured between her and the edge of the square, "is going to be something that has to be taken into account. I need to know that you're not just in this for revenge. I need to know where you're at mentally. I need to be sure, both for your own safety and the integrity of this operation, that you're not just going to snap one day and try to claw Miguel Rodríguez' eyes out, okay?"

She chews angrily a moment, eyes flashing at him before she stares straight ahead again. The wrath is still rolling off of her in waves, perhaps dipping a bit in its intensity, but far from dulling just yet.

"You want to know my motivations, is that it? Well, let me lay it out for you, Agent Peña: of my entire class, a third never even made it to graduation, for one reason or another. I spent my youth plotting routes around gunfights in the street, with just enough success to still be alive, somehow. My mother was caught in the crossfire of a raid and was afraid to leave the house for years afterwards. My father was on that Avianca flight. My baby cousin Maritza is dead and her baby will grow up without her mother. And throughout it all, I took the coward's way out, moved cities, for university, for work, for marriage, for myself even, and everywhere I went they were, too. The narcos have spun their spider's web across the whole damn country and beyond and sooner or later everyone gets stuck in it. I got stuck in it despite my best efforts, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to flee and turning up in dead ends. Somehow I have landed in this unique position, and I refuse to join them. Is that enough motivation for you, Agent Peña?"

She held his gaze, a challenge in fire, and he wondered how much longer that adrenaline surge would sustain her before she crashed. Wordlessly, he nodded his affirmation.

It's more tense silence after that, thick like stew or the humidity out in the jungle. She doesn't reach for him again as they resume the walk up to his hotel, doesn't casually link their arms like before, choosing instead to fidget with the handles of her bag. He hates it, misses the lightness the day had before. These narcos, they really do poison even the most mundane of things with their long, bloodied shadows. When they get to the hotel's underground garage, she's gone even more quiet, almost deflated. There are no more words exchanged, save for the clipped directions to her aunt's house. At one point, Javier was almost certain she'd dozed off.

---

"Do you ever think you should have been there? When they finally got him?" He'd just parked the car opposite of the house. It's almost completely dark outside by now.

"...Yes." Of course he did. He'd wanted, even needed to. The temporary suspension had not been near as effective a punishment as denying him that. The fruits of his labor, of years spent chasing after shadows and getting himself mired deeper and deeper, until he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. He'd wanted it, sure, but perhaps he hadn't deserved it.

"Why did they send you home?" It's not that Javier is in a particularly obstinate mood, it's just that after the incident earlier, he's reluctant to bring up his own involvement with the cartels of Calí and Medellín, much less Los Pepes, so he gives a non-committal grunt in response. He should have known that wouldn't deter her. "When I first called, Agent Murphy said you had been recalled to the States. I only found out later that that was before they finally got Escobar. Why would a top agent on a case of this magnitude be pulled off and sent back before that?"

"You mean what did I do?" She nodded. There was no getting out of it now. He didn't want to lie to her either. Javier sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. "You're going to look at me differently."

"Perhaps, yes." She took a deep breath, rummaging through her purse and producing a folded up paper. "These are the names of some American banks that I'm very certain help funnel and launder Calí's money. Sorry it's nothing more specific." She placed the paper in his hand, gently closing his fingers over it. "Whatever you tell me, we're in this together, right? We both want to bring them down. I trust you, alright?"

Javier gulped, his fingers tingling under her touch. He pockets the paper to buy time, if only to swallow through his suddenly-too-dry throat. And then he tells her. The dead ends and the crippling bureaucracy, Don Berna, the Castaño brothers and Judy Moncada and Pacho Herrera. His desperate grasping at straws to find a way, any way to throw a wrench in the escalating violence and catch Escobar, how that backfired so spectacurlarly. How he tried to get out, despite knowing that these people do not allow outs. How he'd been played by the fucking CIA because he'd been an idiot falsely believing that the two agencies were operating under even remotely the same objectives. How he'd gone down, almost taking his partner with him, definitely tanking his boss' career. He hasn't spoken to anybody about this in such depth, not even his father. By the end of it, he's exhausted.

"So you're the one Carlos Castaño wanted to feed to the crocodiles."

"What?" He'd expected judgement, even disgust. Certainly not this.

"I overheard Gilberto mentioning it on the phone. I think he must have just learned that you'd be the DEA's man in charge. 'Maybe I should have let you feed that damn DEA agent to the crocodiles after all, Carlos.'  The door wasn't all the way closed, that's how I heard it. I think that was the moment I realized I couldn't wind my way out of this. That either they were going down, or they were going to find out that I was already talking to Agent Murphy and have me... vanished."

"I won't let that happen." Javier promised instinctively, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Crocodiles though? Really?" Not how he thought he'd end, that was for certain.

"Yeah, they're very uh... charming, huh?"

Javier grimaced. "If I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

"Knock on wood." Diana replied and unbuckled herself, pushing open the door.

"I'll walk you. It's dark."

"It's only across the street." She protested, and was that the ghost of a smile on her lips? Javier's hands stilled on his own seatbelt.

"You sure?"

"If my aunt catches me coming home with a man I'll never hear the end of it." Diana slipped out of the car, then bent to grab her purse. "Good night, Agent Peña. Until next time."

"Good night, Miss Rivas."

He waited until she was inside, the door securely locked behind her, before starting the drive back.

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Chapter 3

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Author’s note cont’d: if you wanna know what I had in mind, approximately, for the wedding gown see here

The International Poetry Festival of Medellín is a real thing, too. They have a youtube channel

[prolestariwrites]

The Wish [2]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 2, in which Dante hunts for clues and to who he is, and where he is, when he reconnects with a long-lost relative.

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Chapter 2: Pictures and Clues

Dante spends a full ten minutes just sitting on the bed in his underwear. He reviews every step of the night before: Nero texting him about this job, catching the train to Fortuna, the two of them driving out to the warehouse with the radio blaring and picking up burgers on the way. Then the demons, dozens upon dozens, that weren't difficult but packed to the brim so that when they pried open the front door of the building they swarmed like roaches.

He had found the queen at the top, but there it gets fuzzy. It talked to him, but about what? Something about his family? Every time he gets to that part, his headache turns a little sharper, so Dante decides to give thinking a rest so he can figure out where the hell he actually is.

His jeans are slung over a chair so he grabs them and fishes inside for his cell phone. It's different from the one he normally has, and he frowns as he turns it on and finds a passcode. He tries the first thing he can think of—1, 2, 3, 4, easy enough—and luckily it works. Quickly he dials Nero's number, but isn't really surprised when the automated voice comes on the line to tell him that number is not in service.

Dante scratches the back of his head. He's here, in a strange house with a woman who knows his parents, and Nero is… somewhere. Got it.

But then he wonders if something might have happened to Nero. What if he needs his help? Then this has got to be a dream, right? So how does he wake up?

Once he pulls his jeans on and finds a t-shirt in the other set of drawers, he tries the door. Cautiously he opens it, but the house is quiet, so Dante slips into the hallway. There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom which look suspiciously normal. Even the closets are tidy, and Dante snorts when he gets to the linen closet. This must be a dream. Who owns so many towels?

Next, he heads downstairs to the main floor. At the bottom is a living room, complete with a comfortable-looking sofa and a big-screen television. Dante stands in front of it and admires it for a minute before grabbing the remote control. He lets out a low whistle when he sees the picture quality, thinking if this is a dream, he's got good taste.

That demon's got good taste.

Dante shakes his head and continues his search. A small dining room is to the left, and to the right is a hallway leading to another half bath. The kitchen is nice too, the dishwasher humming and a pot of coffee warm on the counter. Even the refrigerator is stocked, and Dante helps himself to a piece of chicken he finds in a plastic container, figuring he can eat whatever he wants in a dream.

Out the kitchen window he can see a little backyard, and Dante sighs as he leans against the counter and chews thoughtfully. It's a nice enough house, something any ordinary couple might buy for a starter home. He glances down at the gold band on his finger, holding it up so he can examine it closely. Setting the chicken down, he wipes his hand on his jeans and slips it off, turning it over until he notices an inscription on the inside: Dante and Lir Forever.

He pictures the cute blonde who was half his size but acted more than familiar. "Lir," he murmurs out loud, slipping the ring back on as he looks around.

Wandering back through the house, Dante notices some pictures sitting on the windowsill in the living room. He walks over and picks up the first one, his face going a bit pale. He is in a suit, and that woman‚ Lir, is in a wedding dress. They are posed and smiling in front of a cake, holding a knife together as if to cut it. He turns it over but there's nothing out of the ordinary about it, and Dante snorts as he sets it back down again.

The next few are of them as well: a selfie in winter gear, posing in what Patty would call "Sunday attire", in bathing suits at a beach, arms around each other and grinning at the camera. He's gotta admit, they look pretty good together. His brain did a good job dreaming this girl up.

The next photo, however, feels like a punch to the gut. It's a double-sided frame on a hinge, and on one side it's him and a man who looks exactly like him, only his hair is slicked back instead of hanging in fringes around his face. In fact, he looks exactly like what Vergil would look like. If he was still alive.

Dante's hand shakes as he examines the picture. It is Vergil, it's got to be, the same slightly slimmer build and the half-inch in height that made it possible to tell them apart. The only thing that shocks him more than seeing this picture is the one opposite. Across from Dante and Vergil posed with small smiles is Vergil and Lady, her hand in his arm as they smile into the camera.

Gripping the picture frame, he grabs the next one and braces himself. Staring up at him are two people he somewhat recognizes, as if he had seen them in a dream. They are older, in their 60s maybe, the man grinning with his arm around his wife, sitting together on a couch. He has longish silver hair, not unlike Dante's, a pair of glasses hanging around his neck. Her blonde hair is swept up into a bun, streaks of white only making her more dignified, her hand on the man's knee. Dante brings the picture up so close his nose nearly touches it, and that's when he realizes that the woman is a dead ringer for Trish, if Trish was about 40 years older.

His cell phone rings in his pocket, startling him out of his examination. Dante fumbles for the phone but freezes when he sees the name Vergil appear on the screen. It takes another three rings before he gets the courage to answer. "Yeah?"

"Did I wake you or something?"

Dante staggers to the couch and sits heavily, still clutching the two pictures in his hands. He knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for hearing that voice on the other end. "Dante," it says again. "You there?"

"Y-yeah," he stammers, his voice cracking around a dry throat. "Verge, is that you?"

"Of course it's me. I want to talk about tonight." Dante's eyes close as he listens, trying not to freak out. Even Vergil's exasperation for him is the same. "I'm paying for dinner, and I don't want to hear anything about it. We need to settle this now so we don't argue at the restaurant."

"What uh…" Dante's mind is spinning and he shakes his head to clear it. "Yeah uh, Lir mentioned something about a dinner. Do you know Lir?"

"I'm surprised you forgot, Dante. Usually you remember these sorts of things." Dante leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tries to breathe. "This dinner tonight is important and I don't want a scene. Just let me pay for it, and afterward we can agree on how you'll pay me back your half. Agreed?"

Dante swallows thickly. "Yeah, yeah that's fine. Vergil. Vergil."

Even saying his name gives Dante the shivers. "Well I expected more of an argument. Glad you're going to listen to reason. Don't be late."

"Wait, Verge?" Dante looks down at the picture in his hand, something hot and tight tickling his throat. "Can I see you? Can you come over?"

"What for? I'll be seeing you tonight, and I have the kids. Are you sick? Where's Lir?"

"She covered a shift," Dante replies. "Please, Verge, I got… I need to say some things."

"Well say it tonight. I'm not driving all the way over there when I'll see you in a few hours."

Dante chuckles, swallowing tears as his breath escapes in a laugh. "Okay. Yeah. Hey uh, is mom and dad… they really gonna be there? At this dinner thing?"

There is a long pause, and then Vergil huffs, "Don't be stupid," before hanging up on him.

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The rest of the afternoon Dante spends figuring out his life. He finds photo albums in the closet, handmade scrapbooks that Lir definitely made. They chronicle some of their vacations, and he smiles as he turns the pages to see them camping, at the beach, at Disneyworld. The wedding one makes him wince a bit, the smiling faces of his brother and his parents making something in his chest tight. The date on the preserved invitation tells him they've been married about ten years, which is pretty funny since the longest relationship he's ever had was about ten minutes after getting dressed.

He looks weird in a suit, and Dante snorts to think what Lady or Trish would say if they saw him. But Lady is there, on Vergil's arm, and that is a mystery he can't wait to solve. And Trish kind of is there, in the form of his mother, looking slightly older but just as lovely.

There is a drawer in the desk in the office that has some bills, and he boots up the computer to take a look through. The email is pretty normal, receipts from online orders and utility companies, messages from the family and people he doesn't know. There is a link to a bank account and Dante's brows lift to see the balance. Compared to his normal finances, the amount seems like a small fortune.

There must be something a god of fortune can give you.

A cat appears suddenly, jumping onto the desk and stalking across the keyboard to plop across his arms. Dante pulls back in reaction, which earns him a very annoyed look from the cat. "Hey uh, there," he says, tentatively reaching out to pat its head.

The cat snaps at him, and Dante rolls his eyes. He never got along with animals as a rule. "So you want to sit on my computer as I'm using it but I can't pet you, hm?" he grumbles. The cat yawns in response, so he decides to go find lunch instead.

There's not much more to discover after having a sandwich. His life seems completely ordinary, although he doesn't know exactly what he does or even if he's still in Red Grave City. The other question still to solve is Nero. If Vergil is alive and married to Lady, then does Nero even exist? His face goes a bit hot to think of the kid not being around. But Vergil had mentioned kids on the phone… is it possible?

He is dozing on the couch and watching television when the door bursts open. Dante is on his feet and reaching for his guns that aren't there when Lir hurries in, her arms filled with dry cleaning as she comes like a whirlwind into the living room. "I'm so sorry I'm late! I can't believe I got stuck there! I told them I couldn't stay, and now look at the time!"

She pushes the clothes and plastic into his arms and pulls her cell phone from her purse. "Did you take a shower yet? You still need to shave. You are going to shave, right? You can't look like a sasquatch at the party."

Lir looks up at him expectantly, and Dante shrugs. "Yeah, I guess?"

"Good. Wait. Are you okay?" She steps up and presses a hand to his forehead. "You were sick this morning. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," he assures her. "I had a weird dream."

She smiles, and his heart actually skips a beat. His brain is good. "Good. Did you feed Claudius?"

"Claudius?"

"Yes. The cat." Lir laughs and pats his chest. "Was he a problem today?"

Dante thinks about the cat that interrupted his computer search. "No. And no, I didn't feed him."

"Okay. I'll take care of it. You go shower and get dressed. And don't take too much off, you know I prefer a bit of facial hair." She takes the dry cleaning from his arms and pulls one of the hangers to hand back to him. "Here's your shirt and pants. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yeah." He watches her step around him, draping the rest of the clothes over the back of a chair before disappearing into the kitchen. If this is a dream, it's more vivid than any he can remember.

The shower feels good, even if Dante is amazed by how many things are on the shelves. He's never lived with a girl but is there anything needed really other than a bar of soap? In one of the drawers under the sink he finds a shaving kit and goes to work before the shower fixing up his face just like she asked. It occurs to Dante that this is his dream and he can do whatever he wants, but something makes him not want to disappoint her, so he makes sure to leave a nicely trimmed beard while removing the rest from his cheeks and neck. Once the shower is hot, he goes for the least-strange sounding soaps before finishing up and drying off with a nice fluffy towel.

He peeks into the bedroom and finds it empty. Quickly he hurries over to the bureau and opens the top drawer, rummaging around for some underwear. Dante just has his first foot in when Lir enters, and he yelps when he sees her. "Hey! I'm getting dressed!" he protests.

She freezes and looks at him in surprise as he pulls his boxer briefs up. "Yeah. I see that." With a laugh she moves to the closet and hangs the rest of the dry cleaning up before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dante frowns before he remembers, they are married. He rubs his hand on his face with an internal groan. He is going to have to get used to this as long as this dream or whatever lasted, including being half-dressed in front of her. While she's gone he quickly pulls on the dark slacks and gray dress shirt before heading to the closet. He finds some black dress shoes he figures Lir will like, and once he's all ready he stands and looks at himself in the full-length mirror that is propped against the wall.

Dante barely recognizes himself without the low-slung denim and some red leather, but he figures he still looks pretty good. As long as he looks better than Vergil, he'll be satisfied, chuckling to himself at the thought. But then he sobers a bit as his stomach turns, wondering what it will be like to see Vergil again. The last time was on Mallet Island, and before that, watching him fall off the Temen-ni-gru. Did that even happen in this place? There had to be a Temen-ni-gru if Lady was here, right? He shakes his head, confused as ever. He needs to figure this out, and fast.

Lir steps past him, again dressed in only a bra and panties, and Dante quickly looks the other way as she pulls her dress over her head. "Will you get this zipper?" she asks as she steps into a pair of heels.

Clearing his throat, he steps up behind her and carefully pulls the zipper up as she smooths her hands down the front. It's a sleeveless blue little number that fits her just right, and when she turns around to fix his collar he admires how nice she looks. "Okay," Lir smiles. "You ready to go? Dinner with the family is always interesting."

Dinner with the family. "Yeah, I'm ready," he grins. Maybe the mystery-solving can wait until after seeing them again at least. Couldn't hurt, right?

[jessicajonesrp]

Exercise in trust

It was a week before the date of the wedding. Jessica had managed to endure Trish’s growing enthusiasm with as much patience as was possible- she swore the woman was more excited than she herself was, by about a million. She had managed to shoot down her every suggestion of flowers, bands, DJs, fireworks, messages in the air via plane, and in what she hoped was just a joke, hiring a comedian, clown, or mime. She had let Trish choose whatever dress she wanted for her maid of honor dress- hell, she could show up in jeans for all Jessica cared- and after a lot of back and forth discussion, Jessica had finally decided to wear a dress herself. Once. Ever.

 Granted, it was red, not white, had no veil, no fake diamonds or pearls or fancy adornments, and it was cut high in the front and low in the back, falling approximately three inches above her knees with a small slit up the thigh. It looked far more like a dress for a night out than to get married in, but it was the only one Jessica could halfway stand, and Trish had gasped and teared up when she begrudgingly agreed to try it for her.

 “Oh, Jess, you look so beautiful,” she had whispered, her hands half covering her mouth. “I won’t say anything else, but…can I at least take a picture of you in this, even if you won’t wear it on the wedding? Please?”

 So she had ended up getting the dress. She told Trish it was for her, and for Luke, since he probably would have to see it to believe it, but the truth was that Jessica sort of liked it too. She wasn’t someone who thought of herself as pretty, ever, but the dress made her feel comfortable in a different way than her jeans did, in a way that might be close enough to “pretty” to be its neighbor.

 The wedding might be taking place in another country- Keem Bay in Achill, Co. Mayo, Ireland to be exact- but it still involved remarkably little planning, given her and Luke’s lack of fussiness or concern with details. Jessica had thought of Ireland, having some vague Irish ancestry somewhere in her bloodlines and a definite appreciation for their love of drinking, and the beach had been beautiful and remote enough that it suited her purposes just fine. Once the tickets were bought, the date and time was set, and they were all set to fly out in two days’ time, there wasn’t much left to do beyond get the marriage certificate and wait.

  She had wrapped up most of the cases she had open in preparation for her absence, but there were still a few files with needed write ups and loose ends, so she told Luke that she would be home late and made her way to her office for the evening. Once there, though, she found it difficult to concentrate. She wasn’t anxious about being married, and certainly not about being married to Luke. It couldn’t be that much different than living with him, or dating him, after all.

 Still, something had her on edge. She had deliberately made sure she had no more than a few bottles in her office, not wanting to board a very long flight hungover and miserable the next day, but she was tempted to go to the nearest corner store and get more. It would definitely put an end to the restless, keyed up feeling that made her stand up every few minutes and check the room and doors. What the hell was she waiting for, or expecting, anyway?

 Abruptly Jessica went into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth, wringing it out, and scrubbing it hard over the back of her neck, a trick she sometimes used when drunk or on the verge of dissociating to bring herself back into the present. When she raised her eyes up to her reflection in the small bathroom mirror, it wasn’t her own face, but Kilgrave’s, looking back at her.

 Jessica choked back a scream, jumping backward fast enough that her elbow hit the towel bar on the wall, jarring the nerve and sending the bar crashing to the floor. She ignored this, whirring around to see whether Kilgrave was in fact behind her somehow rather than wearing her face in the mirror, but there was no one there. Heart hammering, she raised her eyes back to the mirror slowly, and this time, her face was her own, pale, strained, eyes wide and dilated. But although she couldn’t see Kilgrave, his voice spoke to her, sounding as familiar and real to her as though he were standing beside her all the same.

 “You can go off and try to play the blushing bride, Jessie, but we both know better. This isn’t you, love. It’s just a game you’ll play, a part you’ll try on, until it gets too uncomfortable and you cast it off again, throw it back to the side. That’s what you do when things get hard, isn’t it, Jessica? You run, go back to hiding in the shadows?”

 “Shut up,” she said aloud, hating that her voice shook slightly, and she tensed her jaw, forcing it to come out more firmly as she continued. “This isn’t real. You’re dead. You’re not here.”

  “Maybe not, but does that really matter?” Kilgrave said indifferently. She could see his outline in the corner of her eye and quickly tore her gaze as far from it as possible, unwilling to let herself acknowledge. “You hear me, all the same. You see me. Even if you’re the only one who does, I exist to you.”

 “I’m not doing this,” Jessica declared, more to herself than to Kilgrave’s image. She threw her hands up, addressing the ceiling as though speaking to any being up there who might be listening. “I’m not doing this, I’m not talking to an imaginary dead guy.”

 “Except you are,” Kilgrave pointed out, smirking. “Here’s the point, Jessie. If I’m not real, then your own mind put me here, didn’t it? And if that’s the case, if I’m some sort of representation of your subconscious fears, this is really just you, giving yourself messages you don’t want to acknowledge as your own, but they come from you all the same then, don’t they? So shouldn’t you perhaps listen, if you really don’t believe I’m real and this is all just in your head?”

 Jessica paused, confused, and uncertain as to where there was any validity in this. It sounded to her like whether or not Kilgrave was real, she was damned if she listened and damned if she didn’t, damned if she acknowledged him or denied him. She couldn’t figure out how to respond, so she stayed still, which he seemed to take as acceptance.

 “More of that famous Jessica Jones denial, I see. Run, hide, life in isolation. Tell me, though, Jessie, if you say you love this man- why would you drag him down to that level with you? Hm? If you really admire this man so much, want so much for him in his life, why would you let him settle for you? Do you really think you can make him happy, that you can give him the life he deserves? You, over other women, every other women? Really, Jessie?”

 Jessica didn’t respond, her heart beginning to pound. She kept her gaze averted, trying to shut out Kilgrave’s annoying voice, but she had become so used to listening for it, to recognizing it at any distance, that it was impossible to blur out.

 “You don’t fit in with a man like that, Jessie. You’re too torn and tattered, too rough around the edges and bruised from the outside in. You bring stress, frustration, and danger to everyone who tries to get close. You belong to someone more like you, someone who really knows you…someone with the same inner darkness, the same barely contained urges of violence.”

 He lowered his voice, almost purring. “Someone like me. We were so good together, Jessie, we were the perfect pair. You loved me, I know you did, you just don’t remember now how good it really was. You don’t remember how much pleasure we gave each other, how much-“

 “Shut the fuck up!” she shouted, spinning on her heels, one fist flying out in preparation for a blow. “Shut up, get the fuck out of my head!”

 But there was no one there. Again. It was only her, her reflection strained and trembling, a broken towel rack behind her.

 She took several breaths, hands shaking, and thought of the two bottles in her closet, down depleted to only one. She could get it and drink it, dull the worst of the anxiety threatening to become a full on attack. She would probably end up falling asleep at her desk instead of coming home like she had promised Luke, and he might worry, or worse, just shake his head and be disappointed. She could go to the corner store and buy more, drink it on her way home, and be irritable, snappy, and secretive about what had driven her to this state.

 But instead, she found herself walking very slowly back to her desk, picking up her cell phone, and scrawling to the recent calls to Luke’s name. When he picked up, she spoke in a voice that was unfamiliar to herself, holding a quiet weariness she rarely allowed to be voiced.

 “Luke? Can you…can you come to my office? Please. I just…I want you to come. If you can.”

 It was the first time she could remember reaching out to him in this way, the first time she could recall asking for help or comfort before reaching for a drink or lashing out with fists. It was the first time, and the act of it felt so exhausting that once she hung up, she sat down on the office’s weathered couch, feeling too drained to know what to do or worry what would happen next.

[avengerofiron]

landslide || Tony & Zatanna

WHO: Tony Stark ( @avengerofiron ) and Zatanna Zatara ( @mistressofmagic ) WHERE: the Stark mansion in Los Angeles, January 1970 WHEN: a few days before Zatanna and Robbie went to secure the Darkhold WHAT: Tony asked Zatanna to let him talk to his parents one last time. Zatanna obliges. WARNINGS: descriptions and discussions of childhood abuse including physical/emotional abuse and gaslighting, mild violence WORDS: 11k (ish)

ZATANNA: Flipping the photograph over, she looked at the date. It was strange, actually. January. She would have guessed it was closer to Tony’s birthday considering how far along Maria appeared to be in the pictures. She was focusing on the date, picturing it and the location in her mind. Thankfully, whoever had written on the back of this, had jotted down the location as well. Everything Zatanna needed was right on the photograph.

“I love a good excuse to get dressed up,” Zatanna mused, glancing at Tony with a smile on her face. “What do you want to wear? Or I could pick, a quick change before we jump so that we fight right in with this picture.” The last time they had both had actively gotten dressed up had been the gala. And there, they hadn’t been a couple. (Their wedding should have been the next date, but by the pictures, neither of them had dressed for the occasion. And neither of them had been aware of it either.) “What do you think? Should we match?” It should have been a joke. Would have been any other day. But she had already preluded this trip as their honeymoon. Not that traveling through time to meet her in-laws was a traditional way to spend a honeymoon… but nothing about their relationship so far had been traditional.

Zatanna tapped the picture against her hand. “Are you sure about this?” She hadn’t been one to hesitate before, but this had weight. The kind that you got to opt into, not the kind that you had to weather out of some twisted sense of responsibility and duty. “Are you ready for this?”

TONY: Tony couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been the smartest person in the room. It sounded self absorbed, perhaps, but he’d long since accepted that in the privacy of his own head, he was, through and through, an asshole. (Some would argue he let that side out in public as well far too frequently, though he would disagree.) He bombed through assessments and rejections and brick walls built around what could and couldn’t be done, joined a team full of superheroes who battled aliens and evil robots and who travelled the world in search of mystic weapons. Tony Stark wasn’t just used to navigating around other people’s confusion -- he was used to leading the goddamn charge.

But magic was something else. Zatanna was something else. She was one of few people (maybe even the only person) Tony would admit had something over on him, one of few he was completely in awe of and made only the slightest attempts to hide it.

“I know you do,” Tony said, not even trying to disguise the undertone to his words. He’d already copped to being an avid audience member at any of her shows he’d attended. What use was there in pretending now? “You pick. Just make sure if I’m wearing a tie, it matches your shoes. We need to make it look coherent.” Like we got dressed together, he almost said. Like they were normal, whatever that meant.

They were about to jump through space and time. Normal didn’t even come into it.

“What way does this work?” Tony asked. “Is it the polarity complex? Theory of general relativity? Infinite cylinder? Don’t tell me it’s a black hole, because I’ll have a really bad joke just waiting for that one.” As long as it wasn’t a wormhole (the mere thought had hairs picking up on the back of his neck, suddenly and without warning), Tony was pretty sure he could cope with anything -- but questioning it didn’t look like that. His endless, boundless curiosity could be construed as nervous muttering, a metaphorical pacing that created an uncomfortable edge to the air between them.

He wasn’t nervous. He was invigorated. He was a scientist with an impossible theorem, and the person he trusted most in the world had the solution tucked neatly in her back pocket.

“A thousand percent,” Tony said, reaching to take her hand, a gentle squeeze to affirm what he was saying (nothing to do with that shiver up his spine, or the idea that her warmth was something that could be shared, always). “Do we have to think about the time? Imagine it in our heads? Think about the people? I can do that.” Sometimes it felt like all he ever did was think about his parents -- like some part of him was tangled up in that car at the same time.

ZATANNA: There was an intimacy in his words that they both casually ignored. Or at least, Zatanna casually ignored. Knowing that if she looked directly at it, if she acknowledged that his words meant something — that she felt something when he said them, she'd fall into them and she wasn't sure she'd ever recover. Each word that he spoke had a calculated weight, one that she measured with each phrase, wondering if they were all equally heavy because they were shared in the same sentence, or if there was one out there that would be enough to tip the balance and send her over the edge. (As if she hadn't already slipped. As if she hadn't already taken that step in her heart and was waiting to see if he was falling at the same speed — or simply not at all.)

“I'd say that I'm hinting for you to take me out somewhere nice more, but I'm trying to be subtle." Normally, Zatanna would have gone for a comfort look, dressing in black and easily blending in with the crowd, but that wouldn't work for this. Not in her mind, at least. If they were going to do this, then she wanted them to be stunning — and matching the times would be equally fun.

Zatanna whispered a spell and the area around the two of them light up with a bright, white light. And when the light washed away, their clothes were different. Zatanna was in a wine colored dress with a lace neckline. And Tony's tie? The same shade as her dress. "I know you said my shoes but... I went with black shoes so I matched your tie to my dress. Black is a nice classic look, but you'd match anyone at the party and — can't have that."

And as she had expected, Tony immediately started asking questions. Trying to take apart how this was going to work — and immediately trying to relate it to science. "I..." Zatanna shook her head and went to cup his face, only stopping short and resting her hands on his shoulders instead. "You realize I have no idea what any of those things mean, right? Other than a black hole — and it's not that!"

There was a faint smile on her lips as he kept asking questions, but at this point, she figured he was mostly talking to himself. "It'll be like when I teleport us. It'll be instantaneous. But you'll probably feel a little nauseous but just breathe and it should pass quickly." Her hands dropped to his, taking them in her own hands and gently gripping them.

"Focus on that pictures. The place. The date. Them.” Zatanna closed her eyes and then told Tony to do the same. “Close your eyes and focus on your breathing.” That wasn’t necessary for the spell to work, but she figured that it might help him focus his mind. He had a lot of questions and hearing him try and puzzle out how this would work — it actually felt good. Hearing his thoughts and all his excitement, it felt good.

“I’m going to start now,” she warned, giving him a moment before she started the incantation.

TONY: Tony still remembered pushing his way through a crowd towards the suit, desperately tasking J.A.R.V.I.S. to find a diagnosis, which he did in an instant. A severe anxiety attack. Tony could barely take it in. The A.I. repeated it once, twice, three times, more slowly and patiently on each occasion, and still the super genius couldn’t work out what he was saying. To this day, Tony was unsure why he was so surprised, why he was almost offended. After all, it had always been difficult to ground himself. He’d always disappeared into feeling, always found himself on a cold floor struggling to breathe, a thousand possibilities no matter how mathematically improbable worming their way into his brain.

Zatanna had always been good at it, at him. Despite the lights, the flashing cameras, the scream of a crowd that he associated with the great Zatara, there was a quiet that he was sure few experienced with her standing in front of them, a way she turned his loudest, most persistent thoughts into nothing more than a slightly irritating static in the back of his mind. Her hands were in his, and she was telling him to focus, and all he could think as she closed her eyes and started to recite incomprehensible words were how beautiful she was when she got that little crease between her eyebrows.

When that whoosh went through his stomach, when he felt like the earth was cracking underneath him and re-solidifying within a breath of a moment, Tony was surprised he didn’t find himself standing in the audience of a magic show during intermission, catching sight of lights dancing against dark hair, a stranger who wasn’t so strange after all turning to him with a bright smile.

It was Los Angeles, instead -- a long way from the first time Tony met Zatanna, and a long way from the New York he’d so long associated with his parents. A garden party, buffet tables laden with food, people milling around with champagne flutes and bell bottom jeans. He turned back, blinking a few times fast as he readjusted to the blinding sun, and recognised the house immediately as one of his father’s. “I used to love this place,” he said, immediately, even as nausea briefly rose in his throat (Zatanna wasn’t lying about the effects of time space travel on the body). “Jarvis brought me here all the time. There’s a beach just down there. Two minutes from the house and back. We-”

“Mr. Jarvis!” a familiar voice rose above the crowd, crisp and heavily accented. “*For the love of God, man, leave the flamingo be!”

“Would do, Ms. Carter,” came the reply, “but as you can see, the devil in pink has quite his own idea of where he would like to-”

As he turned to look for the source of the voices, Tony’s breath caught in his chest. Someone else caught his eye instead, someone who was moving through the crowd with a confidence all his own, sunglasses perched on his nose and his hat at a jaunty angle (whiskey held in white knuckles, no ice to water it down).

“Dad.” Tony’s hand went for Zatanna’s, instinctively, and he found he’d never let go -- or perhaps more accurately, she’d never let go. Somehow, she knew what he needed long before he did, most times. (Almost all the time, except for when it came to her.) “You know what? This is a terrible idea. We should go back, right now. Emoh won, emoh won--”

Then Howard was in front of him, because of  course he was. Tony spun around, hands breaking free and eyes widening.

“Uh--” Think, Tony. Think.  “I’m--” A super genius. A man who knew Howard Stark better than almost anyone else in the world, even if he’d never really known him at all. An Avenger, at his core, capable of dealing with missions of grave importance every day ending in y … “Eddie? My name’s Eddie, uh … Rhodes. Eddie Rhodes, and my wife--”

It was at that point that it became abundantly clear Howard wasn’t paying attention to Tony tripping over his words in the slightest. Howard tilted his head forward, sunglasses dropping an inch down his nose, and offered a hand to Zatanna. “Pleasure to have someone like you at one of our parties,” he said. “It shows people we have taste after all, even if we’re new on the scene.”

Over his father’s shoulder, Tony vacantly recognised Peggy and Jarvis tackling a flamingo, trying to no avail to place a towel over its eyes. Jarvis came away with a bite wound to the hand. Tony would hear this story many years later, but right now, he couldn’t watch it play out, not with the feeling rising in him now. His hand went around Zee’s waist, squeezing gently.

“My wife, Anna,” he repeated, holding out his other hand to Howard, who begrudgingly looked away. “I’m an engineer, previously with Roxxon.”

Now that got his attention (Tony told himself it was because he wanted Howard to look at him, because he’d always wanted Howard to look at him -- but on this occasion, it felt more like he wanted him to look away from Zatanna than anything. He decided not to think too much about it). Howard’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowing.

“Roxxon?” he repeated. “I didn’t realise--”

“Formerly Roxxon,” Tony clarified. “I was actually looking at Stark Industries. My talents weren’t exactly appreciated. Asked too many questions, you know? Vita radiation is something of a passion project.”

Howard let out a low hum. “Vita radiation,” he said. “Most people have moved past that.”

“I’m not most people.”

Howard’s eyes flickered back over to Zatanna, and then to Tony. “Let’s get a drink, Rhodes,” he said. “And Mrs. Rhodes, please, feel free to mingle. We have all kinds of desserts on offer -- not that you need anything-”

Tony’s smile tightened once more. “We should talk nuclear,” he said.

ZATANNA: They had been to parties before, but something about being here felt... different and wonderful. Like a new chapter in the adventure they had started nearly ten years ago.  Zatanna, in their early days, hadn't pushed him as hard to believe in magic or to follow her onto adventures like this. Their lives back then had also been remarkably different. But with each step they were taking now, it was together. And it was finally starting to feel like it was together. (She wouldn't say it. Couldn't put it into words — but it finally felt like they were walking towards something in sync with each other rather than walking against the wind.)

It had been no mystery to most of those who knew Tony even if only in passing, that Los Angeles and California had a place in Tony's heart. And even the weight of what they were in the middle of didn't stop Tony from sharing that story again. Mentioning Jarvis (who Zatanna had met briefly... recently) and as if on cue, she heard him in the corner along with Peggy Carter. "Is that a flamingo?" She scarcely got the words out before Tony was muttering backwards after changing his mind, and she squeezed his hand, about to try and calm him for a second time before his father was right before them.

Eddie Rhodes. She didn't blame him for his choice. In this day and age... they couldn't use their real names and chances were, the Rhodes family wouldn't have the same pull they did in their time. (An unfortunate reality that they couldn't change today.) Howard's attention, though, seemed to be fully on her. Tony had withdrawn his hand and he must have seen the look she had shot in his direction, quietly begging him to take her hand back — but it had been no invitation for Howard to try and... flirt? Was that what he was doing? (Whatever it was made her skin crawl. Tony was lucky his mother was already pregnant because she was sure that she was about to end his father's life right now.)

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Stark." Schooling her speech to match that of the lessons she had been taught in boarding school. Of decorum and how a lady should properly talk. No contractions. Never turn your back on them. You can show them the door but you can never shove them out. (And for the first time in her life, those lessons seemed useful. It was ironic that it just happened to be several years in the past.)

Tony, thankfully, swooped in and had an arm around her waist, squeezing her gently and she leaned into him, placing her hand on his side, and tucking her head towards him, just slightly. Pretending that this was just her trying to fit the role of where they were — and that it had nothing to do with how the way he called her his wife. Roxxon. Why did she remember that name? It clearly meant something, enough to pull Howard's attention towards Tony, but... then Vita Radiation. Another strange glance. Nuclear.

(All of that was filtered in between Zatanna realizing that Jarvis’s first name had been Edwin and his wife was Ana and she had not too long ago had been telling him that the way they understood each other had been romantic — this was no place for any of those thoughts or feelings. But here they were, stirring where they shouldn’t.)

The way that Howard was looking at Tony now? She might not have followed the conversation perfectly, but she knew that what Tony was talking about... it couldn't have been what he could realistically know as a stranger. But between being offended by Howard telling her she didn't need desserts and worrying that Tony was about to make a foolish mistake — Zatanna took in an easy breath and pretended. "My husband and I have plans for dessert later, but thank you." Figuring that Howard would take that to mean sex (and part of her wanted him to, just so he knew she had absolutely no interest in him at all) — but in reality, Zatanna was quietly planning what topping she was going to get on a sundae.

"I will give you two some privacy," she said, turning towards Tony and reluctantly pulling her hands away. She knew he needed a moment alone with his father, and he would want one with his mother — but she was nervous leaving him alone. Especially after this. "Darling," she touched his cheek where she would have kissed him as an extra measure to tell Howard to go fuck himself — but she had enough control to know that this wasn't the place — and that wasn't how she would want this to happen. “I will find a way to occupy myself.” Her father was around, by the pictures, and Tony’s mother had to be on grounds some place as well.

Zatanna stepped away from the two men, politely bowing her head before ducking away to another part of the party.

She didn’t get twenty feet away before she made awkward eye contact with her father and immediately bowed her head, turning towards the flamingo — but finding herself greeted with Maria next to her. A hand on her stomach and something... a distant expression on her face.

“Mrs. Stark?” The woman looked at her and it hit Zatanna. It hadn’t happened before that, she knew that the age difference had been there. But it made what Tony said about they could be like his parents... it rang so differently. (How many years, she wondered, separated Howard and Maria? Was it the same twenty that were between Tony and her?)

“What did he say to you?” Maria asked without looking at Zatanna.

“He was talking to my husband. About Roxxon and... I do not understand science in the slightest, please do not make me try to remember.” The word husband pulled a reaction out of Maria though, something like the look of pity, as if she knew what laid ahead for Zatanna. But as quickly as it was there, it had faded. Back to the proper look of a woman who was married and pregnant. No pity to be spared. “Can I ask you something plainly?”

Maria’s brow rose but she looked at Zatanna and, after a long moment, nodded her head. There were a thousand reasons that Maria would be hesitant — the press for one, it was one of many reasons she didn’t talk about her marriage with anyone outside of those she trusted, But also... gossip was a savage machine that came after the best people. “How do you do it?” Zatanna asked. “Marriage. I — Eddie and I have been married only a few months and we have known each other for years but...”

“You don’t hold back, do you?” Maria asked, turning her head as she processed just how plainly Zatanna had started to speak. “Let me ask you a question, equally plain,” she said, not waiting for Zatanna to offer the same permission. “Do you love him?”

“I—”

“It is a simple yes or no answer, Mrs.?”

“Rhodes — Anna, please, just call me Anna.”

“Anna, do you love your husband?”

Zatanna looked across the room towards Tony, knowing he was far out of hearing but quietly wishing that he wasn’t so that she could say this and he could know without having the ceremony of it being a confession. (That wouldn’t have helped. The words, even this far away, were big enough to drown her in.)

“I do,” she confessed, finally.

“That complicates things.” Maria looked at her own husband, a hand running over the bump of her stomach. “Love always complicates things, Anna. It’s easier if you don’t feel anything at all.” Zatanna didn’t have to look deeper to know that Maria was speaking from experience. That love... it was a blade that had cut her, too. “I have no easy answer for you,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Either love will be enough for it won’t be. You and I? We don’t get a say.”

The advice, while deeply appreciated, did nothing for the ache in Zatanna’s heart. That unknown drifting — would it be enough? Or wouldn’t it be? She swallowed, worried that she’d be faced with the dark reality of those options instead of the one she wanted.

“How far along are you?” Changing the subject quickly, not wanting the words to seep too far into her heart. (Scared that they were real and accurate.)

“Close to four months.”

“Only four?” Zatanna asked, looking at Maria and knowing Tony wouldn’t be born until late May but... “Boy or girl? And are they already ten pounds?”

A smile pulled to her lips and Maria shook her head and raised two fingers.

“Two — twins?” That couldn’t be right.

“Twins. Boys.”

It was.

Zatanna pulled herself together. “Congratulations.” They spoke a few minutes more, bonding over the strangest things, but... Zatanna felt oddly comfortable with Maria. Tony had said he couldn’t imagine her pregnant because it never seemed to suit her, and maybe something in the future made her that way — pulled her from motherhood. (Or perhaps, closer to the truth, was that Zatanna was looking at Maria and hoping that she enjoyed this, because it was something she wanted.)

“I should... get back to my husband,” Zatanna said with some reluctancy. Enjoying her conversation with Maria but also worried about Tony. Unsure of what his father might say and what her own father might do if they got properly cornered by them.

“I’ll come with you. Since ours are together.”

Zatanna nodded her head, before moving to walk alongside Maria. “Yes, of course!”

TONY: You look so much like your father. The sentiment had been repeated to him hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times over the past fifty years, in numerous different ways by numerous different people. Jarvis, with nostalgia lingering in every word. Maria, adoration or loathing, depending on the day. Journalists desperate for the next great Stark to take to the stage, to give them something juicy to dig their talons into, weapons contractors who could see dollar signs behind inherited brown eyes, friends who followed through generations. Tony never quite saw it. He only knew his father older, or through newsreels, knew him best with a stiff upper lip and stern expression on his face, or in the slant of hurried writing.

He could see it now, though. He could see it as he looked at his father the same age as he was now, maybe even younger, could picture looking into the mirror as he met his gaze. They had the same silver streaks on the side of their temples, the same squint when they looked at the dinner menu, the same casual swirl of drink in a glass.

Zee said something -- a flamingo, Bernard if Tony remembered correctly -- and then her knuckles were touching against his cheek, delicately, as if there was every chance he would break if she moved too fast. Ironic, perhaps, that she’d treat him as something so gentle when they were standing in front of the man who always called him weak and spineless and a disappointment … and then she was gone, and he was in front of the man he came here to meet, and there was a part of Tony that wanted, desperately, to follow her through the crowd and stay pressed neatly to her side.

He resisted the impulse. They’d have their whole lives, after all (they would, wouldn’t they?) and to chase after her when the entire reason they were here in the first place was to give Tony some form of twisted closure. If he followed her now, he’d have to explain why, and that came with a lot of other things Tony would rather avoid bringing to light, at least here. Maybe anywhere.

“Roxxon,” Howard said, gesturing towards the open bar. Tony followed after him, shifting to put his hands in his pockets as he went. “It’s been a while since I’ve had that name brought up at one of my parties.”

“People afraid you’ll get jittery?” Tony asked. Howard huffed a laugh.

“Quite the opposite,” Howard replied. “Had a few boys in Roxxon, a while back. Never came to me with anything concrete.”

“Apart from locations,” Tony continued. Howard’s eyebrow rose, interest clearly piqued. Tony gestured towards the bar once more. “Drink first?”

“Man after my own heart. Order away.”

Howard Stark had been dead for thirty years, back in their time, and yet Tony could remember his favorite brand of whisky. He could remember that his dad stopped taking ice in it sometime around 1985. He knew what cars he drove, what modifications he made to the gearbox and engine so it sounded just right. He knew what songs he listened to in the workshop, and the business dealings that took his interest. All of these things Tony knew, but he wasn’t sure if that was eidetic memory, his father’s journals that he’d poured over in the aftermath of his death, or desperately clinging to what small snippets of existence his father gave him.

Howard never liked his son. He never loved him. He never said he was great, or invincible, or strong as iron. He never said he was anything at all. Tony could count on one hand the occasions where they spent time down in the workshop, or walked together on a red carpet. Other than that, it was silence and distance.

But this was different.

Tony sat down with a glass of whisky (straight up for himself, on ice for his father), took his offer of a cigar, sat on the periphery of the party and talked. Howard listened with an avid fascination, eyes dancing, a hundred and one questions on his lips as Tony talked about miniaturised arc reactors and how Roxxon was double dipping in the stock market and about the Arena Club and how they’d approached him, too. He talked about raising his company up from the ashes and about cars and boats and motorcycles, about high speed races in Monaco and skydiving in Peru. He found out Howard had done just the same, twenty years back, how he was retired from all that now, how he was settling down and the house he was building out in New York and the plans he had for his company.

Minutes ticked by. It could’ve been hours, for all Tony knew -- he wasn’t paying attention to the milling crowd or changing songs, to Peggy and Jarvis’s last stitch attempts at capturing Bernard the Flamingo or his mom and Zatanna talking. He wasn’t paying attention to anything apart from his dad paying attention to him.

It felt amazing. It felt more than amazing. It felt like flying for the first time, felt like falling from the sky but he knew, for the first time, he’d be caught before he hit the ground. It felt like faith, like a gift.

They settled into companionable silence, Howard’s laughter dying slowly after Tony told some joke about journalists with a bone -- and then his father took another sip of his (third) drink, and looked over at him. “A few months married, then?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, looking back over the crowd towards Zatanna, who was speaking to his mother. His mom. He’d never seen her so young, either. He thought it would make her look less severe, but it didn’t. Maybe it was something to do with the gun she was packing.

Tony’s eyebrows narrowed. Paranoia was one thing, but he was an Avenger. There was definitely a concealed weapon under his mother’s dress, strapped to her thigh. Tony opened his mouth, about to ask or speak or get up, when Howard interrupted.

“I was going to get married, once,” he said. “Before Maria, I mean.”

Tony shifted. “What?”

Howard hummed, swirling the ice around. “Ophelia Stane,” he said. “Met her after the war, summer of 1950. German-American scientist, smartest woman I’ve ever met -- except for Peg, of course.”

“Stane?” Tony repeated. “I thought that was--”

“My business partner, yeah.” Howard took a long gulp, face screwing up slightly at the taste. (Tony wasn’t sure what it said about him that he’d stopped having that reaction a long time ago.) “Lia was in a crash. Car wrapped around a tree. Nothing anyone could do. Her brother Obie, he was there for me after. Pulled me out of a real deep hole, got me back on track. He’s gonna be godfather to my kids, no one else for the job.”

Kids.

“That’s the thing in this world, Eddie,” Howard continued. “People can’t be trusted. Just look at Maria. Everyone looks at Maria, and still, no one sees her for what she is. Guessing you know, though.”

Something clicked into place. “SHIELD,” Tony said. Howard clicked his fingers.

“Bingo,” he said. “One of the best agents we’ve got. Everyone thinks she’s a trophy wife -- everyone thinks I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet to be with her. But we know the truth, right?”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“About marriage? It’s a farce. That whole idea of one person, forever? Fairytales. You pick the person you’re least likely to kill, and you get your kicks anywhere else you need to. Maria gets that. You’d be better off if you realized that yourself. Sensitivity doesn’t get you anywhere.”

He was talking about that hand on Zatanna’s waist, about the flaring jealousy that rose in Tony’s throat. It was illogical, he knew. The chances of the past version of his father -- married, dead, his dad -- capturing Zee’s attention was nil, and yet …

“My dad taught me that,” Howard said, voice all but underwater.

“Authoritarian?” Tony offered. Howard huffed a laugh.

“Doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Howard said. “He was as fond of the belt as I am of a stiff martini. Still, look what he turned me into? Stark men are made of iron. We’re all raised the same, and we’re better for it.”

All. “Do you-”

“Oh God,” a new voice interrupted. Tony looked up from his drink, right into Maria’s knowing gaze. “There’s two of them.”

Howard rose from his seat, pressing a kiss to Maria’s cheek as he snubbed out the end of his cigar. Tony let his burn between his fingers, gaze flickering to Zee.

“Maria,” Howard said. “You gotta meet Rhodes. Eddie, right?” Tony nodded. “This guy’s a visionary, Maria. Can’t believe we’ve never heard of him before. Worked for Roxxon, can predict the market turn like no one I’ve ever met. You know he’s worked on arc technology? A couple years in, he cracked miniaturisation. He’s got plans for a whole damn building based off the back of it.”

Howard reached for him, then, and Tony flinched long before Howard’s hand squeezed his shoulder, and he forced himself to relax under the touch.

“This man--” Howard continued. “--this man has integrity. He’s gonna go far, I’m telling you. The next braveheart. You know, Eddie, I haven’t seen a man like you since-”

“Rogers,” Maria interjected. Her eyes were narrowed, her hand resting on her stomach.

“Rogers, exactly!” Howard said. He turned back to Tony, squeezing his shoulder again. “If my sons turn out anything like you, I’ll be a lucky man.”

Tony blinked twice. “Sons?”

“Twins,” Maria said. “I was just telling Anna.”

“Arno’s mine,” Howard provided, “and she can have Anthony.”

“Antonio,” Maria corrected, “and I keep trying to tell him, they’re both our ch-”

“Twins.”

His voice must’ve betrayed something. His voice, or his hands which now had a tremor he thought he’d calmed with Zatanna’s fingers brushing against his cheek, or his eyes which were uncovered by sunglasses because he didn’t think to bring them. Supid, to come here without a shield -- though he hadn’t, had he?

He stood up from the deck chair, snubbing the cigar and taking one last, long gulp from his glass before he set it down. “Congratulations,” he said to Maria. “I’m sure it was a surprise.”

Tony held his hand out only slightly from his side, a silent invitation that he knew Zatanna would take because she had a hundred times before. They’d always been tactile, always looked for comfort with a head on their shoulder or buried into a shoulder, but this was something else. This was something deeper, because he was looking at her ring.

And then he was looking at her.

We can be like my parents, he’d said. This doesn’t have to mean anything.

Hell looked different, to different people. Tony never expected to use that word to describe a time when his father’s eyes shone like that talking about him, when he presented him to Maria like a trophy shining on the top shelf, but he was now. There was something turning in his gut, and he wasn’t sure what it was. Time displacement nausea, maybe. Maybe something else.

All he knew was that he wasn’t going to get his answers here, with a crowd looking over to see what had caused the Howard Stark to respond so viscerally. “Will you excuse us?” he asked. “I just remembered we … we have someplace to be.”

“Oh,” Howard said. Maria’s expression only hardened. “You should take my card, at least. We’ll have a great place for you at Stark Industries, or within SHI--”

“We’ll be in touch.”

ZATANNA: Two years, she had spent in other dimensions. Two years, she hadn’t spoken to Tony — not her version of him at least. (This one, she quietly corrected herself. He wasn’t hers.) But that distance had felt like nothing when she came back and stepped into his kitchen. Falling back in with him and been so natural. But this was… it was a different kind of distance. She was walking with Maria, casually talking about anything but her marriage because Maria had hit a sore spot. But she was looking at Tony and thinking about what she had said to Maria. That quiet confession that he’d never hear. All the thoughts — all her feelings, dying on her lips. She could have closed the distance a few months ago and wrapped her arms around him and it would have been fine. And now? Closing that distance only pointed towards her desperation — her desire to be close to him.

And what hurt more, the knowledge that she could do it? Or the knowledge that even if she didn’t, she would get the same reaction from Tony? But as Maria had so bluntly put it, love made things complicated. Just like it made the ache in her heart worse. Just like it made the distance of a few feet feel like an impossible ocean to cross.

It was the same feeling in her chest that made her forget that her father was somewhere inside this party too. The same feeling that made her feel a little warm at the idea of Maria liking her because that was her mother-in-law. Even if she didn’t know it. Even if she didn’t know it was her son standing next to her husband at the bar. (She was wishing now that she hadn’t dressed this up as a long-postponed honeymoon. This was supposed to be Tony getting a chance to see his parents, just a quick trip — not one that was supposed to help guide the blade that would surely carve out her heart.)

Maria and Howard immediately came together and Zatanna lingered at Tony’s side, falling back into her confused state of feelings, somehow jealous that Howard could openly kiss Maria and also furious at Tony for saying that they could be like them. (There was love, it seemed, between them, someplace in their relationship — but their love hadn’t lined up. And Zatanna was thinking, maybe… maybe they would end up just like them. Ships in the night. Almost something to each other. But not quite there.) Howard was singing Tony’s praises and then the word miniaturization came up and Zatanna glanced at Tony, not enough that anyone else would care but enough that she hoped he understood she knew. That was something that Howard wasn’t supposed to know about — none of them were. Tony was supposed to do that years from now in a cave.

“I take it you two had a productive conversation?”

How was she supposed to stop that from impacting the future? That was a clear turn — but Zatanna didn’t get a chance to figure out how to move forward with that before Howard was mentioning the twins.

Zatanna wished she had time to warn him, to ease him into the idea that there was supposed to be two of him. Arno and Anthony. (Antonio, Maria had said.) They were talking names and who got what child and it was… it was light and warm despite the previous conversation that lingered. Love made things complicated, but they had common ground here. But a shadow lingered on the horizon and she and Tony both knew it.

Tony was on his feet and his hand twitched at his side, just barely leaving a gap for her hand, but like a magnet, she snapped into place with his hand. Wrapping her fingers around his hand without question, gently gripping his hand as a reminder, if her touch hadn’t done it, that hopefully the pressure would remind him that he wasn’t alone. Her thumb dragging across the back of his head. Focus on something, anything — just not them —

She couldn’t stop him though. Couldn’t help calm his mind without drawing too much attention to the look in his eyes or the twitch in his hand.

In the corner of her eye, she saw his head turn and she followed suit, catching his gaze for just a moment. Wondering if her worry was as plain as it felt in her chest. If her confession a few minutes earlier was written there too. How much of it could he see? How transparent was she becoming? But those thoughts flickered away. Unimportant. (Irrelevant.)

The conversation ended abruptly, and Tony was ready to run — and she couldn’t blame him. This was a lot more than what they had signed up for. But the expression on Maria’s face, that concerned her. Was it suspicion that they might be spies for another company? Or was it something else that caused her gaze to turn in such a way?

“It was a pleasure to meet both of you,” Zatanna offered, trying to soften the bluntness of Tony’s reply. “I adore the flamingo, by the way.”

Hand in hand, Zatanna pulled Tony towards the exit of the building but instead of going out the door, pulled him into a side room. Someplace that was reasonably private so that they could talk.

There was so much that she wanted to say, about how he had slipped up numerous times and she was certain that he had give up too much to his father. Too many mentions of future technology and how that she had trusted him not to do anything that would disturb the timeline. And yet, he had said so many things that no one should know. Not for a few more decades. But those frustrations quieted as she changed her grip so that she was holding both his arms just below his shoulder.

“Tony. I’m sorry — I didn’t know. Maria told me about it just moments before we came back to talk to you.” She would have warned him if she could. (And she wished she had whispered a spell just to whisper in his ear before they came over to him. But when it came to magic, she didn’t know where the line was with Tony. How much of it she could use on him without asking him? So much of them was still undefined.)

It had been a long time since Zatanna was at a loss for words. Her mouth hanging open as she tried to find something suitable to help him — but what could she offer? A return trip home was likely the answer that he needed, but there was doubt in her heart that she could do transport him in this state without making things worse for him when they came back to where they were supposed to be. (Time travel was a delicate thing, and ripping Tony away from one stressful situation and dropping him into another? That wasn’t helpful. That would just hurt him more.)

This had been a mistake.

Tony was right, the second they stepped out of that portal and he asked her to send them back, she should have. And she should have never offered to send them back here in the first place. But… she knew why she had done it. Why all logic slipped out of her mind and all she was thinking about was what she could give him. Because he had smiled. Genuinely smiled and looked at her like she had been the one to decorate the very sky with stars. As if she was all the magic in the world collected into one person.

She had done it because she wanted to see that smile again. So that he’d keep his eyes on her in that same manner. A foolish choice made out a feeling that blossomed in her chest.

“We can go home,” she assured him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay first.”

“It was you.”

A voice interrupted and Zatanna pulled her hands away from Tony, as if a teenager caught with her boyfriend for the first time — because it was her dad. Standing in the doorway. He was dressed as he always did, like a performer. But by his posture, it was clear that this… this wasn’t a social visit. At least not anymore. His jaw was set, and he was looking between Tony and Zatanna, deciding what he was going to do.

“What was us?”

“Just you,” he said, focusing on Zatanna. She could feel her body stiffen. This wasn’t the man that she remembered from her childhood, and this wasn’t the man she remembered leaving in Hell. This was… her father before her mother. And he seemed to be a different person entirely. “When you cast spells, there are ripples.” Zatanna knew that. Every magician knew that— “And the bigger the spell. The bigger the ripple.” His gaze turned towards Tony. And it clicked, he wasn’t saying this for her benefit, he was saying it so that Tony understood. “Who are you? Where are you from?”

“My name is An—”

“Eht hturt. Won.”

Zatanna inhaled. She had seen her father do this before, he had cast this spell a number of times on other people, just like the one he had used to alter memories — but he had never used it on her. She tried to tell herself that he didn’t know it was her, that if he had known, he would have never crossed that line. But that didn’t stop the sting in her eyes as she opened up her mouth, knowing that it wasn’t choice guiding her words anymore.

“My name is Zatanna Zatara—”

“Ecnelis.”

She bit down on her lip, forcing it to stop quivering while her jaw felt tight — and her lips felt like they had been stitched together. Her gaze hitting the floor and her head dropping. Shame and guilt rippling through her just like the waves of magic that had brought her father to her. But now they were coupled with the feeling that came with being violated. Ripped of her agency — the only thing she could find herself to be grateful for was that her father had stopped her before she had given up Tony’s identity too.

There was a new hesitance there. John was looking at her like he was trying to decide if she was his or if she was his brother’s. (He’d probably blame his brother, ignoring the obvious — ignoring the hurt in her eyes or the way she was slowly breaking under his gaze.)

“Fools, both of you.” John finally spoke up again, not sparing their feelings or wasting any more time. “I’ll clean up your mess. Howard won’t remember a thing. Do I need to alter Maria’s memories as well?” He assumed that Tony had screwed up, and Zatanna didn’t know if she should be pissed that he thought so little of anyone without the Zatara name, or pleased that he’d distort the memories that might have altered the course of history. (She was leaning towards the side of pissed off — even if she knew Tony had dropped the ball there.) “Answer me.”

‘You silenced me.’ Zatanna signed.

“Kaeps.”

Zatanna inhaled deeply again, opening her mouth, and gasping as she tried to find words again. “Maria doesn’t know anything. Howard’s memories might need alterations.” She knew that no matter how she answered, he would have touched on Howard’s memories regardless, at least this way, she could protect Maria from that trauma.

Lifting her gaze, she looked towards Tony, apologizing for what he had seen, what he knew was going to happen now, for all of it — and begging him to come closer to her all in the same glance. Her dad’s head turned at the same time and Zatanna’s attention snapped back to him, stepping between him and Tony. “Leave him alone.”

John’s jaw tightened again, looking down at Zatanna before looking towards Tony once more. “You both need to leave. Now.”

TONY: Zatanna guided him into the house, and for a second Tony wondered if she’d been here before, in any of the numerous universes she’d come across some version of him before. He wondered if there’d been a time when she stood in front of a sixteen year old Tony Stark standing at the bottom of a marble staircase with blooming purple on his cheekbone, wondered if he brushed her off as he’d brushed off everyone else who dared to ask about it (less people than he had always assumed would. People didn’t want to look too closely at the sun, because they knew it would burn. It was the same with this). She pulled him into the kitchen -- one of the kitchens -- the one that wasn’t used by the chefs for events but rather on an everyday basis for breakfast and family dinners, the very place that used to house smashed glass and spilled wine and tears.

Tony looked, instinctively, to the corner. He remembered holding his mother there, her head pressing into his shoulder, her arms wrapped around him. He remembered her promising they would leave. He remembered thinking how, if magic or God existed, she would follow through on that promise. If magic or her God existed, they would’ve been safe. They would’ve been in Sicily. They would’ve been somewhere, anywhere, away from flashing lights and crashing cars and a wine cellar that always went empty long before time.

But God didn’t exist, not that Tony had seen. God didn’t exist, and magic did, but not in the way he’d always hoped. Because Zatanna was capable of bringing him back in time, capable of so many wonders, capable of completely rewriting the rules of the universe as he had once known them, and still, she couldn’t change what had happened here. She couldn’t change what his parents had done, what they failed to do. She couldn’t change what they were fighting, in a marriage that they couldn’t define.

“I know,” Tony said, the second Zatanna started speaking. “How could you know? I didn’t.” He figured that much was obvious from the look that passed his face as soon as his mother said the words, figured that was why she looked at him with narrowed eyes and suspicion tensing her shoulders. “It makes sense, though. It … all of it, it makes sense. You know Mom’s with SHIELD? One of their best agents, he said. I always thought she was … that he dragged her into it. That he killed her. But she knew. When she went out with the … when they moved the serum, they both knew.”

Did that make it better, or worse? Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on it, riding a thousand emotions at once, reaching once again, subconsciously, to touch his fingertips against Zatanna’s, something to ground him.

“I just--” Tony sucked in a breath, pulled his hand back only briefly so he could run it through his hair (his breathing was picking up. If FRIDAY worked in this universe -- she could, if he altered it, he knew that -- she would warn of an impending panic attack. Tony didn’t need the warning. He knew the signs all too well). “My dad was a hero. He changed the world. He ended the war, he recreated the serum, he gave me the element that I needed so I wouldn’t … so palladium wouldn’t keep killing me. He saved my life a hundred times over, and he never even told me where he went. He never said a single thing about SHIELD, about what he sacrificed.”

His father was a hero. His mother was, too. But now, slowly, Tony was beginning to realise something else.

“You know,” Tony continued, and this time he did look away, looked down at their hands or at the ring on her finger or the necklace around her neck, anywhere except for meeting her eyes, “the first person who taught me how to be treated? Dad. I never knew how to … relate to people, in boarding school. I never knew how to be--” Digestible? Easy to swallow, easy to love? “But I knew how to take a punch. I knew I deserved it. And then I got older, and I started…”

Sleeping around. Shooting up in expensive rooms in clubs he couldn’t remember the name of even with an eidetic memory because he’d never cared about where he was or who he was with, so long as his head was swimming and he could be silent, for a moment. He’d wake up the next morning and hate himself, but God, it was worth it for that second. For that instant.

“I’m drunk,” he said, huffing a bitter laugh as he turned to the wall, then back again. He turned in a circle and he didn’t know where to focus, because there were nicks in the wall he’d never seen before and there were wine stains missing in the rug he knew would one day appear. “I’m drunk and I just smoked a cigar, and I fucking hate cigars. And I just -- he said his dad did the same thing. Fond of the belt, he said. And I’m meant to feel bad about that, right? I’m meant to … that’s meant to explain something.”

Tony did feel bad. Even if he could hear Obadiah calling him weak in the back of his head, even if he knew it was a dangerous sentimentality even in the relative safety of his own mind, Tony felt for his father. He mourned for him, was angry at the grandfather he’d never met, at the history that he carried through. But there was something else there, too.

“His dad did the same thing,” Tony said, finally, turning back to meet Zatanna’s gaze, to hold it for a long moment. “His dad did the same thing, and yet he looked me dead in the eye, and he said it made him stronger. He said it turned him to iron. He said … he said it was a good thing. He chose to do that to me, and what he did, it didn’t … it didn’t build character, Zee. It didn’t do a damn thing. It was just--”

Abuse.

The word settled heavy on his tongue, lodged itself deep down in his chest. “I’m gonna be sick,” Tony said, matter of fact, and just as he turned to retrace steps to the bathroom, the door opened and another ghost from the past appeared.

More recent past, but God, Tony couldn’t tell that by looking at him. He’d never seen John this young, never seen him this angry. Never seen how disappointment could look in his eyes, though he was damn used to being looked at like that. (Every person had a unique way of tunnelling in under his skin, making it hurt on the way out.)

We can go home, Zatanna said. Tony was pretty sure John was going to make them, even if they didn’t want to.

(What would that look like? Tony allowed himself a brief moment of fantasy, a second to wonder whether just staying here away from everything, knowing what they knew, being able to change the past and make it better -- they could have a life here. They could have a home and he could kiss her and it would be okay. It would be better than okay, because all the horrors they’d faced, all the pain that happened in his parents’ lives to turn them into what they became … they could change that. The power was in their hands.

But even magic could only go so far.)

“In her defence,” Tony said, beginning to step in front of her as soon as he saw Zatanna’s expression shift, as soon as John turned his attention solely to her, “I asked her to do this. It’s on me more than--”

He wasn’t listening. This was between father and daughter -- or father and future daughter. Father and stranger, at this point in time -- and Zatanna didn’t have experience of that. She’d never looked into her father’s eyes, into half of her, and seen hatred or suspicion reflected back. She’d been loved, since the very first day she lived, since the first breath she took. It was the least she deserved, of course. It was the least any kid deserved, the least Tony was going to give to his. But still, he had to imagine that this hurt even more when she was so used to that love being unconditional, unwavering. Earth-shattering.

Zatanna looked towards him, and Tony didn’t care what John was capable of. He didn’t care if moving closer would shatter whatever existed between them, or if it would alter the time-space continuum, or break something even more than he already had. Zatanna looked at him and she needed him, and he stepped towards her immediately, hand going to hers, squeezing tightly.

“We’ll go,” he said, pulling Zatanna gently towards the door. “We’ll go. Thank you.”

(Thanks for erasing my father’s mind. You think you could make him less of a bastard at the same time, or is hurting me part of the universal plan?)

Tony guided Zatanna out of the house, ducking his head when he caught sight of familiar brunette curls and a well presented man in a three piece suit. He kept his eyes focused almost entirely on the ground, navigating by pavings alone, until he almost collided with a solid mass, forcing him to drop Zatanna’s hand.

“Eddie!” Howard’s voice came again, a bright, brilliant smile coming over his face. “We should grab another drink, speak more about Isodyne.” A casual glance to the side, appraising, and then, “Feel free to bring your wife. Talking business is always more enjoyable with a pleasant view.”

ZATANNA: She was holding her breath. The expression on his face shifted, his eyes moving to certain parts of the room, and she wondered what he was seeing there that she wasn’t. What had happened in this room? (And the more that he talked, the more he detailed his account of what had happened to him — she was scared of what that answer might be.) Her first reaction was to tell him that they could move to another room, but the offer never came. It didn’t matter what room of this house they were in, she was sure each room had their own memories and she wasn’t sure what she’d be unearthing while trying to give him a place where he could decompress before they flickered back to the time they belonged.

“I know you know — I just wish…” She shook her head. “Wishing doesn’t matter here.” Because it didn’t. It didn’t matter if she wanted to soften the blow. Wishing wouldn’t change what had happened. But Maria being a SHIELD agent was also news to her. “She’s… what?” That hadn’t been the impression that she had gotten from Maria when they were on the other side of the party, picking at appetizers, talking about baby names and what marriage meant. But it made sense, with that context in her head, how Maria could be so… practical? Matter of fact? Clinical. She had approached marriage and the subject that Zatanna had asked about with such surgical precision that Zatanna had assumed that it was because she had lived this life for so long. That she and Howard had found what had worked for them and that she was content (if anyone could be that) in the life that she had been given.

But Maria being apart of SHIELD meant exactly what Tony was saying. There was no way that she had gotten into that car that night and not know what had been happening. She wasn’t a clueless victim that had ended up wrapped around a tree because Howard had been drunk and selfish. (Moved the serum. She didn’t know a lot about science, she could barely follow earlier when Tony and Howard had been talking and they hadn’t been using massive words, she simply… didn’t understand. But the serum? She knew about that. She just hadn’t realized that his father had any of it with him the night that he had died.)

She wished that it made things better. That she could reach out to Tony and say that meant that his parents, at some point in their lives, had been partners. But did that matter? Truly? They were both dead in the space that Tony and Zee both existed, and it didn’t change how they lived.

This discovery might have changed things for Tony, but it didn’t change any other part of his story. His breathing was heavy, and she was trying to figure out how to calm him down but knowing that this — this wasn’t the kind of story you told while you were calm. It was the kind that pulled out from your soul and left it bleeding on the floor while you hoped that the person you told it too understood what it meant. How much it hurt — how much of it you still carried with you even if you shared a piece of it with them. So, she didn’t stop him. She let him start exploring that story and tried not to cut him off because she cared and she wanted him to breathe, but she also felt like this was something that he needed to say. And if he needed help carrying it, she’d help him with that too.

His father was a hero in some places. Zatanna could wrap her head around that, but the more that Tony told her, the less she could see him that way. There was no shining light around him, the best thing he had ever done was bring Tony into this world and maybe she could thank him for that element too, but everything he had done to Tony in that time between? Those weren’t the actions of a hero. Howard had been the one who taught Tony that every flaw in his life was his own fault, that the blame of anything and everything fell on his shoulders. It wasn’t Tony’s voice that she was arguing against in text messages, or Tony’s true thoughts that she had been signing at angrily in that bathroom — it had been what Howard taught him to think of himself.

Howard had been the one that had Tony apologizing for existing. For making mistakes. For being human. And the bitterness was full in her mouth as she tried to swallow every nasty thought she had about him. Tony needed to decide how he felt about his father without Zatanna leaving notes in his words, telling him just what she thought of him and what she’d do to him if she ever saw him again — Howard had never hurt her. But the heat in her veins felt the same. It burned just the way as it had when he was looking at her without seeing her. Discounted to nothing more than the trophy wife of a man with a magnificent mind. But that disgust only grew, knowing how he had put his hands on Tony. How he had told Tony about his own incidents with his father.

He worked it out until he said he was going to be sick, and Zatanna was right next to him, a hand on his back, ready to help him track down the nearest bathroom.

But they’d never get that far.

Tony spoke up to defend her but of course, his way of protecting her was hoarding the blame for himself, and she gave him a look. Even in the midst of feeling the pressure of her father, she could spare her husband a glance that reminded him that she hated it when he did that. That they were partners — maybe they weren’t traditionally married, maybe they weren’t the sparkling couple that others might have been, but he didn’t get to pick up all the blame and act like it was his fault. Because it wasn’t. (And him saying it again only reminded her that Howard had done that. Howard had fed that idea into Tony’s head until it was second nature for Tony to decide that it was his fault something had gone wrong.)

Her father’s words — his magic — all of it had stung. And she knew it wasn’t what Tony had experienced, it was just a fraction of that violation. That feeling of trust that was supposed to be there that had shattered in an instant. (He didn’t know, Zatanna told herself. He didn’t know until he had already crossed that line.) But he had crossed it so easily. No hesitation in his spells or in his steps. He wanted answers and he didn’t care how he got them. (Zatanna had been like that once. Sometimes she still was like that.) But that intimidation, that feeling that was sinking into her chest and making her want to puke — that was what Tony had lived with his entire life.

It was easier for her to warp what had happened to her and think about how it had happened to Tony. It was easier to be angry that way instead of scared, instead of hurt. Tony guided them out of the room and out the front, and Zatanna was absently following him. Trying to create a narrative in her mind where what her father did wouldn’t keep hurting her when they went back home. So that she could go to his grave and not think about how he manipulated minds so easily without any care at all. (A truth spell. He had used mind control, a basic form of it but it was still — he shouldn’t have. Not unless he had to. And what had she done to make him think that he had to?)

Outside, Zatanna found herself copying Tony, keeping her head down and focusing on the ground. But then they stopped. They stopped and Tony let go of her hand and her heart dropped — Howard’s voice ripped through the air again, and this time, Zatanna wasn’t standing at Tony’s side with a polite smile on her face, tucking herself under his arm so that it was clear that she was with him.

Instead, she was only a foot away from him, staring at the side of Howard’s face, watching as he looked over her, listening as he called her a pleasant view. But she didn’t hear him, not fully at least. She understood he look he had given her, but all she could think about was what he was going to do to Tony after he was born. How much he was going to hurt him and think that he was teaching Tony something.

“Thank you for the offer,” Zatanna forced out. Howard looked at her, confused briefly, as to why she was the one responding and not Tony. “But we will be declining.” She had only truthfully spoken so that he’d look at her. In a fluid movement, she brought her hand back and punched him square in the nose. His blood was on her knuckles as he stumbled backwards, a hand over his mouth and an expression on his face that suggested maybe she had sobered him up with that hit.

“Oh god,” Zatanna whispered. She shouldn’t have done it — it felt good but she knew she shouldn’t have. Zatanna looked at Tony, an apology to him on the tip of her tongue when a pair of hands came out, grabbing the two of them by the shoulder.

Her father. Once again. And a furious glare, but he didn’t take the time to scold them. Instead, he cast a spell. And when they blinked, they were standing back in the attic of Shadowcrest. Surrounded by dust and boxes, and memories that Zatanna was starting to think were best left unremembered.

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompts

[Masterlist] Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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          April 16th - 22nd

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Kim Seokjin: Simile 

Dressed in his best suit Seokjin entered the classroom. It was a parent-teacher interview and he was seeing you, Jungkook’s English teacher. He heard from Jungkook that you were weird-looking, all lumpy sweaters, long skirts, messy buns and big bottle-shaped glasses. Squeezing his tall frame into the desk he looked to the front of the class where you told all the children about what and how you teach their children. He thought Jungkook must have been so totally wrong to think you looked like that. You were stunning. Seokjin was almost glad for your baggy sweaters and long skirts, every now and then he saw the ghost of your figure hiding underneath. After that, you went around and discussed quietly with all the parents how each student was individually in class.

You got to him last after some major side-eyeing, I mean he was seriously handsome and you were dreading getting any closer. But everyone else had gone. “Mister Kim was it?” You asked and he held out the name tag each parent wore. “Your son is brilliant and very good at most things but he is a little bit of a prankster. And I don’t think he is applying himself seriously. I mean I asked them to write about their weekend and to include a simile and a metaphor and he only wrote one sentence. This weekend I saw a girl named Simile, but I don’t know what I metaphor (met her for*)” Seokjin started laughing. The sound was so high pitched and you felt yourself blushing.

Jin was proud.

Min Yoongi: Lookalike @anoesjkaax

Walking through the music store he saw you, dressed super cute at one of two registers. He liked that your short dark hair was in a half-up style and atop your cute little nose were a pair of black circular sunglasses. You looked cute sitting next to another young girl who was talking animatedly about her weekend. He was strolling through the aisles and was a little weirded out for a music store. It was so quiet.

“Hey, can I help you?” You asked he shook his head 

“No, I am just looking?” Your coworker was quick to jump right back into her storytelling. He came back every day for a week trying to find something that piqued his interest. He learnt that every day you weren’t there the music was unbearably loud. But when it was silent you were sitting at the counter. Talking animatedly with your coworkers and customers. He had spoken a few words to you every time he came in asking where he could find certain genres and you would smile and gesture to certain parts of the store. He finally found something he thought he might like.

“Hi, just this one?” He smiled nervously hoping he didn’t seem weird for being in there all the time. He had made sure to style his hair and was wearing his nicest pair of jeans and hoodie. 

“Hey have I seen you somewhere before, or do you have a lookalike” You smiled up at him causing his cheeks to grow pink if you noticed you didn’t point it out. Your coworker laughed saying that it was a terrible pickup line. He seemed to freak out some more when your coworker left you two alone going to fetch the cd. Paying with a card as you were at an EFTPOS only register. “Tell me what is that cologne you are wearing?”

“Uh can’t remember the name I got it as a gift” 

“It smells like patchouli and really woodsy while still being fresh” an old man sighed

“I just want to buy this cd why aren’t you serving me? There are two registers, maybe if you weren’t sunglasses inside you would know I was waiting”

“My apologies sir, I only work the EFTPOS register as I can’t count money quick and accurately enough without a few minutes. And I promise you even if I weren���t wearing these sunglasses I still wouldn’t be able to see you as I am blind” pulling off your glasses to reveal your cloudy eyes. Yoongi laughed in relief this whole time he tried to look cool but you didn’t even care. 

Jung Hoseok: Fun

“Come on, it will be fun”

“Hobi I don’t want to go on a group date it’s not my scene” he was trying to convince you to come out tonight to meet some guys because you apparently needed to get out more. But after arguing on the phone you gave in. Getting dressed, styling your hair and getting out of your casual clothes and searching in the back of your wardrobe finding a beautiful red dress and black heels. You put on makeup, something you only did for weddings. Arriving at the restaurant everyone was ordering chicken and beer. 

Hoseok was late; he probably wanted to force you to talk with some of the guys before he got there, knowing you would only talk to him if he showed up early. Getting to know the guys you were drinking pretty well. They began a drinking game and you lost, they handed you a tall glass of beer but as you went to grab it a hand snatched it away you looked up to see Hoseok standing above you drinking the whole cup. He placed the glass down, grabbed you by the wrist and led you away.

“Hey what’s going on, why are we leaving you said I had to get out more” You whined getting annoyed from being dragged around you ripped your arm from his grip and stopped “I don’t understand”

“I didn’t mean like this, do you know how freaking amazing you look right now” He turned to face you he was towering over you even though you were in heels.

“What is your problem this was your suggestion”

“My problem is this” He kissed you full on the mouth pressing you against the wall, his hands in your hair.

Kim Namjoon: Good

With a hand over your heart, you took a few steps into the warehouse. His nickname was the monster and from the stories you had heard, it was a fitting title. He had a nasty habit of killing people, but that was literally his job so what did you expect? You were hiring a hitman, you had the money in a bag and you had no remorse. Walking into the warehouse you were led to an office upstairs by some of his henchmen, they patted you down looking for weapons and opened your bag to see the money before sending you up.

Namjoon leaned forward in his seat, he knew he was meeting with a woman who was asking him to do a job but he didn’t expect someone so… Colourful. You had a sky blue dress and you looked absolutely stunning. Like the daughter of some rich suburban father. You didn’t look like you had seen any struggles. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I would like you to kill someone for me” You gestured to the bag his henchmen took it and began counting out stacks. Before nodding to him to say it appeared all there.

“Tell me why would a nice young lady like you, come to a guy like me?”

“Look I just want the job done?” You hissed, “Can you do it?”

“Of course there ain’t no one better?” He smiled “Who is the unlucky fellow?”

You handed him an image and he sat up straighter confused. “Do you have a twin?”

“No.” You said “I am paying you to kill me, it’s your job to get it over with. I paid”

He pulled out a firearm from the top draw of his desk and cocked it aiming directly at you, he walked over to you watching you watch him. You were tense, eyes glassy, lip trembling. He frowned you looked so helpless and he hated seeing you scared. Pressing the gun under your chin, pushing your head up and kissing you slowly. “Sweetheart why would I kill someone who tastes so good”

Park Jimin: Chance 

What are the odds that two babies were born in two adjacent rooms in a hospital? Those two children went to the same daycare. That they were friends in primary school and enemies in High school. That their desks were right beside one another. That they both applied for the same university. She wanted to study music and he wanted to study dance. That they both got approved to live in the same apartment. What is the possibility that during their time in university they never once addressed their growing love and desire for one another? The day they went their separate ways felt like the whole world was crumbling down around them. With their careers taking off they never thought they would meet again. 

You were the music producer for an upcoming performance. It was going to be huge. And after a year of making show-stopping numbers, you were coming to see how it was going. Working beside the conductor explaining how each piece should feel. “This one should be like your running out of time; it's about not wanting to lose the one you love and being desperate to hold on. So the violins will run fast, getting faster and faster until they falter it falls silent and then it picks up on the cello, deep and rising bringing all the instruments back.”

“Hey, that was perfect, do you think you can do it again but this time with the ribbon in your hand. You are supposed to be clinging on to love here and that’s the symbol”

You watched the dancer and smiled, they weren’t facing the audience so you couldn’t tell much about them but they moved so elegantly and familiarly. Leaning back you headed over to the choreographer Hoseok who smiled.

“Everyone meet the music producer for the show, we have to make her proud because it is such a beautiful score.” Your eyes met and you couldn’t help his name slipping past your lips and he couldn’t stop his feet from striding forwards until you were in his arms. You went in for a hug but were surprised by his lips on yours. He held your face sweetly in his hands and moaned ever so softly into your mouth. “Jimin what are you doing, I am sorry about him he is a little flirtatious, he is sorry” 

Hoseok had tried to pull Jimin away and you grinned at Jimin’s love-struck face, rushing forward to pull him into a kiss of your own. What are the chances the two of you fell madly in love? That you got married. That you had children and grandchildren and lived happy long lives. 

Kim Taehyung: Pyjamas

Your roommate was holding a house party, you weren’t particularly fussed with the festivities preferring to lock yourself in your room. There had been multiple attempts at your door by drunk couples but you called them through the door to leave. The problem was, you were getting hungry. Sliding out of your room making sure to lock the door behind you, you didn’t want to return to horny young adults going at it on your clean sheets. Walking through the party you dodged people until you arrived at the kitchen. 

Everything had been raided from the fridge. About to complain you saw a young man looking bored. He was super handsome, you ordered pizza-making specific requirements to deliver it to your bedroom window. Sending through an exact map of how to get to it from the driveway. The handsome man was cornered by a girl who brought him a drink, he looked super uncomfortable and after she had turned away he tipped it down the sink. He politely tried to refuse her and you laughed walking over. She eventually left him alone when her favourite song came on. 

“Hey you look miserable” you laughed “You look really comfortable for a party”

“Thanks, these are my pyjamas, I am not at this party, I am just the roommate, I have been hiding in my room, I came out to get something to eat but everything is gone so I ordered pizza,” You said still trying to search for any of your hidden snacks. “You look like you're pretty popular with the girls, is that why you come to parties?”

“No, My friends they drag me here” he sighed

“You want to eat pizza with me, it will be quieter and I got a small tv we could probably watch a movie until the party is over” He nodded following you and as you stepped into the room together he hummed.

“You wouldn’t have a spare set of pyjamas, someone spilt beer on my pants earlier and it smells really bad?”

Jeon Jungkook: Astronaut

“Jungkook, I got to take your daily observations, come on” he sighed, following you to the tiny infirmary he sat on the seat and you took his blood pressure, his heart rate, respiration rate, the oxygen levels temp and more. He removed his shirt and you paused staring at his chest raising the stethoscope. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Good”

“Is Everything going well with sleeping, eating, toileting and emotionally and mentally?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no and no”

“What’s up?” You listened to his breathing up and down his back and then his chest. 

“It’s lonely up here but I am just really frustrated and there is nowhere to vent you know?”

“You can vent to me,” you said and he choked and you heard his heart skip a beat. Noticing his bright red ears it clicked “oh you mean to vent, vent gotcha, okay well I mean do you need help?”

“Y/n!’

“I meant we could request a facetime call with like a stripper or something maybe in their next supplies they can send up a toy or something, why does it feel like I have walked in on you masturbating but I am like your mother”

“Oh god don’t say that, you're making it weird, now I really can’t vent”

“I’m sorry how can I help, I know it’s a little unorthodox but I did part of my internship at a sperm bank, I can help you if you need, it would be one hundred percent a medical procedure it would mean nothing and it would release some happy endorphins”

“What if I want it to mean something” you paused for a second before kissing him without a care.

[darling-i-read-it]

City Corner Part 3

Mob/Mafia AU Series

City Corner Masterlist

Leonardo DiCaprio x reader, Jake Gyllenhaal x reader

Margot Robbie, Jodie Comer, Tim Roth, Colin Firth, Timothee Chalamet, Dacre Montgomrey, Natalia Dyer, Saoirse Ronan, Lana Del Rey, Hugh Grant are also included

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Gambling, mentions of addiction, alcohol, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: Again, I’ve casted these people as characters and used their names! I have this whole series planned out like a real writer so I’m excited to get to it now lol

Summary: Jodie goes for a truth, Saoirse warns the reader, Natalia slips up and Jake meets Lana

Genre: mafia, which is now a genre

(not my gif)

You woke up to Jake beside you. It took you a moment to remember where you were and what had happened the night before. Mentally you retraced your steps and recalled staying at Jakes for the night where you had slept with him, despite feeling hurt over Leonardo being with Jodie the night before.

You wondered a bit about what had happened when you left last night. Everywhere you went you caused a bit of chaos, between telling the Firths of the proposed wedding and going to the casino itself. Even leaving Hugh in your wake last night had been a bit douchey. And there you were, getting out of Jakes bed before he was awake.

You tiptoed around the room, taking it in better than you had last night. You recalled a bit of what happened but it was still lost in the haze of rash decisions. You got dressed and closed the door softly behind you, walking down the winding steps to the bar. It wasn’t open and seeing it so still gave you an eerie feeling.

You always had someone here with you when you came even if it was just a stranger and Jake. You hugged your jacket closer to you as you walked through the front doors. You envied yourself last night, feeling so alive doing so many things. Seeing Leo.

You were thinking about his ashy blonde hair when you walked up the stairs of your apartment. You imagined him doing the same thing, walking up those stairs to his room somewhere in the apartment where he lived with his sister. You tried to ignore the image of him living in the now dead casino next door, that big place being way to high maintenance for him.

You unlocked your door and walked in, dropping your bag on the floor and taking off your jacket. You were so ready to collapse into bed that you didn’t even see Saoirse sitting in your desk chair you used for the table.

“What the hell did you do?” she asked, accent heavy as she stood up. You had been thinking about calling her again to see if she had returned from where she went but seeing her here made you unsettled. You were only together when she wanted you to be and she had never used that tone with you.

“What do you mean what did I do?” you asked, finishing taking off your jacket. You put your gun on the table and then a few other things, keys, phone. She stood up, walking across the room to you.

“You went to the fucking casino?! Then to the pizzeria?! And then fucking disappered!” You gave her a look.

“You’re one to talk about disappearing.” She pursed her lips and gave you a hard stone look. You wondered if this was the face that some people's last memories were. This hard Saoirse, the one that scared you, that reminded you of how dangerous she was.

“You have to stay in the middle of all of this. But you can’t get involved with either family. You can talk to them, you can be civil with both sides. I know you just want Leo back but you can’t go and do that kind of shit.” You knew she meant well but her calling at Leo as your purpose stung. It was true, so it stung. You backed down.

“You’re right. I just wanted to see him. I feel important when I work for both sides.”

“I know you do but it will get you killed.” Her voice had calmed down. She saw that you were understanding.

“I slept with Jake,” you told her, eager to change the subject. Her playful smile returned and she rolled her eyes.

“So did I, you’re not special.”

---()()()()()()()()---

Jodie held her jacket close to her chest. Her father had blown up last night at the Firths sending you to spy out the wedding plans and she knew he was probably planning an attack that would cause fatal to someone Jodie cared about.

So she got up early that morning, not caring that Leonardo hadn’t stayed in the casino again, instead intent on finding the pizzeria. She had never been inside, only hearing whispers about the legendary business.

The bell rang above her head as she walked inside. There was only one other person inside, behind the counter. She had never seen him before but by the apron she figured he was a Firth. He was talking to someone in the back lightly and another voice floated into the area.

“Dacre I think dad and Nat are going out tonight. That is all I came to tell you, I know nothing more, please don’t push me,” a male voice said. Dacre, the one she could see, answered back.

“Whatever Tim. Ten bucks Nat slips up agian.” A door shut in the back and she figured it was just her and this Dacre boy. She had heard of him she now realized. She knew of all the Firths but had never actually been able to see them. It was odd.

She approached the counter.

“I’m Jodie Roth,” she said outright. He turned his head, eyebrows raised. He was handsome, utterly handsome. She had never swooned before but seeing him staring at her now she thought that she might. It gave her momentary pause.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. She noticed his hand was under the counter, presumably feeling around for the gun they had taped to the bottom. She put both her hands on the counter to show him that he was unarmed. She had even worn a very flowy dress to show she meant no harm.

“I think our dads are going to kill each other and I was hoping that you would help me make sure that didn’t happen.”

Dacre raised his eyebrows. He had trained for the fight against her dad his whole life, there was no way he would give it up now. However her proposition intrigued him. Who came straight into the enemy den and asked for a truce?

“What makes you think I can do that?” He was talking back to her. He put both his hands on the counter and she took a breath of relief. He was listening to her.

“I don’t know. I thought I would give it a shot before someone I love gets killed.” He leaned against the counter. She was rustically pretty and he could appreciate it. He liked her dress. He had never seen any girl in the business wear something like that.

“Like Leonardo?” She pursed her lips.

“I don’t want to marry him. I just know he can’t marry Margot because she's more valuable single. I just don’t want anyone to die.” He nodded, understanding where she was coming from.

“We can talk Jodie Roth. You want a pizza?”

---()()()()()()---

Jake woke up to you not beside him. It was already midafternoon. He had slept through his alarm. He got up, rubbing his head. He thought about you the moment he got up, wondering when you had left. He got out of bed, shrugging on some casual clothes and then walked down the winding stairs to your building a few buildings down.

He wanted to see how you were doing, why you had so abruptly come to him last night. You weren’t bad in bed either. He walked in the building and realized he had no idea which room you were in. He looked at the rundown lobby where an old man behind a desk sat.

Jake walked up to him.

“Can you tell me where Y/N Y/L/N lives?” he asked. The man gave him a questioning look.

“I can’t give out that information sir.” Jake nodded. He figured he couldn’t.

“Thanks anyway.”

He turned and came face to face with a pale beauty. Her black hair was carefully pinned back to show her whole gorgeous face.

“You’re looking for Y/N?” Her voice was careful and artistic. Jake wondered where he had seen her before.

“Uh yeah.” She smiled, her lipstick perfect on her lips.

“I’m Lana. Jake yes? You own Jake’s?” Lana DiCaprio, the hitwoman. The dangerous beauty. He couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid of her.

“Yeah I’m Jake.” She grabbed his hand and dragged her to the chairs in the lobby.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to own my own business. I thought that maybe it would be fun, not having to work for other people all the time,” she said whimsically. He didn’t think about why she was telling him that, he just wanted her to keep talking.

“Well if I die you can have mine,” he joked. She sat back in the chair. She was wearing jeans and a blouse which he thought was odd, considering her status.

“Thanks Jake. Hey do you think I can get a drink? I’m parched.”

“Its 10 in the morning,” he stated dumbly. She smiled and leaned forward.

“Well I work at night and don’t have any interest in being drunk on the job Jake.”

---()()()()()()()---

Later that night Colin walked beside his daughter. He was wearing his best suit, in preparation for how the night was going to go. He knew that Dacre and Jodie were still at the pizzeria and he knew that Lana was still with Jake at the bar. Everything was working in his favor despite the fact he had planned zero of what was happening.

He would have brought Timothee if he didn’t think he looked to threatening. Natalia in her slim ballerina ways, never seemed to look like someone who would murder others. They walked in the casinos front doors at around 10 at night.

They were immediately spotted but that was the plan. Two bodyguards came to get them, leading them up the long set of stairs to where Tim’s office was. Colin had briefed his daughter, telling her that he planned no deaths tonight. He would try for a truce and see where it went from there.

They walked in the room side by side and weren’t even frisked. They both had weapons on them but so did Tim, along with many bodyguards.

“I see you’ve come to chat Firth,” Tim said, staring at his enemy in his chair behind the desk. Margot sat in the desk itself, looking Natalia up and down.

“I’ve come to explain about sending a friend in to talk last night. I just wanted to make sure we had good information, it was nothing lethal. She wasn’t even armed.” He honestly didn’t know if you were armed.

“But you are yes?” Margot stated. Natalia watched the blonde carefully, trying to figure out what she was thinking. Margot however was ready to defend whatever these intruders thought about.

“For protective measures,” Colin stated. Margot turned to her father her nodded at her. The body guards behind Colin and Natalia moved in a step.

“What’s to stop us from taking you out right now Colin?” Tim asked, feeling the gun in his lap. Margot had her hand behind her, grabbing the gun in her waist band.

“Common courtesy.” Colin was completely calm but his daughter was watching Margot's hands and was getting worried.

“What do you want?” The blonde girl asked.

“Peace. We’ve come for a truce.” Tim shifted under the table and Margot moved her arm forward, pointing her gun at Natalia. Colin raised a hand and Natalia raised her gun.

“There is no need for violence girls,” Tim said smoothly but Natalia was high on adrenaline.

“I’ll put my gun down if she does,” the dark haired girl stated. Margot smiled.

“You first.”

“Natalia-“ Colin started but was cut off by a sudden change of movement. Margot had changed her hand position on the gun but the shift cut in Natalia's instincts.

A gun rang through the room.

Chapter 4

[the-busy-ghost]

Since I’m now obsessed with the concept of a Scottish widows themed tv series, may I suggest, a four season+ tv show following the life of one immortal black widow as she weaves her way out of one close call after another. 

As the backdrop to her plot we will also see her interact with the stories of real-life widows (though some of the stories may be mildly inaccurate for the Drama), and so I present for your consideration:

Season 1- 1513 to 1528. The Scottish Widow- a daughter of the minor nobility of Midlothian who married an Edinburgh burgess- has lost her first husband at Flodden. The second husband she marries hastily in the aftermath of the battle to protect her business interests is... less convenient than he seems. Her peers include Margaret Crichton (cousin of the late James IV, and widow of another burgess) and the provost’s widow Janet Paterson. Meanwhile the dowager queen of Scots, Margaret Tudor, has her own problems and a certain earl is looking increasingly attractive. As civil unrest develops around 1516 we meet Agnes Stewart, Countess of Bothwell and her new husband Lord Hume (at least until his head ends up on a spike), Isabella Hoppringle the prioress of Coldstream and maybe later Euphemia Leslie of Elcho (not widows but too interesting to leave out- and brides of Christ who involve themselves in wars may be an interesting perspective), and others. The season ends with the Widow’s husband drowning when one of her ships sinks on its way back from Veere and yet she somehow seems to have made money, not lost it...? And now we see her making her way towards the kirk of St Giles in the dark of night while, thirty miles away, a long-lost son rides to his mother at Stirling...

Season 2- 1548-1554- the Rough Wooing is in full swing and the Scottish Widow is over the Forth, having snagged herself an earl and become Countess of Kinross ten years ago. Everyone is vaguely aware that she should at least be in her fifties by now but she doesn’t look a day older than she did in 1528. Fortunately most of her husband’s estates are in Angus and the Borders or she would have to bump into one particular rival much more frequently- Margaret Erskine, widow of Robert Douglas of Lochleven (he died at Pinkie), the favourite mistress of the late James V, and a formidable woman who is not a little miffed that- through some temporary witchcraft or madness- one of the late king’s familiars was granted the new earldom that she believed should have been hers. But any further squabbling is temporarily called to a halt by the order of the dowager queen Mary of Guise and the need to band together to while English ships are raiding the Tay and Forth. 

A whole second season of intrigue follows, the Scottish Widow’s national loyalties and wedding vows are put under strain as both protection money and a handsome and seemingly malleable English lord catch her eye during negotiations. Meanwhile we are also introduced to women like Janet Beaton, lady of Branxholme and Buccleugh (widow of “Wicked Wat” Scott); Janet Stewart, Lady Fleming who is busy making a name for herself on the European stage due to the fall-out from her affair with Henri II of France; Marion Ogilvy, who was as good as married to the late, infamous, Cardinal Beaton; perhaps some interesting Englishwomen of the period; and others. The season ends with Mary of Guise becoming regent, while, with the winds of change in the air, the Scottish Widow again descends into the crypt at St Giles.

Season 3- 1567 to 1573/4- Obviously this season has to open at Kirk O’Field and it’s going to be a crazy season for the costume and pyrotechnics departments. At first though the Scottish Widow seems a different character- younger, timid, blushing modestly around men of the court, and hysterical in the face of all the political intrigue which she witnesses as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Mary for a short time. Turns out she’s now passing herself off as her own descendant, the sheltered daughter of the late Earl of Kinross, raised in seclusion on some estates in Angus since her father’s untimely death thirteen years before and, having been taken under the new queen’s wing, her lost lamb act is working quite well on both the men and women of court. But, as the political situation deteriorates, the Scottish Widow remembers that she is not only adept in courtly intrigue but also in war and trade. She also changes her supposed religion at least twice, and manages to get hitched three times in three different countries (we’re travelling to both Ireland and Norway in this, for that full, lavish Season 3 nonsense when you have loads of funding). She may also have a son of dubious paternity- she knows she cannot be a constant in his life so can only observe his upbringing from a distance. This season will not only feature Mary Queen of Scots, but also Mary Fleming (wife and widow of Maitland of Lethington), Agnes Keith (wife and widow of the Regent Moray), Annabella Murray (wife and widow of the Regent Mar), the aged Margaret Douglas (wife and widow of the Regent Lennox and mother of Darnley), Jean Gordon and Anna Throndsen (both sort-of wives but not yet widows of the Earl of Bothwell), Agnes Campbell (in between the death of her husband MacDonald of Dunyvaig and her marriage to Turlough Luineach O’Neill), maybe Jean Stewart Countess of Argyll (as a technical divorcee not a widow but still) and others of that most infamous period. I’m assuming the season would end somewhere around the end of the Lang Siege but I’m not sure yet- the most important point about Season 3 is that it be spectacularly lavish and dramatic, while the plotting is of secondary importance. 

Season 4- 1590s. The Scottish Widow has an interesting role this season- she’s now the honoured wife of a prominent minister of the Reformed Kirk of Scotland. She also has a clutch of stepchildren in whom she outwardly tries to instil some discipline whilst secretly encouraging each of them into rebellion- this is not always a self-serving act on her part, and she is surprisingly popular with her stepdaughters. Her husband is not the king’s biggest fan, but is from a prominent Ayrshire family so mixes with the elites and his wife with him- the Scottish Widow has certainly come into contact with the scandalous Countess of Arran and the fabulous Anne of Denmark and others. She is also keeping an eye on her son’s development at the university- he seems destined for the Kirk too but secretly seems more suited to older style of politics (squabbling stabby nobles) than the new. But rather than hanging out in Edinburgh or the east coast, this season most of her time is spent in rural South Ayrshire. Technically her role is as the mistress of the manse but she seems to spend more time  getting into unseemly squabbles with the neighbouring lairdly families over grazing rights, and debating over whether it technically counts as a crime if you requisitioned some cattle/smuggled goods in from Ireland in the name of the Lord (by which she means paying for one of her stepdaughters’ dowries). But looming over everything is the growing spectre of the witch-hunts- although the Scottish Widow is not about to get caught up in this as a victim. Instead when her husband dies suddenly and suspiciously, the blame falls on some of her poor neighbours with whom the Widow and her stepdaughters had been fighting. When an old woman might go to the stake because of her, we have to wonder- has the Widow gone too far this time?

And probably it would get cancelled after Season 4 because a) huge cliffhanger means cancellation and b) all of the Scottish nobility and a good portion of the merchant class were interrelated, so the Widow’s marriage pool is increasingly small. But could defo go on in some spin-off novels covering the 17th-20th centuries. 

I’d like to point out that I don’t really find the murder of one’s spouse to be a happy/easy subject, no matter what gender the murderer is, though in this age of marriage for politics and convenience more than straightforward “love” it’s a bit different. And also if men get to have their Hannibals and Breaking Bads and Draculas and all sorts of worse horrors, then I think a massively over the top show where it’s heavily implied (but not really shown) that a sixteenth century noblewoman is doing away with some (not all) of her husbands is not really that controversial.

Anyway I’m no writer and have no imagination but it’s the sort of show we all deserve.

[atc74]

Fire & Air

Square(s) Filled: Breeding Kink for @spnkinkbingo, Wedding for BTZ, Honeymoon for @spnfluffbingo2019​

Warnings: Fluff, surprises, honeymoon of a lifetime, here be the sex y’all, unprotected sex, breeding kink

Summary: Jared Padalecki is the heir and next in line to run his fathers oil company. Y/N Y/L/N is the only child of their biggest competitor. What happens when their fathers decide their personal and professional futures? Can they learn to get along, or even love each other? A follow up to Oil & Water. 

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 3434

Written for: @spnkinkbingo, btz bingo, @spnfluffbingo2019

Beta’d by: @alleiradayne thank you for everything

Like Jared’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families.

A/N: This was gonna be hella long as one piece, so I made it two parts. Read Oil & Water first

Despite their reservations, Jared and Y/N were married in his family’s backyard in the presence of family and a few close friends.

“Jared, you may kiss the bride,” the judge announced to conclude the ceremony.

Jared took his time as he lifted the veil covering her face. Her smile, while small, reached her eyes and Jared reveled in the promise they held, of the promises they’d just made to each other. He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms and their lips met in a chaste, yet soft and tender kiss. He returned to his place, her hand in his.

“Jared and Y/N Padalecki everyone!” the judge shouted, a small polite clapping erupted from their guests.

“I’m keeping my last name, by the way,” she whispered to Jared as they walked back down the white runner to the house.

“I’d never ask you to change it,” Jared assured her, keeping her hand tightly in his.

They entered the house and Jared pulled her back to his office for a few moments of privacy. The door clicked shut behind them as he turned to her.

“You look stunning, Y/N. With everything that has been thrown at us the last few weeks, I didn’t exactly expect to be happy today, but I am and wanted you to know. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, that is my promise to you,” Jared professed to his new bride.

“Thank you, Jared. It will take some time, but I know you will,” she responded. “But now that all this courting stuff is behind us, can you kiss me already?”

“I did just kiss you,” he responded, a smirk on his face.

“No, not that for show kiss. Kiss me like you mean it,” she whispered.

Jared brought his hands up to cup her face, his nose brushing hers as his lips hovered just above her own. His breath fanned over her skin, his hands held her face gently, and then his lips touched hers. Subtle at first, a barely there brush of soft, supple skin.

A delicate whimper left her pliable mouth as Jared slipped his tongue past her lips, tasting her, really tasting her for the first time. His hands tilted her head, changing the angle. His tongue swirled deeper around hers. It wasn’t hurried or wanton. It was passion and promise. It was fleeting and all too soon, it ended.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open as his lips parted from hers. Her mind whirling with emotions the kiss awakened in her. Her gaze met his as she reentered reality.

“So, was it worth the wait?” he smirked.

“Oh, there’s some room for improvement,” she teased, trying to mask the truth. And the truth was, she had never been kissed like that in her life. His kiss made her feel drunk, made her toes curl, his kiss made her forget. His was a kiss that she wanted to experience over and over and over.

“Duly noted. Now, just a couple more hours and then we have to jet,” Jared glanced at his watch.

“Jet? Where are we going?” she asked, skeptical.

“Our honeymoon, of course,” Jared laughed.

“Why are we taking a honeymoon, Jared?” she probed, but inside, she was giddy. The thought of spending time alone with Jared both excited and terrified her.

“Well, for one, it’s tradition, although nothing about this has been traditional, so I demanded one. Second, I wanted us to get away from the stress,” Jared shrugged. “Do you want to know where we’re going?”

“Yes. No. Maybe,” she giggled, her hand flying to her mouth.

“We’re starting in Europe, but that is all I am going to say for now. I want it to be a surprise,” he mumbled.

“I haven’t packed anything,” she added.

“Don’t worry about that. I gave your mother a simple itinerary and whatever she didn’t pack, we can get. I don’t want you to stress about this at all. I have it all planned out,” Jared assured her.

“Jared, I don’t much care for surprises,” she informed him.

“I honestly think you are going to love what I have planned,” he said hopefully.  “Please trust me.”

Y/N thought on it for a minute. She trusted him enough to open up, so she could do this, too. “Yeah, okay. I’ll trust you.” She reached her hand out for his and together they headed to their reception.

~*~

“A private jet, Jared?” Y/N’s wide were wide as Jared led her into the aircraft.

“I pulled out all the stops for this,” Jared grinned ear to ear. “I also may have given both our dads minor, okay major, guilt trips. So yeah, it’s only the best for me and my bride.”

“Oh I bet they loved that!” she laughed, getting comfortable in one of the oversized lounge seats.

“Not half as much as we’re going to love this trip,” Jared smiled, rather proud of himself, stretching out across the aisle from her. “It’s a long flight, so you might want to get some rest. I’ll set an alarm so we wake in plenty of time.”

“Yeah, okay,” she yawned, the stress finally overtaking her.

~*~

“Y/N? It’s time to wake up. We’ll be landing in about ninety minutes,” Jared gently roused her from sleep.

She stretched, looking around, then remembered they were on a private jet financed by their fathers for a luxury honeymoon arranged by her new husband. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere over the north Atlantic,” he laughed. “You slept almost eight hours. You hungry?”

“I’m starving,” she said, stretching her arms over her head, just as her stomach loudly rumbled its reply.

“Perfect timing then,” Jared said as he disappeared to the rear of the plane and returned with a small cart. He placed two covered plates on the table along with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Hmmm, this smells delicious,” Y/N moaned as he uncovered the plates revealing a pasta dish and a spinach salad.

“I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what your preferences were, so I stuck with something simple,” Jared poured the wine.

“You made this?” she asked, taking a bite. “It’s delicious.”

“Thank you. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mother growing up. I find cooking relaxing,” he shrugged.

They exchanged small talk over dinner, frivolous conversation for a couple just married, but expected for a couple still getting to know each other.

“Your mother packed your bags, labeled one through five. Feel free to freshen up, and pick an outfit from bag number one, please,” Jared instructed as he cleared the dishes.

Thirty minutes later, Y/N returned in a wool sweater, thick leggings, and knee high boots. She had a scarf and a jacket slung over one arm, while the other held a beanie and a pair of mittens. “This doesn’t look like the typical honeymoon attire Jared.”

“Do I need to remind you that we are not the typical couple?” Jared raised his eyebrows, a grin on his face, making his dimples even more prominent. “And this is definitely not the typical honeymoon.”

“You’re very mysterious, you know that?” she smiled, returning to her seat. He sat across from her, dressed in dark jeans, a dark gray button down and a black beanie.

“No, I’m really not,” Jared shrugged her off, looking out the window. “I’m a very simple man, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Mr. Padalecki and Ms. Y/L/N. We are beginning our descent into Reykjavik, please fasten your seatbelts. We’ll be landing forthwith,” the pilot announced.

“Iceland?” she tore her eyes away from Jared to watch the approaching landscape out the window. “I stand by mysterious.”

“You’ll see,” he smiled.

Y/N was excited to see what Jared had planned and she could barely sit still while the crew landed the plane and opened the hatch. The air was brisker than she had anticipated and she wrapped the scarf around her neck, slipped the beanie over her head, then grabbed the jacket and mittens. The sun had just started to rise, dusting the landscape with brilliant oranges and pinks.

Jared had slipped on his own jacket and stepped out of the door, holding his hand out to her. “Ready?”

She nodded and grabbed his hand, a smile on her face. A car waited for them on the tarmac and the driver handed Jared the keys as the steward loaded their bags into the back. “We’re going to stop by the hotel first to check in, then we’ll be back on the road in no time.”

Jared maneuvered the roads carefully and they safely arrived at their hotel. As Jared checked them in, Y/N wandered around the hotel lobby taking in the photos adorning the walls. They were filled with meteorological wonders of glaciers and even Grímsvötn, one of Iceland’s active volcanoes.

“Hey, Y/N? We’re all set here. Let’s get up to our room,” Jared held two key cards in his hand and they entered the elevator.

“Did you see any of those pictures? I’d love to see the glaciers and Grímsvötn,” she hummed happily to herself as the elevator ascended to the top floor. He handed her a key card, yelling out the room number as she took off down the hall as soon as the doors opened.

Flicking the card against the electronic lock, she opened the door, revealing a large suite with a balcony and a king sized bed. “Jared, it’s wonderful!” She exclaimed.

“Only the best, remember?” he chuckled watching her excitement, a backpack slung over his shoulder. “I hate to cut the exploration short, but are you ready for our next adventure?”

“Yes! But please tell me?” she bounced on the heels of her boots.

“No, but you’ll find out soon enough,” he laughed. “Come on, let’s go!”

Downstairs, there were three off road four by four jeeps waiting for them. Jared opened the door and helped her up into the seat before sliding in himself. The man driving greeted them warmly. “Welcome to Iceland! Are you ready?”

“Yes!” they said together.

“We have almost four hours until we reach our destination and there are others to pick up,” he informed them as he pulled out into traffic, two more vehicles following them.

“You ever been to Grímsvötn before?” the man asked them as they made another stop.

“What? We’re going to Grímsvötn? You’re taking me to a volcano for our honeymoon? You’re the best husband ever!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him as best she could in the tight quarters.

“Oh! Very nice! Congratulations!” The men in the front seat laughed.

~*~

“Did you know that Grímsvötn has erupted approximately sixty times over the last eight hundred years? But they’re mostly sub-glacial, that means under the ice,” she explained to Jared on their way back to the hotel. The visit to the glacier and volcano had been a full day and they were both drained, but it seemed Y/N was intent on using the last of her energy as she explained everything she knew and had learned about the volcano during the tour.

By the time the caravan of jeeps pulled back into Reykjavik, Y/N was sound asleep. Her head laid on his chest, and his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. He jostled her slightly exiting the jeep but he picked her up gently and carried her to their room. It was well after midnight and they could both use a good night’s rest.

~*~

Y/N woke the next morning in the rather comfortable king size bed, wrapped snugly in the down comforter. Day was just breaking, the dim light filtering through the skylight. She stretched and rolled over, thinking about going back to sleep, when she was met with a wall of heated muscle.

“Hmmm, good morning,” Jared mumbled, his voice deeper than usual. “Did you sleep well?” His eyes flickered open, meeting hers.

“Yeah, I guess I was pretty wiped out. That was quite an adventure yesterday. Thank you so much. That was amazing,” she smiled.

“It was my pleasure, and seeing the pure wonder and enjoyment on your face is thanks enough. I wanted this trip to be a journey, not just a destination,” he replied thoughtfully. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please and coffee, but first, I have to use the bathroom,” she replied, throwing the covers off and making her way to the bathroom. It was huge with a gigantic walk in shower and deep claw foot tub. It wasn’t until she washed her hands that she realized she was still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, sans the sweater and boots. She made her way back to the bed as Jared hung up the phone.

“Room service will be up shortly,” he yawned.

“Did I fall asleep in my clothes?” she asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, you were out before we made it back, so I carried you up and took off your outer layers. I didn’t want to cross a line,” he replied sheepishly, rising from the bed and rolling the muscles in his back.  

It was then that she took the opportunity to get her first good look at Jared, without so many layers. His shoulders were broad and muscular, covered in miles of golden skin. His hips were narrow and his ass… A clearing of his throat made her realize she had been staring and she quickly averted her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re married now. You’re allowed to look, in fact, I encourage it,” he smirked, giving her a small wink as he took his turn in the bathroom. His legs were impossibly long with thick, hard thighs.

After he finished, he threw on a t-shirt just as their breakfast was delivered. Y/N poured them both coffee as he took a seat. They dug into their meals, more ravenous than they realized.

“Exactly how much thought did you put into this honeymoon?” she asked, stealing a piece of bacon off his plate.

“Well, I did a bit of research, learned a few things, called a travel agent, gave a few details, made a few requests and here we are,” he replied, taking some of her fruit.

“What kind of research, Jared” she raised her eyebrows.

“The I talked to your mother kind of research. She shared with me some stories from your childhood and mentioned that you had been studying geology, specifically volcanoes, before your dad struck oil, only to change your major to business, with a minor in geology,” he stated. “Why?”

“It was a lifetime ago. A different lifetime. Things change, priorities change,” she dismissed his question. “Daddy needed my help.”

“You deserve to be happy, too, you know. To have something that is just yours,” he empathized, taking her hand in his. “We both do. To have something that is just ours.”

“I am happy,” she said. “Jared, why are you doing all of this for me? You barely know me.”

“I know enough to know that I like you and I want you to be happy. And we’re married now, so it kinda comes with the position of husband.”

“But…”

“No buts. Get showered, we’re exploring the city today,” he informed her.

~*~ 

The next three weeks were a whirlwind of travel, sights, sounds and emotions. The plan Jared laid out took them to all the places she had always wanted to visit, to study, to immerse herself in.

The week in Italy was enough to lose herself in, visiting Vesuvius, Etna and Stromboli. She had always dreamed of seeing active volcanoes, but it was more than she ever could have imagined. On top of that Jared had included Mayon Volcano in the Philippines as well as Mount Fuji in Japan.

It wasn’t until they reached their final stop, Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, that they were able to see an actual lava flow from Kilauea. Their hotel, or cottage really, was situated at the edge of the forest. The natural woodwork, open space and large windows gave the feel of living in the rainforest, not to mention it had one hell of a view.

“Jared?” Y/N whispered in the twilight as they shared a bottle of wine, his arm around her waist as they relaxed on the front steps of their small cottage overlooking the nature reserve. They had been in Hawaii for a week, but only had a couple days left and were enjoying as much as they could before heading home.

“Yes?” He looked down at her with such admiration, and something she couldn’t place. Her mind was all over the place, as her heart beat steady in her chest, pounding out a rhythm that matched his. Over the course of the last four weeks, she had gotten more than a glimpse of the man she had been forced to marry. He was kind, generous, humble as well as handsome and playful. He had melted her heart and breathed life back into her, like oxygen fueled a fire. The kisses and touches they’d shared on their journey only fanned the flames.

“I’m happy. I wanted you to know that,” she smiled up at him.

“That’s all I want for you,” he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, something that had become more and more common, and natural, for the two of them.

“You’ve shown me that I can have more than a career. You’ve given me adventure, spontaneity and fun. You’ve shown me kindness and love,” she murmured against the heat of his strong shoulder.

“I’ll always give you what you need and try to give you what you want,” he promised.

“You made me realize I want more than what I had. You made me realize what was missing the whole time. I want more with you. I want us to be a family. I love you and I want to start a family with you, Jare,” she confessed.

“You lov-, are you-, you want-. You want to have a baby?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, doofus,” she laughed, rising to her feet and holding her hand out to him.

“Oh.. Oh!” he said, as her intentions dawned on him. He rose and took her hand in his, pulling her flush to his chest. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve never been surer,” she giggled as Jared wrapped his strong arms around her and picked her up.

“More sure,” he corrected her.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, her eyes dark with lust.

He carried her through the cottage to the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed, following her down and hovered his long, lean body over hers. Their lips met with a passion and fire that rivaled all the volcanoes they had visited. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, but needy, as all the emotions and want filled them.

They undressed each other slowly, taking in each soft curve and hard plane. Eyes and hands explored with tentative precision, ghosting over sun kissed skin. Whispers and whimpers filled the room, echoing into the jungle through the open windows. Declarations of love, cries of pleasure, and urges for more.

“Jared!” Y/N moaned, the fire in her belly becoming too much to bear as he thrust home time and time again. “I’m, I’m gon- come with me, Jared. Come in me, knock me up.”

Her words awakened something inside him, like a sleeping beast. His thrusts picked up speed as he spread her legs wider, watching where he disappeared inside her. “Yeah, you want me to fuck a baby in you? Fill you up with my seed?” His breaths were heavy as he fucked into her faster and faster, chasing both their ends.

“Oh god yes! Fill me up!” she screamed, reaching her end. Her body spasmed as her legs trembled against his hold.

“Oh god baby! I’m gonna- gonna fucking fill you up!” Jared groaned as his hips stuttered, his body rigid as he unloaded deep inside her.

Their heavy breaths and the wildlife outside were the only sounds that could be heard as their bodies and hearts calmed.

“That was incredible,” she sighed contently, her hand coming to rest on his chest.

“I don’t think they’ve invented words for what that was,” he chuckled softly, pulling her closer to him. “I love you.”

“I love you, Jared. Thank you for being my air,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut and slipping into a restful slumber, dreaming of their life together.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @paintrider13-blog  @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid

Jared’s Menagerie: @mtngirlforever​ @dean-winchesters-bacon

Others that might be interested, or have asked to be tagged: @saxxxology @thecleverdame @crispychrissy @cosicas-cuquis @wilde-abandon @fatalcrossbow @iamme0456 @kornerstone234

[gogetawaydreamer2]

@writervega taking a moment to post this on here just in case it doesn’t upload to the Second Home. I’ve no idea where the hell I was going with this one but I hope you enjoy it somehow. Or maybe are even able to decipher it? 

In Dreams

The soft pelting of rain as it hit the glass of the cafe window brought her out of her thoughts. She day dreamed in sepia tones as thoughts of honeysuckle and jasmine filled her senses.

“God all it ever does here is rain.”

She muttered to herself as she cleared the second table of the day, brushing crumbs into a pile and sweeping them off with a bleach soaked cloth.

She had left sweet familiar warmth and the sun for sharp clean notes of bleach and salt kissed winds as the bitter sweetness of a dark roast wrapped itself a deep lush note of cherry and apricot. A pounding noise dripping with musky angst and tanging with metal and a primal musk of heavy drum beats and pounding bass lines.

“Are you going back home then? Just to see if it’s changed?”

The concerned voice of her best friend pulled at her heart. Surveying the clothes she had the maid set out of her to pack and heaving a sigh. She had reached a cross roads. Stay and bury her head in the sand until the ancient danger she had left behind was right up to her face or go and confront it once nd for all and kill it at it’s source.

“Yeah, I’m actually packing. I’ll call you when I land.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go alone! I’m meeting you at the airport.”

“You don’t have to, Hel. Dave’s going to.”

“Three are stronger than one, eh? Love you and see you there.”

That was an hour ago before Colleen found herself sandwiched between a a rapidly panicking Helene as they hit pockets of turbulence and a husband that was determined to dig up any sort of missed clue in how to defeat the ancient evil Colleen thought she had left behind her so many years ago.

“It sounds like this might be what it is. A Dream walker, feeds on your deepest darkest fears and bad memories. Yours must have been fed daily.”

“Thanks Dave. Way to make a girl feel special.”

But it was true. Her monstrous black void in her life had been fed endlessly most days. Then, when Minnie had gotten sick and then Dad and the day her mother died. She had long ago been convinced that the house had been constructed on soured ground. The dreams she remembered being plagued with as a child and feeling the things out in the front yard there was no way something wasn’t attached.

A few years ago she thought that maybe her time in therapy had helped her until she dredged up something from the very depths of her mind. The musky smell of summer’s meadow soap.  It had been incredibly cheap soap but it was on sale and they were stuck grocery shopping. Colleen remembered liking the smell as first until red itchy welts came. It felt like her skin was on fire. Then the bruises and the yelling. There wasn’t anything else to bathe with so she’d just have to make due.

“Hey, Colly. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

In an instant she blinked and she was back on the plane headed towards the childhood home she had left so long ago.

“You were a million miles away, babe. It’s okay.”

Settling into his shoulder and reaching out for her best friend’s hand she sighed. She felt safe. A tiny wave of dread hit her for a moment. What if this was the last time she felt like this?

“Thank you. Thank you both for this, for

always

being here.”

In the time it had taken her to blink once more she had fallen under the calm of sleep once more. Down the rabbit hole Colleen ventured one again.

Somewhere over Chicago the music shifted. Pop had taken over and the waving undercurrent of darkness was lifting. It was easily forgotten in a town flooded with Laura Ashley florals and Jos. A Banks suits and tweed sweater vests. Ivy League fever was at it’s highest point yet. This was where she wanted to get lost. Live the perfect lie. For a moment she caught a glimpse of a wedding to a chiseled jawed bespectacled day trader who was writing a novel. A cute little starter home and then the urge to have a baby.

The quiet bliss of a family of my own.

Raised differently in comfort and love. Then she caught a glimpse of another woman; a blonde she could never  truly compete with. Then she saw his best friend over her,, the man who had lived next door to them for years and whose wife was sleeping with her husband. It had started off innocently one day, he had spotted her in the store picking up the weekly shopping when her little bundle of joy now two months old has screamed her head off. He had seen her struggling and often wondered why Jim hadn’t stepped in to help, it took two after all. Not that he would ever truly know because Evelyn was convinced that their infertility as a couple came from him. It didn’t.  The reason he knew this was because he was staring at the end result of a coupling that had taken place in the throws of summer. The child was happily babbling to herself and playing with the necklace that hung from her moth’s slender tanned neck.

“Looks like you’re out and about today with company.”

“Oh. Yes, she’s proving to be lovely company while Jim’s away in…Japan I think?”

“Oh. China maybe.”

He volunteered as she placed her purchases up the belt and reached for her credit card. Alex covered for his two timing friend, the only vaguely asian about his weekend was the apartment he was renting secretly over in china town.

“Could be, he’s been traveling so much I just can’t keep track. I was just making some dinner, would you like to join me? It must get awfully lonely over there all by yourself.”

“It does but you know how it is.”“I do. So join me, I’ve got that wine you like.”

Two bottles of wine and one very rich dinner later and they were sprawled out in front of the fire pit and gazing at the stars. Ashley had been tucked up away in the nursery and was dreaming nothing but sweet dreams.

“You know this is nice. Jim never does this anymore. It’s never just the two of us though.”

It dawned on him that maybe she was as lonely as he was. True, Colleen and Jim were married and they’d had a child but it was always like they were living by some sort of contract. Jim’s book was going nowhere while Alex had found a living breathing muse in his next door neighbor. A well placed kiss and a touch so gentle it left both of them wanting. Neither thought of the repercussions of their actions as they fell back into the expensive bedlinen. Over the course of the next few weeks the evidence of their night together began to make itself known. Their spouses were facing much of the same situation and thus began the great charade. More than a few heated arguments were to be had behind closed doors of course ) about the children’s puaretntiy. Truths were told and it was settled, they would officially switch. It wasn’t unheard of this sort of thing happening especially with early ,machine arranged marriages. And they all lived happily ever after.

“Colleen!”

Another blink and she found herself somewhere else. The high dry heat of California hit her. 

“Oh god, I’m back in high school!”

Judging from the stack of books she was clutching and the oily thick feel of poorly chosen foundation against her skin.

“Are you going to Jason Halliday’s party tonight?”

“Uh…yeah. If my mother found out she’d seriously flip. Maybe I could pay Mikey to watch Rose.”

Phase one had gone off without a hitch as she  had what seemed to be an endless amount of favors from from her older brother. Now she just had to figure out what to wear. A shower and a close examination found the I’d have to wear a pear of jeans and a tank top. Maybe a pair of sandals and a denim jacket. There. Done. And out the window I go.The one nice thing was what their house’s pretty much line up directly behind the housing estate Helene lived in so we would meet up at her house and get ready and take her car out. 

“Are you nervous?”

“What? Why would I be nervous?”

“Oooh…I don’t know maybe because a little birdie told me that Jason’s gonna ask you out.”

”I highly doubt that. Move your bang to the right a little.”

“Thanks and you don’t know.  I think he’s going to .”

“Ten bucks and you’re on.”

The drive up to the Halliday house was a long one clear across town it seemed. Standing there for a moment the burn of pot smoke stinging her eyes.

“Hey, Mark, put that out. Colleen you came.”

“Yeah, Surprise. Thanks for the invite.”

“No problem.”

Then Jim had shown up and ruined his chance with the girl of his dreams. 

“Maybe we could start over, Jason.”

“Sorry. Just taking the paths not yet taken.”

“I hope they’re not better than I am.”

“Nothing could be as good as you are for me.”

“Do you promise me?”

Opening her eyes she felt the movement of air. She was back in the suburban affair with the next door neighbor.  How many dreams am I going to have in one flight? She wondered and then shook off the absurdity of the thought. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die I do.”

What if Jim had never been made partner so quickly or if he had taken the offer his uncle had given him. Their life would have been complete worlds away from where Colleen found herself these days.

“Oh god she’s back on the relaxers.”

“No, I’m not. I’m thinking, something you should try sometimes.”

Ornate decor and no children. Ah, if they had taken Peter’s grandfather’s offer. Living in New York and summering in the Hamptons. 

“You’re looking quite lonely.”

“Perhaps if my the man I married wasn’t off cavorting with the local ladies of the evening I wouldn’t have to look this way.”

He said nothing to her, merely staring her down before looking past her out the window of the tiny seaside town they were now summering in. This had once been her hometown and she often wondered what would have happened if she had stayed.  Pulling up the long expanse of paved driveway she sighed to herself as the car came to a stop. 

“I’ll be by the pool. Off to your travels or wherever it is that you’re going.”

Her reward was a curt nod from the husband she barely knew. He mentioned having to back to New York to finish something and then it was on to Singapore.  She now paid no attention to his trip itinerary, it simply wasn’t worth it. Wandering the large front foyer she greeted a few of the staff with a small smile.

 “Mrs. Ellingham, lovely to see you again.”

“Hello, Winnie. Please, call me Colleen. I think I’ll be staying through the holidays so you and I will be seeing quite a bit of each other.”

A small if be it slightly alarmed smile settled across the maid’s features before she showed the woman paying her wages to the largest bedroom in the house. A room to behold if ever there was one. White marble and ornate silver and green decor could be seen. A lavish sunken tub with more jets than was seemingly possible was at the center of the room situated just below the circular skylight and flanked by rounded marble pillars. The powder room with it’s lush spring green colors was hidden off to the left and to the right there were full length mirrors refracting the view from the back garden and the pool area. The scent of summer roses and jasmine floated in the wind. The currents surrounding the massive bed draped in emerald green bed linen floated on the breeze. A quick change of clothes and Colleen saw herself overseeing the grounds before settling in on a lounger by the pool. Crystal blue water glinted back at her as she basked in the warmth of the sun.

“Maybe this was how it was supposed to be?”

She quieted quietly to herself before the sun was blocked out by the form of a man and the smell of Marlboro smoke.

“Who says it has to be any other way than how you yourself imagine it?”

Opening her eyes she saw the familiar form of a man she had known years ago and smiled. 

“How open minded of you, Mr. Halliday. What are you doing kicking around these parts?”

Given his dressed down state versus how Colleen had seen him a few years ago a brokers luncheon Jason was on vacation.

“Well, just settled into the place down the road from here and came by to see how the new owners of Thorncrest were doing.”

“Owner and you’re speaking to her. Lovely thanks.”

“Ooh, finally took your Ivy Leaguer to the cleaners huh?”

A small smirk played at her lips as she sat up and went about offering a glass of chilled lemonade to her impromptu guest. 

“Well, lets just say that after the summer season’s done you’re going to be seeing quite a bit more of me around here and with quite a bit more money than I care to know what to do with.”

“He just doesn’t know it yet?”

“He will after he’s properly served. So….does the Quincepoint place have a lady of the house or are you still trying girls on for size?”

A quick exhale of smoke through a grinning face answered for him. He always smirked like that when he was nervous.

“Nobody since you.”

“Well, that’s good then because it’ll save your closet space with my things here. If you’re good I may even give you a dresser drawer of your very own.”

“Man a guy can dream can’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve dreamt of seeing you back here in this house for years and now here you are. It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t?”

Another plume of smoke was exhaled and Colleen found herself startled awake once more. Totally unsure of where she was or exactly who she was at the moment she studied her left hand. No large gaudy wedding set dripping in gold and diamonds. Just a simple silver band that was enveloped by a hand that from the looks of it, was used to doing office work. Blonde floppy bangs shielded a bespectacled fair face of the husband she shared a name with. Reaching out to trace the fine features of the Romanesque nose and finely crafted cheekbones a small shuddered passed over her seat mate. The slight stubble of a five o’clock shadow pricked her gentle touches as he moved closer. His eyes would open in a moment but what color would his eyes be? So far she had seen him in every single dream she had had since starting work on that book of hers. Blue. Like the summer sky and kind as she had ever hoped. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A slow soft smile spread across his face as he rose from his slumber. It was always him that she wrote her male leads. He held a spark of something true and endless. Love and devotion were stamped upon him from the moment he had been thought of. Nicholas Shelley truly was the fitting piece to the puzzle that was her life.“Still feeling weird?”

“No, not really. I think I was just over tired…didn’t mean to worry you, Nick.”

“I figured that on my own when I put your carry on in the overhead and you were out like a light. Helene sends her love and says she’ll be meeting us at the lake house when he land. Something with Joey’s touring schedule or manager to work out.”

“Oh, okay then.”Something grabbed at her heart as panic started to rise. “You do know just how much I love you…right?”

Fair brows shot towards his hairline behind the curtain of bangs. “Of course, I do. Do you know how much I love you?”

“Yes. I’m…I’m sorry it’s just the deadlines and the rewrites and god I’m tired. I just didn’t think I was saying it enough or loud enough for you to hear me. I’m sorry I’ve been off in my own little world.”

‘It’s okay, I get the same way. It’s the nice think about being married to another writer, we know each other’s moods better than our own.”

Reaching a hand up he guided her head back towards his shoulder and she settled for a moment. Clean linen and woody sea was the comforting smell she always took from him. It righted her and her heart slowed back into a normal rhythm.  He carded his fingers through her long dark hair once more as he always did when she panicked and they had a moment together. 

“Never doubt my love for you because it is deeper than the ocean, stronger than steel, and even more endless than the night sky.”

She never doubted his words were true because she felt them. There, in her very heart his words and declarations were written and they would forever be safe. 

“I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

No matter how many dreams she had or books she had written she knew that her true love's kiss would always be the most beautiful of all. His love for her as complete as hers was to him. They were simply crafted for each other.