#just finished this today and i immediately need season 3

[disneyprincemuke]

the orange peel theory * fem!driver

how many men in her life would stop to peel an orange for her if she asks randomly?

pairings: f1 grid x fem!driver

warnings: -

notes: juSt a random idea i got when i dreadfully peeled oranges for myself ugh i hate being single sometimes

guys this is the last vr update today i swear i’ve got too much times on my hands actually

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> max verstappen, #1

would be in the middle of an interview after quali when she comes up to him with a mandarin orange in hand

max stops mid sentence to look down at her in confusion but will take the orange into his hands as she asks him to peel it for her politely

he would cover the mic and whisper “can this wait? i’m in the middle of something” and she shows him her hands, perfectly manicured white nails with a frown and says “i’ll stain my nails”

and he just does it, peeling the orange as he carries on with the interview after she walks away without him knowing

when he finishes, he turns to give it to her but she’s no longer there and ends up eating the orange during his interview lol

-> logan sargeant, #2

he’d be sitting in his garage minding his own business when she comes and sits next to him with a bag of mandarin oranges in hand

he doesn’t even need to be told

he immediately reaches out and starts peeling the oranges for her, even tearing away the white strands because he knows she hates those

totally nothing to do with the fact that he’s had a crush on her forever

everything to do with the fact that they grew up together and he’s too lazy to fight

-> daniel ricciardo, #3

he’s literally just walked into the paddocks for race day

he feels all cool with all the cameras

suddenly she runs over to him with an orange in her hands and a hopeful smile

“peel this for me please?”

he does it without question

he walks the paddocks with her while peeling her orange and even sparks up conversation with her

-> lando norris, #4

literally walks away when he sees her approaching him with an orange

she’s been doing it all weekend and he refuses to be a victim

also because he’s not that fond of peeling oranges

or oranges, for that matter

she tries chasing after him but when she finally catches up, he simply ignores the request to peel the orange for her

-> pierre gasly, #10

he’ll be literally walking over to the grid for the driver’s parade

looking pretty cool in his cool fits

an orange is presented to him without question

he grins at her and thanks her for the orange

walks away and eats the orange himself

-> sergio perez, #11

would also be in the middle of an interview when she comes up with an orange

would peel it because he’s a mega dad and he’s really taken a liking to her

excuses himself from the interview to do it for her real quick

would take one piece of the orange for himself

claims it’s the taxes for making him do it instead of doing it herself

-> fernando alonso, #14

takes the orange without her saying anything

he’s always seen with seb on race weekends and is very used to her antics

literally gives her the orange peel and one piece of orange

eats the orange without her saying anything

she’s in damn near tears because she really expected fernando to peel it for her without question

-> charles lerclerc, #16

is sad that she didn’t bring him an orange too

still peels it for her though

even though he was in the middle of some paddock game with carlos

asks for a piece and because she loves him and her crush is still very much present, she simply gives him the whole orange

-> lance stroll, #18

he’d have been coming out of his racing home minding his own business

they don’t interact often because she scares him

is almost scared to say no to the orange peeling and actually says no

mutters “i always knew you hated me” as she walks away

which then makes him chase her to peel the orange for her and apologise profusely

because lance and her literally never talk and it took up all her courage to approach him with this orange, she gives him half of the orange

-> kevin magnussen, #20

asks her if she's got an extra orange for his baby girl

she literally came prepared and gives one to cute baby laura

so now kevin has to peel two oranges for two babies

outrageous, if u ask him

-> nyck de vries, #21

has unfortunately departed by the time she decided to be a menace about the orange peel theory

she thinks about him often though

they're texting buddies actually

-> yuki tsunoda, #22

literally came prepared

he's got a packet of candy he bought when he flew back to japan for a visit

she gives him the whole orange

she literally peels the orange for him in exchange for the candy

-> alex albon, #23

was literally walking to the grid for the opening ceremony of the race weekend

says no immediately

but he does change his mind and asks if he can have half if he peels it for her

peels it and takes more than half of the share

-> zhou guanyu, #24

is delighted to even see her because they don't come across one another often

is kinda touched that she asked him to peel an orange but then is disappointed to find out that he's not the first victim and that this is all a tiktok trend for her

peels it anyway

asks her to bring an extra orange if there's a next time as payment

-> niko hulkenberg, #27

she literally cannot find him

doesn't get to participate in the trend

she only saw him once that weekend and it was at the opening ceremony and she only had 1 orange for alex to peel

and on the grid in his race car

-> esteban ocon, #31

absolutely ADORES her

peels it without question

peeks around her shoulder to ask if she's brought another one for him

she says yes and that he's the only one who gets one for himself because she loves him back

-> lewis hamilton, #44

this psycho literally approaches lewis when he's on an interview panel

but that's because he asked her to do it at that time so he has a excuse to escape the panel

he's just so tired of the panel interviews

giggling with her like demons as he peels the orange

-> carlos sainz, #55

peels it for her without question

the only one to ask her why she's got so many oranges to eat and hand out

also the only one to ask her if oranges have been the only thing she's eaten all weekend

inhumanly impossible to eat this many oranges in one weekend perhaps

-> george russell, #63

is literally tearing up because she came to him to ask to peel the orange

he heard from alex what she's been doing

he's been waiting all weekend for her and was sad that it seemed like she had no intentions on letting him participate in her tiktok

she feels so bad for him that she joins him in peeling an orange as well

-> valtteri bottas, #77

is confused because he's just minding his own business using his phone during the driver's briefing

peels the orange for her anyway

asks if oranges are her favourite fruit

suggests eating something less acidic to avoid a tummyache

-> oscar piastri, #81

if anyone's tired of her being a menace with all these oranges, it's going to be him

but because he knows she'll pick a fight if he says no

he will peel the orange reluctantly

takes a picture with the orange because it's the same shade as the mclaren shirt he is wearing

— bonus

-> liam lawson, #30

asks her to fuck off

only ask him to peel an orange when she's lost all the ability to peel one for herself

asks her if he can have one from her orange stash

she says no in tears because he cussed at her

shrugs and walks away

-> sebastian vettel, #5

this clinically insane woman has got this 4 time world champion peeling oranges on the pit wall during qualifying

has him throw her a peeled orange in between laps during qualifying

eats it in the car for a racing 'buff' before she drives out for a lap

she's got too many oranges so he helps her eat some of them

eating oranges = beating mclaren = beating oscar because they're all the same colour and have a correlation obviously

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @sadg3

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna who dedicates his first ever win to you

Note: female reader

Masterlist

Your heart was racing. Sukuna had prepared you for the fact that boxing arenas could get overwhelming with the constant yelling and cheering for violence, but you still felt uneasy watching your boyfriend receive punch after punch.

You knew your boyfriend was just a rookie boxer but you couldn’t help but pray that by some miracle, he would be able to defeat his opponent. He had been training specifically for this match for the past two months and had sacrificed his blood, sweat and tears for it. It didn’t help that his opponent was a seasoned winner.

Your chest tightened as Sukuna was struck down once again. All you could think about was how he would study his opponent’s moves late at night while you stayed up with him. You pressed your hands together, hoping that he would win by some miracle.

Almost as if on cue, Sukuna managed to dodge a critical hit and wound his arm to absolutely knock out his opponent. The other fighter fell on to the ground and did not get up even after the countdown. The referee grabbed Sukuna’s hand and raised it in the air as the crowd erupted in cheers.

You let out a sigh of relief and clapped as loudly as possible for your boyfriend’s triumph. It was his first win as a professional boxer. He was going to start making a name for himself pretty soon and you could only imagine what was to come after. He deserved this. It was all because of his hard work and resilience.

Sukuna’s tired eyes searched for yours in the VIP box and you smiled at him. He returned an exhausted one back to you and proceeded to do something you never expected.

He kissed his fingers and pointed to you, all your friends and in the VIP box began clamoring with teases and giggles.

Even while being adorned with his belt, Sukuna’s eyes never left yours. He mentioned earlier that your presence was integral to his success but you never knew it was to such a degree. You blew him a flowing kiss and he chuckled at the sight. He didn’t even bother to look at the cameras looming around him until his manager told him to pose for the pictures.

Of course, after his first win, he was immediately subject to a press conference. He sulked at first, hoping that he could share at least a moment with you before being bombarded with questions but he decided to get it over with so he could go home soon.

“Mr. Sukuna, how do you feel after your first win.”

“Fucking tired.” Your bruised and battered boyfriend replied. The crowded erupted into a few giggles and murmurs at his deadpan reply.

“Would you like to mention any people that helped you become a good fighter?”

“Aside from my coach, I want to dedicate my win to my girlfriend. She put up with a lot of my shit while training.”

You giggled at his reply from backstage. Supporting wasn’t a chore but it was extensive work. Cooking twice the amount of food so he could bulk, constantly having your sleep disturbed because he would train in the early hours of the morning, and not go too crazy when you ate out on dates was difficult but well worth the effort.

-

After the press conference, you two were back home. Sukuna had retired to your bedroom while you did the finishing touches of your night time skin care.

“The winner of today’s fight commands his woman’s presence.” Your boyfriend called out, urging you to hurry up. You put away your containers and walked to the bedroom. “I’m here, your majesty.” You sarcastically replied as you laid down next to him. He had a frown on his face from being alone.

He opened up the blanket to let you in and slotted you next to him with your back facing his chest. His arms wrapped around you as he tucked your head under his chin. “I forgot to congratulate you earlier.” You speak out.

He hums and squeezes you. “Thanks. Only took you 3 hours to say that.” You could almost feel him sulk.

“Can you blame me? You were surrounded by people. I needed to let you have your moment.” You reasoned.

“What about when we were driving back? It was just you and me in the car.”

“You fell asleep as soon as your ass touched the seat.”

He scoffed at your reply and pushed you away. “Whatever, it’s not like getting a congratulatory kiss from my girlfriend was the only thing I wanted.” He said as he turned his back you.

This man was a big baby. The world saw him as an upcoming and fearful fighter but here he was sulking over the fact that you didn’t give him attention.

You giggled and rubbed his back to soothe him. “I can still give you a congratulatory kiss if you want.” For a second, you swore that he almost turned around but he gave you the silent treatment instead. “Kuna,” you whined. As much as you cringed while saying it, you knew using that nickname was his weakness.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, baby. Let me give you the kind of kiss a winner deserves.” You said as you rubbed his stomach. The man turned around, eyes not meeting yours. He was still sporting the frown from earlier.

You held his face in your hands. Your fingers traced his tattoos and you could see his eyes rapidly moving because of your touch. You giggled and moved your fingers to his lips. Luckily, his opponent missed them during the fight so you could easily kiss him.

You slowly pressed your lips against his and he immediately reciprocated. While your touch was delicate with your hand on cradling face, his touch was rougher. His hand entwined in your hair as his body pressed to yours. Your tongue entered his mouth and he gladly welcomed it which a slight suck.

His free hand travelled down to your waist and rolled you on top of him. The kiss would’ve gotten more heated if he didn’t wince all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong, Kuna?”

He propped you back down on the bed. And grabbed the area right beneath his chest. “Ah shit, I forgot about my rib getting bruised.” You grimaced at the thought of him being in pain.

“Want me to get some ice? I can always sleep on the couch so I don’t end up accidentally kicking you.” You said out of concern.

His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad.” He grabbed ahold of your waist again and just pulled you close to him. “I didn’t win that trophy so my girlfriend could sleep on the couch. And since I’m a boxing champion, I can handle a few punches from you.”

“But-“

“Shush.” He pecked you on the lips to keep you from protesting. “This is how I wanna celebrate my first win. With you next to me.”

[leclerclov3]

｡･:*˚:✧｡ P1 baby

masterlist

✰ pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

✰ warning: none

✰ summary: It was no secret that ferrari was a whole shit show this season thos however did not stop charles from giving his all to the team that didn't even care about him.

✰ word count:0,5k

You sit in Charles' driver's room waiting for him to come back from yet another bad qualifying.

"Hey baby.." you say softly as he walks in he immediately comes over to you hugging you and nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

"I just don't know what I'm doing wrong... I've been practicing nonstop staying focused going over strategies what else do I need to do" he says desperately.

You can't help but feel awful as he lays and rants in your arms. you rub his back comfortingly "Shh baby it's alright none of this is your fault..you've been amazing you have given them your all there is not much else you could do. You are doing your best and that's enough even more than that ough and I'm sure all of this will pay off in the future. you're amazing love don't you ever forget it" You kiss his forehead.

he looks up "Thank you y/n I don't know what I would do without you..." he smiles a small but genuine smile "I'll give it my best tomorrow I’ll try to win...for you" he pecks your lips and lays back down the exhaustion from qualifying finally getting to him as he drifts off...

Sunday comes and you can't say that you aren't excited for what today will bring after your little talk with Charles he seemed happier..more sure of himself and it gave you hope...hope that after all of this, he'd still be ok...

The race starts and turns one is as chaotic as always but Charles manages to snag P1 you know that it's too early to celebrate but you can't seem to shake off the excitement that's bubbling in your stomach...

Lap 7 passes he's still in the lead then lap 20 and then the final lap there is a fierce battle going on between Charles and Max right now and you can't help but feel anxious as they get closer and closer to the finish line...you see max over take Charles in the 2nd to last corner and as you begin to lose hope Charles sneaks back and snags P1 for himself.

The whole Ferrari garage is going wild as well as you, with tears in your eyes you run to Parc fermé getting right in front of the brackets. You excitedly wait for Charles to get here. And as his car parks right at that P1 spot and he gets out of the car you both lock eyes it's like no one existed around you too. He runs straight to you taking off his helmet hugging you tightly and then giving you a kiss that you will never forget... After that day it was safe to say that you knew that he'd be alright..

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charles_leclerc couldn’t do it without you cheri

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lilymhe the absolute cutest

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｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:

Second fic is finished this one is a little different from the first but i still hope you liked it let me know if you have any feedback and enjoy your day <3

[poge-life]

can you do a who's most likely to interview between drew and reader alone not being with the other where they are in a secret relationship but after the interview it’s so clear that’s they’re lover

I did change this a little bit to fit what I had in mind but I’m hoping this is what you had in mind!

Since Season 3 came out, you guys had been in back-to-back interviews. You will say, these ones had been a lot more interesting than the ones you guys had done before. You and Drew both had one today for Vanity Fair on ‘Who’s most likely’ and you would be doing them together. You two had decided to show up together, considering it would have been a waste of time driving separately when you were going to the same place.

You guys had been together for a while now and had done a pretty good job at hiding it. Obviously, your friends knew. There was no point in hiding it from the people you were with every day and they were your biggest supporters.

Giving Drew a peck on the lips, you both got out of the car and made your way into the building. After checking in, they showed you to where the interview would be. The setup was like usual; a couch in front of the table, with a both filled with, what you assumed where the questions.

The makeup team came by to do any touch ups you both would need before they started.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n)” You smiled at the camera once they signaled they started rolling and it took Drew a second to realize what was going on, as he was looking at you. You nudged his knee with yours and he seemed to realize what was going on, “And I’m Drew Starkey.”

“And we’re going to be doing ‘who’s most likely’ on the OBX cast with Vanity Fair.” You finished, reaching for the bowl. Pulling out the first question, you couldn’t help but laugh as your answer immediately popped into your head, “Who’s most likely to have their own reality show?”

“You know, I wanna see what Rudy does when we’re not together.” Drew answered, turning to look at you, “He’s just so laidback and care free about everything. And he’s from Alaska so I wanna see how he lives.”

You nodded in agreement before throwing the slip of paper onto the table, “I wanna see Maddy in a reality show. Not just about her. I wanna see her on Big Brother. I feel like she would be great on there.”

Drew snapped his fingers at you as a new thought popped into his head, “I wanna see you on Survivor. You have zero survival skills.”

You gave him an ‘are you serious’ look, “Do I need to bring up the camping trip we went on with Nick a couple years ago?”

Drew straightened up at the mention of the trip as he reached for a slip, turning to face the camera, “Moving on! Who is most likely to ditch their phone and go back to a flip phone?”

You brought your hand above the two of you and pointed down at Drew, “He barely knows where his phone is 90% of the time. Saves him a couple of bucks on a bill.”

Drew held no argument as he agreed with you, “I respond to messages in my head a lot and just kind of forget to actually reply. I’m more of a ‘in the moment’ kind of guy, so I don’t use my phone a lot.”

“Because you’re a grandpa and barely know how to use your phone.” You teased, patting his cheek. Drew rolled his eyes at you, bringing your hand down to his lap. Quickly remembering you were on camera, you brought your hand back to the bowl and pulled out the next slip, “who is most likely to get drunk at a bottomless mimosa brunch?”

You pointed to yourself as did Drew, causing you to crumple up the slip and throw it at him, “Not just me! Maddy too!”

Drew looked over at the camera with a grin on his face, “her and Maddy aren’t allowed to be alone whenever there’s a bar. Especially with any kind of wine.”

“Okay, mr ‘drunk of a glass of wine’” You teased, holding out to the bowl to him. Drew just mocked you as he read the next question, “Most likely to get married in Vegas?”

You both looked at each other in thought. Honestly, you could see any one of your friends doing this but you didn’t know just who to pick.

“This could go any way, really,” you said, tapping your chin, “we’re all impulsive but I don’t think we’re that impulsive.”

“If I had to pick any of them, I would say Chase,” Drew answered, “he definitely does a lot of spur of the moment decisions and I feel like if he was really up for it, he’d go get married in Vegas.”

You had a small smile on your face as you watched Drew run his hand through his hair. At this point, you didn’t care if anyone found out about you guys. You loved Drew and hated that you both had to hide it. You saw how the fans tore into Rudy and Elaine and how much shit Maddy and Chase got when they were together. You also saw what happened when the rumors about him and Odessa started. They just tore her to pieces.

You both were content with just your family and friends knowing about you two. But, sometimes, you just wanted to show him off for everyone to see how much you cared about him and how good he was to you. Drew noticed you weren’t paying attention and placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb just under the hem of your skirt, “You okay?”

You just nodded your head, giving him a smile as you reached for a new question.

Yeah, you were great.

OBXFAN20: Okay, no one can tell me they’re not dating after watching the vanity fair interview

Fan90: Did you see how he grabbed her thigh? I would have died 😭

(Y/c/n)lover: The way she just sat and smiled at him has me 100% convinced her and Drew are dating

[itsphoenix0724]

Meet Me On The Ice (Azriel x reader)~Chapter 2

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1.3k

MMOTI masterlist

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! I've been working on this series for a while, and I'm glad people are excited to read it! I've decided to make a tag list for this series because so many people asked for it last time. I've never done one before so I hope I do it right <3

DISCLAIMER: I am not a figure skater or a hockey player, so while I'm trying to be as accurate as possible, it's likely some things may not be correct and/or are bent a little to fit the plot!

You find Azriel on the ice at five pm sharp, his hands tucked in the pockets of a Velaris Univeristy hoodie. His eyes flick over you, almost with disgust, as you approach with a box tucked under your arm. 

“We’re not going on the ice today. Even if we were you can’t wear those.” You gesture to the well-loved hockey skates on his feet, and mark how his eyes narrow. 

“What’s wrong with my skates?” He asks, immediately on the defense, crossing his arms. 

It makes him seem impossibly bigger.  

“Nothing Azriel, if you’re playing a hockey game, but we’re not playing a hockey game.” You shake the box in your hands once before handing it over to him. The pair of shiny black figure skates sit in the box and Azriel takes one skate out running his scarred hand gently over the blade with a musician’s grace. “You should break them in before we actually get on the ice.” 

“They’re heavier than I thought they would be,” Az tucks the skates gently back in the box and moves past you to get off the ice. He sits down on the bench, leaning down to undo his laces. “Where are we practicing then, if we’re not going on the ice?’ He looks up at you from under the dark fringe of his hair, and you’re struck with his beauty for a moment. 

“We’re going to the studio in the back.” You make a gesture with your head as he stands, crowding your space. You have to crane your neck to look up at him, and you can’t even see around the expanse of his shoulders. Leading back him to the studio you walk in tense silence. Your coach, a beloved old lady named Alis, waiting infront of the mirror examines Azriel like a piece of meat. 

“So, this is who you’re finishing the season with?” She looks him up and down with mild interest as you dip your chin in confirmation, setting your bag down to start warming up. Alis circles like a predator as Azriel watches with confused disinterest. “Nice build at least, looks strong if a little bulky for my taste,” she mutters. Azriel whips his head back at you in defense, but all you can do is breathe a sigh of relief. Getting Alis to agree to train someone other than Lucien was half the battle. “Alright, stretch, then I’ll see what I’m working with. Hopefully, we can piece together some semblance of a routine,” She shakes her head as you turn to Azriel. 

“Do you want me to help you stretch?” You question and Azriel’s brows raise high, a smirk across his lips for just a moment at an insinuation you didn’t imply. Your cheeks tinge with 

pink, and his eyes dip to your cheeks, satisfaction from rattling you dances in his eyes. “Not like that obviously,” You scoff, rolling your eyes and busying yourself with digging out your water bottle so you have an excuse to turn away from him. 

“I don’t think I need to stretch like this is a ballet class, I can stretch myself” He shakes his head and you roll your eyes. 

“Fine, suit yourself.” Let him dig his grave. You know he’s doing you a favor, but he doesn’t have to be so condescending about it. You fall into a spilt to stretch your legs and Azriel looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You finish your warm-up, and Az remains leaning against the wall, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. He stretched his arms out a little and nothing else, so it’s his fault if he’s sore tomorrow. 

“Alright,” Alis claps her hands together once, and both your attention’s snap to her like a knee-jerk reaction. You guess being coached vigorously for years can do that to a person. “Let’s see if we can get something together. Young man, stand here please.” She gestures to a spot on the floor and then calls your name, telling you to stand infront of Azriel. 

You’ve never been so close to him before.

Your entire back pressed against his front, the sight in the mirror sends you a strange feeling in your stomach. His frame dwarfs you easily, the broad planes of his shoulders and the muscles of his arms strain against the compression shirt he had on for practice. 

You could climb him like a tree

The thought hits you so suddenly that you feel the heat flood your cheeks as you finally meet hazel eyes in the mirror. If he noticed you ogling him, he thankfully says nothing. 

You go over some transition moves which go shockingly okay, Az picks up on the rhythm surprisingly quickly body flowing like a river easily through the steps. You make a mental note to ask Rhys if Az plays an instrument. Alis looks impressed for a first practice, and you two were so concentrated you haven’t bitten each other’s heads off yet. 

Until you start to try a couple of lifts. 

Everything goes downhill from there. Az manages to get you in the air a couple of times, but it’s never stable. Either you’re too tense or his grip is all wrong, and you’ve hit the ground and Azriel’s shoulder too many times to count. You both are frustrated and then the harsh words start. 

“Can you just fucking relax already so we can get this over with? Aren’t you supposed to know what you’re doing?” he growls out after Alis calls for a water break. 

“Maybe if you could just get your stupid hands in the right position I could fucking relax,” You glower down at Azriel’s scarred hands and he shoves them in the pockets of his sweats angrily. You feel a wave of guilt instantly because that was possibly the worst thing you could say. 

“It’s not working because you don’t trust each other,” Alis mutters, rolling her eyes as she tries to figure out something on her cellphone. “I’m going to suggest maybe spending some time together outside of this. To build some trust between the two of you.” You and Azriel eye each other with equal distaste. “Think about it, we’re done here for the day.” You’re frustrated, you’re sweating, and you’ve hit your hip enough times you think it’s been permanently bruised. You pack up your bag slinging the duffel over your shoulder, he copies your actions putting his new skates to the bottom of his hockey bag. You leave the rink together in silence, breathing in the chill of the night's dark air, letting it calm the flames of your ever-growing temper. You want to go home, you want to bury yourself under mountains of pillows and ice cream and scream at the unfairness of the world. The last thing you need is a group of drunk hockey players rallying after a loss. 

And of fucking course they’re right next to your car. 

Azriel’s about to walk in the other direction to his car, but you in a blind panic grab his arm. 

“Walk me to my car.” You plead, eyes widening at the sound of a bottle smashing against the ground. “Please.” Azriel's eyes narrow in confusion before they flick over to the crowd of rowdy men. He nods once and you begin the trek across the parking lot with a sizeable distance between the two of you. They still stop and look at you, eyeing you like a piece of meat. Azriel notices, in a quiet observant way of his. He moves closer to you slinging one arm around your waist, it burns through your clothes like a brand. They wisely back off then with all of Az’s towering physique wrapped around you like a guard dog. He opens your door for you and shoves his phone in your hand, still eyeing the group like he’s about to pounce. 

“Put your number in my phone, it’ll be easier for the future.” He’s still looking at the guys out of the corner of his eyes as you type your number. “Drive home safely,” Az mutters. 

“You too,” you respond. You settle into your car, and Azriel waits patiently for you to back out and drive away before walking to his own car.

Taglist:

sidthedollface2, bionic-donut, lyinginameadow, feyretopia, natashachelsea, going-through-shit, mika-no-sekai-blog, hijabi-desi-bookworm, brandywineeeee

[eh-33]

So I just finished Oliver’s interview with Zach Sang and I have a few thoughts - all positive 😂

1. I adore Oliver - he’s so well spoken, clearly loves the show and Buck, and Oliver’s emotional intelligence or connection with people definitely rubbed off on Buck and made him the character he is today.

2. He is so well spoken about buck being bi and everything that comes with that - and I’m so glad as a bisexual woman, that we have Oliver being the face of this storyline and the care he handles it with - especially after being a supernatural fan and the car crash that was Destiel and how badly Deans bisexual coding was handled in the media and q&a’s and such - because there is nothing wrong with fans perceiving a character being queer, and that fandom specifically were made to feel like there was.

3. And finally his answer about whether he would want Buck and Eddie together was so well said, because of course he’s open to it, but he puts Buck’s character first and I truly agree with him that if it wouldn’t serve the story, Buck and Eddie shouldn’t happen. You can tell he loves Bucks coming out and how he wants to treat it with love and positivity, and I can see how he wants to avoid the negative stereotypes of people being Bi and immediately being assumed to be attracted to everyone, and I so appreciate that.

Buddie is something that is so special because either you look at it as two male best friends who love each other unconditionally and wholly, or as this budding romance that builds over 6 seasons. And for me either is beautiful because they are still each others person, and they have this family dynamic that works.

I don’t want Buddie to happen for the sake of satisfying the fans, I need it to be meaningful and special, and if it narratively wouldn’t make sense or wasn’t treated with care I’d rather it stay as it is - with this beautiful male friendship.

Buck as a character is very special to me, and he means a lot to me, so how he is handled is something I care a lot about. And bisexuality is also something that should be handled with care and I’m very glad it seems to be treated with the care it should be at 9-1-1.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[sunshineandspencer]

Coffee dates (Iridescent, Part 3)

A/N: I don’t know how to enemies to lovers, why can’t we all just be friends. Again, I haven’t seen past season 10, I don’t know how it works or who is present so if there are mistakes you can blame showrunners for making me too nervous to keep watching <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!OC.

Summary: Their last coffee date before finally getting back to the office, he’s bored and wants to find out what she’s been working on. 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: swearing, spencer is an ass™

Parts: Pt1, Pt2, Pt4

Let me stress, this is not Maeve from the show, but my own Maeve just named the same to send Spencer into hell whenever he thinks about it.

They’re getting close to the end of his probationary period now, and the thought of getting back to the office, and back to catching psychos was intoxicating.

Sure, she enjoyed his lectures, but not nearly enough to deal with him for longer than she had to.

There’s only one of his lectures left, and yet she still finds herself completing the last assignment he gave just like all the rest. It’s due today and mostly completed, but she just wanted to tweak a few things and add some more references. Working quietly next to him in the campus cafe as always.

He’s realised before, but now that his time was coming to a close, he was properly aware of the fact that she was always working. On all their little coffee dates - he refuses to call them that, and she only does it to piss him off - between their lectures, she’s always writing.

So far that’s been perfect, because he didn’t want to talk to her unless absolutely necessary, neither did she. The two of them avoid conversation like the plague and have silent coffee dates in his breaks.

However, he has no marking left, and finished his book, he is bored and wants to annoy her.

A quick text told him that it’s paid leave for her, which he didn’t know until now but makes the fact that she actually put up with him make sense, and means that she isn’t going over casework. He’s dying to know what it is.

When he sends her off for another round of coffee, he barely even waits for her to turn the corner towards the till to reach out and snatches the page she had been writing on.

Surprise turns him cold to find that it’s his work, set in the lectures that he expected his students to complete. Not only that, but he recognises the writing style, and she had been giving in work as someone called ‘Maisie’, lying about who she is.

Of all the people attending his lecture, he certainly didn’t expect her to do the work, much less under a different name.

Especially when the writing is so.. Good.

Maeve finally came back, sitting down and sliding his coffee across to him, not even batting an eye that he had her work in his hands. Sipping her coffee and feeling the immediate bitter tang of caffeine. Setting her own mug down and shrugging at his questioning tone.

“You’re completing the work I set?”

“Yeah.”

Part of him wondered if she would try to lie, wanting to determine what he could get from profiling her if she did. Expectedly, however, expected her to tell the truth, it’s definitely on brand for her. Suck up.

“Why?”

“I’m not allowed casework when I’m with you, in case you try to involve yourself.” Glaring at him, considering they had proved Emily right by inserting himself uninvited into her work the minute he got bored and she turned her back. Cons of working with profilers, he supposes. “I needed something to do or I would’ve gone crazy. Besides, I felt like you’d want someone completing the work because they enjoy the lecture, not because they think you’re pretty.”

He stared at her for a moment, really using all 187 points of his IQ to take in what she said, then shook his head. Placing the sheet back on the pile and picking up his coffee.

“My students don’t find me attractive.”

Honestly, he’s a little offended by the way she scoffed at him.

“The room is 80% women, they don’t even pay attention half the time, they just stare at you and your hands.” His hands? Now it just feels like she’s projecting, but she doesn’t stop talking yet. “One of them didn’t even complete your last assignment. She just handed in an A4 piece of paper with her number on, it was titled ‘Call Me’.”

He remembers, and he didn’t even look at it long enough to remember the number. The past minute of conversation feels like it shouldn’t be real. Blinking softly in confusion and trying to subtly glancing down from her to his hands and then back again.

Deciding to just hum softly, as if it wasn’t actually something new to him. Picking up his coffee to finally take a sip, irritatingly perfect - God he wished she didn’t try so hard.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“You’re a woman.”

Lifting her head, the look on her face was a picture. Feeling that, had he spoken in Dutch, he probably would’ve gotten the exact same facial expression.

“Am.. I supposed to congratulate you for correctly identifying that I’m a woman?”

He scowled over at her, and that’s a lot better. Their little coffee dates over the last 30 days had been spent mostly silent aside from snide comments and scowls, she wasn’t used to all this conversation from him. So getting him back to scowling again felt like progress.

Until he leant in, a smug grin settling on her face again that she was quickly coming to hate.

“No. But~ surely, if you’ve noticed them finding me attractive, doesn’t that mean you think I’m pretty as well? Hm, little assistant?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t even miss a beat.

“I’d rather make out with a pencil sharpener than you, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer couldn’t help the scowl on his face, even though he was still very smug on the inside. She so gets off on calling him that.

But she got up, and that startled him slightly, watching as she started to pack away her work into her bag. Eyes darting to his, meeting his scowl with a smug grin of her own for managing to get back at him again. Hoping, desperately, that he doesn’t notice that she didn’t actually answer his question.

“Your last lecture is starting soon, hurry up.”

Of course she thinks he’s pretty, but that doesn’t mean she likes him. And she certainly isn’t going to admit it to his face.

Want more?! Good!

[billybob598]

Lucky Charms & If Only's (Frida Maanum x Reader)

Guys, I'm literally so good at banging out fics. Another F1 reader, except this time with Frida! Also, I know Alfa Romeo suck this season but for the purpose of this fic, they're a solid midfield team. This one again requested by anon. Remember any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.2K (Shortest one so far, but whatever)

Frida was always amazed at how well you handled adversity. Such as, reporters being absolute assholes to you. She doesn’t understand how you can be so calm with some of the questions they were asking you.

“The first half of the season has not been what you or the team expected, do you think this is because of the car or yourself?”

“Is it tougher for you to drive the car, because you’re a woman?”

“Do you think Alfa Romeo should keep you on for next season?”

“If it was a man inside the car do you think he’d be able to perform better?”

You were very well media trained. It also helped that these questions were not new to you, they were a recurring theme throughout your career. It was just that now you were in Formula 1 and all the pressure and media had multiplied by 100. 

It was your rookie season and every move you made had been put under the microscope, analyzed by the so-called “experts.” If anything, it was exhausting. Even more so when the first ten races had been subpar, at best. There were only 3 points to your name in the Drivers’ Championship right now. Your teammate, Zhou Guanyu, had 10 points and was driving brilliantly. You knew that you needed a good result here in Austria to show everyone what you could do. 

Your girlfriend, Frida, had seen firsthand how much pressure you were under and the toll it had taken on you. In between race weekends, you tried your best to go see her. She was your rock, she would always listen to you rant, she would watch from the couch as you did hundreds of laps on the F1 game, she would do anything if you asked. Until you asked her to come to one of your races. Of course, she wanted to, but it was difficult with her club season and now preparing for the World Cup. That’s why she hadn’t attended a single race so far this season. Frida hated watching how you instantly deflated each time you asked if she was going to come and she said no. Fortunately, Arsenal’s season was done and she wasn’t to report to the national team for a little bit so, unbeknownst to you, she was flying in Saturday night to be there for race day.

So far, the weekend had been going decent, practice was a little shaky when they found a problem with your engine, but qualifying had been good, narrowly missing out on Q3 finishing P11. As you head back to the hotel, trying to get away from some straggler reporters, you think you’re hallucinating when you see Frida get out of a taxi and head into the hotel. Jogging to catch up to her you shout,

“Frida! Is that you?” She spins around and grins at you.

“Hey babe! Surprise! I finally made it to a race,” she says excitedly. You lean in and give a soft kiss for the first time in what feels like forever (more like 5 days). Pulling away, you grab her hand and drag her to your room. 

The next day, you felt completely relaxed, which was odd because usually before races you get a little nervous, but not today. You put it down to the fact that Frida’s here, her presence always seeming to calm you down. It’s how you used to feel with your parents before they passed away a couple of years ago. Throughout the pre-race traditions, Frida tries her best to stay close to you. She admittedly was feeling a little out of place in the paddock. So, when you finished with a press conference, you immediately find Frida waiting for you and slip your hand into hers. As the pair of you walk through the paddock, Frida can’t help but admire how good you looked. Your race suit was undone, tied around your waist, so your top was just covered by the white fireproofs. They left very little to the imagination, and Frida couldn’t believe you were hers. You give her a funny look before checking if she’s feeling okay. Frida blushes at getting caught checking you out but says she is just fine.

After you slip your helmet on you look over at Frida and give her a little wave. Frida giggles and waves back. You get comfortable inside the car while everyone gets off the grid and prepares for the formation lap. Frida holds her breath as all five lights shine red, before turning off and all twenty cars get going. You get a good start diving down the inside of an Alpine to move up to P10. Over the next couple of laps, you defend from behind you while also trying to make some moves forward. Soon enough you find yourself in a bit of a DRS train, no one getting close enough to overtake. You try your best to stick to the car ahead of you through the first two straights. Heading into turn 4 you stick it around the outside, the entire Alfa Romeo garage cheering. As the race progresses you move even further up until you’re sitting pretty in P5. With only 8 laps left in the race, Sergio Perez, who was ahead of you in P2, has to retire due to a mechanical failure. This promotes you to P4 as the Safety Car is called upon. You swerve back and forth, trying to keep your tires warm as you settle behind Charles Leclerc’s Ferrari. When the Safety Car pulls into the pits and the green flag is given, you immediately smother the back of the Ferrari. You stay behind him for a bit before using DRS and getting by him on a straight. Frida can’t believe what she’s seeing, you were in a position to get your first-ever podium in F1. Those last 5 laps are the longest of your life. Leclerc tried everything to get by you, but you did everything in your power to not let him by. By the time you reach the final lap, your tyres are gone, but as he once again dives down the inside, you brake early and switch back him. You get a much better exit and retake the position. Going through the final sector, your girlfriend is in a state of shock as all the mechanics yell and rush to watch you cross the finish line. 

“That’s a podium mate!” Your engineer exclaims over the radio.

“Oh my God, guys! Thank you so, so much! We’ve done it, what a frickin race mate!” You shout back. 

Parking your car in the pit lane, you get out as quickly as possible to go celebrate with your team. Everyone shouts and hugs you. After taking your helmet off and drinking some water, you find your girlfriend in the crowd and hug her. 

“I swear you’re my lucky charm babe,” you mumble into her neck.

“Does that mean I get to come to more races?” She replies cheekily.

“Oh hell yeah.”

On the podium, you are finally handed your trophy you kiss it before pointing to the sky. If only your parents could see you now, you couldn’t imagine how excited they’d be. If only. 

On the flight back to London with Frida, you can’t help but think about how lucky you were to have her in your life. She really was your lucky charm.

[itsonlytext]

Restoring Balance · scene i

He had already made up in his mind that he was going to sink in the silence alone today and yet there John was, texting him at 5am asking if he and Rosie could visit.

(read this chapter on ao3.)

sherlock discovers that although things will never be the same, it doesn't mean that it will always be necessarily bad. there aren't any warnings today - this is post season four, so feelings are (obviously) a tentative topic but there isn't anything upsetting ≈ 1500 words. also, we get a bit of rosie fluff. i love rosie. and fluff. and rosie fluff and mainly fluff and rosie with a bit of fluff but also rosie fluff the most

The weeks following Eurus' discovery were silent.

Of course, not literally - the builders that Mycroft sent to restore 221B after the explosion were incredibly loud and invasive. (Invasive about what? Nothing sentimental even survived. They were just doing their jobs. Sherlock eventually realised that he simply didn't like their presence every day from 3-6pm.)

But after they finished, after there was nothing left to be restored or repainted, Sherlock couldn't do anything but hover around the living room in the silence.

With a quick gaze over the room, it looked exactly the same as it did before the explosion, Mycroft's men had done well to ensure that. However for Sherlock, he couldn't help but notice how off-key the new wallpaper was, how the spray painted smiley face was neater than before and how the new desk by the window was an inch taller than the old one. He lived there - of course he was bound to notice. (He was himself - of course he was bound to notice.)

The detective stumbled out of bed and into the (unfamiliar) living room with a sigh. He didn't bother changing out of his pyjamas, for he had already decided that he wasn't going to do anything (or see anyone) at all today.

Another silent day - that was his resolve.

Early morning sun streamed down through the windows and straight into his eyes. It was earlier than usual, Mrs Hudson was yet to bring up his morning tea. Besides, he didn't want it; there was a persistent pit in his stomach that wouldn't let him sleep. (He wouldn't have been able to keep the tea down anyway.)

He made a point not to look at the walls or the smiley face or the desk that was too tall as he sat down in his armchair and pulled out his phone. He had two new messages.

Can We Come Over Today? Rosie's Been Asking For You.

Hope It's Not Too Early.

It was sent two hours ago. John often used to wake up early (a habit sustained as a result of the army) but recently, after his daughter was born, had somehow managed to wake up even earlier.

Sherlock's fingers hovered over the keyboard. The silence rang in his ears (he never got used to it, not really). He had already made up in his mind that he was going to sink in the silence alone today and yet there John was, texting him at 5am asking if he and Rosie could visit.

He blew out a gentle breath.

Sure. SH

John responded immediately.

Thanks. We'll Be There In Fifteen

He was probably struggling to entertain his daughter's early morning excitement any longer, waiting for a reply back, another shoulder to lean on. Sherlock suddenly felt bad for not seeing the messages sooner. His stomach churned.

He let his phone drop down and onto the leather of his chair. He glanced around. Tried not to let his gaze linger on anything for too long. There was an awful tightness in his chest whenever he breathed, as if his lungs didn't want him to. He needed a cigarette. Probably shouldn't. Not if Rosie's on the way. (Damn it.)

For now, he'll have to settle with just tea and hope it'll stay down.

John was (unsurprisingly) right - fifteen minutes of sinking deeper into his chair trying not to look at anything and there was a knock at the door.

A nest of blonde curls toddled into the detective's arms before he could stand up. He lifted her up and ignored the way she eagerly tugged on his hair with a remarkable grip.

“Watson,” he greeted calmly.

“Yeah,” she grinned, pulling on his curls and bringing his head down with it. He winced.

“Let’s not do that,” Sherlock said as he gently pried her tiny fingers away from his hair.

"She's doing that to me, too," John began. Sherlock glanced up, suddenly aware of his voice, his presence. He was lingering by the door with heavy eyes and a large baby bag over his shoulder. He pointed to his greying hair. "I think I've got a bald spot here now."

"You've always had that."

"Oh, thanks," he replied lightly, dumping the bag by the door and walking in. "You're erm. Up early."

Sherlock didn't reply, instead he turned his gaze to the toddler. She gazed back at him with an illiterate babble. Her stare was so firm yet so playful. (So John yet so Mary.)

“Any cases?” John carried on, fluffing up a pillow with a fist before falling into his armchair with a sigh.

For a moment, as he asked about cases and fell into his armchair, it was like time hadn’t irreparably cracked and bruised their friendship. But Sherlock knew that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t - the bags under John’s eyes and the silver colonising his blond roots ensured that it wouldn’t be the same again.

It made the pit in Sherlock’s stomach sink even deeper and he didn’t know that was possible. (He wasn’t sure it would ever go away.)

“Haven’t checked.”

“Greg hasn’t called for anything?”

“Who?”

“Sherlock.”

The corner of his lips tugged. “No. Mycroft called yesterday though. Something about a political domestic.”

He tilted his head. “And I’m assuming you turned it down.”

Sherlock smiled. Then suddenly, he winced.

“Rosie!”

“G’na pull it…”

“No!” John huffed, reaching forward and holding out his arms. “You don’t pull on people’s hair. It hurts.”

She grunted angrily, burying herself into Sherlock’s neck so that her dad couldn’t take her. “It’s alright,” the detective replied calmly, splaying out a large hand on her back and trying to ignore the piercing headache forming at the nape of his neck. He stood up with her and faced the mantle. “Let’s do something different.”

John watched as Sherlock fed her curiosity by providing context for all the memorabilia that had accumulated over the years at 221B. She (obviously) didn’t understand anything and she (definitely) didn’t care about the context other than they were all great to shove into her mouth, but it kept her from creating pools of bald spots in anyone’s scalps and for that the men were grateful.

John knew that their spontaneous visits were good for Sherlock - that he needed Rosie’s livelihood and John’s tiredness to feel needed enough so that he wouldn’t drown in his own mind. He also knew that Sherlock wouldn't ever realise that for himself.

“Oh, and that’s a pinned vampire bat. Not sure where from. Mexico, at a guess.”

“ ‘nd dat one,” the little girl grabbed a tiny metal object with sparkling eyes.

“That’s just the gun token from Cluedo.”

So instead of saying it, John just carried on keeping the visits spontaneous. (He figured that some things were better left unsaid. Or maybe one day Mrs Hudson will say it out loud and make the detective realise.)

“I bought some breakfast on the way,” he said suddenly. “Figured you haven’t eaten yet.”

Sherlock shifted his body slightly to face him. “Didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well.” He stood up. “Let me take her, you eat.”

“It’s alright.”

“You’re not on a case, Sherlock, you’ve no excuse not to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“That’s a lie.”

He glanced down at Rosie as he reluctantly handed her over to John. “Your father’s a tyrant.”

“I try,” he replied with an exaggerated grin, taking his daughter into his arms.

Sherlock strode over to the paper bag and pulled out the food. Cafe pastries, a sandwich. Nothing he could stomach yet. (The Danish looked good though. He was going to save that for later.)

He glanced back. John had sat down on the carpet with Rosie in front of him, playing with the skull and the tiny gun from Cluedo.

He knew very well that John could currently be in the comfort of his own home instead; he’d have a wider variety of toys for Rosie, (proper) baby food, their beds. John only did it for Sherlock’s benefit, not his own. But Sherlock didn’t say anything because he couldn’t deny that their presence probably was, on balance, better for his lungs than a three-month-old secret stash of Marlboro reds. (Damn it.)

He glanced back at the bag and pulled out the Danish pastry anyway, hoping that it would make his stomach feel better and not worse. He took a bite.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson used her elbow to push it open. She was carrying a tray of fresh food from the cafe and his tea.

“Too late,” Sherlock muttered between a bite, lifting the Danish pastry to show her.

“Oh, John,” the old lady ignored him, setting the tray down in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you two were coming.”

“Neither did we, really,” he smiled politely, ignoring the way Rosie climbed his frame and started to reach for his hair. “Well. Not until half an hour ago.”

“If I had known, I’d have gotten those cakes for the little one, the one she likes,” she gestured lovingly with her hands.

“She’ll like anything with sugar.”

As they conversed, Sherlock glanced at his watch. She was fourteen minutes late.

Mrs Hudson was never late to float upstairs with his cup of morning tea, she lived by that strict schedule for years; wake up, dress, make breakfast, eat, tidy her kitchen, make Sherlock's tea, carry said tea upstairs, tidy 221B and then open the cafe. She was the only subtle reminder that Sherlock wasn’t completely alone in the silence when he’d wake up at 8am to find a freshly steaming cup in the living room.

But after the explosion, things had been different - her (right) hip had gotten worse, her limbs more fragile in their venture up the stairs. She was, unfortunately, getting older. As a result, Mrs Hudson had been getting to him later. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. (But it still troubled his stomach.)

Sherlock blew out a breath and shook the sleeve of his robe down to cover his watch. Suddenly, the Danish pastry in his mouth didn’t seem as appealing anymore.

this ended up being way longer than i thought/wanted/hoped, so i’ve split it in two. next one will be coming up soon. thanks folks!

let me know if you’d like to be/no longer be tagged.

tags: @nathan-no @helloliriels @dragonnan @strawberrywinter4 @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @meetinginsamarra @pressurepoint221 @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @gaypiningshit @johnlocky @a-victorian-girl @astudyinlaura

[jcbbby]

Vanity Fair Lie Detector Interview w/ Jamie Campbell Bower and You

hello! I've had this idea for like almost a year now lol. this is very dialogue heavy, there's not much description, but I felt like it kind of had to be, since it's just back and forth questions? idk, it's not my best work, but the idea is sickeningly cute and I needed to get it out. anyway, hope you enjoy it! <3 warnings: none! just fluff, ST4 costar!reader, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if I missed any gendered terms!)

---

As part of your Stranger Things press tour following the release of Vol. 2, you and your co-star Jamie were appearing on the lie detector interview. Entering the set, it was dark, with just a single overhead light hanging above a metal table. You and Jamie sat in chairs in front of the table as you filmed the intro for the video.

"Which one of you would like to go first?" The producer asked off camera.

You both turned to look at each other, nervously smiling. You shuffled your feet against the floor.

"Uh...I guess I'll go." You shrugged. "I'll just rip the band aid off."

The camera cut and the polygraph examiner set up as you and Jamie took your places on either side of the metal table.

"I feel like I'm looking at 25 to life or something right now." You chuckled as the polygraph examiner finished hooking you up to the machine.

"Are you nervous?" Jamie smiled at you from across the table.

"I'm sweating!"

Jamie cleared his throat, adjusting his posture to sit up straight, smirking as he tried to look intimidating. Your lips scrunched into a thin line as your eyes widened, showing your anxious anticipation.

"Okay...first question: is today June 8th, 2022?" He read from the cards in his hands.

"Yes." You stated.

"Were you in season 4 of Stranger Things?"

"I was." You smiled.

"Did you always want to be an actor growing up?"

"Uh...y-yeah. I would say yes." You nodded. "One of the things I wanted to be, anyway."

"What else would you have wanted to be?"

"Uh, well I still do music, but I wanted to be a famous musician. For a hot second I wanted to be a museum curator." You smiled.

"Have you ever googled yourself to see what people think of your work?"

You laughed and then hung your head. "I have! I need the validation..."

"I'm British, and you're American. Do you think I do a good American accent?" He chuckled.

You paused, sucking in a breath jokingly before smiling. "No, I'm kidding. You do have a decently good one, actually. Yeah."

Jamie gave you a side eye and looked at the polygraph examiner, who sat still staring at the paper and moving dowels. He looked back at you and nodded judgingly.

"Do you remember your first celebrity crush?" Jamie smiled.

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

You let out a breath, a slight smile flashing across your lips. "Um, I think it was like, Orlando Bloom?" You laughed. "Man, him as a blonde elf, y'know?"

Jamie chuckled at your answer before glancing down to his cards and looking back up. He smirked. "Do you have a current celebrity crush?"

"Uh...yes." You pursed your lips, taken aback by the question slightly.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer over the table. "And who is your current celebrity crush?" He smirked.

Your eyes went wide and you felt your cheeks immediately blush. You glanced over to the polygraph examiner, laughing nervously. It was him. Ever since the day he walked into the table read, you were enamored with his beauty, inside and out. You were secretly so excited to be paired with him for these press events, despite not having much screen time with him. You hoped your feelings wouldn't be obvious, but now, being hooked up to a lie detector, you felt like you weren't able to hide it at all.

"Oh god...haha...uhh..." You looked back at Jamie, eyebrows high, biting your lips slightly. "Well...uh, all I'll say is... they're in the room currently..." You smiled shyly, averting your eyes.

You could feel the warmth of Jamie's smile that grew across his face. "I didn't know you felt that away about the polygraph man." He chuckled.

You looked up, seeing his cheeks lightly blushed. You giggled, looking over at the smiling polygraph examiner. "I'm glad I could finally let him know." You looked back to Jamie.

"Well...I'm sure he's absolutely flattered." He held your gaze for a moment before taking in a deep breath and looking back down at his cards. "Okay, last question... Would you say you're cooler than your character in Stranger Things?"

You laughed. "Oh god... Absolutely. They're much cooler than me, yes."

"Did you lie at any point during this interview that we didn't catch?" He asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward.

You grimaced, looking over to the polygraph examiner. "I don't think so, no. I didn't lie."

He gave a thumbs up and you jokingly exhaled a sigh of relief. The camera cut, and the crew came around you, setting up the next shot for Jamie to be in the hot seat. There wasn't much time for conversation as they worked around you, which you were slightly thankful for, given your admission. Though, you both did exchange a few soft glances and warm smiles, which made you feel less embarrassed. The two of you switched seats and the camera started rolling as the polygraph examiner hooked Jamie up to the machine.

"You're right, this is very surreal." Jamie laughed, looking at the equipment put on him.

"Are you nervous?"

"Maybe...I don't know yet." He smiled, settling into the seat with the wires now on him.

"You should be." You winked and brought the cards up in front of you. "Alright, is your name Jamie Campbell Bower?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Were you born in London, England?"

"Yes."

"You played Vecna in the new season of Stranger Things, as well as a member of the Volturi in Twilight. Would you consider yourself a good villain?"

Jamie's face twisted into a thought. "Oh wow. I mean...I don't think me, personally, as a villain. I try not to be! But I suppose the villain is fun to play, definitely. I guess I play the villain well, yes."

"You've been in a number of cancelled projects. Do you think you make bad career choices?" You tried to hold back your laughter.

He laughed out loud. "Thanks for bringing it up, love. Uh...no. I think they were all projects I really believed in and felt a connection to. I chose them because I enjoyed them. So no, I don't think that."

"You have made music with bands The Darling Buds, Counterfeit, and as a solo act. Would you want to be a full-time musician if you weren't an actor?"

He thought for a moment. "I suppose, yes. But I really couldn't imagine one without the other. They're both so deeply part of me. So...yes and no?"

"Do you secretly hate the Duffer brothers for making you go through 8 hours of prosthetics to play Vecna instead of just making it CGI?"

Jamie laughed again. "No! I don't!" He looked over to the polygraph examiner.

"He's telling the truth." He said flatly.

"Phew...I still have a job, good." He jokingly wiped his brow. "No, I think the choice to have it be almost entirely practical effects really made all the difference for you know, my scene partners, as well as for my own ability to get into character."

"Did you take anything from set that no one gave you permission to take?"

"Uh....n-no...no, I don't think I took anything without permission... I hope not?"

You looked down to the cards in your hand, scanning the questions listed. But you had an idea.

Well, payback time for me. Who's your current celebrity crush, then?" You smirked, narrowing your eyes.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a smile. "Oh god. Yeah, yeah...I guess fair is fair." He leaned forward. "Well, um...I'm looking it at them." He smiled shyly.

Your mouth hung open, lilting up at the ends in euphoric shock. You bit your lip, letting the full smile overtake your face, stinging your cheeks. "Oh...is that so?" You giggled.

"We can defer to the polygraph man." He gestured over as you both looked to the man sat in front of the machine.

He smiled, looking back over to you, nodding. "He's telling the truth."

"Oh...well, I guess that's-that's convenient isn't it?" You giggled, feeling your cheeks flush.

"Did we just become a couple in this interview?" Jamie laughed.

"I think we did." You shook your head in disbelief, joining him in his laughter.

"Wow, this was much more affective than Tinder, this is what everyone should be doing." He gestured to the lie detector equipment.

"And on camera, too." You gave finger guns to the camera, giving a wink. "Um...but okay. Wow... Well, final question: Did you lie at any point during this interview and we didn't catch it?"

Jamie shook his head. "No, I don't believe I told any lies."

The polygraph examiner nodded, backing up that Jamie had not told lies. You smiled, setting the cards down, laying your hands on the table. Jamie smiled and reached across, taking your hands in his. The camera cut and the crew swelled around, taking the lie detector equipment away and setting up for you two to film the outro to the video.

The crew set the chairs back to the front of the table and had you two sit their once again. The producer called to roll the camera and let you know to start.

"Well, this has been Lie Detector Interview, or Lie Detector Matchmaker I guess." Jamie chimed. You burst out laughing, nudging Jamie's shoulder. "I thought this would be terrifying, but it actually went quite well I'd say." He looked to you.

You nodded. "Better than I would have expected." You smiled up at him. "Thanks so much for having us, Vanity Fair! This has been lovely!"

You both held your hands up, intertwined with the other, before leaning against one another with smiles on both of your faces.

"This is video is going to break the internet." Jamie whispered, leaning into your ear, drawing a delighted laugh from you just as they cut the camera.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Merry & Bright"

Part 3 - Family Fun Night

Merry & Bright Masterlist

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: a/b/o, omega Bucky, alpha Steve, kid fic, Karens

Summary: Bucky and Steve go to their daughters' school play.

(If your name is Karen, I'm sorry and sending warm hugs)

Bucky’s been able to ignore the encroaching Holiday season for longer than usual this year. 

Between the warm-ish fall weather and his continuing therapy appointments, the ceaseless calls from his publisher and that guy from Warner Brothers, and the move and the overwhelming demands of a newborn, it’s just hard to believe that it could already be Thanksgiving next week.

Steve’s next text coming through just about drives a bulldozer through that delusion:

Steve: Hey, I’m at the store right now. You want me to pick anything up for this ‘Friendsgiving’-extravaganza? I know Jarvis said he’s got it handled, but I feel like we should have backups for the girls? Just in case Tony’s picked out some sort of weird, avant garde menu? Becs really has her heart set on pumpkin pie. And Sarah, well …

Bucky: You could ask Pepper. I think we’re safe as long as there’s mac ‘n’ cheese and rolls. Anyway we’ve got over a week to sort it out.

Steve: … Babe, today’s Tuesday. We’ve got two days. 

Bucky immediately checks his phone calendar, and sure enough, Thanksgiving is this week, not next. Fuck. 

“Ohshit,” he breathes, eyes bugging out of his head as he realizes that this means tonight is the school play, not next Tuesday. “Fuck. Shit!” In his hands, his phone chimes.

Steve: So, pie?

Bucky texts back a harried ‘yes’, thinking that he’s got to get his butt back to the tower immediately. He very suddenly has only about nine hours before his children need to be fitted with their (as of yet not even near-to-finished) homemade costumes. Becca’s paper mache drumstick still needs spray painted, and Sarah’s supposed to be a scoop of mashed potatoes that Bucky still needs to find something to act as the pat of butter on top.

“Jarvis, help.” Bucky says as he hoofs it back in the direction of the tower. 

 Jarvis’ voice emanates from his phone: “Mr. Rogers. How can I be of assistance?”

Bucky rattles off the craft supplies they’re going to need. “And if you know anyone on Stark’s payroll who’s good with a needle and thread, that wouldn’t hurt either.”

It seems like only yesterday they were dressed up as Buzz and Woody, letting Bo Peep and a very bossy Jessie drag them around from house to house. They’d trick-or-treated in the Cobble Hill neighborhood where they technically don’t live yet but will soon, once the house is finished being refurbished. Bucky had carried Gabe strapped to his front as one of the Little Green Men alien squeaker toy thingies, and Steve had pulled a wagon along for when one or both of the girls inevitably became too tuckered out to—

Anyhow, point is: it feels like they were trick‘or’treating all of two seconds ago.

And now Thanksgiving is in two days? What the everloving fuck?

Bucky spends a very brief amount of time that afternoon being irrationally mad at his husband, as if it’s Steve’s fault that his pregnancy brain has apparently extended into the postpartum period and allowed him to lose track of time. He grumps privately that Steve should’ve somehow magically known that he was mentally operating in the wrong week, and should have thus alerted him that the holiday was imminent! Stupid Steve. What the hell is the alpha good for, anyway?

Later that evening of course, he realizes how ridiculous that is. He comes to terms with the fact that he’s actually upset with himself—partly because of the mad scramble he’s left with to get ready for Coulton-Chestor Preparatory Academy’s family fun night, but even moreso because of the 5k he now has to face up to in less than forty-eight hours. (What real, qualitative difference one more week of jogging in the park was really going to make, Bucky can’t say, but he’d been counting on it to help him work his confidence up about the whole ordeal.)

It’s not like he wouldn’t back out of it if he could, but he absolutely cannot back out. This is the first ever Brooklyn Bridge American Heroes Turkey Trot, co-sponsored by Stark Industries and Barnes Prosthetics (yes, Bucky is the genius who thought it’d be fine and dandy to plan a 5k less than half a year after giving birth). Together, he and Tony have started a foundation for veterans and civilian victims of the regime years, to help provide them access to the high quality, bio-integrative prosthetics that Bucky’s company makes.

Since it’s not exactly cheap to weld a robot arm onto somebody, Bucky and Tony have partnered with Wounded Warrior Project for this charity run; done to raise funds for vets who don’t happen to have a spare ninety grand lying around to fund their surgeries. The limbs themselves are, of course, all provided free of charge by Barnes Prosthetics, and the overall costs are at least somewhat ameliorated by various amenities provided by Stark.

As the visible face of the charity, Bucky’s got no choice: he needs to show up, show off, and show support. He’s expected to be there to make nice with all the other amputees who’ll be running, and to show off how happy and perfect his life is now that he’s got the Asset IV prototype cybernetic implant attached to his body. It is a bitchin’ arm, and Bucky is excited to get to hand one of those gigantic cardboard checks over to the Wounded Warrior guys, but he really, really wishes he’d thought to postpone the Foundation’s first run until next Thanksgiving. 

At least he’ll have Steve there with him, he thinks. His Alpha has promised not to outpace him to any embarrassing degree, Darcy is fine with keeping Gabe until they get back, and Tony has even arranged to have the girls set up for the Macy’s parade with a disgustingly VIP viewing situation on Central Park West. But aside from those few hours on Thanksgiving morning, Bucky’s daughters will remain under his purview for the holidays this year. 

And the hubbub begins with Family Fun Night that evening. 

Bucky alone has to deal with Sarah’s anxiety problems leading up to the curtain call for this stupid fucking school play. “Hold still, Honey,” he begs, speaking past the safety pin he’s got held between his lips as he kneels there and uses both of his hands to try and do a last minute costume fix. “Sarah I said hold still.”

“Fix it daddy, fix it!” 

He’s crouched next to his youngest daughter in the school’s hallway, trying to better secure the pat of “butter” (a folded yellow tea towel) to the top of her not-so-great mashed potato costume. Steve is off somewhere with the drumstick, helping her to not be scared about walking out on stage. “Baby, please. I can’t fix it if you keep moving around,” Bucky growls, but his frustrated tone only makes Sarah get more hysterical about her role in the play being messed up by a floppy tea towel. She starts to cry about how she doesn’t want to do this anymore. 

“Sarah Winnifred, I swear to God, if you don’t hold still, you’re gonna have a new hole poked in your head!”

He and Steve sit proudly in the fourth row back and watch the play that their children’s overpriced prep school is putting on before it lets out for Thanksgiving break.

At the end of the final song, when all of the students are lined up on the stage like a demented paper-mache buffet of human-sized food items, bowing hand in hand, Steve and Bucky rise with all the other parents for a standing ovation, humongous smiles plastered on their faces. Steve tries to do a finger whistle with middling success, then he leans over to Bucky’s ear and cheerfully whispers, “That was so dumb!”

Bucky laughs, still clapping and beaming with absolute pride for his daughters. “Yeah it was friggin’ awful!” 

The curtain falls, and he and Steve exit the auditorium to go backstage and congratulate the girls. A very excited drumstick and mashed potatoes run up and start talking over each other to tell their fathers all about the play that they just performed. “Papa! Daddy! Did you see me?! Did you see my song?!!” 

“What about meee?!”

“Sure did, Becs. You were really good!” 

“The best turkey drumstick ever.”

For being such excellent thespians and to celebrate their acting debut, they present the girls with two foil-wrapped tulips that they bought out in the lobby. Becca especially, seems very proud of her flower, twirling in her drumstick costume and holding it to her nose again and again. Bucky’s smile wavers with emotion as he gets that warm, shot-of-whiskey feeling once again, and he remembers that Life is Good. He catches Steve’s eye from over top of the mashed potatoes, and they share one of those silent “I Love You” moments. Steve shoots him a wink.

It being family fun night, Darcy appears as planned and ushers the girls away to go change back into regular clothes before they head over to the kids’ party in the gymnasium. Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky go to the reception that’s been put together for the parents. Bucky isn’t super keen on attending, but he promised the girls that they could play games with the other kids for at least an hour, so he and Steve make an admirable attempt to mingle amongst the other parents.

Coulton-Chestor Preparatory Academy is an exclusive elementary school on the Upper East Side. Due to its sheer proximity to Stark Tower, and since bussing the girls all the way to Brooklyn for an entire year would’ve been too much of a hassle, Steve and Bucky chose to enroll them there. It’s only temporary, until the renovations on the Cobble Hill house are complete and they’re able to move back to Brooklyn. Bucky is looking forward to being able to walk his children the two picturesque blocks between their house and the neighborhood school each day.

But until then, it’s the more snobbish parents and overzealous PTA moms of Coulton-Chestor that he has to navigate at functions such as tonight’s. Bucky’s been taking some time off work ever since things got very pregnant-and-miserable in about month eight, but he still considers himself a working father, and as such there is an awkward disconnect between him and the more … involved stay-at-home parents who surround him at the reception.

At least there are hors d’oeuvres and cocktails, which give him something to do with his hands. Steve starts chatting with a few of the parents who are running the silent auction, and Bucky avoids getting drawn into bidding on overpriced theater tickets by heading over to the refreshments table. He’s just finished loading up on a bunch of mini quiches and cocktail weenies, when the one person he’d hoped to fully avoid at this function makes her attack. Bucky turns around with his little plate of foot and startles as he’s suddenly faced with a familiar, blonde-haired woman. 

“James!” She’s got a tea-length dress, an overly-whitened smile, and a ponytail that’s been curled to within an inch of its life. It’s Karen.

(No, her name is literally Karen.)

And in Bucky’s limited experience with her, she has an uncanny ability to make every social interaction the exact opposite of what Bucky would like it to be. It’s just a gift some people have.

She swoops in with two other omega parents by her sides, introducing them as “Jill” and “Nate.” Bucky plasters on a smile to match hers while she air kisses his cheeks in that way that rich people who think they’re cultured always do.

“You made it,” she coos, acting pleased to see him. In all fairness, she might be. Bucky’s never point blank told the woman that he finds her insufferable, and she always seems to make a beeline for the more well-to-do parents. Ever since she found out that Bucky and Steve not only rub shoulders with Tony Stark, but are actually living with him, she’s been eager to make Bucky one of her besties. “It’s been too long. How are you, darling?”

“Oh, you know,” Bucky says, gesturing with his plate of cocktail weenies. “Hanging in there.”

“And how is that gorgeous new baby of yours doing?” she asks, nudging Jill to announce, “James is married to Commander Rogers. They have three children.”

Jill and Nate make a polite fuss over that, while Bucky tries to act gracious and think of a way to correct Karen that “Commander” isn’t Steve’s title, and if he ever hears her referring to him as such, he’ll be offended. “How is your family doing?” Bucky asks, more to get the topic off himself rather than due to any real interest. 

Like most of the Coulton-Chestor moms, Karen is married to a well-to-do Alpha, has precisely one child, and spends her time trying to climb as high in Manhattan “Mommy” society as possible. Having a living child at all is automatically a foot up in terms of social standing, Bucky’s learned, and the moms of Park Avenue lord their accomplishments higher than most. Most times Bucky’s met her, Karen’s been wearing diamond solitaires with designer workout clothes and brandishing her own fertility like a damn merit badge. 

Karen brags about her son for a few minutes, and when it seems like everyone in their small group is necessitated to take a turn with regards to their own offspring, Bucky throws some random fact out about how the girls have been doing. Jill and Nate start gushing over Bucky’s grand accomplishment of having three kids, which is practically unheard of. 

“You must be so proud. How lucky to have three healthy children!”

“What were yours in the play?” Jill asks, and she seems friendly enough so Bucky makes an effort to tell her about how he’s responsible for the turkey leg and the mashed potatoes. She giggles and nods and says her son was one of the pumpkins.

“Oh, ha, yeah. They had quite the little dance routine, didn’t they?” 

Bucky’s smile turns annoyed when Karen feels the need to point out, “Yes! And your little Rebecca kept up alright, didn’t she? She seemed able to follow along with the other kids quite well!”

“Yes,” Bucky says peevishly. “She’s very talented.” 

“Isn’t it wonderful here? I just love how inclusive Coulton-Chestor is,” Karen simpers. She turns to the other moms and starts telling them about how Becca is in her son’s “regular” class, and how she’s always so sweet, and so helpful to the other students. She talks about Becca like she’s a little mascot, or a class pet, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve to no end.

Since the fertility crisis began, there’s been more stigma placed on children with any sorts of disabilities, and Bucky’s had to deal with a lot of thinly-veiled prejudice due to his daughter’s special needs ever since he started advocating to get her into the same high-quality school programs as Sarah. The public school system still hasn’t recovered, and with limited slots available in all childcare-related fields these days, people are more ruthlessly competitive for their children than ever before. 

“Yes, we like it here,” Bucky agrees. “Though we’ll be switching to a different school next year, when we move to the new house over in Brooklyn.”

“You’re not leaving The Tower?” Karen gasps, as if that’s the most horrible, ludicrous decision. Given that she makes it sound like Bucky and his family are choosing to move out of friggin’ Buckingham Palace, Nate and Jill predictably get curious and ask:

“The ‘Tower’?”

“Stark Tower,” Karen chirps, excited to tell the other two omegas, “James and his husband live there.”

 Nate’s eyebrows go up. “They live there. In the tower?”

“Oh yes! Didn’t you know? Why, they’re friends with the Starks.”

“Really? Oh, I’ve heard such good things about that Pepper Potts,” Jill gushes. “Seems like a lovely woman. How do you know her?”

Bucky smiles, pained. “Actually I knew Tony first. We work together.”

“You work?” Nate sneers. Bucky ignores him. 

“Yeah, I met Tony back during the, ah … well, during the regime years.”

“Gilead? Oh. Huh.”

(“Wonder what the Starks were doing, back then? Were they married then?”

“You never do hear what celebrities got up to during all that, do you?”

“No, you never do.”)

Bucky hums, not intending to get into a conversation about it, but Karen forces his hand by volunteering, “Wasn’t that all in your book though, James?” 

“Um,”

Karen enthusiastically tells the others, “He was one of those resistance fighters, can you believe it? That’s how he lost his arm.” (Everybody’s eyes not-so-surreptitiously fly to where Bucky’s left hand is sticking out of his sweater, holding onto the plate of hors d'oeuvres.) “And he was a vessel. His husband was one of the commanders down in Washington. That’s where they met!”

“Really?”

“Steve wasn’t a real commander …” Bucky hedges.

“Oh he wrote a whole book about it! You really must read it.” Karen rattles off the title and both Nate and Jill make sounds of recognition. 

“Ooh. You know, I’ve heard of that book.”

“Great,” Bucky mutters. He has to smile along politely and answer them as they start asking him fascinated questions, with Karen supplying details every time he tries to demure and change the topic to something less sensational. 

“He’s just being modest!” she simpers, laying her hand on Bucky’s arm in an overly familiar way. “James, tell them about how you were on the View.”

Bucky reluctantly does, and Jill and Nate nod along, enthused to hear about how he’s been on television and met the hosts of the show. “It really wasn’t all that exciting,” Bucky insists. “I wasn’t the main guest. They had, you know, real celebrities that went after me. Reese Witherspoon and stuff.”

“You met Reese Witherspoon?”

“No, no. I didn’t. I was only there for like, two minutes. It wasn’t even important.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Karen prods smugly. “A little birdy told me that Netflix was trying to buy up the film rights to your book.”

Bucky doesn’t even care, he openly shoots her a withering glare this time. “I can assure you that’s not true.” (It’s HBO, and it isn’t Bucky’s fault if she doesn’t have her details right.) 

Karen continues to gab to the other two parents about it anyway, insisting that some omega heartthrob actor whom Bucky has never heard of would be the ideal casting choice to portray him in the film version of his book. “And Chris Hemsworth. Oh! Wouldn’t he just be perfect to play your Steve?”

“Nobody’s making a movie out of it!” Bucky snaps, fed up with her incessant gossiping. “It’s not happening.” He looks around awkwardly at the end of his outburst, aware of Nate and Jill’s surprised expressions. “Um, I just mean: the studios were shopping around,” he mutters. “But I said no.” 

Of course this is very disappointing to Karen, and she tries to tell Bucky what a mistake that is, talking about how interested everybody would be in the subject matter. “I just saw an episode of the Dr. Phil show where they were talking about it,” she says. “They had wives and some of those vessels on. Even a commander.”

Bucky hums dispassionately. “Sounds like trash tv to me.” He’ll be damned if he lets Karen know he was asked onto that program as well. “Just people trying to make a spectacle out of it.”

Karen titters awkwardly and agrees, but Bucky can tell that she’s annoyed at him for shutting her gossip down. “Well, it’s all very controversial, of course,” she excuses. “And a commitment like that would just be so much more on your plate.”

Bucky nods, glad that she’s dropping it. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“After all, you’re already a working mother,” she says, saying ‘working’ all hurriedly and quietly, as if it’s something not to be mentioned. “I’m sure you just want to focus on your family, now. With the new baby and all.” 

“Congratulations,” Jill gushes. “Did you have a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. Gabe. He just turned four months old last week.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

“Another omega for your family?”

“No, Karen,” Bucky says, annoyance audible in his voice. “We haven’t had him tested. We’re just going to wait and find out the old fashioned way.”

“Oh. I see.”

They all seem taken aback, because it’s very rare for a newborn not to be tested for designation these days. Much to Bucky’s chagrin, gender roles only seem to be becoming more emphasized than ever. Jill chuckles awkwardly and tries to lighten the mood. “Well, that’s so progressive of you. Dan had our little Archie in an alpha playgroup by the time he could crawl, I swear.”

They all titter over that, and Bucky tries to scan the room for any sight of Steve without being too obvious in what he’s doing. He spots him over by the punch bowl. “Um, I’m sorry,” he excuses. “I think I see my husband calling me.” He starts to make his escape, but Karen grabs him just as he’s turning.

“Oh, James, wait! We wanted to ask if you’d help us plan the Winter Gala.”

“Oh, I uh.”

“We’re going to have the children do a nativity scene. And I was thinking a candlelight service. Wouldn’t that just be picturesque?”

Bucky makes a face. “Sorry, Karen. My family isn’t very religious.”

“Oh, no but it’ll be interdenominational!” she insists with a big grin. “You celebrate Christmas, of course!”

“No.”

“... No?” 

“Not really,” Bucky grunts. “I mean, we do a tree and a menorah and all that, but ..."

“Menorah?” she says, and the way she squinches her eyes sets Bucky’s nerves on edge. “You’re not Jewish?”

Bucky pulls his arm back to himself. “Culturally, yes. Steve’s family is Catholic, mine’s Jewish. But we’ve decided that organized religion isn’t what’s right for our family.”

“Oh! But you can still come to the church service!” Karen says brightly. “It’ll be—”

“We’re not religious,” Bucky blurts out, sick of stepping around the issue and having lost his patience. He’s tired of politely fielding other people’s invitations for him and his husband and children to come and check out ‘this congregation’ or that, and figures he’ll just squash any chance there might be of him actually getting roped into planning holiday festivities with the Coulton-Chestor evangelical set. “We’re pretty much raising the girls Atheist,” he tells Karen, watching as her smile flickers like a bulb hanging on by its very last filament. He feels a degree of nasty satisfaction at having perturbed her. 

Disturbingly, the Christian Right has continued to grow in popularity—culturally, if not politically—these past few years, and Bucky has very little tolerance for it (he tried to show tolerance before the regime, and look how that ended up). He knows his family is in the minority, and it’s very apparent how this information makes the friendly light in even Nate and Jill’s eyes dim somewhat.

“I’m sure you’ll plan something great, though,” he excuses brightly, turning around to go and find Steve and see if it isn’t too early to make their escape. “It was nice catching up!”

Masterlist

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@steverogersbingo

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Square D3: Slice of Life

@marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square I5: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

@stuckyversebingo

Card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square C4: alpha/omega relationship

[nourrris]

I'm happy there was no season 4.

This could either be a popular, or very unpopular opinion, I'm unsure as frankly I've only began watching two days ago, and finished the show already, (god it was beautiful).

Anyways, I very firmly believe anything after a season 3 would have likely ruined the storyline, it ended on such a beautiful note, something that's so perfectly them. I'm also in a way, happy they never actually did kiss, although realistically I had been rooting for it to happen, the fact it didn't doesn't bother me one bit, it really brings out all the intimacy in their prior actions, and words, I love that their love was batshit insane, that it didn't need a kiss or pda to believe it was reciprocated, frankly surrendering eachothers lives together was more than enough for a confirmation.

But continuing on, I believe a season 4 would have been too messy, they left s3 on a very difficult position to recover off, and a position that didn't need recovering either, it didn't need fixing or changing - not one bit. It was so perfect in my opinion, their last things they did was kill a man together to save one another, then kill themseleves together, literally how much more fitting could it have been for these murder husbands? It just worked so well, that nothing can be more intimate than death for them, in my opinion.

Latching onto the last part of the first section of the post, I really liked how they portrayed the reciprocity of Will's feelings towards Hannibal. When Bedelia ask's Will if he 'aches' for Hannibal too, and it cuts off to another scene, I generally already took that as a yes, as it was a big damn claim, I don't think it's something you easily hesitate on, not when the person in question is a cannibalistic murderer. When he chooses to save Hannibal, and jump off the cliff with him though, that is the real confirmation of course, choosing to leave his wife and son, all friends and absolutely every inch of the life he made - for Hannibal, a man he physically could not get over no matter how hard he tried.

It's perfect, sorry I just finished the show today (like a few hours ago) and I love it so dearly, I've never watched something where the ending felt so genuinely satisfying, even if it seemingly hadn't meant to felt like a finale in that manner, it worked amazingly, I'm very glad it wasn't a s2 situation with such an insane cliff hanger, or else I would have probably just.. never watched the show. Some say it does feel like a cliff hanger, but eventually you can come to terms and realize that their actions, a double suicide in the name of love(?) couldn't possibly surpass anything else they've done at that point, their action's have led them to either horribly idiotic situations, or blissful moments.

Lastly I wanted to mention my original assumption of the ending, I midway through season 2 found out Hannibal was actually a incomplete cancelled show, also prior to that I found through spoilers that will eventually has a wife. Those facts are important because I very weirdly am a person who cannot consume a media without spoilers, (my anxiety is due to that). So I just about know every ending of a show before I'm even halfway into it, although I tend to prefer to wait later, I wondered if finishing the show was worth it so i searched it up, and watched briefly the ending, It was very relieving as if it actually did truly end in a heterosexual way it would have immediately made me quit the show, as yes they are intimite but I still did want any type of closure, without it I would have felt at most pretty indifferent with the ending.

Anyways, the show is beautiful, I love it so so much, even if it's a complete change in genres for me, I love the characters, I love the artistry and creativity in the show, and god do I love the ending.

(edit a day later: guys i totally missed that last scene w bedelia at the end, i still prefer s3's ending but did not know it was implied they were alive!!??!)

[modelbus]

ATTEMPT 3 AT A SHORT REQ, TAKE TWO.

Ranboo, Acting AU, Word; ‘Authentic’ (I’m really setting you up for the title ‘Authentic Acting’, huh? XD)

Filming for (disney-channel-but-better) original, “When Our Stars Collide” (The Superhero/Supervillain-Coming of age series, with two protagonists who go from: friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends, all in seven seasons!) is a lot of fun! That is, until your Co-star is having an off-day, and can’t for the life of themself throw a good fake-punch. 17 (5 minute) takes, 3 (unhelpful) breaks, an entire set of exhausted (and pissed off) film crew, and an overly dramatic, tired Y/N, had Ranboo willing to do almost anything to just finish the stupid scene, so they could all go home. (And he could buy his best friend Boba to apologise..)

So, is it really all that surprising, that Ranboo reluctantly agreed to ACTUALLY punch Y/N, per her request? Or that he accidentally punched WAY to hard? Or that she refused to break character, despite the throbbing black eye that she could feel forming?

No. No, it wasn’t.

This long ass mother fucking shit is probably the shortest request I’ve ever sent you..

But its still absurdly long. And It still took an hour. And I still finished it at 1AM.

-✨🌌🌙 NOT Anon

omg I can’t believe my eyes it’s a short request from you?! Not being able to call this “Authentic Acting” is killing me by the way…

Pairing: Cc!Ranboo x Gn!Reader

Acting AU - Authentic

“Maybe you should’ve taken those fighting classes.”

Ranboo’s head whips around to pin you with a betrayed look, his hands still curled into fists from the last take. There’s fake blood smeared over his costume, and you grin back at him, knowing your costume looks the same.

You do really love working on the set of “When Stars Collide.” Not only was working in a superhero movie your dream role, but having Ranboo as your costar was great. He was a hell of an actor, and an even better person.

Typically, filming the fight scenes was a shared favorite. You got to look badass, and pretend to actually be badass! What else could you possibly want?

But today… today just wasn’t Ranboo’s day. He’s thrown fake punches at you hundreds of times by now, but today he just seems to be struggling. Either his elbow placement is wrong, or it isn’t positioned correctly, or there isn’t enough force.

“Maybe we should take five?” One of the assistants suggests, checking their watch. It’s been over an hour (and over 17 takes) of doing this; no doubt everyone else is just as tired.

Except this would be the fourth break you guys have taken. And things are already on a tight schedule as is, any more breaks would have the crew falling behind.

“No, no I’ve got it this time, I swear.” Ranboo says, shaking his hands out. You can read the anxiety in the move easily.

“Just punch me.” You suggest, shifting you feet back into position.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do—“

“For real, I mean.” You interrupt. “Just punch me.”

Hesitancy flickers across his face, but he doesn’t immediately shoot the idea down. He’s probably just as tired as you are.

“I can take a punch.” You add, just to help convince him.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. C’mon, we’ve got this!”

You nod at the camera people, not giving him time to back out. Choice made, no going back.

Both of you get back into character and place, your eyes narrowing into a glare as needed in the script. He scowls back.

“Action!”

“You think you’re hot shit?” Ranboo snarls. “I can take you down with one measly punch!”

“Try it, then!” You throw your arms wide. “You’re a coward at heart, and we both know—“

His fist slams into your face.

Holy shit.

When did he get that strong? When did he learn how to actually punch? You stumble back a few steps, nearly hitting a prop. All you can feel is pain, radiating out from your eye. It’s like you can feel the bruise forming.

Concern flickers in Ranboo’s face, but you don’t give him a chance to break character. It was a perfect punch, ignoring the fact it was authentic.

You attempt a sneer, but know it looks more like a pained grimace. “Fuck you.”

“You said to punch you. Maybe you need to stop underestimating me.” He turns, cape sweeping wide behind him. “Leave me alone.”

“You’ll come back to me!” You shout, staring at him. God, your face fucking hurts.

“Not this time.”

Ranboo exits, leaving you alone on camera. You shake your head, turning away too.

“He’ll come back.” You murmur to yourself, looking down at the ground.

“Cut!”

You press a hand to your face, hissing in pain. Within seconds, Ranboo is there.

“Are you okay? Was that too hard? I think you’re bruising, I’m so sorry—“ He starts saying, hovering worriedly around you.

“‘M fine.” You say. “When did you get such a good punch?”

“I don’t know! Can I help? Should I get ice?”

You move your hand, giving him your best attempt at a grin. “If you get me ice, I’ll marry you right fucking now.”

“Right, ice. And I’ll order you food. And say sorry. A lot. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—“ Ranboo turns on his heel, leaving to go grab ice, not letting you finish. “—apologize.” You finish, sighing.

Yeah, you’ll definitely have a black eye from this. But hey! At least you got the shot.

[sleepyfireball]

A Quiet Acceptance of Love | A Bridgerton Story

Chapter 6: Affairs in Order

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV) Rating: Gen Pairing: Violet Bridgerton/Marcus Anderson Summary: Violet Bridgerton slowly but surely falls in love with Marcus Anderson. A character study of Violet Bridgerton in Season 3. Notes: 2nd to last chapter, here we are already! Hope you guys enjoy this one! Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1 AO3

The wedding breakfast was enchanting. Violet had not been able to hide the gasp that she let out when Colin and Penelope had taken to the floor together. She was so pleased to see them so comfortable together, staring at each other like there was no one else in the room. She watched, feeling her heart swell with pride. There was truly no pair who suited each other better, even if their romance had appeared tumultuous while they were engaged.

Violet watched, surprised, as Francesca and Lord Kilmartin began to dance. She smiled at Francesca, trying to convey her approval. She would need to speak to her soon, to clear the air, but not today, it was not the moment for it. Francesca returned her smile and Violet felt a little of the tension in her shoulders dissipate.

“Lady Bridgerton.” Lord Anderson’s rich voice pulled Violet’s attention immediately. She felt his proximity as she turned to face him. She laughed softly in acknowledgement, bowing her head toward him politely as he did the same in response. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Violet smiled brightly. “Oh, Lord Anderson. I am glad you have joined us.” Violet turned back toward the dancers, looking past them to Agatha, her smile dropping ever so slightly, worried, even despite Agatha’s earlier reassurance. “And, uh, with your sister.” Violet resisted the urge to look back at Lord Anderson immediately.

“Ah. Yes. All our affairs in order.” She gave in and looked at him, to see him smiling gently back at her, with hope in his eyes. “And you?” Violet stifled a smile as she looked back at Francesca once more, feeling acutely aware that their first conversations had been much the same as this, watching her daughter dance. This time, it was with the man that Francesca was to marry, come the end of the season.

Violet deliberately continued watching Francesca and Lord Kilmartin, nervous and excited in equal measure. “I do believe my affairs are very nearly coming together as well.” Violet replied. She blinked slowly as she turned to look at Lord Anderson, who was watching her with adoration as his smile brightened. 

He hummed his acknowledgement and Violet could not contain her smile any longer. She had not expected to find affection and adoration this season, after only just admitting to herself that she desired it once more, but now that she had it, she could not be happier. When they had last spoken of this, Violet had not felt ready to enter into anything with Marcus, however, with Colin and Penelope now married, and Lord Kilmartin and Francesca engaged, with the wedding planning underway, Violet could feel the constraints of motherhood loosening slightly, allowing her to put herself first, even if only in a small way.

Violet stood, watching the dance finish, conversing lightly with Lord Anderson, trying to avoid thinking about the fact that she was speaking with him, in full view of her children. That was a worry that could plague her at another time. She set it aside and allowed herself to bask in the enjoyment of the moment.

***

Violet had come to see Agatha on a matter of some urgency after Francesca and John had revealed their intentions of staying at his primary estate in Scotland. To say that Violet was nervous was an understatement. In truth, she was struggling to stomach the fact that she would need to let another of her children go so far from home. 

With Daphne and Simon staying at Clyvedon full time now, not even returning for the season, due to her being with child, and Anthony and Kate headed for India, also with child, Violet did not wish to relinquish another of her children to the world so soon.

Agatha had requested a bottle of the strongest liquor she had, and Violet had to agree, because she did not feel anything else would quite be able to quell the nausea roiling in her stomach. She took the tumbler from the tray that the footman held, with two fingers of whiskey poured. 

There was also the matter of Lady Whistledown. Violet had mixed feelings about the anonymous writer. While she had been quite disparaging toward Daphne and Anthony during their seasons, she had certainly become kinder with time. Violet also felt that while she had been sharp and exacting, most of what she said had been true. Daphne was faced with a lack of suitors due to Anthony being overbearing in her season. Anthony had been making the wrong choice when he stubbornly went through with his wedding to Miss Edwina. Colin had returned from his travels abroad as a changed man, hiding behind a façade of what he thought men in society ought to be.

However, there had been several times when Whistledown’s writing had saved her family. Daphne would have been forced to marry the horrible Lord Berbrooke without Whistledown’s intervention. Colin would have been trapped in a loveless marriage to the former Miss Thompson, until the scandal sheet put an end to that. Whistledown had published to protect her family after Miss Cowper’s lies. In fact, the only time that Whistledown had written maliciously was in regards to Eloise.

Eloise had almost been rejected from society altogether, due to Whistledown’s column. It was true that Eloise had been associating with political radicals, which was her daughter’s own poor decision, so the blame did not lay entirely at the author’s feet. Only through the Bridgerton name had her reputation survived. Violet could not fathom why the gossip writer had resorted to defaming her daughter, who had already been struggling so much with the season, and she found her resentment still lingering, so to know that her family had been accused of such a thing stung worse than she had expected.

Violet knew that none of her children were Whistledown. Not only was there not a single member of her family who would ever resort to writing such awful things about another, but she had also birthed each of them, watched them grow in front of her as she doted on every one of them. Had they been Whistledown, she would have known. She could tell that Benedict was hiding something from her, something to do with Lady Arnold, as best Violet could surmise, but she did not want to push too hard. She had learned her lesson from Anthony and was avoiding meddling for her least marriage minded children. She knew that Eloise and Penelope had finally moved on from their argument, whatever that was about. She even knew that Colin was upset with Penelope, for yet another unknown reason. Violet could sense their emotions almost as well as she could sense her own, which was how she could be so confident that none of them were the gossip writer. However, the Queen thought otherwise, and Violet could not argue, the evidence the Queen put forward of Whistledown protecting the Bridgertons was certainly damning. Violet was quite baffled and there was no one better to talk things through with than Agatha.

“Does, uh, Her Majesty seem as though she will relent on this quest of hers?” Violet asked.

Agatha moved as if to sit down before replying. “I am hopeful that she will soon find another distraction. Oh, speaking of which…” Agatha raised her glass in celebration, instead of sitting. Violet laughed gently, also raising her glass before both women took a celebratory drink. Violet brought her hand to her mouth in shock, coughing suddenly, not expecting the burn to be quite so harsh as she swallowed the whiskey.

She grimaced a smile toward Agatha, explaining, “It’s rather strong.” Agatha laughed at the skill for understatement that Violet had.

Agatha inspected her glass. “Only the Scottish could dream up such a drink.” She turned to face Violet, teasing her just a little. “It is needed to fight the bitter cold up there.”

Violet rolled her eyes as she sat down, in a far less formal position than was proper, but she had long since learned that it did not matter with Agatha. “Oh, do not frighten me more than I already am, Agatha.” She said, laughing. If she did not laugh, she felt she would cry. 

Agatha followed her lead, sitting on the couch opposite as she responded. “I would not worry. Francesca seems to have found an inner courage.”

“Yes, she has. And now she is using it to get as far away from her mother as possible.” Violet leaned back, feeling more than a little put out that it appeared so many of her children wished to flee her.

“I purchased this on a trip to Scotland many years ago.” Agatha said, looking toward Violet, hoping that her double meaning was not being lost. “At first, it was quite harsh on the palate, but with time, it grows on one.” Violet nodded, smiling briefly.

“Still harsh,” Violet countered, the depth of her timbre an effect of the alcohol, but also her feelings on the matter. She took another sip, prompting a light laugh from Agatha.

“You will have my support in Francesca’s absence.” Agatha said, wanting to make sure that Violet knew she would be by her side, no matter what. Violet smiled, before Agatha continued. “And also my brother’s,” Violet looked down at the glass she was holding in her lap, refusing to make eye contact, “if you wish it.”

“Uh, we do not have to discuss that.” Violet said, leaning forward, hoping that Agatha would leave the topic alone. She had barely come to terms with possibly pursuing something with Lord Anderson and she certainly did not wish to discuss it with his sister of all people, even if Agatha was her dearest friend.

“But perhaps we should?” Agatha prompted, and Violet felt like she imagined her children did when their older sibling tried to tease information out of them. She swallowed uncomfortably. This conversation was necessary, but that did not make it any easier to go through with. She met Agatha’s eyes nervously, seeing her own worries reflected back at her.

“Lord Anderson has been an exemplary gentleman.” Violet was not often lost for words, but it had been happening more and more in relation to him, as she found herself searching for the right phrase. “And, uh, if you were to… give your blessing--”

“Oh, it is certainly not my place to give or withhold a blessing on the matter.” Agatha interrupted, “You are both adults. You may do as you wish.” 

Violet smiled, pleased to have made it through the conversation and took a sip of her drink, before Agatha continued. 

“After all, it is not as though I asked your permission.” 

Violet blinked as she stopped drinking suddenly. Oh, so we’re doing this now, Violet thought. After the winter, she certainly had not thought they would broach the topic of Agatha and her father and yet, here they were.

Violet swallowed, looking at her lap again, wishing she was anywhere but here. “It’s suddenly going down rather smoothly.”

“You know...” Violet met Agatha’s eyes, which were looking hesitantly at her. “Yes?” Violet remembered back to the day she had found the birthday hat and how much she had wanted this very confession. But now that it was here, she found she did not want it anymore.

“I know my father was a good man. And that you have been a very good friend. And that is all I need to know.” Violet knew that it had happened, she had had the time to process it, she did not need to dredge up old feelings of shock, disdain or anything else. Her friendship meant too much to jeopardise it.

Agatha breathed shakily in relief. “And my brother is a good man. And you are a good friend. And that is all I need to know as well.” She smiled to reassure her. Violet smiled back, with just a hint of nervousness. 

Agatha continued, a lightness in her frame and an amusement in her tone that had not been there before, “But if he sours things between the two of you, I will pick you over him. I shall not lose you for his folly.” Violet laughed, both from Agatha’s admission and from the release of tension. She reached a hand out to breach the divide between them.

“There is nary a man alive with such power.” Violet said, letting her happiness inflect her voice. Both women laughed, safe in the knowledge that their friendship had stood more than just the test of time, and survived, and that it would continue to do so. No matter what storms came to call, their friendship would be the port that withstood all of them.

[nochi-quinn]

legend of vox machina season 3 episode 6: the coming storm OR stonemasons in whitestone have amazing job security

the little scanlan ghosts are cute

do you spice

okay kima and allura dancing is also very cute

not the cannonball competition

GOLDFISH

oh NO

"about my sister" yeah about that

the little glance down

I am enjoying the amount of hair-down percy we're getting

"how did you hold your breath that long?" she has an excellent constitution modifier

(I actually don't remember vex's con)

vax's casual nudity

a+ pillow talk percival

grog telling pike to ask sarenrae about everything is the same vibes as holga telling simon to "fix it with magic"

fix it with sarenrae

scanlaaaan

"she tried to stab me with it and everything"

man they JUST finished rebuilding that

split the par-ty 👏 👏 👏👏👏

vax you're supposed to STOP destroying the city

still sad "that tree is a friend of mine" got cut

the little scratchies

it's not their fault, they're just babies :(

I mean invasive species I guess but also

mala: vax isn't here, gilmore, there's no time to flirt

fuck yeah, cassandra

no it's okay, I think the kid gets to learn a cuss today

"what hurts?" "yes"

this man needs so much therapy

larkin watch

edit from the future: Child Larkin is voiced by Cree Summer's daughter?!

this isn't a metaphor for anything

I mean you can kill her and ALSO go after ripley

remembering what percy told keyleth about legacy and immortality

I dug up the full quote for maximum ow (source)

"My ancestry dates back thousands of years and will continue for thousands more, unless Whitestone falls. I live as long as Whitestone lives. This place is the human soul. This is what we have built with our tiny moments. To lose a place like this, we don't feel it immediately, but it would ruin everyone in small ways."

THAT'S RIGHT liam wrote this one. no wonder vax had so many one-liners.

[lokigonnakmsforbucky]

Your first Demon

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader (season 3)

Warning: Violence, some torture, a bitchy demon, a good ending I promise

Word count: 1.1k

View my Masterlist

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Fighting a demon was never an easy challenge. Not even for a hunter like myself. Yes, traps and certain weapons can give you the upper hand. But, that doesn't mean a certain victory will happen. That problem was the current one that I was facing at that moment.

I've been traveling across the country ever since I graduated high school; after my parents were killed by vampires. For years. I traveled, to different cities, small towns, and even the most picture-perfect places to rid the violent ghosts, vampires, or werewolves. But, I never ever went face to face with a demon...until today.

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Wichita, Kansas

I arrived a few days ago to investigate a weird disturbance in this town. Five people went missing in a week, livestock has been slain, and there has been strange weather as of late. The weather has been dark and gloomy everywhere it seemed, just not normal.

Which is why I am now in a random house in the middle of the woods, sneaking around trying to find some answers.

None of the normal monsters made any sense. Vampires would leave bodies with no blood, and Werewolves would leave everything but a heart, and a ghost as well. A ghost. It's kind of self-explanatory.

I slowly opened the front door, gun in hand. Walked into the kitchen, It appeared to be clean. I looked under the table, and in the fridge, but nothing. I wouldn't have noticed anything was wrong until I smelled something... smelled like something was rotten. I covered my nose and walked towards the window to see a small dark yellow pile of dust.

I take my hand off my mouth and touch the dust and bring it back to my nose, "Whoa... yeah that's sulfur." I quickly wiped it on my pants.

"Okay, what am I fighting against? Missing people, slain livestock, and now sulfur?"

"Demon's sweetheart" I turned around to see one of the missing women behind me. I raise my gun at her just to see the woman smile sightly and her eyes turn pitch black, something I have never seen before.

She walked towards me, and I immediately start shooting at her chest. One bullet, after another until my gun needs to reload. I could see the bullet holes in her chest and she keeps walking towards me, "Honey, bullets won't do anything to me." She grabs my gun and throws it to the ground and slams me to the wall.

"Now, what is a hunter like you poking around?" Her grip on my neck tightens, "You always ruin the fun. Oh, well. I could use your blood to call the big man anyways." The demon pulls a knife out of its pocket and brings it over to my wrist, cutting it slightly. I let out a scream of pain. The demon squeezes my wrist, and I failed to realize that underneath is a small bowl with tiny drops of my blood.

"Oh, your screaming because of a little cut? Just wait till I'm done with you. You will be wanting a quick death so bad." Hearing those words, I know that I was not ready for this. Demons? I thought they never existed. Now, I'm gonna die by one. I'm gonna die In this small house in the woods in Kansas by a demon from hell.

Being so preoccupied with the demon, I never noticed that we were no longer alone in this house. Someone or something else was here.

I hear a shotgun being cocked back, "Hey, little bitch from hell." The demon turns to its side, and my eyes follow to see the green-eyed hunter named Dean Winchester at the door, "Missed me?"

Dean let the shotgun go off and the demon flew back into the kitchen cabinets, I hit the ground with a thud. Dean ran towards me grabbing my shoulder and pulling me towards him, "Hurry, get up!" I ran past him into what appeared to be the living room to see Sam finishing the devil's trap on the floor. Sam motioned for me to get behind him, finishing the trap and throwing the rug over top of it.

Moments later Dean rushed in with a slash on his face, a very small but noticeable mark. He got beside me and Sam, and both had their guns raised waiting for the demon to walk in.

The demon slowly walked in, "Hey boys. Seemed like you missed me a lot if you came hunting for me."

"Oh, yeah. Missed you a lot" Sam said sarcastically, "Kind of hard to ignore the reports of dead livestock and missing people. Which, your occupying one of the missing right now." The demon laughed at Sam's words.

"You mean four missing people, dead livestock, and one dead victim." The demon motioned towards their body, the holes in their shirt from the bullets I let out earlier. "Miss hot shot there took care of it for me." It smiled and walked right on the rug that was over the top of the devil's trap and stopped. Like it couldn't move no matter how hard the struggle.

"The good old devil's trap. I should have known." The demon looked at us while Sam grabbed his book flipped a few pages and started speaking, " Exorcizamus te, Omnis immundus spiritus, Omnis satanica potestas." The demon screamed hearing those words, and immediately we saw all the dark smoke leave the dead woman's body.

The demon was gone.

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"How are you feeling?" Dean asked while leaning on my car while I packed my bag back in my vehicle.

"I'm alive, thanks to you... again." I said smiling at him, He smiled and laughed slightly. "Yeah. First, it was the Wendigo in Blackwater Bridge? Or was it Blackwater Ridge? Anyway, I think you and I may be destined for each other then."

I laugh at his words, he may not be so wrong about that. Him saving me not once, but twice? That's not a coincidence. Not that I have anything to complain about, Dean is a good guy. He is immature most of the time, but he is a good guy nonetheless.

I can't help but think about how good-looking the green-eyed hunter is, I move closer to him. Centimeters away from his face, almost close enough that our noses could touch.

"Maybe we are Winchester. I'm not complaining." I leaned in all the way. Our lips locked, and for a moment I thought maybe he didn't want this but His hand found the side of my face and told me otherwise as we deepened the kiss.

I pulled away and looked at Dean, He had a grin on his face. "I'm definitely not complaining sweetheart." I smiled and grabbed a piece of paper out of my vehicle and jotted down my number. and slipped it into Dean's pocket, and climbed into my car.

"You better call me Dean Winchester." I started my car and he backed away from it.

"Count on it. Maybe me saving you a third time is the charm."

"It might be you that needs saving next time Winchester"