#until he popped up and the driver probably was even MORE concerned and grateful

[katsu28]

the way you love

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: loving george russell is as easy as breathing sometimes, especially with the way he loves you. loosely inspired by stardust by zayn. (2.8k)

a/n: welcome to the first of four holiday fics! i'm hoping to post one a day until christmas eve, so stay tuned :)

Maybe you should’ve waited inside for George to pick you up. 

Granted, you haven't been out here long, and you know he’ll be here soon, but it’s cold. Frigid wind whips your hair around your face, scraping over your skin harshly. 

You nuzzle a little deeper into your scarf in a poor attempt to protect your cheeks. 

The two cardboard cups clutched in your hands do help a little with the biting cold. One for you, one for George, both filled to the brim with steaming coffee from the little shop down the street from your building. 

They’ve rolled out their holiday cups today, as noted by the festive little scene printed across the sleeve. It makes you smile, and you think George will probably like it too. 

George’s sleek car pulls up in front of you with a gentle rumble not long later. You’re expecting him to be smiling when he gets out, but when his head pops over the roof of the car, he just looks concerned. 

“Blimey, have you been waiting out here the entire time?” He exclaims incredulously, rounding the front of the car quickly. 

You barely have time to nod before he’s easing the cups out of your grip. Only once they’re secured into cup holders inside the car does he grab your hands, bringing them up to his mouth to breathe a little warmth back into them. 

“Didn’t want you to have to wait on me,” You say, as if it’s any excuse to have been standing in the freezing cold. Really, you just wanted to see George as soon as he came to pick you up. You’ve just seen him only last week, but it feels like forever. 

“Darling, it’s freezing,” He reasons. He’s smiling now, despite the attempt to keep his firm composure. 

You frown. “I missed you.”

He kisses you instead of answering, short and sweet, but still bursting with affection. 

“Hi,” You say softly, nuzzling deeper into his broad palm after he pulls back an inch or two. His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, bringing some more much needed heat back into your skin. You won’t tell him, but your nose had been starting to lose a bit of feeling. 

“Hi. I missed you too,” He replies, fondness dripping from his tone. 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course. Longest five days of my life.”

That makes you grin even harder, pushing forward for another quick kiss. “Mine too.”

“Glad we feel the same.” He looks very pleased. “Shall we get a move on? We’re a little early, but I know how much you hate being late to things. I even told Alex to expect us early.” 

You’re set to head to Alex Albon’s Christmas party in a little bit. George goes every year, but this is the first time you’re going too. You’re excited, nervous, and a little bit scared at the prospect of finally getting to meet all of George’s friends at one time. You've met a handful of them individually, gradually, George happily introducing you as his girlfriend every time, but never in such a large social setting like this party. 

You aren’t quite sure what to expect, but if the ones you haven’t met are anything like the ones you have, you’ll be just fine. 

“And what did he say about that?” 

“That Lily is relieved someone competent is coming round to help out, so I’d say he’s pretty okay with it,” George says, chuckling. “C’mon, let's get you out of the cold.” 

You allow George to help you into the car, letting out a comfortable sigh at the blazing warmth of the car interior. George has always liked to keep your shared spaces running hot despite your wishing for the opposite, but for the first time ever, you’re actually grateful for your boyfriend’s temperature preference. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” He teases as he climbs into the driver’s seat, nudging at your shoulder. “See, I told you you’d come around someday.” 

“Only because it’s cold as shit outside,” You huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I got you coffee.” 

“Thank you, darling. Though I wish you hadn’t sacrificed your health to do so.”

“I know you had another late night yesterday, thought you might be tired. It’s fine, really, I didn’t mind,” You insist, shaking your head. 

“You’re very sweet,” George says softly, leaning over the center to press a kiss to your cheek. 

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you turn at the last moment so he catches your lips instead. He lets out a noise of surprise, but has no hesitation in kissing you back happily, slipping a hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

You kiss and kiss and kiss until your lips start to tingle, and even then, you’re reluctant to pull away. There’s something intoxicating about kissing George that makes you want to do it forever. 

“If we stay here any longer, we might actually end up being late,” George murmurs. He blinks at you, long lashes fluttering open and shut slowly. His breath fans across your skin on every exhale, cologne invading your senses until all that surrounds you is him. 

“That would be bad.” 

“Mm, awful,” He agrees. Still, he doesn’t make any attempt to pull away, perfectly content here, hiding away with you in the coziness of your close proximity. His nose drags along your cheek, lips following the path until he reaches the corner of your mouth. 

You exhale shakily. “Alex and Lily are expecting us.” 

“They are.”

“So we should go.” 

“I mean, we don’t have to…” George trails off, letting his head tilt to the side. 

“Yes, we do. Someone roped us into helping with party prep.” 

He sighs rather heavily, handsome features screwing into overdramatic annoyance. “Starting to regret that right about now.” That makes you giggle. “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with so we can go home.” 

“There’s that holiday spirit!” 

The drive over to Alex’s is fairly short. It actually takes more time to make yourselves presentable and not at all like you’ve just been making out in the car, before making your way up to Alex and Lily’s. George has brought presents for both of your friends—a watch for Alex and a bottle of perfume for Lily, he’d informed you in the elevator, bought by him, but a gift from the both of you. 

The door swings open with a blast of music and the smell of something delicious not seconds after you knock. Alex stands just behind it with a gracious smile on his face and a flute of something bubbly in hand. 

“Hi, welcome—oh, thank god you’re here,” He breathes. Then he stops, stares at the two of you for a few moments, as if he’s studying the both of you. A knowing smirk quirks his lips right after. “George, you’ve got lipstick on your chin, mate.” 

George’s hand flies up to his face, rubbing furiously. His cheeks have flushed an embarrassed pink at his friend’s smug observation. 

“I’m just kidding. But it was funny to see you panic,” Alex snickers. 

“Ha ha, hilarious. Maybe I won’t give you this gift after all.” 

Alex takes both boxes eagerly, tucking them under his arm with a wink. “Come on in, friends.” 

The flat is decorated tastefully—festive, but not gaudy. You assume Lily had done most of the decor rather than Alex.

Speaking of—

“You’re here!!! Thank god!” Lily exclaims, barely paying George any mind before she whisks you away, chattering away immediately, wanting your opinions on everything from the appetizers to the seating arrangements at dinner. You cast a helpless glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend, who merely gives you an amused wave back. 

You do what Lily tells you needs finishing up until the rest of the guests start to make their arrival. Most of the other drivers are in attendance, save for a few who’d opted to spend the holidays home with their families. Charles and Carlos are here, Lando and Oscar, Yuki, Pierre, Zhou and Franco, to name a few. 

The bundle of nerves in your chest starts to unravel as more familiar faces trickle in, and you’re able to catch up with a couple of them. You’re chatting with Kika and Pierre about what’s new with Simba when a hand touches the small of your back. 

Instantly, you know it's George. His touch is the only one that sends butterflies through you. That’s never happened with anyone else before, but with George, you feel alight with a certain energy every time. 

You lean back into him on instinct, tilting your head up to look at him. His cheeks are slightly rosy, hair still perfectly coiffed, save for one curl that has escaped to hang over his forehead. You reach up to brush it back and he smiles, sliding a hand around your waist. 

“So sorry to interrupt, you lot. Just wanted to pop in and see if anybody needed a refresher on their drinks,” He offers, though his gaze rests solely on you. 

“Thank you, but we’re good, mate,” Pierre replies, as Kika shakes her head to decline too. 

George says your name, lips lifting into a small smile as he juts his chin at your nearly empty glass. 

“Thank you, Georgie,” You say gratefully. “Don’t forget to—”

“Make it sweeter? Yes, I know how you take your drinks, darling,” He hums, kissing your cheek quickly before retreating with your glass. 

“You’ve trained him well,” Pierre teases, winking at you. 

“I think he was born that way,” You admit. 

That isn’t a lie. According to George’s sister, who you’d had the pleasure of meeting a few months back, he'd always been very kind, very caring, even when he was young. It’s one of the many qualities of his that has you falling in love with him a little more with every passing day. 

George leaves you to your own conversations after bringing you your drink, but you see him periodically throughout the night. He always looks like the life of the conversation, talking animatedly, listening with rapt attention when he’s not yapping away. 

Even as he’s listening intently, it’s like he can sense you’re looking at him, because he finds you almost instantly, sending a smile or a wink your way. That’s another lovable quality of his—knowing where you are even when he’s not with you. Like you’re two magnets being pulled towards each other at all times.

The more you chat with everyone else, one thing becomes obvious. George talks about you a lot. Not enough to be obnoxious, but he's mentioned you to many of his friends. 

Charles knows you’ve been looking into learning how to play the piano because George had asked him something about which pianos were the best. Yuki offers up a few cooking tips because George had mentioned you wanted to try your hand at a new dish. Lewis congratulates you on a big project you’d finished at work a while back, telling you that George had been singing your praises in the garage right after you'd called. 

If you look back at it, George has always been one of your biggest supporters. 

Always wanting you to call him whenever something big happens because he can’t be there all the time, always doing things for you when he’s away so you never for a moment feel like he's not thinking of you. Sending you flowers, ordering you food from your favorite spot in Monaco even though he's a thousand miles away because he knows it’ll make you smile. Even just texting you a picture of something he saw that made him think of you. 

George makes you feel so, so loved, all the time. Like, wherever you are in the world, no matter, everything will be okay because you’ve got him. You could be on some far off deserted island in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the land to live off of, but if George is there with you, it wouldn’t be all that bad. 

Sometimes you wonder what your life would’ve been like if you’d never met him, but you never get far with those thoughts. You can’t even imagine what life would look like without George Russell. And honestly, you don’t really want to. 

“Ready to head out?” George’s voice draws you out of your thoughts, and when you refocus, he’s right in front of you, holding out your coat. For a moment, you can only stand there, blinking back at him like you’ve just laid eyes on him for the first time ever. 

He falters a little under your intense staring. “Darling? Are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” 

“Sorry, yeah. I’m fine, I’m just…tired, I think.” 

“Let’s go home then. Stay the night at mine?” 

“Duh,” You say. Your obvious tone makes George chuckle a little bit as he helps you slip into your coat.

“How silly of me to even ask.”  

After finding your hosts to thank them for the great evening and subsequently being invited for a game of doubles padel with them one of these days, you're off. 

“I don’t have any skin cleanser,” You say suddenly, just as George has pulled onto the main road.

“What?” 

“At your place. I don’t have my cleanser, the one I always use before bed.” 

“The one in the little green bottle?” 

“Yeah.” You frown, slumping back in your seat. In hindsight, it’s really not the biggest deal in the world, and you’re not sure why you’re making it one. But for some reason right now, you’re focused on it. 

“Lucky for you, your wonderful boyfriend bought a bottle just in case this happened. He figured you’d probably forget it one of these days.” 

“Is there a reason my wonderful boyfriend is referring to himself in the third person?” You giggle, shifting in your seat to face said thoughtful boyfriend. George’s cheeks are flushed a little pink. 

“Yeah, I thought it was a little weird too. Anyways, there’s a bottle in the bathroom cupboard.” 

“Thank you, Georgie. You’re always so thoughtful.” 

“Y’know, you could just move in with me. That way you won’t have to worry about not having things at mine anymore.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he speaks, but you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows nervously. “You’ve already got loads of stuff there anyways, why not just bring it all? You wouldn’t have to drive across the city every time you come over, for one.” 

“I barely drive to yours anyways, you know. You always insist on picking me up,” You tease. George smiles, but you can tell he’s serious about wanting you to move in with him. You sigh, squeezing his hand. “Babe, I’d love nothing more, but…I could never afford to live with you.”

“I’m not going to have you pay rent or anything like that, darling. I wouldn't ask that of you.” George’s nose wrinkles, like it’s absurd of you to even think about it. “Just your company would be more than enough, honestly. Make the place less empty, more like…home.”

You can already imagine it. Falling asleep next to each other every night, waking up tangled together every morning, getting to come home and unwind with each other after long days. Breakfasts and afternoon teas and dinners you’d make together in George’s massive kitchen. Your stuff mingling with his in every room of the place. 

Maybe you’d adopt a pet together one day, one that could keep you company every time George was away for races. 

“Okay,” You say softly. You’ve already convinced yourself. “Let’s live together.” 

George pulls to a stop at the red light, taking the opportunity to lean over into your space and kiss you gently. “Let’s do it, darling.” 

Taking the next step in your relationship seems daunting, but George will be there to soothe any anxieties you have. He always is. 

“Oh no! We forgot about the coffee.” He frowns, plucking the still full cup out of the holder suddenly. Then he shrugs, taking a giant sip of it. “Cute cup.” 

“George, it’s cold!” You exclaim, tugging at his sleeve. “Just throw it out when we get home.”

“It tastes fine!” 

“It’s probably stale.” 

“I think it’s delicious.” 

“You’re so weird.” 

He chooses to ignore the muttered quip, letting a giant grin stretch his lips instead, eyes gleaming with excitement. “You called it home.” 

“Well, it is now, isn’t it? Or will be soon enough.” 

“Sure will. I’m thinking we move you in tomorrow.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “I have to get out of my lease first. It might take a while too, my landlord is kind of an asshole.” 

“I’ll give him double whatever you’re paying right now to let you out of it early. No, triple.” 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate bribery, but he is a Mercedes fan.” 

“Paddock passes and VIP club access to Monaco next season, done.”

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[fridayfirefly]

Sunrise on Gotham

Read Sunrise on Gotham on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 29 - Wait!

Gotham wasn’t Marinette’s first choice for the location of their class trip. In fact, the grim American city hadn’t even made her top ten list. Marinette wanted to go to Amsterdam, a city rich with history and culture. But when Mm. Bustier announced that a vote for the class trip location would be held, the class voted almost unanimously. After all, Lila’s long-distance boyfriend, Damian Wayne, lived in Gotham. Wouldn’t it be great for Lila to be reunited with him? And Lila traveled so frequently that she had already visited all of the other cities Mm. Bustier suggested. Would it be fair to make her go visit a city she had already been to? Marinette scoffed as she overheard the class discussion. She knew that this was just another one of Lila’s lies, perfectly designed to manipulate the people around her into doing what she wanted.

Marinette kept her mouth shut while her classmates all decided to vote for Gotham. But that didn’t stop her from putting her checkmark next to Amsterdam on the ballots Mm. Bustier passed out. Maybe that would have been the end of Marinette’s bitterness if Lila hadn’t “accidentally” glanced at the ballots on Mm. Bustier’s desk she was leaving the classroom. Marinette could still remember Lila’s sickeningly sweet voice, feigning concern for Marinette, asking why Marinette wanted to go to Amsterdam so badly.

As Marinette scrambled for an answer, Alya turned to her with cruelty in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re trying to sabotage Lila and Damian’s reunion. You’re so selfish, Marinette.”

Marinette didn’t bother replying - it never helped. As she left the classroom that day, she could see the disappointment in Adrien’s eyes. Her crush on the blonde model had long since faded, and alongside it went the rose-colored glasses she used to see him through, back when they were both thirteen. Now, four years later, all she saw was a selfish boy who cared more about avoiding conflict than actually solving problems.

Four months later, the plane landed in Gotham just as the sun began to rise. As her class walked from the airport to the hotel, Marinette felt herself zone out. Even though it wasn’t her first choice, Marinette could still appreciate the sight that was the Gotham skyline. Looming silver skyscrapers were framed by the gray, cloudy sky. As Marinette took in her surroundings, she began to wish that she could stop and get her sketchbook out. Ideas for a Gotham-themed fashion line popped up in her mind like weeds, and she needed to stop and pick them before she could properly zone back in. Gray was a color she had never properly worked with, which would make incorporating the color a nice way to challenge herself. In her mind, shades of gray instinctively started organizing themselves into the different ways she could pair them together.

“Wait!” A hand grabbed Marinette’s arm, pulling her back. Marinette gasped as she realized that she was about to walk onto the street, straight into traffic. She whipped around to face her savior.

The first thing Marinette noticed was his height. She was used to feeling short, at 5′2″, most people were taller than her. But he seemed to dwarf her. She figured he was 6′0″ at least. The second thing she noticed was the look of concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?” He asked.

Marinette nodded jerkily, trying to control her breathing. Having a panic attack alone in the middle of downtown Gotham would be just about the worst thing for her to do. She was supposed to be Ladybug, the savior of Paris, yet she was so unaware of her surroundings in a completely foreign city that she almost got killed in traffic. “I’m okay, I was just daydreaming,” she babbled, “Usually I’d be more aware of my surroundings, but I just got off of the plane and I’m not used to jetlag.”

The stranger had a bemused smile on his face as he walked her talk. Marinette blushed as she realized how dumb she must look to the handsome stranger. “Your accent, is it French?”

Marinette nodded. “I just got here from Paris. I’m on a class trip.”

“Where’s the rest of your class?”

Marinette looked around, trying to figure out which way her class went, but they were already gone, out of sight. “I’m not sure...” She trailed off. “But I have the address for the hotel on my phone, so I’ll be able to catch up with them there.”

“Gotham is known for being difficult to navigate. I can take you there if you’d like.”

“Sure,” said Marinette, pulling her phone out to check the address. “It’s called the Gotham Grand Hotel. It's on the corner of 7th Avenue and 22nd Street.”

“That’s about twelve blocks away. It’s pretty far. Are you sure you’re up for the walk?”

Marinette nodded. “I’m sure I can make it."

His smile returned as he introduced himself. “I’m Damian, by the way.”

“I’m Marinette,” Marinette introduced herself as Damian led the way.

A moment later, Damian's phone started to ring. He answered it while still walking. "Hello.”

A brief pause, then. “I’m on 4th Avenue, by the Starbucks.” Another pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone conversation. “I’m not free right this moment, but I will be in a few minutes." Another pause. "I'm helping someone get around the city. She got a little lost on her school trip, and you and I both know that the city isn't exactly safe when you don't know your way around it."

Marinette was beginning to wonder who exactly Damian was talking to, but she didn't want to be rude and interrupt. Instead, she got her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text to Alya, telling her that she would be a little late because she got disoriented on the hectic Gotham streets.

"I'll be free until five tonight. Father's insisting that I come and have dinner with the family, and I have my internship afterward, from seven to nine." Another pause, this one longer. "I suppose that would work. I was planning on going out to eat at some point, anyway. I'll just have to ask Marinette if she's okay with it."

Damian put the phone down and turned to face Marinette. "My boyfriend, Jon, offered to pick us both up and drop you off at your hotel on our way to get brunch. If you don't feel comfortable with that, I understand."

"Oh, it's perfectly fine," Marinette assured him.

Damian frowned slightly before replying to his boyfriend. Marinette knew that Damian probably thought she wasn't being cautious enough, but she didn't care. After four years as Ladybug, Marinette was confident that she was capable of taking care of herself.

A minute later, a car pulled up beside them. “This is Jon’s car,” said Damian as he grabbed the door for her.

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled in return as she pulled her suitcase in after her. "Hello, Jon. I'm Marinette."

"Welcome to Gotham, Marinette." Jon leaned past the driver's seat to shake her hand. Marinette noticed that he had a very friendly face: a nice smile and kind eyes. "How are you enjoying the city?"

"It's nicer than I expected, I suppose, but I didn't exactly have high expectations. Gotham has a reputation in Europe for being the worst tourist destination in America."

Damian nodded. "That sounds like Gotham. It'll grow on you, though."

"Like a fungus," added Jon.

"If you say so." Marinette cast a distasteful look out the window of the car at the gray streets.

"Do you have any plans for lunch?" asked Jon.

Marinette shook her head. "Not really. The hotel has a restaurant on the ground floor, but their lunch menu is pretty limited. I'm vegetarian, so my only option is a salad."

"Would you like to come to brunch with us?" offered Jon.

"Are you sure you want me there?" Marinette didn't want to be a third wheel if brunch was supposed to be a date between Jon and Damian.

"Of course," said Damian.

"Alright. I don't think I'll be missing anything if I go with you. Our itinerary keeps us pretty busy at the beginning of the trip, but we were given today to rest up, to help get rid of the jetlag. I switched my sleep schedule a week ago, though, so my body is already running on Gotham time.”

Damian nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to check the itinerary, just to be sure?”

Marinette shrugged. “It can’t hurt to check it one more time.” She pulled the paper out of her suitcase. “Our class doesn’t have anything planned until tonight. We have dinner at a restaurant called..." Marinette consulted her itinerary, "The Coast, and then we’re seeing Wicked at one of the theaters downtown.”

“I've been to The Coast before with my family. They have very good vegetarian options. It is very expensive for a high school class trip,” Damian noted.

“I go to an accelerated school. The school has a very large budget, due to the amount of tuition, and the number of alumni who give back to the school.” Marinette shrugged, a nervous tick. She didn’t like talking about how much her tuition cost. Even with her 50% scholarship to Francois Dupont, tuition was still a struggle sometimes. Her parents didn’t make that much money from the bakery, and compared to the elite professions of some of her classmates' parents, Marinette was often considered to be poor. It left her feeling out of place, guilty every time she felt embarrassed by her working-class parents.

“That sounds-“

Marinette continued to babble. “I’m grateful for the opportunities that François Dupont gives me. Much more grateful than a lot of my classmates, anyway. Some of them only read the itinerary for the first time on the plane ride to Gotham. One of my classmates, Chloé, threw a fit because she believed that the entire trip would be a shopping spree through Gotham. Other students got mad for other reasons. One of my classmates made some promises that she had no business making - telling everyone that we would be getting way more free time than we were actually given. It’s a shame. I used to love being a part of Mme. Bustier’s class, but everything fell apart after...”

Marinette stopped half-way through her sentence and stared down at her hands as she realized that tears had sprung to her eyes. She felt the red flush of embarrassment begin to overtake her face. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. It sounds like you have a lot going on with your class at the moment."

"That's putting it mildly," said Marinette. "It's been... difficult, to say the least."

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Jon.

Marinette shook her head. "Not really. Even if Gotham wasn’t my first choice for our class trip, I still want to at least try to have a good time.”

“What was your first choice?” asked Damian, a hint of curiosity to his voice.

“Amsterdam,” said Marinette longingly. “But Lila wanted to visit her boyfriend in Gotham, Damian Wayne, so the whole class ignored the fact that Gotham is the most crime-ridden city in America, all so that Lila could visit her boyfriend.”

Damian looked shocked. “Did she say her boyfriend is Damian Wayne?“

Marinette nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

Jon snorted. “I know that you like girls too, Damian, but I figured you would tell me before adding a third to our relationship.”

Damian rolled his eyes, quipping back something just as clever. Marinette was too stunned to listen, as she realized that the rich and powerful Damian Wayne whom Lila claimed to be dating was the same Damian who helped Marinette on the streets of Gotham. Marinette stuttered out, “I didn’t- I didn’t realize that you- you’re Damian Wayne.”

Damian chuckled. “I can tell. I have to admit, I’m not used to not being recognized. I'm pretty famous around Gotham."

“The Billionaire Bisexual Ice Prince of Gotham,” quoted Jon with a grin on his face. “The tabloids love Damian.”

“It’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped. The tabloids obsess over everything even slightly unconventional, and to them, the bisexual bastard son of billionaire Bruce Wayne is the perfect target. Even more so when he started dating another man.” Damian's voice was smooth, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness to it. Marinette got the sense that he didn't often open up about his relationship, for fear that the media would not be kind about it. Marinette sympathized. Françoise Dupont had been a progressive school: they had a GSA and a no-tolerance policy (not that the policy was ever upheld). She hadn’t been bullied, per se, for being bisexual, but she had experienced the all too familiar feeling of being othered for who she happened to love.

“Nice use of alliteration,” said Jon. His words would have lightened the mood if it wasn’t for the slight strain to his voice.

It was obvious to Marinette that this was a sore subject between the boys. “So how long have you two been dating?” asked Marinette, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Two years, but we’ve been friends since middle school,” answered Jon. “Damian was the world's most uptight twelve-year-old, so I took it upon myself to get him to loosen up. We became friends and everything since then just sort of fell into place.”

“An apt recounting, even if it omitted some pertinent details.” Damian conceded.

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that I was the one to ask you on a date, and you were so shocked that I had figured out that you were bisexual that you dropped the glass in your hand, shattering it,” teased Damian.

“I thought I was being subtle about it,” Jon defended.

Marinette giggled. If she could just spend all of her time with Jon and Damian, rather than her class, she might just have fun on her class trip.

Damian turned to Marinette. “He had a pride pin on his jacket and listened to Carly Rae Jepsen. Subtlety is not, and has never been one of Jon’s string suits.”

Marinette noted that she had a pride pin of her own attached to the front strap of her backpack. Most people never took any note of it - Marinette had quite a few pins on her backpack - but Marinette got the feeling that Damian was aware of it.

"We're here," said Jon, parking the car in front of a little café.

"Café Carlisle has good vegetarian options," Damian assured her as he opened up her car door and helped her out. "They make a superb gourmet grilled cheese sandwich and tomato basil soup. I would recommend it to anyone."

"That's pretty high praise. I get the sense you don't give false compliments."

"I don't." It was a simple answer. Marinette was beginning to get a clearer picture of Damian, who didn't waste unnecessary words but was never afraid to speak his mind.

"Then it had better live up for expectations," teased Marinette.

Damian smiled at her as he held open the door to the restaurant. "It will."

As Damian led Marinette to a booth in the back of the restaurant Marinette caught sight of the reflection of her little group in one of the windows. There was a look on Jon's face that Marinette wasn't sure how to interpret. He had a smile on his face, but it wasn't the joking smile Marinette saw a lot of in the car. It was more of an indulgent smile, giving Marinette the sensation that Jon knew something that she didn't. Marinette wanted to turn around and ask him what it meant, but part of her brain begged her not to ruin this budding friendship before it had even begun.

Marinette had only known Damian and Jon for twenty minutes but already had the strangest feeling that there was a connection between them, some sort of relationship that needed nothing more than a little bit of shown vulnerability to create a deep bond. The only thing Marinette could think to liken it to was love at first sight, but it was beyond that. This wasn't infatuation or obsession (both of which Marinette knew well from her days of crushing over Adrien). This was deeper. This was the knowledge that Damian and Jon had seen her vulnerability and had embraced it, showing vulnerability in their own way. Neither boy had said it out loud, but given that they had both closed themselves off from physical affection as soon as they were in public, Marinette made the assumption that any sort of public display of affection was off-limits to them anywhere that the tabloids could see. It put the fact that they had been incredibly open about their relationship in a new light. It reassured Marinette that she wasn't just imagining their connection. Damian and Jon must have felt similarly about her to be able to talk to her about their relationship.

"Marinette?" Damian spoke her name, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts.

Marinette blushed. "Sorry, I tend to daydream a lot."

Damian smirked. "I'm aware. You almost wandered right into traffic the last time I caught you daydreaming."

Jon stifled a laugh. "What could you possibly be thinking of that would make you so focused that you managed to ignore the traffic right in front of you?"

Marinette launched herself into a spiel about her newest design inspiration, explaining as she went that she was incredibly passionate about fashion and designs and that her designs often had her zoning out for hours at a time. Jon and Damian looked so interested in her explanation that Marinette blushed, not used to having anyone's undivided attention.

Marinette wasn't yet certain where she stood with Damian and Jon in terms of the relationship between the three of them, but she couldn't wait to find out.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[yourlocallovesickie]

dk if you still take requests for the beatles so apologies in advance but could you write something about maybe george coming down with a bug or something and being all bloated and achy and the others are trying to take care of him (could be poly or platonic, don't really mind)? if you want to of course 👉👈

Sorry this took a while, I went a bit overboard haha. Love me some sick George. Anyways, enjoy!

George had always tried not to be the weakest link in the group, especially because he was already younger than the others. But occasionally he would push off his own well-being to not be seen as the baby, especially on tour. The low hours of sleep followed by exhausting concert to exhausting concert and the tedious travel between them, afterparties, normal parties, interview, etc, etc . .

Needless to say they were all drained, so of course George paid no mind when he woke up from his 3 hours of sleep feeling tired and achy, his mind clouded and pounding, and stomach swirling. He'd often get stomach aches from stress and anxiety, so he popped a tylenol of five and headed to breakfast.

The others were all gathered around the small hotel table sluggishly eating their breakfast and sipping their coffee. Even Paul looked tired, and that man could wake up every morning at 5 am sharp with a smile on his face. Ringo and the aformentioned morningbird waved at George when he entered, John face down next to a half-empty box of cornflakes, which Ringo passed over to him as he sat down. The idea of eating food made his stomach gurgle angrily, and a sense of nausea began creeping up on him. He must just be hungry. He forced down a few bites of cereal before pushing it away, the others too occupied with keeping their eyes open to notice his lack of appetite, or how he lagged even farther behind the others as they prepared for the day's events.It wasn’t until they were in the car on the way to their first soundcheck/rehearsal, the other three keeping up a quiet conversation as George leaned against the cool window, arms crossed over his stomach and eyes closed, willing the nausea away that they noticed anything. 

“‘Ey George, I know you’re the quiet Beatle but you’re allowed to talk y’know,” John quipped. Responding seemed like too much work, so George sat still.

“Is he asleep?” Paul muttered, tapping the younger man lightly. With a groan and an uncomfortable burble from his stomach, George swatted Paul’s hand away, recieving cheers from the others. 

“There he is! Up ‘n at ‘em Georgie boy!” There was a playful thwak at his side that only made him groan again, curling over on himself. 

“We know you’re tired, but let’s all at least suffer together shall we?” John and Paul shared a laugh, and George could feel a warm hand press up against his cheek, cold metal rings making him pull away slightly as they made contact. the hand hovered by his cheek for a moment, George leaning into it before the hand retreated up to his forehead.  The laughter from the other two died down, and George could see their lightly concerned stares on him even with his eyes closed. The hand retreated once more, brushing his bangs to the side. 

“You feeling alright, Georgie?” Even opening his eyes to look up at the other seemed too much of a challenge. He shook his head and could immediately hear the others scoot up to get a look at him. He feels two other hands pressed against his cheeks and forehead, one playfully ruffling his hair as the other three Beatles mumble words his fevered brain couldn’t put together.

“I think we should go back to the hotel, he feels pretty warm,” Paul fretted, pressing his hand against the back of George’s neck again to be sure. 

“Brain’ll kill us if we cancel this close to performance.”

“Better we cancel now than right before the show when he passes out.” With a nod of agreement the three stayed close to George throughout the remainder of the car ride, the sick man nodding off against the window until he was rudely awakened by a sudden knot in his stomach. As his muddled mind struggled to wake up more he realized how nauseous and bloated he felt; like getting seasick right after dinner. The movement of the car only made him feel worse, and soon enough he had slurred something along the lines of “pull over” before throwing open the door and learning out just in time for a round of the cornflakes he’d choked down earlier to reappear, splattering onto the side of the road. His stomach twisted in agony, and even after a few more very productive, milky burps and retches a cloud of nausea continued to hang over him. At some point someone had started rubing his back, probably Paul; he could feel his delicate fingers slowly tracing patterns down his spine. 

“As rounds 2, 3, and 4 made their appearance and Paul helped keep George upright and inside the car, and Jon was turned away from them both for fear he may add his own breakfast to the concoction, Ringo turned to the driver and order they be taken back to the hotel. They were a little over halfway to the studio but they figured the less movement for George the better. After they were sure he was finished for the time being they started the journey back, every turn and bump in the road eliciting a small noise of discomfort as his stomach cramped and roiled. Every time he blinked it took more and more effort to open his eyes again until finally he opened them see to see the hotel they were staying at and a surprisingly few amount of fans crowding outside, theiri screams getting increasingly louder as the car pulled up. George doesn’t think he’d ever been so relieved to see an American hotel. 

Getting into the hotel posed a slight challenge, though. The second he stood up he was bent in half as another albeit smaller wave of vomit splashed up onto the sidewalk. He would have fallen into it had Paul not grabbed him once more, the others trying to sheild from fans and swarming paparazzi without being hit. The world seemed to spin and the crowd’s screams were so loud he felt like his head might explode. He closed his eyes to try and shut out the screaming and the flashing lights and the pain that they brought, and when he opened them again they were inside, half-walking half-dragging George up to their shared suite. He could still hear the screams, but they were so muffled he wasn’t sure whether they were still coming from outside or in his own head. His stomach cramped and gurgled, and George slouched over, both arms wrapped across it protectively.

"You alright there, Georgie?" John asked, and though there was no condescending note to his tone George still found himself huffing at the pity. 'I'm being childish', he thought, and with an arm still guarding his stomach he stood straight and walked slightly ahead of the others, dragging them back to their room before delicately hanging up his coat, toeing off his shoes, and slamming the bathroom door with a quick retch.

"Should I go check on him?" Paul asked, already gripping the doorknob and letting himself in. The sight nearly broke his heart. His band mate, best friend, and basically younger brother was curled over the side of the toilet, his back sweat-soaked and heaving as he gagged and struggled. There was a small puddle of bile by his feet and a spot or two on his shirt where he hadn't made it, and Paul immediately grabbed the towel by the sink and set it over the puddle, resting a comforting hand on George's back. A few minutes passed of the younger Beatle gasping and choking up his partially digested breakfast before John and Ringo joined them, and eventually they all led George out to a spot on the couch with a bowl at his feet and blankets surrounding him. Ringo slipped a thermometer in his mouth, just barely dodging the bout of sick that bubbled up with the gag the thermometer drew out.

"Ugh.. Sorry," he groaned, one hand wrapped over his stomach which twisted and contorted inside him, desperately trying to get whatever was inside him out. The other was supporting his weight, shakily braced on the arm of the couch as John held the bowl under his dripping chin. Ringo slipped the thermometer back under his tongue.

"You're alright," he responded, and George groaned as the vile was removed. "That's a fever."

"Dammit."

"Looks like no concert tonight, then," Paul said, receiving a cheer from John.

"Thank god! Finally a break. Thank you, George." The younger man sank down in his seat, and the others shook their heads. "What? I'm grateful!" With a sigh, Paul sank down beside him.

"What John means is no one is upset with you, Georgie. This happens, and really I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did." George nodded, and still curled in his little ball leaned into Paul, the others joining in as well. His stomach hurt, his entire body ached, but maybe with the others by his side this wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

[pocketfulofrogers]

Planes, Trains, and Firetrucks

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Reader

Summary: What’s a polar vortex to a desperate sister trying to get home? With a little determination and the luck of a stranger, you might just be able to pull off a Christmas miracle. 

Notes: So I got drunk with my aunt and uncle on Thanksgiving and watched the only Thanksgiving movie to both exist and be quoted in it’s entirety by my whole family. I woke up with a google note that said ‘Planes, Trains, and Automobiles but make it a love story.’ Kinda wished I had payed more attention to the movie now. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to reign in your frustration. You had been all over this airport for the last six hours desperately searching for any way to get home. So far, you had only been strung along.

“Is there anything to Chicago at all? I’m just trying to be back for even a portion of Christmas. Seriously, at this point I’d saddle up a horse.”

The woman scrunches her nose as she scrolls through her computer, a sense of defeat looming over you until she smiles quickly. “I found a 5am to Detroit that connects…” She trails off and begins to frown again. “Just canceled.”

“Seriously?!” The word explodes from your mouth unwarranted and much louder than intended and your hand flies to your mouth in embarrassment.

Before you can begin to apologize profusely, you hear the man behind you mumble under his breath. “Probably because of the giant winter storm and white out conditions covering the entire North East.”

You whip your head behind to glare at him, but he’s too focused on his phone to even notice that you had overhead him. Defeated, you turn back around and quietly apologize before grabbing your phone and sulking away, the guy behind you chuckling slightly.

Mom: Your sister just got here, she’s so excited to see you!

Barely managing to suppress your groan, you lean against a nearby pillar to type a response that hopefully won’t break anyone’s hearts.

The man pockets his phone and approaches the counter. “Hi, can I get a hotel voucher?”

“We’re prioritizing vouchers for flying families and couples first.” She smiles.

“Really?” He groans, loud enough to grab your attention and hears your chuckle from what he assumes you think is karmic justice. But when he locks eyes with you, he gets an idea. “That is so kind of you guys!” He exclaims with a smile. “My wife will love that.”

In the middle of trying to explain to your mom that you couldn’t have left any early, chuckles steps up in front of you with a grin, holding up a pamphlet and you narrow your eyes. “Be my wife for a night, cow girl?”

You roll your eyes and walk away from his laughter and fake apologies, not stopping until he calls your name. “This?” You gesture between the two of you. “This is creepy.”

He holds up his hands before sliding the voucher in his dark jean jacket pocket. “They wouldn’t give me the voucher unless I put another name down so I just said you were my wife.” He shrugs his shoulder as if he can’t see the problem. “Now I can’t check in unless you’re there.”

You grab your bag and start walking again. “Not my problem.”

To your dismay, he keeps up with you. “We’ve been running around this place all day, so you have got to be at least a little tired.” You really were. “I let you use my charger.” He did do that, but it doesn’t seem to him that his small act of airport kindness has swayed you. “How about we get some sleep and then I promise I will help get you to Chicago?”

This causes you to pause again and look him up and down, almost hating yourself for even considering it. Those piercing blue eyes didn’t seem to hold any malice, nor did his small smile. He was charming, that much was obvious, but so was Ted Bundy.

You cock a hip to the side. “You could be a serial killer.”

The smirk he flashes makes you a little weak. “So could you.”

“Fine, but we’re stopping for pepper spray.”

**

Each time Kelly closes his eyes and feels his exhaustion begin to pull him under, he hears you curse under your breath. You had been obsessively scouring the internet looking for a hail mary, but each time you hit a wall.

He had given up somewhere between the last car dealership left in a 100-mile radius to endure your guilt trip and the proposition of hitch hiking. Honestly, he was more concerned than surprised when you seemed disappointed at him shooting down the idea.

Despite this budding friendship, you had offered no details of yourself, even when asked. You made another serial killer joke when he asked you why it was so important you get home, but he didn’t miss how guarded you became.

The next time you groan is when he also gives up the idea of any form of rest. Kelly sits up quick enough to see you throw yourself back into the creaky swivel chair.

“Is there a battery pack on you or something?” His voice is gravely, thick with exhaustion and just a hint of frustration.

You wince. “I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that there’s not a single taxi or rental car available.”

“You could just buy a car.” He suggests it as an outlandish joke, but then your eyes light up.

“You’re a genius!”

**

Standing out in the middle of an alleyway, snow coating your hair, you can’t say your not a little nervous. Kelly is stood beside you despite very loudly voicing his opinion on how this was a terrible idea. Actually, that it was maybe the worst idea you’ve ever had.

“If anyone is going to be a serial killer, it’s going to be this guy.” He mumbles another remark, shifting his eyes to check your surroundings again.

You shoot a glare at him, but have to admit he’s probably right.

There wasn’t much in your bank account to spare, especially when you consider the price of a decent car. Craigslist offered one result in your price range within reasonable walking distance and you didn’t really stop to think it out.

Now you were in a barely lit backstreet leaking a smell you’d rather not name.

“You didn’t have to come.” You state, again.

He scoffs. “With your lack of self-preservation and this piece of shit that won’t make it out of the state? I won’t be responsible for you ending up on a milk carton.”

You want to comment that that’s not a thing anymore, but he had stuck by you for the last few hours and that’s more than you can usually expect from a stranger. “Aw, you care.” You reply instead.

**

It smells, terribly, but if you roll the windows down enough, you can hardly even notice. Wearing enough layers to not fell the cold is another story. You had expected Kelly to bail on you, insisting you wouldn’t blame him for running back to the warm comfort of clean sheets that weren’t his own, but again he shook his head.

He slept for the first six hours, grateful that you seemed to be a decent driver, but you tossed and turned in the back for about four before you climb back up front and ask to take over. There was only a little bit of gloating each time you passed through a city and grinned an ‘I told you so’ at him.

He doesn’t tell you, but he finds your giddiness contagious.

You don’t notice, but he keeps watching you whenever you’re not paying attention- intrigued by the woman who is actively going to hell and back just to get home. Matt told him he was insane, but there was something about you that he just couldn’t let go of.

He had watched you give up one of the only plane tickets left to a younger woman. Feeling touched as she cried in your arms. When you bought lunch for an unaccompanied minor and let her use up the entire battery life of your phone to watch a few movies, he knew he had to at least talk to you.

The only opener he had was a charger and it seemed to have been enough to get your trust.

“You know,” He starts, pulling his jacket tighter around him, hoping the rising sun would bring some form of warmth soon. He wasn’t hopeful. “I think I’ve earned a few questions.”

You glance at him and raise a brow. “Fine.”

“Are you always like this?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your surprise makes you laugh.

“Prickly.” He clarifies.

“I’m not prickly, I’m stressed.” You defend yourself. “How are you not? Aren’t you trying to get home too, to see your family?”

He shrugs. “It’s out of my control, and the only family I have are people I get to see pretty regularly.” He smiles at you. “Guess I’m pretty lucky.”

“Well, it seems I’m definitely not.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud pop from the front of the car and it begins to sputter and smoke. Kelly is quick to calm you down and ease you into pulling off the road in the most soothing voice you think you may have ever heard.

**

Sitting on the side of the road, you only pick up your head from your knees when you hear a loud sigh and the hood slam shut. Kelly wipes the dark grease on his pants and gives you a solemn look.

“It’s toast.”

You let your head fall back onto your knees, not paying much attention to the encouraging words he tries to use to raise your spirits or the almost comforting hand on your shoulder, not even when they both disappear.

It isn’t until he’s grabbing the bags from the worst impulse buy of your life that you decide to check back in. “What are you doing?”

He points back to a semi-truck stopped not far behind with a smirk. “I told you I’m lucky.”

**

Your elbow bumps the trucker again and you pull you arms in closer to your body, try to scoot further away while being mindful of Kelly pressed close to you on your other side. Why you agreed to sit in the middle, you’ll only understand once you figured out why you agreed to this in the first place.

The man seemed nice enough, but it was two hours to the next city and you hadn’t slept in 36 hours.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do when we get there. Maybe find some wifi and look for our next ride?”

Kelly purses his lips. “How about we take an hour?”

“What are we supposed to in Dyersville on Christmas day?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when he smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

**

“Alright. This was a good idea.” You mumble around a mouthful of the burger you were trying to not inhale.

Somehow, Kelly had managed to convince a food truck to kick out one more order before packing up to get home. The smell hit you just as your hunger did and it didn’t take long for you to start stuffing your face.

He picks up his drink beside him on the bench and nods. “We needed this.”

“So bad.” You gush. You look around and finally feel like you can breathe again. “Maybe my luck’s turning. It’s a beautiful day, we’re so close, and this just might be the best burger I’ve ever had.”

He starts to laugh, but stops suddenly when he looks past your head. Before he can even react, the man he had been eying grabs your purse and takes off, Kelly quick on his heels. You yell after him, almost taking off too, but then his feet catch a patch of ice.

He goes down, hard and you rush to his side.

“Kelly? Kelly are you okay?” He’s touched by your concern, but he doesn’t have the breath in his lungs to convey it.

“Fine.” He grunts out.

“You folks alright?” A man with peppered hair and a thick grey mustache approaches behind you in a white button up. “We were just fixing our lights outside when we saw what happened. We’ve got two EMTs grabbing their bags if you’ll just stay where you are, son.”

Kelly waves him off, calling him chief, and tries to sit up. “Guy got her bag.”

You shush him and quickly help him up. “There’s nothing in there that can’t be replaced.” You assure him.

“Holy shit, is that Kelly Severide?” A woman calls out from across the street before jogging over. “Can’t wait to let the boys know that the great Lieutenant got played by a kid.”

Kelly chuckles at your confusion as he wipes his dirt covered hands on his jeans. “Gomez, nice to see you again.”

“You know each other?” You ask.

Gomez nods. “Lieutenant Severide here held a rope rescue training, whipped us all into shape. What brings you back here?”

Kelly sighs, adding a voice to the very rough time the last 20 hours had been. “Got snowed in just outside of Seattle. This one,” He points over to you and raises a brow. “Just had to get home and dragged me on and insane trip.”

Your jaw drops. “Dragged? You definitely refused to leave.”

“Only because I whole heartedly believed you’d get yourself killed.” He winks at you and you can’t suppress your smile.    

The chief contemplates for a moment before offering up an old battalion car to get you through the final stretch. Kelly looks to you, smile beaming and makes another comment about his impeccable luck.

**

“So, you’re a firefighter.” You begin when the silence becomes a little too thick. “Is that why you were in Washington?”

Kelly nods. “Small city fire departments don’t have the resources we do. I try to go to a few a year to teach them how to use the stuff they have for difficult rescues.”

“Wow…” You trail off.

“You can’t ask me that question and not answer it for yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you have to agree. “I was there for an interview. Some doctors there created a revolutionary treatment, and I was able to witness one of the surgeries.”

“Must be important for you to give up your Christmas Eve.”

You shrug. “My sister got really sick a few years ago. She’s okay now, but we weren’t able to see her for a really long time. Doctors saved her life and this could save someone else’s. It’s important information.”

“That’s why you wanted to get back?”

The moment becomes a little too heavy, but you manage a sad smile before you feel compelled to look out the window. “It’s her first Christmas since, it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her.”

He grabs your hand and your attention after a moment of silence and his stare is intense. “We’ll be there soon.” He assures you.

**

12 hours into shift and Matt Casey is as bored as he’s ever been on a Christmas. No calls, no Christmas spirit, and most importantly Christmas dinner was a bust. So, when Severide open his office door, covered in dirt and oil and grime, he was intrigued at least.

“You look like hell.”

Kelly rolls his eyes. “I need to borrow your truck to take Y/N home.”

Casey’s eyes widen. “She’s here?”

Kelly isn’t sure why he seems so excited until he hears him grab almost the entire firehouse to lead them to the floor. To you. Despite his protests, Gabby is positively thrilled. You however, surprisingly, are not overwhelmed by all the greetings and hugs. The environment is so warm and welcoming that you can’t help but slide right into conversations.

“She is gorgeous.” Gabby tries to keep it to a whisper. “Your texts do not do her justice.”

Kelly nods, well aware that just a few words typed while you were focused on the road could never be enough to describe how incredible he believed you to be.

“This isn’t it, right? You’ve got to see her again.” Joe butts his head between Kelly and Gabby. “We already like her.”

**

The drive to your house is quiet, somber. Not a single sound besides tires crunching through packed snow. There’re so many questions you have unanswered based solely on the fact that you don’t know how to ask them. Staring out into the night sky to watch the snow fall is no longer enough to comfort you.

It isn’t until he pulls up and puts the truck in park that you start to feel the pit in your stomach become overwhelming. You’re worried you’ll never see him again. Worried that the past day will be the final one and that thought is terrifying.

“Stay.” You blurt out.

He’s caught off guard by your request, but still smiles. “My family is back at the station and this is too important for you to be worrying about your parents meeting me.”

Your nod acknowledges that he’s right, but your eyes convey your sadness. “Merry Christmas, Kelly.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

**

“I cannot believe you just let her go!” Matt walks in on Gabby yelling. “You liked that girl, she invited you in, and you left?!” She’s pacing back and forth in front of a freshly showered Kelly. He looks like a puppy in trouble and Matt’s smart enough to know not to butt in.

“That was not a first impression I wanted to make.” He tries to defend himself.

Gabby turns to Matt, exasperated, and he raises his hands.

As if someone were listening to his silent prayers, Capp comes in to tell Kelly that he had a visitor on the floor. His heart began to race, filling with hope that maybe, just maybe…

He rounds the corner and there you are, dressed up with a delicate smile. For a moment he’s breathless, the only thing he wanted to see. He wants to open with something witty, but you beat him to it when you hand him a tupperware container, stepping close enough that he can smell the light layer of perfume you’re wearing.

“This is to thank you for letting me drag you and your luck all over the northern states.”

He laughs. “I believe it was me that refused to leave.”

“And I probably would’ve made the national news for being missing if you hadn’t.” Your smirk makes his heart skip a beat. “You know milk cartons aren’t a thing anymore, right?”

He laughs. “Well, how am I supposed to thank you for pretending to be my wife?” You laugh until you realize he’s being serious. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“I would love that.”

When he leans down slowly and presses his lips to yours, you have to laugh at the cheers that erupt from the background.

[ushijimaenthusiast]

oiten birthday fic/date night

[ao3]

Satori is so good at reading his boyfriend that he doesn’t even open his mouth before Satori is tightening the arm around his shoulders and leaning in, whispering, “Chill, babe. It’s fine.”

Tooru’s back straightens as he gives Satori a side-eyed glare. “You don’t even know what I was going to do.”

Satori just grins, shuffling them a little further in line. “Sure I do. You were gonna talk shit.”

If possible, Tooru’s glare turns even more vicious.

“They deserve it. If I don’t say something, they’ll just think it’s okay to keep doing it.”

“But are they really worth your time? I’m not bothered by it, so you shouldn’t be.”

“But you should!” Tooru’s shout draws a few glances their way, but he’s so heated he doesn’t even notice. Satori doesn’t care. “They’re being fucking rude and should be put in their place because if not they’ll continue to do the same thing and it could be towards someone who’s not as strong as you are.”

Satori’s smile falters a little at that, unused to such a compliment, but it’s all the hesitation Tooru needs before he’s spinning around to the couple in the opposite line who’ve been giving them dirty looks since they walked in the door. Satori’s not sure if it’s because of the way they’re dressed (Satori in comfy sweats and a tattered hoodie and Tooru decked out in his tightest pants and crispest button-up), or if it’s because someone as hot as Tooru is practically clinging to someone like Satori. Either way, Satori has learned to ignore such looks, but Tooru hasn’t.

He’s not used to how judgmental and negative people can be just for how one looks. He’s never been ostracized or called dirty names for the way he dresses or for acting too weird in public. He’s always been a prim and proper sort of boy, someone who uses words to sort things out instead of hiding behind a hand. Satori doesn’t fault him for feeling protective and wanting to set things right; he just wishes it was warranted.

“It’s not like we ever even said anything,” the woman butts in, knowing Tooru is about to attack. Her voice is high and nasally, and it instantly grates on Satori’s nerves.

“You didn’t have to. Your face reads Judgmental Bitch to anyone looking at you.”

She sputters as a few chuckles rise around them. Her partner looks too stunned for words, and Satori takes that pause to tighten his grip around Tooru’s waist and draw him closer to his body, shutting him up momentarily.

“Listen,” Satori says lazily, hardly sparing them another look, “just keep your eyes on yourself and we won’t have any more problems, m’kay?” He ends it with a leer, and tugs Tooru down the line as they shuffle forwards. Some of the other customers give them appreciative glances, while others glare just as rudely as the couple. Tooru gives one more glare at the couple before huffing and facing forward, curling tighter around Satori.

Without any hassle they buy their popcorn and drinks, steering clear of the couple as they make their way to their designated theater. Tooru relaxes even further when the couple goes into a separate one.

“Happy now?” Satori asks as they enter the darkened room. Trailers haven’t started yet, so it’s eerily quiet in the wide-open space, especially since there are only two other groups in the room. They head for the back row, both happy to see it empty.

Tooru huffs, and Satori sees him shrugging. “I coulda said a few more things if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“Oh, I know,” Satori chuckles. He slides into the row first and heads towards the middle. “But then we’d probably have gotten kicked out and wouldn’t be able to see this movie we’ve both been waiting to see for ages and would have to wait until it’s available to stream or find a way to illegally download it and where’s the fun in that? Besides,” Satori kicks down his seat and plops in, draping one arm over the chair Tooru sits in, “you shouldn’t let people like them get to you. They’re a waste of everything.”

“I don’t know how you handle it,” Tooru mumbles. “It makes my skin crawl.”

Satori lowers his arm from the back of the seat to Tooru’s shoulders, drawing him closer so he can place a faint kiss at his boyfriend’s temple. “And that’s what makes you a better person than them and me.”

“Shut up,” Tooru mutters, swatting at Satori’s chest. “You know I think you’re great.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

Tooru just sighs and snuggles closer to Satori as the lights dim and the trailers start to roll.

Satori doesn’t know how he got this lucky. How someone as beautiful and loyal as Oikawa Tooru, an ex-volleyball player and all-around Good Guy, managed to fall in love with the batshit weirdness that is Tendou Satori, a college dropout and general waste of space. Even with the years between them, Satori still finds it hard to believe that Tooru loves him, that he’s willing to put time and effort into their relationship, despite the onlookers that speculate and judge whenever they’re out in public.

Like tonight. Satori knows his attire could have been less sloppy, but he likes to be comfortable when watching movies. And no matter where they go, Tooru likes to dress up for dates. Tooru doesn’t hate him for not putting more effort into his wardrobe, and that’s something Satori appreciates immensely. He also has no qualms about complimenting his boyfriend’s choice of clothes and how they make him look, since complimenting Tooru is one of his favorite things.

There’s so many things about Tooru that Satori considers his favorite that he has a little black box in pocket that’s burning a hole against his thigh. He’s carried it with him everywhere for the last year, unsure of when he wanted to pop the question or if it’s something he should even ask. He’s still not even sure if Tooru’s birthday is a good time to propose, not even sure if it’s something his boyfriend would want to happen. The subject has come up sparingly, and even though Satori wishes he could say there’s no way Tooru would reject him, this is one guess he’s loath to make.

Satori loves Tooru and would take whatever Tooru is willing to give. Marriage isn’t the end all be all of a relationship. They’ve been happy and content without this label, so there’s really no reason why Satori has to take this next step.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the movie, as his mind continues to wander towards what’s supposed to come after. He promised Tooru a movie and a surprise, and they both know Tooru doesn’t like surprises. He can’t help it when his palms start to sweat and he has to pull away from his boyfriend on more than one occasion so he can feel like he can breathe again, pointedly ignoring the tiny looks of concern Tooru throws at him each time he does it.

By the end of the movie, though, Satori can feel Tooru’s anger radiating off him. He doesn’t even wait for the lights to turn back on before he’s springing out of his chair and moving down the aisle, attempting to escape the theater quickly.

Satori can’t even run after him like he knows he should. He just sits there, ignoring the way the lights aren’t coming back on, and a post-credit scene rolls. All he can focus on is Tooru’s retreating figure and the pounding of his heart, not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Eventually, he’s kicked out long after the lights have come back on and the theater attendant needs to prepare it for the next showing. Satori walks slowly towards their parked car, his heart racing a mile a minute as he sees it’s actually still parked here and not long gone.

Tooru is leaning against the passenger side door, his foot tapping wildly with his arms crossed over his chest. He catches sight of Satori approaching, but turns away and ignores him. Satori knows that’s acceptable, knowing he deserves the anger that’s brewing from his boyfriend.

He unlocks the car slowly, belatedly realizing that’s why the car and Tooru are still here because Satori had the keys, and gets in the driver’s seat. Tooru makes his entrance loud, making it clear he’s unhappy.

But Satori doesn’t start the car. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to drag this out any longer. If for some reason in his anger, or just in his heart, Tooru rejects his proposal, then Satori can hand him the keys and he’ll walk--somewhere. He’ll give Tooru the night to cool off and they could discuss things further tomorrow--

“Will you just tell me what's wrong with you already?” Tooru demands.

Satori blinks and turns to stare at Tooru. He does look angry, rightfully so, but there’s hurt there too. Confusion and worry are dancing behind it all, and Satori hates himself a little more for putting it there.

He sucks in a breath, knowing it’s now or never and not wanting to drag this out any longer. Without saying anything he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the box, offering it to Tooru.

“I was getting nervous,” Satori starts, not really liking the way Tooru’s face closed off at the sight of the box, how he’s not even breathing, it seems. “I wanted it to be perfect, to be romantic, but then I started over-thinking and now you’re pissed and it’s not really the best time or maybe even the best idea and I can see your answer already and I’m sorry, I’m sorry if this isn’t something you want. I can--I can take it back or, or something. I’ll--I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll just--”

“You’ll shut up, is what you’ll do.'' The demand is so calm it has Satori’s jaw clacking shut as he stares at Tooru. His boyfriend--maybe ex?--continues to stare at the box before slowly taking it from Satori’s still outstretched hand. He opens it slowly, stares at the ring for what feels like years, before he closes the lid and finally looks up at Satori.

There are tears in his eyes.

The information has even more panic running through Satori. He’s fucked up, he’s messed up so monumentally somehow that he knows this’ll be the death of him. He’ll remember this moment forever as the day he--

He’s being kissed. Sweetly, tenderly. Tooru has a shaking hand cupping his cheek as he tries to kiss Satori again. Maybe it takes too long for Satori’s brain to register what’s happening because then Tooru is pulling back and wiping at his eyes.

“Do you really mean this?” he whispers. He’s still holding onto the box, but all Satori can focus on are the tears building in his boyfriend’s eyes.

He nods, still too numb to speak.

And then Tooru is lurching forward, wrapping his arms around Satori’s neck in the tightest embrace they’ve probably ever shared.

“You’re a fool if you thought I’d reject you,” he whispers against Satori’s ear. He can feel tears sliding between them, but he doesn’t care. “You’re stupid, and I love you, I love you.”

“Yeah?” Satori manages to say. He pulls back from Tooru enough to look him in the eyes, despite his own vision going a little blurry.

“Of course, dummy. It’s only you.”

“Always you,” Satori mutters back, part of the saying they’ve adopted over their time together. Only you, always you. Satori always figured it’d be a limited sort of saying, and there’s still that possibility, despite a more permanent label. But he’ll take it. He’ll cherish it for as long as it lasts.

Satori pulls Tooru back in again, kissing him on the cheek before burrowing his face against the side of Tooru’s neck. He can smell his cologne, popcorn, and a little bit of sweat. He breathes in deeply, loving everything there is to love about Tooru and hoping he’ll get to love it for many more years to come.

“Happy birthday, Tooru.”

[giuliafc]

Moonlit Tears

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30020268

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13839874/1/Moonlit-Tears

A confused and heart wrecked Chat Noir finds a Ladybug in tears atop the Eiffel Tower. But when the two heartbroken heroes compare the shattered pieces of their hearts, they realise that those pieces look very similar. In fact, they're right the same. LadyNoir/Adrinette.

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

The low humming of sobs was the only sound that reached his ears as he landed gracefully at their usual spot atop the Eiffel tower. He gasped and didn’t move, unsure of what to do. His heart was already heavy with chagrin. He had transformed and ran across the rooftops for the last two hours trying to calm himself down. Trying to avoid being the next akuma victim. He couldn't bear the thought that his Lady could possibly have had her heart broken today too.

He sat with feline elegance next to her. She didn’t even acknowledge him, inwardly looking as she was. He didn’t blame her. She was always so open, so generous, so ready to help everyone. She had the right to be upset for once and to not bother to say hi. He didn't want her to think that he had been there all that time without letting her know, though. That would be plain rude.

“Little kitty on a roof, all alone beside his Lady,” he started singing, changing the words of the song on purpose. He heard her gasping, then she stopped sobbing. She slowly stretched her legs and hung them down from the metallic structure they were sitting on. She straightened her back, trying to wipe her eyes dry with her fingertips, but failing miserably. New tears rolled out, renewing the dampness on her cheeks.

“I thought it was ‘ without his Lady’,” she pointed out, sniffling loudly.

He smirked with a concerned look. “And you’re right, Buginette. But I felt lonely even sitting beside you tonight. I’ve been here for a while and you haven’t even noticed.”

She sniffled again. “Sorry, Chat Noir. I had a really bad evening. I transformed and ran across the rooftops for a good couple of hours, but I still didn’t feel better. I came here to be alone, safe from prying eyes.”

“Oh.” His ears drooped. “Do you want me to leave?”

A shadowed smile popped on her lips. “Not at all. I just didn’t expect you to be patrolling tonight.”

“I wasn’t patrolling,” he said, “I had a bad evening too. A bit like you, I needed to vent, so I ran for a while, ending up here. I was surprised to see you. And even more surprised to hear you crying.”

She wiped her eyes one last time and finally they came dry. “Care to tell me what upset you?” She saw him tense, so added quickly, “If it won’t reveal your identity of course.”

He sighed. “I don’t mind telling you, Buginette, but I think you need to vent more than me. I hate seeing you so upset. Who do I need to beat up?” He faked a scowl and posed like a boxer.

She looked at him in amazement and then erupted into a crystal laugh. “Oh thank you, chaton. I needed it. Thank you so much.” She hugged him tightly and kept laughing. But the more she laughed, the more her laughter lost its light. It darkened, until she sobbed again, clenching her fists against the spandex material of his suit on his chest. He tentatively hugged her. When she didn’t react by rejecting his touch, he tightened his hold and held her closer, patting her hair in a soothing rhythm. A quiet purr began rumbling into his chest; after an initial gasp, Ladybug hugged him back and his purr renewed.

“I told him tonight,” she whispered eventually.

“Him?” he asked, carrying on with his purring and gentle rhythm of his hand over her hair.

She sniffled again. “Yes. The boy that I love. You remember? The one I told you about when we faced Glaciator.” She paused, happily lulling herself in the cathartic feeling of the purr. “I’ve never been able to tell him up to now. And I knew I was setting myself up to fail, because he’s told me before that he loves someone else. But I drank a couple of drinks too many; he was so kind to drive me home, and was being nice with me. So I just... told him.”

A sense of déjà vu hit Chat Noir. He gasped almost too loud, causing Ladybug to look at him with a puzzled frown on her face. He put a hand on her shoulder and with the other, he lifted her chin so she would look into his eyes. “What did he say? Did he reject you? If he made fun of you in any way, tell me his name and I’ll haunt him in his sleep forever.”

Despite the pain that he could read in her eyes, Ladybug genuinely smiled at the remark. “Thank you, Chat Noir,” she said. “But no, he didn’t reject me.”

Now it was his turn to be puzzled. “Then, why are you crying?”

“He didn’t say anything , minou. He just sat there in his car in silence until we reached my house. I even waited a couple of minutes before getting out. I said bye to him and he didn’t respond. I ran inside feeling horrible. I… feel as if I’ve ruined not only my chances of being with him but also our friendship, which I have cherished for the last four years. All because I drank too much. I’m so stupid.” She looked down and moved away from him. Sniffling some more, she stared out at the twinkling lights of the City of Love .

“That’s funny,” he said bitterly. When he said that, she gasped and looked at him shocked.

“What do you find funny, Chat Noir?”

He stretched his arms behind him and leaned back, allowing his gaze to get lost admiring the beautiful full moon that towered in the dark sky. “Today I went to a birthday party organised for one of my friends. We drank a little too much and it had become very late, so I offered one of my friends a lift. God forbid that she walked home as tipsy as she was and someone took advantage of her. She’s too dear to my heart to allow it to happen.”

“Oh,” she said, “o-okay?”

“I was driving her home. Well, my driver was; I was sitting with her in the back.” His hand reached for the nape of his neck and his gaze darted down. “She was telling me how grateful she was that I gave her a lift and suddenly, she told me that she loved me. A-and I didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.”

She gasped at his words. His gaze darted to her briefly, and the intensity in her eyes made him sweat. She stared at him as if her life depended on his next sentence.

“And…?” she pressed.

Was it getting hot here, or was it only him? He dared another peek at her face; she was still looking at him intensely. “And… nothing. The car stopped in front of her place. I waited until she had gone inside before asking the driver to go. When I got home, I had to transform and get out because I didn’t understand what was going on with my feelings.”

“Why?” she asked in a choked whisper.

He could hardly breathe. “Be-because I was confused. I’d never thought she liked me. She always acted as if I was intimidating her. When we met, we started off on the wrong foot. So I really thought that she hated me, and probably only put up with me because of our friends.” Ladybug gasped loudly and looked up at him, her eyes as big as saucers. “I couldn’t believe that a person as amazing as her would think anything at all of one as insignificant as me.”

He turned around and looked straight into her eyes. “She was my first friend. I didn’t want to ruin that friendship. I messed up badly enough with my first girlfriend, being so indecisive and never letting myself go, until she got fed up and told me she had found someone else. I didn’t want to ruin my friendship with her too, because—” His mouth went dry; he gulped awkwardly and licked his lips.

“Because?” He could hear the breathlessness in her tone. He could see how hopeful her gaze was as it met his, how tense her back was as it straightened. He internally screamed. God, he couldn't believe it. This woman loved him. For real!

“Be-because she was important to me. I didn’t want to lose her.” He grabbed her hand, a tinge of pink dusting her cheeks as he locked his gaze to hers. “The truth is that I love her. I’ve loved her all along. Only, I was too blind to see it. I’m such a fool, Marinette .”

The sound of her gasp resounded in the silence of the night like a slap in the face.

“The girl who didn’t like my jokes, the one I told you about the day we were coming back from the wax museum. That girl was you .” He gulped seeing the tears staining her cheeks once again. She stared straight through to his soul in silence, crying quietly for a time that felt endless. Why wasn’t she talking?

“We’re idiots,” she eventually said, the shadow of a smile curling the corner of her lips.

“No, Buginette. I’m the only idiot I can see.”

The smile that had been curling her lips widened. “Silly chaton. There’s an even bigger idiot sitting right in front of you.” She took a big breath, exhaling slowly. “Be-because the boy I rejected you for the day we fought Glaciator—”

“Yes?” His ears perked up and he couldn’t help but lean towards her.

“Th-that b-boy… was… Adrien Agreste .” She looked up from behind her eyelashes, a deep blush dusting her cheeks when she saw the massive grin that spread on his lips. “I-I’ve loved you from the day you gave me your umbrella. I tried so hard to let go of you, b-but I’ve never been able to.”

His eyes widened as his mouth opened in a small o. “Y-you mean my first day at school?

She nodded, her red cheeks almost glowing in the darkness. He gawked at her beautifully flushed face for a long time, admiring how her porcelain skin shone bright in the pale light of the full moon. The stain of her tears like crystal reflecting the moonlit night. He looked at her for so long that her redness changed to pallor and her eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

“What’s wrong, minou?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He gulped and closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath as he reminded himself to breathe. “I’m so happy.”

She smiled softly seeing the way his lip trembled. “C-can I kiss you?” she asked.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes sprang open; he smirked, and his tone turned teasing as he tried to hide his shock. “I always thought I was going to be the one to ask you .”

The soft smile never left her lips; she inched closer to him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, taking in the soft shaking under her touch. Her hands held his neck by the nape, pulling him in until there were only millimeters between them. They could feel the tickling of each other’s breath on their lips, both hesitating to close the gap.

“And tell me, minou.” Her nose brushed his, his heart clawing against his chest as her whispered words caused wild fluttering in his stomach. “What answer did you expect me to give you?”

His senses were overwhelmed with the scent of hot chocolate and sugary treats in her breath, with only the smallest tinge of alcohol.

He was still pondering on an answer when their lips met, and any residue of coherent thought dissolved from his mind. He would think about what to say later. Right now he was finally kissing the girl he loved.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

Fin

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Author’s Note:

Hi! I know, I know, I will end up with not one. Not two. But THREE updates today. I’m definitely spoiling you, don’t expect this every week (I would die LOL). But I had written this story a little while back prior to my submission for the New Beginning zine (they were asking for a piece of less than 2000 words and i had never written one before, so I had to see if I could write something that short before committing to a submission!). Unfortunately I wasn’t selected, which means that you get this story now and not in January 2022, are you happy? ^-^

Hope you’ll like it. Again, a bit different from what I’ve ever written, but more my style than the Visiting Hours one. Please let me know your thoughts! Any kind of comment (or kudos, favs, follows, bookmark… anything) is very welcome.

Last but not least, if you read this and you’re not part of our wonderful Discord server already, but you enjoy reading, writing and talking about Miraculous, please join our Discord server, Miraculous Fanworks . See you there soon!

[rachaelswrites]

Rumors

Ransom Drysdale x daughter!reader

Your cousin Jacob starts a rumor about you and teases you about but you’ve had enough

Word Count: 1,596

A/N: this idea popped up in my head while I was in the shower lol. 

Warnings: language, implied student/teacher affair (no one actually did anything), justified fighting, mentions of Nazi child

You and Jacob tolerated each other. He was only a year older than you and you had some classes at school together, not to mention your mutual friends. Of course there was some teasing, but this time Jacob had crossed a line. You were struggling a little in your math class and stayed behind several times to get some help. Jacob -the little twit- thought it would be funny to joke with his friends about what kind of “help” you were getting. Being the assholes they are, they spread the word around that you were sleeping with a teacher to get ahead. You tried to ignore it the best you could but it got so big that the staff heard about it. Of course it was all fake, just Jacob being a dick. 

Things went downhill very quickly. Your math teacher resigned in fear of ruining his reputation. You tried explaining that nothing happened to your principal but she decided she had to talk to your dad.

That’s where you were now. Waiting for Ransom to get to the school. You were always a good kid for the most part. Only getting into small trouble; nothing that ever involved the principle calling. You were seated in one of the chairs in her office when you heard the main doors open. You turned and saw your dad in his usual brown coat talking to the receptionist. She points in your direction and he nods. You quickly turn back around and look at the floor. Not wanting to make eye contact with your dad. When he enters the office, the principal greets him warmly. 

“Thank you for meeting here on such short notice Mr. Drysdale. I wanted to talk to you about an issue involving Y/n.” 

Ransom pulls his sunglasses off and takes the seat next to you and waits for her to continue. 

“It has come to the attention of many students and staff that a rumor of an affair between a faculty member and your daughter. Things have gotten very out of control. So much so that the teacher in question has resigned.” 

Ransom whips his head down to look at you.Your head was down, your eyes tracking the way your feet swing back and forth, trying to hide the tears running down your cheeks. Hearing it out loud makes you sick. You could kill Jacob if you had the chance.

“Y/n,” Ransom says. 

When you don’t react he says it again.

  “Y/n look at me.” 

You follow his instructions this time. 

He turns his body in the chair towards you,“Did you sleep with that teacher?” he questions.

You shook your head. 

Ransom turns to the principle and throws his hands up. “Well she said she didn’t. Problem solved.”

The principal shook her head,“I’m afraid that it’s not that easy Mr. Drysdale.”

“What do you mean? She said she didn’t do it. Get the teacher back and everyone can go on with their lives,” At this point he sounded tired.

“I’m sorry Sir, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. The reputation of the scho-”

“Your reputation is more important than my daughter’s education?” Ransom interrupted. 

You looked at your dad with wide eyes, knowing that whatever happened next wouldn’t be good.

 “I pay too much damn money for this shit. Y/n get your things we’re leaving.”

 You opened your mouth to protest but he held his hand up in your face. You quickly stood up and grabbed your school coat and bag. Ransom followed you to the door. 

He turned and said, “The un-enrollment papers will be turned in tomorrow.” 

Ransom led you out of the school with his hand on your shoulder, and opened the door of the Beamer for you. You got in and put your things in the back. Ransom got into his drivers seat and mumbled something about that school being a waste. Your hands were in your lap and fiddling with your fingers. 

“You know, you’re too good for that school right? I only sent you there because that’s what everyone wanted,” your dad said, trying to make you feel better.

“I know. Probably just trying to get me to be like them.” 

He laughed at the obvious distaste you have for the family. You were the youngest in the family and were often compared to everyone else and ridiculed. Ransom wasn’t stupid. He knew it was happening so he always made excuses to not go to family events for your sake. He always made you his top priority and would do anything to protect you. 

Several weeks later you went back to a new school. This was a public school and you enjoyed it so much more. All the kids were nicer and the classes were easier. And best of all Jacob wasn’t there and you didn’t have to see him. Unless you had a family thing; which thankfully wasn’t too often. Most of the family knew you left the school but not the why. Ransom let you decide if you wanted to go to Harlan’s with him while he was working with him but you declined. He understood. When the family asked why you left, Ransom simply shrugged and told them to ask you yourself. But this time you couldn’t get out of it. It was the annual Christmas get-together. You had to go. No question.

Ransom was waiting for you at the front door. He knew that you were nervous and didn’t plan on spending a lot of time there. Just a quick hello and maybe a drink or two. You made your ways down the staircase and joined your dad at the door. 

He put his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head, “Say the words and we’ll leave okay?” 

You nodded, too nervous to say anything.

Once at the party, you relaxed a little. Nobody really brought up the school thing. You were very grateful. Ransom stuck by your side the whole time, or you stuck to him. Either way there was no way he was letting you out of his sight;especially with Jacob around. You were upset with him and it was very noticeable. You had a bit of a temper sometimes and Ransom tried to hide it from the family because he was worried he would be blamed. Nobody really believed he was a great dad. No matter how many times you told your grandparents. 

About an hour or two in you had no problems so your dad left you alone for a few minutes to go to the bathroom. You stood off to the side of the party minding your own business. You haven't seen Jacob in a while, however that relief was short lived when you saw him march down the stairs. You tried to go into a different room but he already saw you. 

“Hey Y/n,” he sneered, “How's public school going?” 

The conversation in the room died down a little. Your family was full of eavesdroppers, but at least they tried to be subtle. 

“It’s good,” you responded. You were just trying to get him off you until your dad showed back up,“I met some new friends. They're really nice. A lot nicer than you.”

“Are they now? How are the teachers though? That’s the important question.” he shot back. The anger was bubbling inside of you. You didn’t want to talk about this, you had already put it behind you. But you had to stay calm on the outside.

“They’re good too. Much better than the others.”

“I bet they are. I’m sure you’ve alrea-” 

Before he could finish his sentence, your anger bubbled over and you threw yourself at him and punched him in the nose. He grabbed your shoulders and pinned you to the floor. You managed to wrestle yourself on top of him but he pulled a fistful of your hair. You slapped him across the face and he let go but used his other hand to sock you in the eye; for sure leaving a bruise. Before you could land another hit, you were pulled off by the back of your sweater. Your dad stood in front of you, blocking you from Jacob. He looked pissed.

“In the car. Now,” he said pointing towards the front door. 

You huffed and turned on your heel, walking to the door and slamming it shut. Ransom was giving you time to cool off before he talked to you. He sighed and turned towards his younger cousin; now holding his nose and blubbering to his mom. Walt looked at him and shoved a finger in his face.

“That kid is out of control! She needs to apologize to Jacob right now! She broke his nose!” 

Ransom looked to see the others' reactions. They seemed more concerned for the Nazi boy than you. Even Linda and Richard. Ransom rolled his eyes and left the house in a similar manner to you. 

Ransom walked around the front of the car and sat next to you in the driver's seat. He put his seat belt on and turned to you, “Okay Y/n. What the hell was that?” 

You looked up to him, expecting to see anger. But you saw concern written across his face. You shrugged your shoulders.

“I dunno. I guess the Nazi just needed his ass beat.” 

Ransom sighed and turned forward in his seat. He paused for a moment before he burst out laughing. He started the car and drove off. Still laughing. 

Taglist 

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes

[jphbk1982]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Indi Hartwell/Dexter Lumis | Samuel Shaw Characters: Indi Hartwell, Dexter Lumis | Samuel Shaw, Candice LeRae, Johnny Gargano, Austin Theory Summary:

Indi Hartwell finds something that makes her rethink how she is feeling with Dexter Lumis. What will it change? If she takes a chance how will it end up?

If you want to read and review at that link above you can. If not you can read Chapter 5 below. 

“A Lift”

Indi was feeling especially exhausted as she exited the performance center and made her way over to her car parked in the front lot. She fidgeted in her pocket until she found the key and unlocked the door. She sat down and pulled out her phone.

“Wow…” Indi spoke to herself seeing how late it actually was. She had lost track of time as she had been getting some time in the ring and was paying hardly any attention. She was still sore between that and the workout she had squeezed in as well.

Indi attempted to start her vehicle but nothing happened. She crinkled her nose in a moment of confusion before trying again. Still, nothing happened, not even so much as a crank.

“Great,” Indi breathed out in a large sigh. She glanced up to see the only other car in the lot driving away. She fumbled to get out of the car in an attempt to wave them down but they continued to keep driving down the road and out of the area.

Indi slumped her shoulders defeatedly and walked back to look at her car with her hands on her hips as if she could somehow convey her disappointment to the machine. She glanced around one more time for any sight of anyone in the surrounding area but all was still.

The quietness was actually somewhat unnerving so Indi walked back over to her car and sat down in the driver seat. She pulled out her phone and went into her contacts she scrolled down to Candice and nearly pressed the call button. She paused though when her eyes caught the time again at the top of her phone.

Indi shook her head knowing probably Candice would already be asleep along with Johnny. Austin would be up but he was not even in the state at the moment. She sighed with frustration and leaned her head forward onto her steering wheel.

“This is ridiculous,” Indi spoke to herself as she sat back up against the back of her seat. She weighed her phone in her hand for a moment before bringing it back up to look at her contacts. It was then a notification came through from Instagram.

Indi smiled as she saw that Dexter had posted. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she worked quickly to send a text to him.

“Hey, my car won’t start and I am stuck in the lot of the PC… sorry to bother but do you think you could come?”

Indi hit send and settled back in to examine her predicament again. She wasn’t a mechanic but she knew enough to know it was most likely a dead battery, judging by the fact that nothing in the car worked currently so she couldn’t even put on the radio while she waited.

She did have her phone though so she pulled up to check her Instagram and saw Dexter’s post on top. Just a picture of him before he was about to go to the ring captured by one of the WWE camera crew. She grinned as he was bathed in the blue light with smoke all around him. She found her finger lightly tracing his outline as she got a little caught up in her thoughts.

She quickly typed a response on the picture. Simply a heart emoji. She didn’t want to say too much because too much would probably get back to Candice or Johnny and she didn’t want to deal with that again, at least not until she had to.

(****)

Indi had been absentmindedly scrolling social media for some time now. She glanced up at the time to see it was well past midnight now. She lowered her phone and examined the parking lot to see she was still alone. She frowned and then got her phone to go back into the contacts, surely she could get someone to come.

Indi was scrolling when a light tap on her window caused her to jump and yelp. She placed a hand over her thumping heart as she turned to see Dexter lower himself to eye level with her on the other side of the window. Her fear subsided and she hurriedly opened the door for him.

He was wearing blue jeans and a black muscle shirt and missing his trademark gloves and Indi was having trouble not noticing… things. This look was slightly different than she was used to seeing him and he was not the only one not speaking as the silence hung in the air between them.

“Um…” Indi cleared her throat as she made eye contact with him. “It won’t do anything.”

Dexter wordlessly leaned into the vehicle and over her, becoming unbearably close for Indi. She could smell the slightest hint of aftershave on his neck and she resisted the urge to touch his arm as it came to rest hovering over her chest.

Indi watched as he tried to turn the key a few times and nothing happened. He held his hand on it for a moment before returning to his former position of kneeling in the open door next to her.

“Battery?” Indi managed to find her voice. He nodded. “I kind of figured.”

Dexter stood up and backed away slightly to allow for her to step out. She followed his cue and did so. She started to shut the door to the car but he reached up to gently stop her and pointed inside at her passenger seat. Indi’s eyes followed him to see her phone and gym bag still laying inside.

Dexter then gestured to his car parked on the other side of hers. Indi understood he was going to give her a ride so she reached in and gathered her things from the vehicle and stood in front of him. She suddenly felt sort of self-conscious as some of the stray hairs that had escaped from her loose ponytail blew into her face and she was made keenly aware that she was still a bit of a sweaty mess.

Indi turned slightly out of the light and lowered her head. Dexter stepped closer to her and stuck his hand out in an offer to take her bag. She glanced up at him without fully raising her head.

“Thanks,” Indi said as she released the bag into his hands and watched as he walked around her car and over to his. He popped the trunk and placed the bag gently inside. Much more gently than the contents required. He stood up and fastened the trunk and made his way over to the passenger door of his car and pulled it open.

Indi watched as he stepped back to the edge of the door and waited expectantly for her. So she walked over and slid into the passenger seat of his car before he gently shut the door behind her. Immediately Indi noticed how much his car smelled like him and she found it incredibly comforting and sexy at the same time.

Indi glanced around at the interior of the older model muscle car. It was in immaculate condition for an older vehicle. Indi smirked when she saw that it still had an original radio in it without even so much as a cd player, and was devoid of any of the modern amenities that cars seemed to come with.

Indi was still admiring the vehicle when Dexter opened the driver-side door and the dome light came on. She frowned remembering what her face looked like. She turned away from him as he sunk into the seat next to her. She was grateful when he shut the door and the light slowly dimmed before fading to black.

Indi did not consider herself to be very vain. However, it was not exactly ideal for Dexter to see her in such a state. She was sure what little makeup she had on had run and smeared and it wasn’t pleasant. He, however, she noticed as she glanced over at him again had every hair perfectly in place and looked amazing. Certainly, she had not got him out of bed.

Dexter started the car and it came to life in a low rumble. He turned to her for a moment and nodded past her to her car. She somehow knew exactly what he was asking.

“I will just have it looked at in the morning,” Indi dismissively waved at the car. “Just take me home.”

The weight of Indi’s words suddenly hit her as she realized that Dexter would be taking her home to her apartment. A place he had never been. A place she was sure he did not even know where it was. She took a deep breath and sat up in her seat a little.

“Hold on,” Indi pulled up a map on her phone and zoomed in to show him where she lived. “Do you know where that is?”

He glanced over at the phone and moved her hand up closer to him to get a better look. Indi smiled when his hand enveloped hers. After a moment he let go and leaned back with a nod. He then pulled the car out of the lot.

(****)

Indi was struggling. She was trying so hard to not look over him as he drove them along the nearly empty highway to her place. The soft glow of street lights filled the cabin of the car every few seconds and it was then Indi tried to sneak a peek. For his part, he seemed to not notice her or at least not let on as he was keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“I’m sorry to call on you so late,” Indi spoke, breaking the several-minute silence they had been in. She saw him curl his nose up slightly. He didn’t mind. “Night owl huh?”

He nodded.

“I kind of figured,” Indi replied with a smile and a shrug.

He turned to her and raised his eyebrows.

“I can be as well,” Indi responded, understanding him completely. The look on his face indicated his pleasure with her response. “It umm… is the next right.”

Dexter slowed the car down and hit the turn signal as he approached the turn.

“Ow,” Indi felt a cramp coming in her thigh muscle. A side effect of going as hard as she went tonight. Her noise got Dexter’s attention as a look of concern came over his face. “A cramp.”

Indi went about attempting to massage it out but was having no luck as it persisted. She felt Dexter’s hand on her wrist and turned to him. He nodded to her leg and opened his hand. She understood and moved her hand out of the way.

Indi could not believe it as within nearly seconds of his hand pressing down into her thigh the pain was starting to subside. He was keeping his eyes on the road as he gently kneaded her sore muscle. Soon the muscle had completely stopped seizing and he went to move his hand back across the center console.

Indi was already missing his touch so she reached out and placed her hand in his. The action surprised her nearly as much as it appeared to surprise him as his eyes widened slightly and he glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You have the magic touch,” Indi stated as she felt him enclose his hand over hers. She studied his face and saw the corner of his mouth raise. They rode this way for several minutes.

“It is right up here,” Indi pointed out the windshield. Dexter started slowing the car down and moved their hands over to the gear shift to downshift the car. Indi smiled as he did so and then turned the car into her parking lot. “It is the one on the end.”

Dexter drove the car down to the far end of the parking lot and pulled it into a parking spot. He put the car in park and turned to face Indi.

She was lost in his eyes, a light at the end of the lot was bathing him in its blueish glow and it seemed very fitting.

“Thank you…” Indi finally spoke. He nodded and closed his eyes momentarily. She reluctantly untangled her hand from his and opened her car door. She quickly stepped out as the light filled the interior of the vehicle.

Indi stood up and saw he too had exited the car and was making his way back to the trunk. He popped it and retrieved her bag before making his way over to her.

“Thanks,” Indi held her hand out for the bag. He nodded with his head up to her apartment. She smiled. “It’s okay… I got it.”

He gently placed the bag into her open hands and stepped back a bit. Indi shuffled her feet slightly, before letting out a small laugh, prompting him to cock his head slightly.

“Johnny and Candice would kill me if they knew…” Indi explained, before laughing again. Dexter studied her for a moment before his mouth curled into a smile.

Indi noticed and stopped laughing. She stepped closer to him and dropped the bag on the ground at her side. She raised a hand up to his cheek.

“You should smile more often,” Indi said locking eyes with him and searching for his response deep within. He ducked his head slightly and she found it to be incredibly endearing. He then shook his head yes.

Indi moved closer and he met her halfway to capture her in a kiss. His arms went around her and she found herself being effortlessly lifted off the ground into his arms as the kiss went further. He eventually sat her back down on the ground and she nearly audibly protested.

Indi placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart racing. She smiled as she felt her own doing the same. It seemed they were competing to see which would go faster. She locked her eyes back into his again.

“I should… probably…” Indi gestured behind her to her apartment. He nodded in understanding and stepped back slightly. She suddenly craved his closeness again but resisted the urge to move into his space.

Dexter retrieved her bag off the ground for her and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Indi stated before she started backing away from him. She eventually turned and took a few steps before stopping. She turned to him and realized her mess of a self was now bathed completely in the blue light from above but didn’t care anymore.

Her turning back to him had caught his eye and stopped him from making his way around the car. He studied her for a moment. This time it was simply the look on her face that spoke volumes. He walked up to her brushed a few stray hairs out of her face that was caught in the warm night breeze. He rested his hand on her cheek and her eyes danced back and forth expectantly.

Indi watched as his mouth seemingly started to curve into a smile but she was shocked when instead he mouthed the word “beautiful.” She felt overcome and wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her close and into a hug.

Indi knew she was falling for Dexter Lumis before. Now, she knew it was past that. She was too far gone to be falling anymore. No. She knew now, standing here in his arms it wasn’t a crush, it wasn’t an act of rebellion, it wasn’t a phase, it wasn’t any of those things. She had fallen in love.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 3,306 Sam x Reader Warnings: none! Summary: Y/N deals with the aftermath of what she has just seen when she stops in The Ivy Cafe in town. A/N: Shit is about to hit the fan. Maybe. Maybe not. This is part of a series! Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3, and Part 4 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

You felt frozen. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at. You stepped back absently so she was out of view again, your mouth agape, and realized vaguely that they were calling your name—your latte was ready. You accepted it aimlessly but immediately dug into your pocket for your cell phone and dialed your sister. It was like you needed to confirm that you had really just seen what you had just seen.

You heard her characteristic ringtone clearly from where you were standing, your cell pressed up to your ear.

You swallowed hard at the strangled feeling in your throat, trying to clear it so you could get some air. You felt a little like you were reeling. Who the hell is that guy? What do I do? Do I confront her? Fuck! Sam was literally right outside waiting in the car… You started to head for the door and as you reached it, one hand on the handle to push it open, you glanced back over your shoulder across the café. You had a clear view of them now, and your stomach rolled as you watched her lean forward and kiss him, one of her hands sliding into his hair to pull him in, breaking away with a smile on her face. You turned away abruptly and pushed outside, glancing quickly over at the car. Sam was leaning back in the passenger seat, his eyes closed, faced turned toward his open window to feel the breeze.

I’m gonna be sick. The potential implications of what you had just seen were making you dizzy.

You rushed into the pharmacy, praying that Sam’s prescription was ready. All you wanted to do was put as much distance between where you and Sam were and what you had just seen. Maybe if you put physical distance between you and them you wouldn’t have to deal with what was happening, maybe it would become untrue. What the hell were you supposed to do with what you had just seen? You hastily grabbed Sam’s meds and rushed back out to the car, your latte still in your hand, completely forgotten. You slid into the driver seat and plopped it down in the cup holder. Sam looked over at you and straightened up. He immediately sensed that something was wrong.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

You couldn’t look at him. You just started the car and threw it into gear. “Mhm! Yep! Let’s just get you home,” you said. “I’m sure you’re ready to be home…”

He waited for you to look over at him, to meet his eyes, but you just stared straight ahead through the windshield. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Sam asked again. You could hear the sweet concern in his voice, but it also still had that vaguely dreamy quality.

You did your best to shove down the feelings of anger, shock, and disbelief that were threatening to overwhelm you and arrange your face into a small smile so you could turn and meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Sam. How are you?”

He gave you a small, somewhat crooked smile, his eyebrows lifting a little in relief from your words. “I’m great. But a bit tired.” He yawned again and leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat.

“I can imagine,” you said, turning onto the highway. “Let’s get back to the bunker so you can rest.” Your voice came out much softer than you meant it to, but luckily Sam seemed to have bought your forced smile. You were a little grateful that he was still a bit loopy, because sober Sam probably would have seen through you in a heartbeat. He always could tell when something was wrong. You bit your cheek to keep angry and disgusted tears from welling up in your eyes.

You raced the whole way back and the time had passed mostly in silence. Sam seemed to be dozing a little, in and out of being awake, the toll of the painkillers and probably the physical trauma as well. But you finally pulled into the underground garage and parked your car. Sam climbed out and said your name to grab your attention as you were shutting your door.

“Your coffee,” he said, holding the paper cup you had completely forgotten about in the cup holder. You stared at the printed logo on the side: The Ivy Café. “You didn’t drink any?” he said, giving you a questioning look. You were never one to leave undrunk coffee undrunk.

You nodded and forced another smile, shrugging. “Wasn’t as tired as I thought,” you said. “Plus, I probably already had too much coffee this morning. Here, I’ll take that,” you said, accepting the cup from him and falling into stride next to him. “You take this.” You handed him the little paper bag with his prescription. “You can’t take any until tonight, though, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

Sam thanked you and smiled. “Okay. Got it.” He turned and gave you a sleepy smile. “Thanks again for today. I know you wasted a whole afternoon on me at that doctor’s office...”

Wasted? On Sam? There was no such thing. You felt a bubble of emotion rising up in your throat again at his words and you tried to choke it down, tried to clear the tightness. “No need to thank me for that,” you said quietly.

“Well… I really appreciate it anyway.” Sam let out another yawn as you both reached Dean and the Impala, which seemed to be mostly back together as Dean was putting his tools away.

“So, are you bionic now or what?” he asked Sam, giving him a smirk and patting him hard on the back.

Sam held up his cast. “I don’t think so.”

“Still hopped up on the good stuff?” Dean asked. Sam let out a big yawn again and shrugged.

“Hand doesn’t hurt. I’m mostly just sleepy now,” he said.

Dean nodded. “Damn. Sounds like I missed the fun Painkiller Sam,” he laughed, giving you a knowing look. You returned the smile as best you could and put a gentle hand on Sam’s back, encouraging him to head in, your fingertips floating lightly over his shirt. Electricity shot up his spine and he actually jumped a little in response and looked down at you.

“Oh—sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” you apologized, misreading his reaction.

“That’s alright—It wasn’t—you didn’t—” Sam’s tongue suddenly felt twisted in his mouth. He couldn’t quite get the right words out. He avoided Dean’s perceptive gaze, ignoring the little smirk playing across his lips. “Umm… I’m gonna go get some food and then take a nap, I think…” he said awkwardly.

“Good idea. You coming in?” you asked Dean, trying to give him a meaningful look behind Sam’s back.

“Yep. I’ll be right in,” he said. His brow dropped low over his eyes at the expression on your face. It immediately created a hard pit in his stomach.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You hadn’t stopped pacing since you had made it to your room. And every other cross of the area rug you looked up at that little paper coffee cup, the familiar logo on the side, sitting in the middle of your desk, the liquid inside now completely cold.

Sam had let you make him a grilled cheese but he had also obviously noticed that you were much quieter than usual. You had to excuse yourself from the kitchen because you just couldn’t handle it anymore—you felt sick. And you felt like you were lying to him. You never wanted to lie to him. He deserved so much more than that. Another minute and you would have burst out with what you had seen and you really didn’t want him to hear it while he was exhausted and potentially still a bit fuzzy from the meds. So, you had run away and sequestered yourself in your bedroom, where all you could do was obsess over what you had seen and try to rationalize it. But there was no way to rationalize the way she had kissed him. Or the way she had ignored your call. Again. How many times was that today? While Sam was enduring the pain of a displaced and broken bone in his hand?

Almost as if on cue, your cell phone started to ring and you startled, looking down to see your sister’s name flashing on the screen. You shut your eyes and tried to steady yourself. “Fuck.” You answered, trying to sound normal. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis! Sorry, I missed your calls and texts! It was super loud at lunch and then I was in the movie. How is Sam?”

“How was the movie?” you asked her, hoping your voice didn’t sound as stiff as you felt.

“Oh, it was good! I mean, a little more jump scare than psychological thriller but—still good. So, how is Sam? How is his hand?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and shut your eyes tightly, sitting rigidly on the edge of your bed. “Well, it’s very broken. He has a cast. He has to wear it for 6 weeks at least.”

“Oh, no… My poor guy… God, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there today,” she said. “I can’t wait to get home and see how he is. Is he in a lot of pain?”

You gritted your teeth. “He’s on a lot of painkillers, but I’m sure it still hurts. I mean they had to force the bone back into the right place.”

“Ugh. Poor, Sam.”

“Yeah… well… How is—how’s Sarah?” You were gonna make her say it. You were going to make her lie to you over and over. There would be no way for her to say it was a mistake. And maybe it would be enough to force you to leap over the disbelief and spinning confusion and the sick feeling in your stomach and push you straight into whatever had to come next.

“She seems good. Yeah, seems fine. Still really busy with work like usual,” your sister said. Her tone was cheery and upbeat, but to you it just sounded disingenuous.

“Good. That’s good…” There was a beat of silence.

“Well, I’m just leaving the movie theater, so I should be home in like half an hour or so. Maybe a little more.”

“Mhm. Okay. See you later.” You didn’t even wait to say goodbye. You just hung up. You flopped backwards onto your back from the edge of the bed, rubbing both your hands over your face and heaving a heavy sigh. Fuck. Now what? Anger started to bubble again in your chest and you jumped up, casting one more look at The Ivy Café cup on your desk, and striding out into the hallway.

You could see that Sam’s bedroom door was open as you headed down the hall, so you stopped to check on him and you felt like your heart broke at the sight. He was collapsed on his bed, sleeping with his cast propped up on his stomach. You leaned against the doorframe for a moment, resting your head against the cool wood, and just looked at him fondly while your mind spun. He didn’t know. For now, he didn’t know. What would come next? You felt like it was up to you in some sick way… what to do?

Sam was sleeping with the blankets all crunched down at the end of the bed and you quietly tiptoed in and pulled them over him. He didn’t stir. You studied his peaceful expression for another moment and then stepped out to find Dean.

“Hey,” you said, finding him at his desk in his room, laptop open.

His face was serious, worried. “Hey. What’s going on?” He watched as your jaw tensed.

“Meet me in the garage in five minutes?”

He nodded. “Sure.” The flat tone of your voice only increased his anxiety.

Five minutes later, he was leaning up against the Impala, patiently waiting for the sound of the door from the bunker swinging open and the familiar cadence of your footsteps. He straightened up when the metallic echo of the slamming door announced your arrival. His face darkened when you finally came into view and he saw that you had your shotgun slung over one shoulder and were carrying a gun case in your other hand.

“Whoa—whoa. What’s going on? You’re freaking me out, Y/N,” Dean said. “Do I need to go get my guns?”

Your face was impassive as you met his eyes. “You can if you want. I just really need to shoot something right now.”

Dean looked uneasy. “…something. As long as it isn’t someone.”

Your jaw tensed again. “You coming?” You didn’t wait for his answer, but you could tell he was following you with long strides. You exited through a side door in the garage and started the walk on a well-beaten track into the open space and woods behind the bunker. You had a target range set up back there and goddammit, did you need to shoot something.

Dean watched you open up your gun case, leaning your unloaded shotgun against a nearby stump. You grabbed a pair of ear muffs and threw it at him. Dean caught them, pulling them on as he watched you expertly load the magazine into your pistol, pull on your own ear protection, and take aim at the target. You fired your entire magazine rapidly, 7 rounds, straight into the center of the paper target, and with cold indifference swapped in your spare magazine and fired 5 more.

Dean’s unease grew. He stepped up next to you as you let your pistol drop to your side, and your other hand pressed over your face. You shut your eyes for a moment and tried to take a stabilizing breath, smelling the cloud of gunpowder hazy in the air. You ejected the empty magazine from your handgun and replaced it in the gun case.

“Y/N…” Dean said hesitantly.

“No,” you said. You picked up your shotgun and loaded 5 shells. “Not yet.”

Dean gulped.

You stepped up to the firing line again and aimed for the targets hanging in the trees, blasting each one in quick succession, and even causing one to drop off its rope onto the ground. Dean stared at the empty shell casings smoking on the ground, but he just waited this time. You heaved a sigh and pulled your ear muffs off, letting them hang around your neck, and you set your shotgun back in its place against the stump.

Dean pulled off his ear protection too and waited for you to look up at him. His apprehension was growing by the moment. Finally, you sank down on a large round of cut wood and looked at him. Dean gulped and cleared his throat.

“This is about Sam?” he asked. He thought you had finally reached the point where you couldn’t stand it anymore—couldn’t handle Sam being with your sister and having to sit by and watch them be together. Maybe his idea that you spend some time with Sam that day was about to backfire—maybe you were going to leave.

But your answer wasn’t exactly what he expected. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he repeated. He watched as you absently started reloading your pistol magazines. Your hands needed something to do—you felt frantic inside.

“It’s more about my sister than Sam but… obviously that means it is also about him.”

Dean’s face contracted in confusion and he shook his head vaguely in a question. “Okay…” His voice was deeper and had more gravel to it than usual.

You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek, forcing another bullet against the spring in the magazine. “We went to pick up Sam’s prescription after his appointment and they told me it would take them a little while to get it ready. So, I decided to grab a coffee while I waited.”

“Okay…” Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The wrinkles in his brow were heavy.

“I saw my sister when I went into the café.” Your hands ceased all anxious movement. “She was there with someone.”

Dean just stared at you, trying hard to read on your face what was coming.

“She was not with her friend Sarah today. And they were not having lunch and going to a movie. She was—she was with some guy. And—” you swallowed at the annoying tight lump in your throat that seemed to keep re-forming. “And she was holding his hand and I watched them kiss.” Your eyes finally raised to meet Dean’s.

Dean felt a swelling of confusion and disbelief in his chest, quickly followed by a wave of anger. “…You’re sure?” The gravel in his voice was even heavier now than before. Your answer was to give him a look that clearly said ’seriously?’.

You tilted your head as you stared at him. “You think I would mistake seeing that? I even called her phone while I was standing maybe 8 feet away and I watched her ignore the call. And just now, she finally called me back to see how Sam was and she told me the same lie—that she was with Sarah and they went to a movie and lunch. She couldn’t be there for him today because she was busy cheating on him. He was having a bone in his hand forced back into place, and she was cheating on him.”

Dean paced a tight circle, rubbing a hand over the shadow of stubble on his chin. “And Sammy, he didn’t, uhh—”

“No. No, he was in the car…” The blank look on your face morphed into anguish as Dean looked at you. “Dean, what the hell am I supposed to do here? I mean, he has to know… I can’t let him just go on knowing that—that it’s all a lie.”

Dean felt an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t Sam said the same thing about staying with your sister when he had since fallen hard for you? It was all a lie, that he was deceiving himself. Dean’s mind raced. Long-term he was thinking that maybe this would somehow work out for the best but in the short-term… goddamn, it was going to be a mess and it was going to hurt like a bitch…

“Okay… Okay,” Dean muttered to himself, pacing another couple of tight circles. “Well, I agree with you. He has to find out but—the question is how?”

“Exactly. Do I tell him? Do I confront her and make her tell him? Do we somehow help him find it out for himself? I mean—what the fuck do we do?”

Dean looked at you, his mouth hanging open a little, at a loss. He shook his head absently, his green eyes wide. “I can see why you needed to shoot something…” he said vaguely.

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah…”

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 1)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed (tm) with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

WARNINGS: description of panic

Chapters 1-5 now up on ao3 (same username)!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

---

Dusk is beginning to fall.

Glancing at the clock, Jon realizes with a start that it has been almost four hours since they left Martin’s apartment for Daisy’s safehouse, with him driving Martin’s car.  When he first pulled out into the streets of London, Martin had had to guide him softly through the city as Jon’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.  He had been so gentle, even through the exhaustion that had forced Jon to be the driver in the first place.

“It’s alright, Jon. You’re doing fine.  Just take a deep breath.”

“I haven’t driven in years, Martin!  I could have hit that person a-and—”

“But you didn’t.  You didn’t, Jon.  You’re okay.  Everything will be alright once we get out of the city.  I promise you’re alright.”

Jon smirks and half-chuckles at the memory.  Martin had been right, of course, as always.  He began to relax as soon as they got out of London and onto the relatively empty highway.  Martin had closed his eyes soon afterwards, and was still curled up on the passenger seat beside him, as much as possible for someone so tall as Martin.  Glancing at him now, with his head tipped against the window, Jon sees him repeatedly half-open and close his eyes, muttering indistinctly as he does.  He’s not sleeping, not really, and Jon knows it—whether it was a lingering effect of the Lonely or his own mind preventing him from drifting off, Jon did not know.

Martin’s dark curls are now streaked grey and white, and his face ashen.  These things are the immediate effects of the Lonely, to be sure, but Jon has been worried for much longer about Martin’s physical state.  He has lost significant weight in the past months, his clothes now hanging loosely from his frame.  Of course, Jon can empathize—he has become almost skeletal in the wake of resisting his…hunger.  And the distinct lack of Martin’s fussing about his human eating habits has not helped.

There is something that I missed.  Something I could have done.

Sighing, Jon’s eyes drift back to Martin as he begins to stir.  He appears agitated, brows furrowed and limbs pressing his body away from Jon, further into the solidity of the door.  Jon furrows his own brows in concern, half-lifting his left hand to press against Martin’s forehead, which has become increasingly covered in sweat.  He thinks better of it, afraid to startle him, and pulls his hand back.  But as the minutes pass, Martin’s agitation only seems to grow, his movements growing more distressed.

How can I calm him?  Jon wonders, eyes flitting around the car for something he could do.

They land on a dusty stack of CDs that Jon had grabbed from Martin’s apartment at the last moment, out of a desire to somehow bring back the old Martin— the one who loved “lo-fi charm” and romantic poetry.  He grabs the top album and quickly pops it into the CD player.

A soft, yet driving rhythm begins to play from the speakers, and Jon quickly lowers the volume to an ambient level, anxiously hoping that he did not wake him.  On the contrary, Martin’s movements have slowed, his brow unknitting little by little, and his limbs unfurling.  With a soft smile that lasts just a bit longer than is probably safe to look away from the road, Jon shifts in his seat and turns his eyes back toward the growing dark.

A few hours later, and it seems that Martin has truly fallen asleep, to Jon’s relief.  They had stopped at a petrol station some ways back, where Jon had gently shaken Martin awake and asked him if he needed anything.  Martin had entered the shop for a bit, and when he returned, he had, of course, offered to drive.  Jon unequivocally refused, citing both the intense black under his eyes and the way he swayed slightly as he returned to the car.  No, Martin would not be driving tonight.  Jon had downed something with enough caffeine to revive the dead, stretched his aching muscles, and pushed on.

Martin now has his head tipped back against the seat, his face turned slightly in Jon’s direction.  A bit of drool seeps from the corner of his partially-open mouth, and his deep breathing has settled slowly into soft snores.  Jon is desperately glad that there is no one (save the Watcher) to see his foolish grin at the sight of his…whatever Martin is to him, now.

It should feel complicated, Jon thinks, but it just doesn’t.  Not at all.

The CD has once again come to an end, and Jon reaches forward to start it over again.  It is quite late in the night now, and while he is grateful for the background noise, he does not particularly care what that noise is at this point.  And Martin is not awake to complain about the monotony of it all.  So, for now, monotony suits Jon just fine.  

As he skips back to the first track, however, Martin jolts awake without warning, letting out such a terrified cry that Jon himself yelps and swerves off the highway.  Trying to regain control of the car, he throws his left arm across Martin’s chest as he slams on the brakes.

They both sit there for a moment, panting wildly, before Jon lowers his arm and looks at Martin, eyes still wide.  His breath is not slowing at all—in fact, it appears to be picking up, rather ragged and shallow.  Swallowing down his own shock, Jon chokes out his name.

“…Martin?  Are you alright?”

Martin does not answer, instead leaning forward to press his forehead against his palms.  He squeezes his eyes closed and breathes shakily—in through the nose, out through the mouth—in an attempt to slow down his breathing.  Not sure what to do, Jon puts the car in park and places a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder, speaking softly.

“Martin?  What can I do?”

Martin flinches slightly at the contact, and Jon removes his hand quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, never taking his eyes from Martin and trying his best not to feel hurt.

Martin shakes his head, then lifts it, finally turning to look at Jon.

“It’s alright.  I’m alright,” he rasps, his voice uncharacteristically rough. He clears his throat and continues, reaching a bit into his normal register.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, Martin, it’s not your fault.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Without another word, Jon pulls the car back onto the road, and Martin leans against the window once again.  Even with the music, Jon can hear his labored attempts at measured breaths, and watches his leg bounce anxiously from the corner of his eye.

“Only thirty more minutes, Martin.  Will you be alright?”

Martin does not reply, merely nodding and curling up tighter against the window.

The second Jon parks, Martin bolts out of the car.

Jon, slightly stunned, remains seated for a moment, once again swallowing hurt he knows is misplaced.  He then drags his stiff form from the car, joints protesting at every move, and walks around to the boot.  Grabbing their bags, he watches Martin in his peripheral vision, pacing and running a hand through his hair.  Wanting to give him some privacy, Jon averts his gaze and takes much longer than is necessary to unpack.  He briefly considers lighting a cigarette, cursing himself for bringing them along at all.

He is not left in this state for long, however, as the gravel crunching beside him alerts him to Martin’s return.  He moves to lift his backpack, but stops, straightening up to his full height and meeting Jon’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Jon, I just needed a moment,” he says lowly, his voice still unusually gravely and thick.  “Are you alright?  That’s a long way for one person to drive.”

“No need to apologize, Martin.  Really, I’m alright as well.” Offering a smile, Jon chuckles. “As you know, my primary hobby involves focusing intensely for long periods of time, so…I was well prepared.”

Martin does not laugh, staring into Jon’s eyes vacantly for a moment before dropping his gaze and lifting his bags.  Jon’s chest aches as he follows suit.

I miss him.

I miss him and he’s right in front of me.

They walk up to the front door together, which Jon then unlocks.

Inside, they find much of what they expected—a quiet, unassuming place with the smell of dust in the air. Both men drop their bags inside as they close the front door, flicking on the lights and moving to take a closer look around.  Jon sighs and turns on the kitchen light.  Dust everywhere, a few ungodly spiders of course, but it does look—a bit homey, after all.  Or perhaps that’s his imagination, which is unhelpfully feeding him an image of Martin cooking breakfast, humming pleasantly, while Jon sits at the kitchen table, doing homework with their son…

Jesus, STOP it, Jon thinks, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if clearing water from his ears. Just STOP. Focus.  

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jon moves on from his visions of blessed and impossible domesticity and opens the cabinets, looking for anything he might cook for dinner.  Or, perhaps breakfast?  But the cabinets are, unfortunately, bare save for some dishes and a half-finished bottle of whisky.  A single glass sits next to the bottle.  Jon reaches out for it carefully, holding it like some precious thing.

Oh, Daisy.  I’m so sorry.

His eyes beginning to sting, he stares at the glass until a sound from the hall startles him back to the present.

“Martin?”

Upon receiving no reply, Jon sets the glass down and moves toward the source of the disturbance.  Light from the open door of the bathroom pours into the hall, Martin’s shadow stretching tall across the wooden floor.  Turning the corner, Jon sees him, staring into the mirror, hand clutching his white-streaked hair and beginnings of a beard with panic in his eyes.

“Martin…”

Jon reaches out his arms, intentionally staying within Martin’s eyeline—a wordless request for permission to touch him.  Martin indicates no awareness of Jon’s presence.  Jon opens his mouth to ask him again if he’s alright, when Martin’s breath hitches, and he doubles over, leaning heavily on the sink.  His breaths begin to come in rapid and shallow once again, and Jon sees his knees beginning to buckle.

“Woah, woah—Martin!  Easy, easy…”

Jon reaches out then, supporting him as much as his slightness will allow, and guides him gently to sit on the floor, back against the wall.  Martin immediately pulls his knees upward toward his face, elbows resting atop them and face in his hands as he continues to gasp for air.

“Hey, hey, easy now, easy…” Jon continues softly, placing his left hand on Martin’s knee, reaching the right toward his face.  He desperately wants to ease Martin’s anguish, to hold him, to—

“NO!” Martin yells sharply, and Jon throws his whole body back against the sink. Between pants, Martin continues shakily, “No, I-I—can’t—I’m so—s-so—so sorry.”

Jon’s heart is beating out of his chest, both from the shock of Martin’s yell and the prospect that he might have just made things worse.  He freezes, wide-eyed as Martin curls in on himself further, the gasps coming faster, wheezing, desperate.  He has to do something.

Moving slowly, Jon scoots from where he sits against the sink to the opposite wall, next to Martin, careful not to touch him.  Leaning his left side against the wall and tucking his legs to right, he swallows the lump that has formed in his throat.

“I’m here, Martin.  I’m right here.  You’re not alone.  I’m right here with you.”

At this, Martin’s gasping breaths begin to slow for just a moment, before turning into body-wracking sobs.

“I’m s-sorry J-Jon—god—I’m sorry—"

Jon does begin to weep then, silently, still whispering words he hopes are comforting in as steady a voice as he can muster.

After several minutes, Martin’s breaths really do begin to slow, and he returns his deep breathing techniques, Jon praising him all the way.

At last, wiping his face, Martin lowers his hands from his face and closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Thank you, Jon.  I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispers.

Oh, Martin.

“It’s alright.  I want to be here for you, Martin.  I-I am here.  You have nothing to apologize for.”

Scrubbing a hand across his beard again, Martin continues, voice still wobbling.

“It…it was just bit of a shock to see my own face.  I didn’t realize how…how much I look like him, now.  With all this.”

He motions at his white hair and beard.

Jon leans his head against the wall, his gaze never leaving Martin’s face.

“I…I’m so sorry, Martin.”

Martin exhales forcefully, a ghost of a smile playing on his face, unless Jon is imagining things again.  He reaches his hand nervously toward Jon, eyes fixed on the ground.  Jon gapes at the extended hand for just a moment, before taking it quickly, almost desperately, in his own.  Martin begins stroking the back of Jon’s hand with his thumb, and Jon’s heart melts completely into the floor.

They stay just like that for several minutes before Martin scoots closer to him.  Jon shifts so that his body is parallel with Martin’s, their legs knocking together.  Jon turns to look at Martin, whose gaze is still on the floor.

“You’re nothing like him, Martin.  Not at all.  And…I’ve got an extra razor if you want to get rid of the beard.”

Martin does smile at that, letting out a quick exhale of a laugh, and finally meeting his eyes.  Jon, for his part, feels dizzy with relief.  Then Martin brings their still-clasped hands to his lips, kissing the back of Jon’s palm, and Jon thinks he might actually lose consciousness.  Martin lowers his head onto Jon’s bony shoulder, and Jon is all too pleased to nuzzle his chin into Martin’s soft curls.

Several minutes pass, just breathing, each taking comfort in the other’s presence.  Jon’s thoughts gradually extract themselves from the constant train of Martin on my shoulder Martin on my shoulder and return to his former task, which was to get some food into Martin.

He presses his lips to Martin’s hair briefly, and lifts his head.

“Do you think you could eat something?”

Martin, his head still resting on Jon’s shoulder, scrunches his nose at once, seemingly nauseated at the very thought.  Jon kisses the top of his head once again, and returns to coaxing him.

“I know.  But I really think we should try.  God knows we both need it.”

Martin’s face shifts from apprehensive to something nearing distress at this.  Jon notices this at once, immediately softening his voice and carding a hand through his hair.

“What about some tea?  And maybe a biscuit or two, if you feel up to it.”

Martin seems to ponder for a moment, then lifts his gaze to meet Jon’s at last, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I think I could manage that.”

Jon returns his smile before getting to his feet slowly, his knees popping in protest.  He offers a hand to Martin, who takes it, and stands.  To Jon’s dismay, Martin sways for a moment as he gets to his feet, and his arms immediately reach out to steady him.

“Easy, Martin!”

Martin lets out a soft “Woah” and leans back against the wall, eyes closed for a moment.  Jon’s hands stay firm beneath his elbows.

“Are you alright?”

Martin hums in response, opening his eyes blearily after a moment.

“Let’s go,” he nods.

Jon wraps one arm around Martin’s back as they walk, keeping the other firmly planted beneath his elbow, and deposits him in one of the kitchen chairs.  Martin lets out a long sigh, and Jon turns to fill the kettle and retrieve Martin’s tea and biscuits, which he had swiped from his apartment, just in case.  With all his puttering done, Jon turns back to face Martin, leaning back against the countertop.  Martin has placed his elbows on the dust-covered table, and is massaging his temples with his hands.  His face has gone ashen again, the perspiration coating his forehead.  Jon’s brows knit together in concern.

“You…don’t look well, Martin.”

At this, Martin picks his head up from his hands and gives Jon a smile, a bit of a forced thing.

“I’ll be alright Jon, really.  You’re fussing.”

“Hmm.”

Jon immediately turns around to investigate the cabinets again, hoping to find medicine for the fever he’s almost certain is plaguing Martin, knowing he will find nothing.

The kettle whistles, and Jon pulls some mugs out of the cabinet, wanting to choose the perfect mug for Martin’s sacred ritual.  He selects a pastel green mug, remembering Martin’s love of plants, and pours them both a cup.  With no small measure of dismay, he realizes that he hasn’t the faintest idea how Martin takes his tea.  His chest aches.  His body aches with the weight of it.  There’s no choice, he has to ask him now, when it is far, far too late to do so.

“Martin? I am so sorry but how…how do you take your tea?”

Martin lets out a humorless laugh, which turns briefly into a cough.  When he speaks, however, his tone is gentle.

“Is there any honey?”

Stupid, obvious. He’s losing his voice, damn it.

“Y-yes, of course, here—” Jon quickly places Martin’s mug in front of him, along with the honey he swiped from his apartment and a stirring spoon.  Martin regards it all with a soft smile, and Jon turns to his own tea, adding a bit of sugar.  He opens the packet of biscuits and spreads them on a plate, then places them on the table as he sits down.  Martin eyes the biscuits warily.  Jon sighs.

“Martin, you’ve got to eat something.”

“I know,” Martin replies a bit testily, rubbing a hand across his forehead.  Jon looks down into his mug.

“No, I…I’m sorry, Jon.  I didn’t mean to snap.  I’m just tired.”

Jon looks up, smiles.

“I know, Martin. It’s alright.”

He reaches for a biscuit, dips it in his tea, and eats.  A few moments later, Martin follows suit, albeit a bit more slowly.  Jon watches him carefully as he takes a bite, and then dips the other half of the biscuit back in his tea, popping it in his mouth.

Conversation becomes easier now.  Martin even lets out what sounds suspiciously like a full laugh when Jon recounts a tale of the Admiral ruining an entire stack of statements.  Between the two of them, they finish the plate of biscuits rather quickly.  Each of them notices that some color has returned to the other’s cheeks, and are delighted to see, for a moment, a restoration of joy.

The laughter fades into a warm and comfortable silence, and Jon eyes the empty plate of biscuits.

“Do you want anything else to eat, Martin?”

Martin snorts. “Do we have anything else?”

“Hmm…not really.”

“Then I suppose not.”

Jon stands from the table, collecting the plate and the now-empty mugs, and places them in the sink.  He then turns to where their bags sit at the front entrance, and starts to pick them up.  Before he can do so, a hand tenderly grabs his wrist.

“Jon.”

He looks over his shoulder to see Martin, his gaze intense, full of effort to convey the depth of his meaning.

“Thank you.  Seriously.  Thank you.”

His eyes are brimming now, and with a soft smile, Jon reaches up to wipe it all away.

“It’s nothing at all.”

Martin smiles back, then collects his bags, following Jon upstairs.

They stop in their tracks, staring at the unsettling problem before them.

There is only one bed.

After a few moments of silence, during which both curse themselves for blushing so furiously, they begin to speak over each other.

“I can take the couch, y—”

“NO, Jon no no—”

“I-it’s not a problem, you—”

“No, Jon, I think it’s—”

“You need the rest, and I—”

“Jon, wait.”

He does.

“I…I think it’s just two twin beds pushed together.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah.”

A moment’s pause, and then Jon speaks nervously.

“Do you…do you want to pull them apart?”

Another pause.

“…no.”

They turn to look at each other, soft smiles returning to their faces.  Jon approaches tentatively, only moving in such a way that Martin can clearly see him.  He reaches a hand up to rest on Martin’s upper arm, and the other to where Martin’s curls hang down over his brow, brushing them back, then resting his hand against Martin’s cheek.

“Your hair’s gotten long,” he speaks softly.

Martin places a hand on Jon’s waist, so utterly gently, as if he doesn’t really believe he’s there.  Encouraged by this, Jon moves closer, his own hand moving from where it rests on Martin’s arm down to his waist.  Martin smiles lopsidedly, tenderly, then cards his finger through Jon’s disheveled, graying waves, like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.  He pulls Jon forward so that his face rests against his chest.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he hums lowly, the vibrations from his chest radiating throughout Jon’s body.  Jon smiles against his chest, then pulls back slowly, his arms still resting on Martin’s waist.  Martin is looking at him with more love in his eyes than Jon has ever seen, and he makes a decision.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, lifting himself to his tip toes.

Martin flushes all the way to his ears, and stammers hurriedly.

“Y-yes, yes plea—mmm”

Jon doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence.

[punk-is-notdead]

Fic Title: Champagne and Showers, by tfw_cas

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Jensen Ackles Misha Collins Jared Padalecki Photo Shoots Fluff Smut Shower Sex Hand Jobs Oral Sex Mild Angst Established Relationship

Summary: The final Entertainment Weekly photoshoot for the stars of Supernatural brings mixed emotions, but Jensen and Misha know the perfect way to comfort each other.

AO3

This fic was inspired by this sweetly soft kiss, which brought out the romantic in me. 

Jensen is wet and sticky, and not in a good way. Granted, he'd really enjoyed getting that way, but now it’s getting pretty gross.

It’s a hot summer’s day in California, and he, Misha and Jared have spent the best part of it doing a photoshoot for Entertainment Weekly. As always, it’s been a lot of fun, although there'd been an emotional moment when it hit home that this would be the last one they would do, and all three of them had gotten a tear or two in their eyes. However, now that the champagne has come out things have livened up.

Some of it’s been imbibed, sure - enough to give Jensen a pleasant buzz - but most of it’s been sprayed over them. Or dumped unceremoniously on their heads… hence the wet and sticky part.

As the shoot comes to an end and hugs are exchanged all round, he pulls Misha into his arms and is hit by a sudden wave of affection (not actually that unusual when it comes to Misha). Putting his lips next to his ear, Jensen whispers, “I love you.”

The hug lingers as Misha throws his arms around Jensen’s neck - while keeping hold of the champagne bottle - and pulls him in closer. They both feel the need to hold onto each other for as long as possible, but eventually Jensen knows it’s time to let go, and he pats Misha a couple of times on the back before drawing back. When he looks at Misha’s face, however, Jensen is shocked to see that those usually stunning blue eyes are slightly red and watery, and he looks like he’s struggling to contain his emotions.

Well, fuck,    that won’t do at all. Jensen can’t bear the thought of Misha being upset, so as he flashes one of his most charming smiles at the camera, he tries to take hold of Misha’s arm… or even his hand, as a gesture of comfort. Before he’s managed to get his hand around Misha’s arm though, he decides it isn’t enough contact, so he steps closer and wraps his arm around him to draw him into a side hug. Jensen leans into Misha’s personal space as he pulls them together, and as Misha puts his arm around Jensen and pats him on the back in return, Jensen can see that Misha is still trying to be professional and smile for the camera. (The irony isn't lost on Jensen that, although he's the one who has a background in modelling, it’s him now giving zero fucks, while Misha’s trying to carry on until the camera stops rolling.)

Then Jensen does something he wouldn’t normally do… well, not in public anyway. After another smile in the direction of the camera, he turns to Misha and places a kiss upon his cheek, letting his lips linger for a long moment as he drinks the other man in. The skin is soft and warm, and tastes of a mixture of champagne and something undefinable that’s uniquely Misha, and Jensen has to pull himself away before it starts to look inappropriate.      If they were alone right now…    

He knows that if it had been Jared, he would have followed up the kiss by licking Misha‘s face - Jared's basically a giant puppy, after all - but Jensen is more reserved; plus his relationship with Misha is completely different.

Speaking of… there’s one last crushing hug for each of them from Jared, and then they’re good to go, with a couple more bottles of champagne as a gift courtesy of Entertainment Weekly. Their driver for the day has returned, and he drives them back to their hotel. Thankfully, he seems to have been forewarned about them being covered in alcohol, and he’s put plastic covering on the seats. It’s a bit uncomfortable to sit on, but it’s only a fifteen minute drive before they’re climbing out and thanking him for his service.

There are only a few people around, so they’re able to slip through the entrance unnoticed, then through the foyer and into the elevator. The smell of the stale champagne is just nasty now, and Jensen is grateful that Jared doesn’t add to it by letting out one of his legendary farts.

“Man, that was fun.” Jared seems to be addressing himself more than them, as he grins at his reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah, it was.” Jensen laughs at Jared’s goofiness, and holds one of the bottles of champagne in a salute. “This definitely helped.”

Misha chuckles and shakes his head as he grabs the bottom of his sweater and pulls it away from his body. “I’d rather drink it than… this.”

“At least you didn’t get half a bottle poured over your head.” Jensen winks at Misha to let him know there are no hard feelings, and Misha gives him a sheepish look.

The elevator pings for Jared’s floor, and as he gets out he asks, “See you guys later for dinner?”

“Sure. I’ll text you when we’re ready.” Jensen nods at him as the door closes, then they travel one more floor before it pings again.

His and Misha’s rooms are across from each other, but one of them isn’t going to be used. This time it’s Misha’s room that will be left unoccupied, but he’s keeping his luggage in there anyway. Misha swipes his key card and goes inside, coming out a minute or two later with a change of clothes - that he holds out in front of him for fear of contamination - and his favourite watermelon body wash.

Jensen gives one of his seductive winks, that he knows turns Misha to mush, before they cross the hallway to his room, and he lets them in. As the door closes behind them he sighs, and puts the bottle on the table, then turns to Misha, who’s just finished laying his clothes carefully on the sofa.

Walking over to him, Jensen searches his eyes. “How you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Misha says, smiling tenderly before Jensen moves closer and kisses along his jaw.

When he finds Misha’s lips, Misha hums contentedly, his hands coming up to tangle in Jensen’s hair. They only stay for a moment, before he pulls away, grimacing.

“That feels disgusting,” he chuckles.

“Well then, we should probably get in the shower.” Jensen takes hold of the hem of Misha’s sweater and pulls it over his head. Misha’s hair is sticking up at all angles, and Jensen gazes fondly at him as he drops the sweater to the floor.

Wordlessly, he removes his own shirt and drops it down with the sweater, then unbuckles Misha’s belt and pulls it through the loops. After he’s put it to one side, he pops the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper, then slides them down Misha’s thighs to reveal his lucky orange underwear. As he pulls them down further, he kisses down Misha’s chest and over his hip bones, playfully pulling at the waistband of the boxers with his teeth.

Misha gazes down at him through his eyelashes, and he reaches his hand out to cup Jensen’s face. Jensen’s breath hitches as he leans into Misha’s touch for a moment before finishing what he started; removing Misha’s jeans, socks and shoes.

When he’s back to his feet, he makes quick work of the rest of his own clothes, until they’re both wearing nothing but boxers. Jensen takes Misha by the hand and leads him to the bathroom, leaving the pile of clothing on the floor. Jensen never lets go of Misha's hand, even as he turns on the shower and adjusts the settings until the temperature is perfect.

Once the shower’s ready, he slips out of his boxers and discards them, motioning for Misha to do the same. Misha follows suit, maintaining eye contact as they fall to the floor and his cock springs free… Jensen doesn’t touch, but he has plans for it later.

He takes both of Misha’s hands in his own and they step under the spray together, the warm water feeling soothing and cleansing on his skin. He dips his head under the water and lets the spray run over his hair and down his back, and when he comes back up for air Misha is staring at him, his expression full of desire.

He licks over his bottom lip as he steps closer to Jensen, reaching out and running his hand through Jensen's dripping wet hair. “That's much more preferable than the champagne,” he laughs softly.

"To be fair though, it was you that poured it on my head." Jensen moves closer still, until he can brush their lips together.

“Yeah, l-” Misha trails off as he slides his hands around Jensen’s back and pulls him forward until their bodies are touching, chest to thighs. “I thought I’d like to see you all wet,” he murmurs as he starts kissing down Jensen’s throat.

“Well, you got your wish.” Jensen gasps as Misha leaves a trail of kisses that ends at his nipple, and he licks at it. “F… fuck, yeah.”

Jensen loses himself in the sensation for a minute, before he reaches between them and takes hold of Misha’s cock. As he begins to stroke, Misha releases his nipple, and Jensen presses their lips together in a kiss that starts off sweet, but quickly becomes more passionate.

Misha’s hands are on Jensen’s ass, and Jensen’s hand that isn’t stroking Misha’s cock tangles in his hair. He pushes his tongue past those lips he craves so much, and explores his mouth as he speeds up his strokes.

As Misha gets closer to his orgasm, he breaks off the kiss, chest heaving and eyes darkened with desire as he thrusts into Jensen’s hand.

“That’s it, angel,” Jensen urges (yes, he knows that Misha isn't actually an angel, but he might as well be as far as Jensen is concerned). “Come for me. I wanna see you.”

Misha lets out a loud groan and rests his forehead on Jensen’s shoulder for a moment, before lifting his head again. “I love you too,” he gasps out as his thrusts become erratic and he comes over Jensen’s hand.

“I know,” Jensen says, working Misha through his climax until he’s spent, before rinsing his hand under the spray.

It takes Misha a minute or two to collect himself, but once he’s recovered, he moves with a purpose, pushing Jensen back against the tiles and dropping to his knees in front of him. He takes Jensen’s cock in his hand and plants a kiss on the tip, before leaning forward and swallowing him down and putting that talented tongue to good use.

Jensen thumps his head back on the tiles as Misha starts bobbing his head backwards and forwards, taking as much of him into his mouth as he can. “Mish,” Jensen whispers, trying to stop himself from thrusting into Misha’s mouth.

He reaches down and tangles his hands in Misha’s hair, pulling at the strands a little as Misha slips his hands around to grab Jensen’s ass cheeks and squeezes. It’s an encouragement for Jensen to move, so he does, unable to hold back the increasingly loud moans he’s letting out.

What with the wet heat of that mouth, and the way Misha’s using his tongue and urging him to move, it doesn’t take long for Jensen to feel that familiar sensation. He isn’t going to last much longer, and he both regrets the hell out of that, and needs to come right fucking now.

“Mish… fuck, baby,” he groans out as he lets go and floods Misha’s mouth with his come. Misha gazes up at him adoringly as he swallows everything he gives him, and Jensen is filled with a mixture of love and lust.

When his orgasm has slowed to a stop, Misha pulls off him and gets back to his feet. He draws Jensen into his arms and finds his mouth with his own, pouring all his love into the kiss, and Jensen just melts into him. He loves the feel of those muscles as they hold him; they’re reassuring, as well as being hot as fuck.

They eventually stop kissing and get washed, then dry themselves off in a comfortable silence. Misha’s hair is sticking up at all angles, and Jensen tries to tame it… but not too much. He’s described as having ‘sex hair’ for a reason, after all.

“I think in the future, we should stick to getting wet in the normal way,” Misha chuckles, as he gestures towards the shower, before grimacing at the pile of clothes on the floor.

Jensen couldn’t agree more, although he isn’t going to complain about what came after… not for one second. “You got it, Mish. Next time we’ll get straight in the shower.”

Yes… today might have been the end of an era for the show, but there would definitely be a next time for them.

[kpop-zone]

By your side | Irene

Warnings: physical injuries

Genre: angst, fluff

Wordcount: 2,575

Request: I'd like to request an Irene scenario where the reader gets hospitalized because of a car accident and it's all a little angsty at first but gets really fluffy at the end

Irene was completely focused. In less than an hour, Red Velvet would take the stage to perform in front of 20,000 people as part of their arena tour in Japan. Nevertheless, she couldn’t turn off her instincts. She could feel that the staff was behaving weird around her. They would talk completely normal with the other members, but as soon as she joined the conversation, they sheepishly looked to the floor and rushed to leave.

She tried to not think about it too much. She couldn’t allow herself to get distracted. She needed to be 100% concentrated in order to give the perfect show. But when even her makeup artist, who normally chatted with her relentlessly, was all quiet, she had enough.

“Ya, unnie. What is wrong with all of you?”

She had a stern look on her face and the staff around her seemed to be even more intimidated than before.

“Is someone going to say something?”

Irene turned around to look directly into her makeup artist’s eyes who instantly wanted to flee the scene, but Irene grabbed her jacket to hold her back.

“Joohyun-ah, we’re not allowed to talk about it.”

Ashamed her makeup artist looked to the floor and Irene let go of her jacket in confusion.

“Talk about what?”

She was completely puzzled. But everyone avoided to look at her, so she decided to search for her members to ask them if they knew why the staff was avoiding them.

But when she entered the dressing room, her members were sitting in a circle, hectically whispering with each other before completely falling silent when Irene entered the room.

“Are you ignoring me too?”

Irene was clearly upset now. She didn’t like to be left out.

“I’m not leaving until one of you tells me what is going on.”

Sternly she shifted her gaze from one member to the other with her hands on her hips.

All of them looked at each other with guilt in their eyes, but Irene fixed her gaze on Seulgi because she knew that she broke the easiest. Nervously Seulgi tried to look everywhere but at Irene, but eventually their gazes met and Seulgi let out a shaky breath.

“Unnie, I think it’s better if you don’t know...”

Normally Irene would have been grateful for the concern, but the fact that everyone seemed to know something but her, made her extremely frustrated.

“I’m an adult. I think, I can decide myself what I want to know and what not.”

Helplessly Seulgi looked at Seungwan who sighted loudly.

“Joohyun-ah, I think it’s better if you sit down for this.”

Confused Irene sat down beside her and Yeri immediately laid her hand on her leader’s hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Questioningly Irene looked back at Seungwan.

“You have to promise me to not freak out. We will get the concert over with and then we can take care of the rest.”

Seungwan sounded as serious as never before and concern washed over Irene. She nodded her head hardly visible, too anxious to speak out loud.

Seungwan looked at the other members one last time, who all nodded before she took a deep breath.

“Y/N is in the hospital.”

She simply stated, looking for Irene’s reaction. But Irene just stared blankly at her. This couldn’t be true. They all must have agreed on a very tacky joke. She chuckled lightly.

“What?”

She asked almost snippy and Seungwan started to stroke her back.

“The hospital called our manager, because Y/N listed your company phone number as emergency contact. Y/N was involved in a car accident. We don’t know the details, but apparently another driver ran a red light, hitting Y/N’s car right in the driver’s side.”

Irene started zoning out. You had been involved in a car accident? In her head pictures of you streaming with blood popped up and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. The other members spoke to her, but Irene just stared at them, not being able to understand what they were saying.

“H-how bad is it?”

Irene stammered and all the member’s fell silent. She immediately got the sign. It had to be bad.

A sob left her throat and Irene covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the arms of her member’s wrapping around her.

The door of the dressing room opened, however, revealing their manager.

“It’s time to finish up girls. It’s showtime in 15 minutes.”

With concern in his eyes, his look lingered on Irene, but the manager chose to let the members settle this between them.

“Ok, let’s get you ready.”

Sooyung tried to sound as enthusiastically as possible, clapping her hands one time before standing up to get some makeup removing wipes.

Irene knew that she had to pull herself together now. She had a group to lead and fans to satisfy. She tried as best as possible to choke back her emotions, only losing a few tears while the girls touched up her makeup. But the pictures of you sitting  lifelessly in your car didn’t leave her mind.

Seulgi and Yeri took her hands while they walked to the stage and Seungwan gave her a last encouraging nod before they let themselves be revealed to the audience. The ReVeluvs went wild, but today Irene could feel no joy at their excited chants. She forced a smile on her lips, but not even that seemed authentic, so she focused on not starting to cry instead.

Her movements were tired and between the songs, Irene had to take deep breaths to gain back her composure. But all she could think about was you laying in a hospital bed. Alone. Hurt. Was someone with you? Were you suffering? A tear spilled down her cheek again during their performance of Psycho. She just prayed that the concert was over soon.

-

You didn’t remember a lot. You remembered driving, when suddenly bright lights appeared to your left and a second later there was deafening noise, before everything went quiet. You lost your conscious due to the collision. Since then you had been drifting in and out of consciousness. You remembered the firefighter that had to cut you out of your car, because your door was too dented to open.

The next thing you saw were two other pair of eyes hovering above you, asking you to stay awake. And you tried to, but the force pulling you back into the nothingness was too strong. You could hear the sirens of the ambulance getting quieter and quieter, before you could hear nothing at all anymore. After that you were jolted awake by a wave of pain shooting through your body. You ripped your eyes open in panic, seeing lights flying past your eyes above you. You assumed that you had arrived in the hospital.

The doctor leaned above you, telling you something about fixing you before pressing a mask into your face and you drifted off to sleep again. You could not remember what happened afterwards. Now, however, you heard an annoying beeping, but your eyelids still felt so heavy. You wanted to lift your left hand to your face, but you grunted in pain instead.

You suddenly realized how sore your body felt. It was feeling like it was on fire. Collecting all your strength, you finally managed to open your eyes, instantly being blinded by all the light surrounding you. Everything was white. This definitely wasn’t your bedroom, meaning that you hadn’t been dreaming. Looking down on yourself, you could see that your left side was covered up in bandages and casts everywhere. Every movement hurt.

The narcotics still hadn’t left your body completely. You felt tired and so cold. The bed next to you in the room was empty and a wave of loneliness washed over you. Tears started to stream down your face. Why did this had to happen to you? You just wanted to go home.

Suddenly the door to your room was opened, but it didn’t reveal the person that you wanted to see. Because you knew that she was hundreds of miles apart from you. Instead, it was a cheery looking man that seemed to be your doctor.

“Oh good, you’re awake. How are we feeling?”

He sounded way to cheerful, but you didn’t want to be rude, so you tried to smile back.

“Awesome.”

You tried to chuckle, but instead, a fit of coughs left your throat, because your chest felt like exploding from the pressure caused by your laugh.

“Easy there. Do you know what happened?”

He asked you and you were glad that you actually did, meaning that you didn’t have any head injuries.

“Yes. I had a car accident.”

Your voice sounded hoarse and more awful than usual.

“Excellent! Apparently, you didn’t suffer from any memory losses. You will still have to stay in the hospital for a while though. Your lower arm is fractured, you have a lung rupture and some nasty contusions and swellings.”

That sounded fantastic, you thought sarcastically.

“You won’t have any permanent damages though, but your body is going to need a while to heal. Is there anyone you would like us to call for you? Any family or friends? Your emergency contact of course has already been informed.”

You didn’t know whether you should cry or be relieved because of his words, but what you did know, was that you needed to contact your girlfriend as quick as possible. She was on tour right now, meaning that she did have enough on her plate even without your accident. You needed to calm her down.

Internally you cursed the hospital for calling Irene in the first place. You wished that you could keep it a secret from her, so she didn’t need to worry. But it was already too late for that.

“Could I call someone?”

You asked panicked, knowing that she was probably dying of worries.

“Of course, you’re in a hospital, not a prison. Your phone is in the bag on your nightstand. Its screen is cracked but I’m pretty sure that it still works. The nurses will check in on you in a few minutes.”

The doctor smiled at you before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Hastily you pulled out your phone, dialing Irene and anxiously waiting for her to pick up.

“Come on. Pick up.”

You mumbled to yourself, but you didn’t get through. You remembered that she had a concert today. She probably couldn’t pick up her phone.

-

Irene was nervously tapping her foot. She had left the arena right after the concert, not attending any fan meetings. This would probably cause rumors, but she didn’t care. Everyone had probably already figured out that something was wrong because of her miserable performance.

She was sitting in the first flight back to Korea, making it clear to her managers that she had no intention to stay any minute longer. She had attended the concert out of respect for the already waiting fans and her members, but she didn’t care if she would miss the next concerts. All she needed to do, was to be by your side.

As soon as the plane landed, she sprinted to her driver. Gladly no one had expected her to return yet, so only a few fansites and photographers spotted her. But she didn’t bother to pose for the pictures. She immediately got into the car, letting herself be driven to the hospital.

She had already wasted enough time. You had been alone in the hospital for several hours now. She couldn’t imagine how awful that had to be. With no distraction whatsoever, completely focused on all your pain.

The woman at the reception was staring at her in shock and Irene almost yelled at her, because she wasn’t telling her where your room was because she was so starstruck. But Irene pulled herself together, asking a second time politely, immediately sprinting down the hall after the lady had told her your room number.

Realizing that you might be sleeping, she silently opened the door, slipping inside of the room without catching your attention. Although you were covered with a blanket, she could see the many wounds you had. She assumed that your arm must be broken, because it was resting in a cast on your stomach and you face had several cuts and bruises. Irene tiptoed to your bed, thinking you were asleep, because your head was turned to the side.

But when she came closer, she saw that your eyes were open and that tears were streaming down your face.

“Y/N?”

She asked barely above a whisper and you turned your head in shock. As soon as you had taken in Irene’s figured, a loud sob left your throat and she lunged forward to carefully wrap her arms around you.

“Sh... It’s ok. I’m here now.”

Irene tried to calm you, because she could feel your body shaking in her arms.

“I felt so alone.”

You stuttered between sobs and Irene felt a twinge in her heart.

“I’m here now. And I’m not going to leave.”

She assured you while stroking your back and kissing the crown of your head.

It needed a while for your shaking body to calm down, but eventually you pulled back, apparently being able to finally think clearly again.

“Joohyun... What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on tour!”

You exclaimed with wide eyes, but Irene just smiled softly, stroking your hair out of your face.

“The only place, I’m supposed to be, is by your side.”

Irene could see that you were about to protest, so she put her finger on your lips.

“You don’t have to worry about me. Your main concern should be to get healthy as quickly as possible. And I will help you as best as I can. I will talk to my managers. There are only two concerts left. The girls can manage those without me.”

She had already figured everything out. Therefore, she didn’t want to discuss with you. Of course, you wanted to disagree, because you didn’t want to be a burden. But you could never be a burden for Irene. She knew that she couldn’t focus anyways during the concerts while knowing that you were fighting your injuries without any help.

Silencing your objections before they could even leave your mouth, Irene pressed her lips on yours, softly putting her hand on your cheek. It didn’t take long till you accepted your defeat, opening your mouth to let Irene guide your kiss. The first smile of the day played on your lips once Irene pulled away and she was glad that you didn’t seem to be in too much pain.

“You know that I’m going to have to kill that other driver.”

Irene said with a stern face and you had to laugh, although it more resembled heavy breathing.

“Stop, I can’t laugh.”

You pouted and Irene covered her mouth with her hand in shock. It wasn’t her intention to hurt you more. But at the sight of your girlfriend, you had to laugh even more.

Irene squeezed into the bed beside you and you spent the rest of the time  chatting until both of you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. Your eyes fluttered close first and Irene softly drew the outlines of your face with her fingertips. She smiled to herself, knowing that she had made the right decision. There wasn’t any place on earth where she would rather be than here.

By your side.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer

Episode 5- Defrosting

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: So nothing like the possibly one time love of your life being hurt to make you realise that actually, you might just care a little bit… Episode Warnings: Bad Language words.

Episode Pairings:  Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark (The Ice Queen is thawing…)

Song for Episode:  For What It’s Worth by Liam Gallagher

A/N: This entire series contains dark humour (CSI + Brooklyn 99=CSI Steeb) Avengers and Stark Spangled Banner Easter Eggs and jokes. You don’t need to have read the SSB series to understand or enjoy this, but we’ve used the Universe to spin this off from so somethings might puzzle a few of you if you ain’t, but feel free to ask.

Also, our knowledge of American Policing and Brooklyn is limited, so bear with us if we slip up, but at the end of the day this is a fiction so we’ll claim any mistakes as creative license!!

As always we live for re-blogs and comments  

CSI Rogers and Barnes Master List 

Main Masterlist 

“I’m so sorry for your loss…” Bucky bowed his head as he stood next to Steve’s mom.

She dropped her eyes to the floor taking a deep breath.

“I’m alive, jerk.” Steve shot back from where he lay on the hospital bed.

“I was talking about the car, punk.” Bucky shrugged “Or the beard. Man you look like 12 years old without it.” “Not like I had a choice.” Steve grimaced pointing to the line of stitches in the corner of his mouth “And is my car really totalled?” Bucky grimaced and nodded “Fraid it looks that way.” “Shit.”

“Language.” Sarah looked at her son. “Steve, it’s just a heap of metal…”

“No, no bad move, he loved that metal.” Bucky shook his head.

“He should be grateful he is getting away wit cuts and bruising.” Sarah narrowed her eyes “Could have been a hell of a lot worse, he’s been in an out of consciousness for almost 5 hours! I mean what was that idiot doing running the light?”

“It happens Ma.” Steve said gently “He’ll get dealt with.” He rubbed his shoulder which felt a little stiff and then looked up as the Doctor that had been looking after him returned.

“Ok Mr Rogers…your recent scan results show there’s nothing going on with your brain…” Bucky sniggered and Sarah slapped him around the back of the head. “Owww.” he said, reaching up to rub at his hair.

“So if you have someone at home with you, I’m happy you can be discharged.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him for the rest of the evening” Bucky nodded. The Doctor smiled and set about sorting out the forms and in a little while they were making their way, albeit slowly, out of the hospital.

Steve was grateful to his ma and Bucky for getting him home. Once his mother had stopped fussing as much as she could do she finally left with the promise of returning in a few hours and Steve went straight to his bed after popping a few painkillers. He was lucky, it was bruising more than anything, and a few stitches to his face where the glass from the car windows had cut him but all in all nothing too drastic.

He couldn’t help but think back to the last time he’d been injured enough to land him in hospital. They’d been on a drugs bust down town and had gotten separated, and thanks to a catastrophic coms failure he had been ambushed by 6 of the gang at once. He’d managed to get the upper hand at one point until someone had crashed him straight round the back of the head with a piece of wood. Thankfully, it hadn’t been too serious and Katie, Natasha and Clint had stormed in a few seconds later and it was all locked down. Katie had been by his side in the hospital for hours until Peggy had turned up and dismissed her, rather curtly actually. Katie had bitten her tongue and simply left with no fuss, and he and Peggy had ended up having a huge argument.

“I’m your girlfriend, Steven, not her.” Peggy crossed her arms and glared at him as she sat in the chair. “It’s ridiculous how much she hangs around you.” “Peggy, for god’s sake.” he groaned “She came in the ambulance with me!”

“Why not Clint, or Natasha?”

“Oh, you know what, I don’t want to do this now. My head hurts and, well, frankly I’m sick of having the same discussion. She’s my best friend.” “She wants to be more than your friend Steve.” Peggy sighed “Ever since her and Ward split she’s been hanging around like a bad smell.” “She needs support.” Steve shook his head

“She has a brother and god knows how many friends.” Peggy shook her head “But you were the one she called to help her kick Grant out, you changed all her locks…”

“Peg, she’s hurting, and I’m not gonna turn my back on her. She wouldn’t do it to me.” “Bet she can’t wait to get me out of the way.” Peggy sniffed, pursing her lips. “Soon as I’m off to London you mark my words…” “Oh stop being ridiculous.” Steve closed his eyes “Katie wouldn’t do that. And I wouldn’t do it to you either, you know that.” Oh the irony. In the end it had been Peggy that had done it to him. She’d departed to London for the 6 month placement, and they’d both agreed to stay together, what was 6 months after all when you wanted to spend the rest of your life with someone and they wanted to spend the rest of theirs with you?  

Or you thought they did. Less than a month later he had received the message, telling him that it wasn’t working, that she thought he was a burden and a tie to a life she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore. He’d tried calling, even debated getting a flight over to speak to her face to face but she’d point blank refused to even consider it, telling him if he turned up she wouldn’t see him.

So it had ended and he and Katie had navigated their heartbreak together. In bars, taking weekend trips upstate, hiking…anything that took their mind off things. And he dare say now, in hindsight, that it had brought them even closer. He understood now that he and Peggy were never going to make it. They were too different. Peggy was practical, realistic, stoic in every area of her life whereas Steve, whilst all those things when he needed to be, also had a softer side, showed his emotions, wore his heart on his sleeve.

Like Katie.

Breaking up with Peggy at the time had killed Steve, but now he realised that it was for the best. But he also knew that it had really tainted his views of relationships in general, even almost a year or so down the line. And the only person he had been close to since he had pushed away.

With a groan he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes, thankfully the codeine did its job and he slipped into a dreamless, painless sleep.

****

“Guys…” Bucky said loudly over the chatter in the briefing room. Everyone turned their attention to the front and he noticed a few puzzled glances. It wasn’t unusual for a Sergeant to take the mid-morning briefing in any other Precinct, but it was unusual in the 101. Steve liked to see his troops in the morning, he felt it was only fair. “Captain Rogers won’t be in today, and probably not for a little while. He was involved in a car accident last night and…” “An accident?” Wanda spluttered out. “Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. The car that hit his wasn’t travelling that fast it just unfortunately hit the driver’s side. They checked him over at the hospital and decided he was good to go home late last night, or earlier this morning even. Few cuts and bruises, no doubt some injured pride and his car most certainly isn’t ok but…he’s good, just needs to rest.” He couldn’t help but glance at Katie who was looking down at the table as she bit at her thumbnail. Her brow was furrowed and he could see in her face she was concerned but trying not to show it. Bucky didn’t say anything, simply carved up the duties. Whilst the murder investigation was taking most of the resource, there were still the other crimes to cope with and as such he ended up sending Clintasha to go and speak to the victim of a mugging. But for him and Stark, the morning was slow, real slow. She had already called through to Peralta and arranged for them both to head over there the next morning once he had been able to pull the files from the archive but until they didn’t have much else to go on.

“I just hope looking at the old case throws something up.” Katie said, looking at him “Because if not, we’re dead in the water. No leads, nothing…”

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow.” Bucky said. “Look, why don’t you finish for the day? There’s really nothing we can do now.”

“I just got a few bits to tidy up and then I might do, thanks.” she looked back at her screen.

Bucky kept one eye on her as he continued clearing the admin from his inbox, and he could see that she was grappling with something.

“Have you errr…spoken to Captain Rogers?” she asked a few minutes later. Smiling to himself, Bucky looked up.

“Careful, Stark!” Bucky smiled “You almost sound like you care.”

She scowled, “I’m not a completely heartless bitch.”

“I never said you were…”

“Just because I hate him doesn’t mean I want him hurt…”

At that, Bucky almost fist pumped the air when he realised that actually this could work in Steve’s favour somewhat.

“You don’t hate him.” he said, matter of factly, looking at Katie. “You hate what he did, but you don’t hate him. And that’s what you find so hard to take about this entire situation.”

She paused, open mouthed for a moment, before she snapped her jaw shut and folded her arms, glaring at him. “What are you my therapist now?”

“No, just someone who the pair of you are starting to really piss off…” he sighed and ran a hand dramatically through his hair “Did you ever stop to consider exactly why Steve did what he did?” “Because he’s an ass hole.” Katie said, “He got what he wanted and then…”

“You and I both know that’s bullshit doll face.” Bucky said “He’s never been one for one night stands. Had a few at Uni but, well, frankly he always told me he hated it, but that’s not the point…the point is he cared about you…”

“Funny way of showing it…” “…and he did what he did because he thought, in his stupid pea brain, that it was for the best.” “The best?” Katie snorted “he thought bailing on me, and ghosting me was for the best?” “If you two had made a go of things, one of you would have had to move, and it would most likely have been you because Captain vacancies are harder to find…” “Yeah, I kinda figured that we’d have to do something about the chain of command, but, for fucks sake, I was contemplating going to DC…we could have sorted this, made it work!”

“I get it, I do…but this is Steve we’re talking about!” Bucky chuckled with affection, he was a dumbass but he was still his best friend. “The guy is an idiot when it comes to women and very rarely lets his heart rule his head…but with you he did. And that shows me just how much you mean to him.”

Katie looked down at her hands, her fingers were twisting around one another. After a little while she looked up and shook her head “That doesn’t make what he did ok.” “No, and I’m not trying to make excuses for him.” Bucky said gently “Just trying to give you the explanation you’re not allowing him to give to you himself.”

Katie turned away from him and wiped at her eyes. Bucky was tactful enough to look away whilst she composed herself.

“If you wanna go and check in on him I know he’d appreciate it.” he said, sowing the seeds of the idea in her mind. “Just think about it.”

She shrugged, but there was a definite softer expression on her face as she turned back to her computer.

About half an hour later Bucky came back from the bathroom to find her gone. Tacked to his monitor was a post-it note.

“Thought about it…thanks Buck.” “Don’t blow it Punk…” he mumbled to himself as he re-read the note before scrunching it up and throwing it in the bin, a huge smile playing on his face as he laced his fingers behind his head, swinging his feet up onto his desk.

“What you looking so smug about?” Natasha asked and he looked over to see he was being watched by her and Clint.

“Well…” he said, leaning back in his chair “Seems that the stupid Punk getting t-boned made Katie realise that she actually still cares about him. So Phase 1 of ‘Operation Cap’n Crunch and Special K” is officially underway. Time to prepare Phase 2 Romanoff.”

“Wait, Phase 1 was getting someone to T-bone him?” Natasha looked at Bucky, her mouth open.

“What?” Bucky frowned as Barton looked at him.

“That’s just sick man…” Clint pointed at him before he frowned and looked at Nat “hang on, what plan?” “Oh after I spoke to her yesterday, I talked to Serge and we decided that we’re fed up of the pair of them moping around and pretend hating each other, when they’re both blatantly still head over heels despite their protestations to the contrary.” Nat shrugged “So we came up with a 3 step plan, of which the first phase, I thought, was simply making them talk…”

“Yeah, and I was gonna lock them in a cupboard or his office until they agreed to do so but hey, I’m all for grabbing the moment, right? This worked a treat” Bucky said, grinning at them both.

“So what’s Phase 2?” Clint asked. Natasha arched an eyebrow and grinned at him.

“Wait and see Barton, wait and see.”

Clint blinked, looked at Natasha who now had a devilish grin spreading across her face an then back to Bucky who was smirking into his coffee cup.

“Man I love you guys!” Clint said with a small laugh as he leaned back in his chair.  

***** “Ma for the last time stop fussing…” Steve looked at his mom as she set a mug of coffee down on the table in front of him.

“I’m your mother, Steven…” she looked at him. “It’s my job to fuss. Now, what do you fancy for dinner?” He was just about to tell her he was capable of dialling a pizza when he heard the key in the lock and glanced at his watch, frowning. It was early for Bucky to be home.

“Buck?” he questioned. But the reply wasn’t what he was expecting, or who he was expecting for that matter.

“No, it’s errr, me.”

Steve looked at his mother whose face had lit up at the sound of Katie’s voice and he pushed himself up of the sofa, hissing a the bite of pain in his side and turned to see her stepping nervously into the living room.

“How did…” he asked and she looked at him, sheepishly, holding up her keys.

“Never did give it you back.” she said softly. He watched as her eyes travelled over the bruising and cuts on his face and her brow furrowed somewhat as she swallowed thickly and continued “Thought you might have changed the locks, you know like you did for me when I threw Grant out.” “Not really the same thing.” he said with a soft smile. “But I’m surprised you kept it.” “It was on my keyring.” she said, shrugging “I kinda forgot about it, should have mailed it to you or something…” Steve could tell that wasn’t the truth. There’s no way she would have forgotten about it, but he didn’t pick her up on her white lie. The fact she had kept it made him slightly hopeful she wasn’t quite as ready to give up on him as she made out.

“Hi Sarah…” she said in a small voice, her gaze turning to his ma.

“Oh my little star…” Sarah hurried over to give her a warm hug before she held her at arms length “Let me look at you…I love the hair!” “It’s grown a little.” Katie smiled, running her hand through her hair, the longer side was now an inch or so below her chin.

“How have you been?” Sarah pressed.

“Oh, you know…” she shrugged “Ok.”

Sarah smiled at her and then over at Steve before she nodded. “Well I was just about to head out to the store to pick something up for tonight.” “Ma, I told you…” “And I told you to shut up.” She shot him a look “Does carbonara suit?”

Steve sighed “Yeah, that’s great…” “Ok, so, I’ll be back in a little while…” she said, rushing for her purse.

“Hang on I’ll get my wallet…” Steve made to move and she shook her head

“I don’t want or need your money.” she said sternly. Again he rolled his eyes and noticed a smile on Katie’s face.

His ma made to hug her again “If you’re not here when I get back, you best stop by some time…oh, did he give you your pie the other night?”

“He did and it was amazing as always!” Katie smiled, giving her another hug “And I will, I promise.” With that his mom left them alone, and once the door was shut Katie turned back to him and looked him up and down as she raised an eyebrow “You look like you got in a fight with a bus.” “Not quite, it was a chevvy Blazer.” he said, chuckling slightly at her joke.

“How are you feeling?” “I’m ok, just a bit sore. Be fine in a few days.” She nodded “Ok, well, that’s all I wanted to check…when Bucky said you’d been hurt I just…” she trailed off, taking a deep breath before she sighed, “God why is this so awkward?”

Steve gave her a soft smile “Because I fucked it up?” She gave a soft huff of a laugh.

“Do you want a drink?” he offered “Ma just made a fresh pot of coffee so…” “I err, I don’t…” she looked at her watch, biting her lip. Steve could tell she was searching for a reason to say no so he decided to put her out of her misery.

“It’s fine, honestly.” he said, “You don’t have to make excuses not to stay. I appreciate you popping in.” She licked her lips and looked at him, her green eyes searching his before she smiled softly “Coffee’s great, you stay where you are. I’ll get it.”

“Everything’s in the same place…” he said softly and she nodded. But she didn’t move straight away. Instead he noticed her eyes flickering to the space by the TV where the photo of the two of them used to be.

“It’s in the bedroom.” he said. She looked at him, blushing slightly that she’d been caught but didn’t try and deny what she’d been thinking.

“I’m not gonna lie, my copy is in a drawer.” she replied quietly “I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away but…” She swallowed and headed into the kitchen. He slowly sat back down and he heard her clinking about before she emerged with a mug. She placed it on the coffee table, removing her keys and phone from her pocket before she tossed those just to the left of her mug and took a seat on the sofa, picking up her drink and cradling it in both hands, the way she always did when she was seeking comfort.

“Has the station fallen to pieces yet?” Steve asked and she snorted.

“Not quite.” she smiled “To be honest it’s a bit slow. Oh, erm, I’m going to see Peralta tomorrow with Bucky, dig through the files on the old rape case. I know it’s just a hunch but something feels off.” “Well your instincts have never failed you before.” Steve smiled gently.

She smiled and shrugged “Who knows?” “Stop it.” Steve said.

“Stop what?” She frowned

“Doubting yourself.”

“I’m not.” “Yes you are I can tell. You always do it.” “No I don’t.” Steve chuckled and then winced at the pain in his side “Yes you do. And you’ve no reason to. You’re a damned good detective.”

She took a sip from her drink and looked down before she opened her mouth as if to say something but then closed it. She took a deep breath and swallowed, her eyes remaining on the floor.

“Use your words Doll.” he said, softly.

“I don’t want another argument.” she said quietly. “It doesn’t matter…” “Katie.”  he urged, his voice almost stern.

“I just… “ she licked her lips “I was just thinking that, well, I can’t remember the last time we did this, you know, drank coffee in your lounge.” “I can tell you exactly when it was.” he said “It was the morning of the Christmas party. About 12 hours before I sent everything sideways.”

She looked at him, before she looked away and Steve felt a pang in his chest that was totally unrelated to his accident. He yearned for her, longed for the way things used to be before he’d fucked it all up.

“I never thought you would be the man that I cried myself to sleep over.” she said so quietly he almost missed it.

As she placed the mug back on the coffee table Steve took a shaky breath “It wasn’t easy for me either you know?” he looked at her, blinking back his own tears “I hurt too.” “Yes but you did it to yourself Steve!” she said, running her hands over her face

“You think I don’t know that?” he said, his voice a little louder “If I could change it, go back and do it differently I would but I can’t…”

“Bucky told me why you did it, that it was your stupid idea of being noble.” she cut him off, her voice soft as she shook her head “Frankly I’ve never heard anything as ridiculous in my life…all that stuff and panic about getting involved in someone in your chain of command…Steve, I had had feelings for you for a long time before that, do you think for one second that I never considered what it would mean? Fuck, I’d just told you I was considering the DC move, I’d have been well out of your chain then!”

“I should have talked to you, I get that…I do” he pressed “I was an idiot and I panicked and then I didn’t want anything to stop you moving or getting in your way and tying you back here..”

“You thought I’d do a Peggy?” she looked at him, frowning, as if she was understanding something for the first time, which in fairness she probably was. “That I’d move and things would end”

He didn’t reply, he knew that one look in his eyes would be enough to tell her. She always knew.

“Steve, what Peggy did was cruel. The way she left and then ended it, calling you a burden and a tie she didn’t need…I’d never have done that.”

“I know.” he said softly “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” She shook her head before she spoke again, her voice cracking slightly. “You know what the worst thing about all this is?”

One look at her was enough to tell him she was struggling to keep herself controlled, he could see from the way her chest was heaving and she was stuttering for words.

“I can’t hate you.” she shrugged “No matter how much I try, and believe me I tried, I just can’t. I wanted so hard not to care when Bucky told me you’d been hurt, but all I could think about was making sure you were ok.”

She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath as her tears began to fall. She looked up and he saw her before him, as utterly broken as he had ever seen her. Her face crumpled and she stuttered to him. “I miss you. I miss my best friend.” With that he felt a tear slide out of his own eye and he moved from his chair onto the sofa besides her, pulling her to him, ignoring the aches and pains in his battered body. She didn’t shy away, instead she pressed her face into his chest, her arms linking round his waist at the back as his hands gently slid up and down her back, soothing her as he had done so many times before.

“I’m sorry.” he managed to stutter “I really am…I never wanted to hurt you sweetheart, I swear…”

He pulled her tighter to him and then instantly winced as the pain in his ribs. She pulled back straight away and looked at him.

“Steve…”

He felt a little light headed then, and it must have shown as she frowned a little.

“Hey, you look really pale.” she said, concern etched across her pretty face “Don’t pass out on me…” “I’m fine, honestly…” he protested. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I errr…” he shrugged, scrunching his eyes shut. “Yesterday, some point. Mac and Cheese.” “You made Mac and Cheese?” she said as a twitch in the corner of her mouth grew into a small smile. “Sorta, well, opened the box…”

“Mac and cheese, from a box.” the smile went and she looked horrified “Steven that is disgusting. I showed you like a million times how to make it properly.” “Yeah well it never comes out as well as yours so…” he blinked again and took a deep breath. No, he definitely felt dizzy.

“You need to lie down.” she said, standing up.

“I’m fine…” he protested, but she wasn’t fooled. She never was fooled by his bullshit. “Stop being a stubborn asshole and do as you’re told.” she said sternly as she grabbed a throw cushion and positioned it against the arm of the sofa. “Go on.” she patted it gently and he slowly moved himself backwards, laying his head where she told him.

“Just need to close my eyes for a moment…” he muttered, and he did.

************

Steve blinked and stirred a bit. He was tired and his ribcage ached. He opened one of his eyes and saw Katie sitting on the armchair beside the couch, her shoes discarded and her legs tucked underneath her as she was reading something on her phone. A warm feeling filled his chest and he closed his eye and smiled at the thought that she was still there, looking after him, keeping him company even though he was sure she’d rather be anywhere else. She had said earlier she had missed him, she had missed her best friend. If only they could go back to the way they were. He was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of keys in the door before it opened, shut and his mother’s shoes tapped down the hallway.

“Shhhh” he heard and opened one eye again, ever so slightly, to see Katie moving her right index finger to her lips and pointing her head at him, where he lay on the couch holding onto a yellow cushion for dear life.

“Is he asleep?” Sarah asked in a hushed voice.

“Apparently” Katie answered, and he didn’t miss the fond look she shot his way. “He was feeling dizzy and I forced him to lie down and rest. I didn’t want to leave him alone so I thought I’d wait for you or Bucky to come back.” she added as if trying to excuse herself for being there.

“Good. Thanks for looking after him.” the old woman smiled at her fondly. And then Steve decided he should make them aware he was awake.

“I wasn’t dizzy.” Steve suddenly said with a hoarse voice.  He rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up so fast all his body was in pain and he grimaced again.

“Steven!” Sarah scolded him. “Be careful, love. Have you taken your painkillers?”

“Yes ma.” he answered. “Took them before you left.”

She nodded and smiled at her son and then turned to Katie “And you, my dear, are having Carbonara with us this evening?”

"Sarah, I don’t want….” Katie started but Sarah cut her off.

“I wasn’t asking Star.” she said “It’s the least I can do after you looked after this mad driver I have for a son. Besides, you’re helping me fix it, we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Wait Ma! I’ll help you with those” Steve said as his mother turned to head for the kitchen, taking a shopping bag in each hand.

“No. Stay put. I’m perfectly able to do it myself, Stevie. You rest until dinner’s ready.” she refused her son’s offer.    

Katie stood up and sighed. “I’ll better go help her.” she said before smiling at him and ruffling the hair on the top of his head softly, and God that was a balm to his soul. Such a familiar action she had done so many times before, but yet never had it felt so significant as it did then. The ghost of a grin threatened to spread on his face at her show of affection but it was quickly turned into a grimace as she tugged on the longer locks at the top of his head.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed and Katie, who was heading for the kitchen turned to look at him and grinned.

“Serves you well for letting them shave you.”      

“I was kind of unconscious so I didn’t have much of a choice” he looked at her “And besides, they had to stitch my lip.” he shrugged innocently.

“Whatever.” she said over her shoulder walking towards the kitchen.

Steve leant against the back of the sofa, closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Was it him or was the ice queen beginning to thaw?

He must have dozed off again, but that stupid grin was clearly on his face as he was jerked back to the here and now by another voice about 15 minutes later.

“Are you high?” he heard Bucky ask him. Steve opened his eyes to see a smug smile on his friend’s face who was examining the packet of painkillers the doctors had prescribed him.    

“Jerk.”

“I love you too, honey.” Bucky grinned at him and frowned when he heard the two female laughs coming from the kitchen.

“Is that…?” Bucky asked squinting his eyes at Steve and he nodded.

“She came by this afternoon. Ma invited her for dinner.” he said.

“Well, this is getting interesting.” Bucky smirked, tossing the packet of painkillers down onto the table “Very interesting indeed.”

Steve didn’t miss the cunning smile on his friend’s face as he turned and headed for the kitchen.

“Buck.” Steve warned him, but Bucky was already gone. He came back a few minutes later drinking a beer and sat sprawled on the armchair beside the couch and Steve cast a longing look at the bottle.

“Don’t even think of it.” he said mocking Steve’s captain voice “You’re not allowed to drink a single drop of alcohol on those things.”

Steve groaned took the TV remote and started channel-hopping until he found a film that caught his attention.

“Why does Superman wear a cape? I don’t get it. What’s with making superheroes look like idiots with those spangly tight outfits?” Bucky began to rant but Steve ignored him.

Bucky side eyed him for a moment, before he smirked to himself. “Sooo. I guess you and your girl are on better terms now, seeing as she still hasn’t torn your head off.”

“She’s not…”

“Your girl. Hmmm, yet you wanted to punch me in the face for buying her lunch.” Bucky finished for him. “You’re smiling, just saying pal.” he added pointing at him with his beer bottle before turning to the TV screen again. But as he gave Steve another side glance, he could see the blonde was smiling again.

Twenty minutes later Katie emerged from the kitchen cleaning her hands with a tea towel.

“Dinner will be ready in five, so move your asses and help me lay the table.” she said standing in front of the TV screen, hands on the buckle of her belt.

“Yes, Mrs. Captain.” Bucky sat up mocking a salute.

Kate shot him a glare and both turned to watch as Steve was struggling to stand up from the couch with a pained expression to no avail.

“Here, hold on to us.” Bucky offered reaching one of his arms out for Steve to hold at the same time Katie approached the coach and offered hers. But they couldn’t lift his weight.

“Come on, man. Are you on our team?” Bucky asked between gritted teeth.

“Just represent. Pull!” Steve bit back.  And with that they were able to lift the Captain’s weight and haul him upright.

“Are you ok? Are you still dizzy?” Katie asked Steve while she rubbed his arm.

“I’m fine, doll. Thanks.”

Bucky flinched waiting for Katie’s outburst at the pet name, but when nothing came he just raised an eyebrow at the pair but they were too busy looking at one another to notice him. He just smiled, shaking his head. He had to remember to text Romanoff later.

“Ok, pal. Lean on me, I’ll walk you to the dining room.” Bucky said ducking under Steve’s armpit and putting his friend arm over his shoulder while holding his waist with his free hand. “We are your sidekicks after all.”

“Yeah, just like Mulder and Scully you two.” Steve scoffed.

“Thought it was Cagney and Lacey?” Katie, who was walking ahead of them, turned to quip.

Soon after the table was ready and Sarah had finished fixing a salad to go with the Carbonara. She passed the bowl to Katie who placed it at the centre of the table and all four sat to enjoy the food. But as Bucky was about to take a breadstick Sarah slapped his hand.

“What’s with people slapping my hands?” Bucky protested

“Have you washed your hands, young man?” Sarah asked.  "God only knows where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

“Or who.” Katie muttered under his breath and shared a smile with Steve who was sitting opposite her. He grinned back.

“Yes, I did ma'am.” Bucky answered, taking the breadstick from the bread basket and biting it unceremoniously.

“Are you going to tell us where you’ve been all day?” Steve asked looking at him while he helped himself to some salad.

“Playing Captain Dickhead.” he quipped.

Sarah, who had just stood up to go find a pitcher of water, smacked him on the back of his head.

“Language!” the old lady said and Katie couldn’t help but snigger.

“Ouch!” Bucky dropped the fork on the plate and rubbed the back of his head as he looked at Steve “Doing your job, buddy. Which I must say I did beautifully.” he added with a smug smile.

“Well, he didn’t burn the station down.” Katie shrugged.

“Chasing the bad guys. Looking after your herd.” Bucky continued.

“We’re not goats.” Katie scoffed.

“That is debatable, honey.” Bucky said pointing at her with his fork and Steve smiled at the bickering between the two. “And I met a friend later.” he added casually.

“Oh, anyone nice?” Sarah asked excitedly as she returned with the water.

“Don’t encourage him Ma.” Steve shook his head.

“You could say that.” he looked at Sarah smiling before adding “Name’s Sammy, we’re not a thing yet.”

Steve saw Katie stop eating and try to catch Bucky’s eye but he was avoiding her purposefully. After a second or two she gave in and stood up.

“I’ll fetch the Carbonara, pass me your plates.” she said holding out her hand at Bucky and looking at him intently. He shot her another passive look, but there was a faint tinge of red in his cheeks and as Steve watched Katie smirked, knowingly, before she collected the other plates.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Sarah said to Katie as she headed to the kitchen. “And James, make sure you treat your dame right.” he said looking at him before raising an eyebrow at her son.

“Will do.” Bucky said looking at the woman at the same time he reached for his water glass.

“You’re not a thing? Yet?” Steve asked Bucky leaning an arm on the back of the chair to look at him directly.

“Nope.” he replied, not wanting to go into many details.

“But you could be?”

Bucky shrugged.

“What are you waiting for?” Katie asked placing a pasta plate in front of Sarah.

“Just leave him alone.” Sarah said patting Katie’s hand. Katie shrugged and dropped another plate in front of Bucky before returning for her and Steve’s.

“Thifif delishos” Bucky grunted with his mouth full of food.

“Thank you, I guess. Did you mean the food was delicious?” Sarah laughed and Bucky nodded.

“It is good, thanks.” Steve said, nodding appreciatively.

“It should be after feeding on mac and cheese from a box. Did you know that?” Katie asked Sarah, who nodded resigned and shook her head.

“What’s wrong with box mac and cheese?” Bucky looked up.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s disgusting!” Katie said, affronted.

“Katie cooks the best Mac and cheese you’d ever taste.” Steve told Bucky before he shot her a wink as he refilled her glass with water.

“Thanks, Stevie.” she smiled back softly.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin. “STEVIE?”  he mouthed to Sarah who nodded at him, smiling knowingly.

For Steve it was like he had been taken back to before everything went wrong. Sitting with his Mom, Katie, eating dinner…with the addition of Bucky this time. It was nice. The 4 of them ate, chatting, there was no arguing, no frosty moments. Ok, it wasn’t as easy as it had been once upon a time but still, this was progress. And he wasn’t taking it for granted.

Eventually his mother announced it was late and that she should be going. Much to Steve’s disappointment, Katie checked her watch and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll walk down with you Sarah.” Katie said “Tony’s already bitching about me treating his place like a hotel. If I’m much later home he’ll probably threaten to Ground me or something…”

Bucky and Steve both sniggered as Sarah looked at Katie.

“If he’s annoying you that much you can always come stay with me love.” she said and Katie grinned.

“You’d feed me that much apple pie and banana bread I’d be the size of a house.” “Well you do look like you need feeding up….have you been eating properly in DC?” “Ma stop it.” Steve sighed as Katie laughed.

“I’m promise you I eat as much now as I always have.” she assured the woman as they both stood up. “As you’ve just seen. I look like I’m having a food baby.”

Bucky and Steve both rose along with them, Bucky hugging Katie whilst Steve gave his mom a squeeze.

“Don’t blow this…” she hissed into his ear.

“I’ll try not to.” he replied gently.

She stepped back and Steve turned to Katie. Bucky and Sarah were tactful enough to move away to the door, talking loudly to give them some space.

“Think the polar ice caps are melting…” Bucky mumbled to Sarah who smiled as she watched Katie slip her arms round Steve’s waist.

“None so blind as those who will not see.” Sarah mused back.

“Aint that the truth…” Bucky said.

As her arms connected at the base of his back, the familiar fit of her body against his made Steve close his eyes as he gently hugged her back, dropping an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head as he always had done.

“Thank you.” he said softly, “for coming round and…” “It’s ok.” she said, she stepped back and licked her lips and took a deep breath “Look, Steve, I can’t promise everything can go back to like it was before but…maybe we can move forward right?”

“Forward’s good for me doll.” he assured her.

She smiled and turned towards the door. “See you tomorrow Bucky.” “Yeah later Doll Face…” he said to her retreating back.

The two men watched as she paused momentarily, took a deep breath before she held up her right hand and flipped him off over her shoulder, without so much as a look back.

Bucky let out a bark of a laugh and Steve chuckled as the door shut.

@the-omni-princess  @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld  @cobalt-gear  @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13  @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie  @navispalace @patzammit  @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @djeniiscorner  @ayamenimthiriel  @coldmuffinbanditshoe  @disneylovingal @madzmilllz  @sgtjaamesbaarnes​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @southerngracela​ @goldenfightergir​ @kellymat​ @official-and-unstable-satan​ @charmed-asylum​ @pagesoflauren​

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader -”What Death Tastes Like”

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 2      Part 3      Part 4      Part 5

“Hi daddy,” Emma enters the kitchen and you follow, immediately greeting The Joker.

“Hello Mister J.”

“Pumpkin,” he acknowledges his daughter. “Miss Crane,” he growls at your presence and you can’t help it:

“I like your purple shirt Mister J; makes you look ravishing.”

“Oh yeah?” he scoffs, used to the 22 year old throwing this kind of stuff his way on a regular basis.

“Definitely!” you approach and point at his can of grape juice. “Can I take a sip?”

“Since when you like grape juice?’ The Clown Prince of Crime frowns but hands over the container anyway.

“I don’t,” you taste the sweet liquid and continue: “I just wanted to touch something your lips touched.”

“That’s a new one!” he rolls his eyes and snatches back his drink while Emma closes the fridge in a hurry, appalled you always flirt with her father.

“Keep her on a leash!” J advises his offspring and you snicker as she pushes you out of the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you say those things to him!” Emma gives you a nudge on the hallway, amused and horrified in the same time. “He could be your dad!”

“But he’s not,” you wink, dodging her grip. “He could be my daddy though!”

“You shameless jerk!!” she laughs and starts chasing you. “How dare you??!!”

“He’s really hot for being 40-ish!” the enthusiastic Y/N teases more, speeding up so she won’t get caught. “I’m going to marry him and I’ll be your step mom. You’ll have to call me mommy!”

“Whaaaattt??!!” Emma shouts and The King of Gotham shakes his head because he can still perceive your aberrations: the truth is he’s uncertain if that’s all they are, thus the dilemma J doesn’t care to solve regardless.

You quickly run into Emma bedroom and snatch a pillow in order to protect yourself from her attack.

“I love your dad!” you grin and she keeps relentlessly hitting you with her fluffy cushion, annoyed:

“I hate you!! I totally hate you!!!”

You suddenly start coughing and your best friend halts her rampage, concerned.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Where’s your med?”

You pull the vial out of your jean’s pocket and she opens it while your cough intensifies; Emma fingers tremble at the sight of blood stains on the palm of your hand.

“Here, take this. Two?”

“Y-yes,” you struggle to talk and swallow the tablets, finding it difficult to calm down without the remedy you failed to ingest earlier before the worse happened.

“Come’ere,” she carefully sits you on the bed and begins wiping the red spots off your skin with a clean tissue. “There you go… Deep breaths, OK?” the young woman urges on the verge of crying: although she’s used to your episodes, she can’t cope with the thought of losing her best friend.

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; she didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late.

“Better?” Emma analyzes your face and you can tell how upset she is, that’s why you try to distract her the best way you know how.

“Is your dad wearing a new cologne?”

“Huh?”

“He smells sooooo good, I swear I get this uncontrollable desire to kiss him all over,” you cough a bit more and she slaps your thigh, outraged.

“Would you stop it???!!!”

“I think he’ll miss me when I’m gone,” you playfully giggle. “Who else would flirt with an old man in his 40’s?!”

“Stupid girl…” Emma’s voice quivers since she doesn’t like to be reminded you’ll leave her. You both are silent for a few moments before she gathers the strength to continue the planned evening.

“I’m going to prepare you a nice, warm bath, then we’ll tag along with my dad at his Neon Devil club, alright?” she pouts and you don’t have the heart to admit you don’t feel like going out anymore.

“Sure… … sounds perfect,” you sigh and underline. “Only if I can spend some time alone with Mister Joker in the VIP section.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Emma concludes and you won’t quit.

“I didn’t say anything bad, you’re the perv for thinking indecencies regarding a man and a woman…alone… in the luscious VIP room… a few drinks… music blasting… attractiveness mooing to be unleashed…”

“Mooing???” she burst out laughing, forgetting she was about to admonish on your crazy ideas…again.

“Yup, mooing…” you proclaim with delight. “It’s a very sexy term, won’t you agree? … … Sexy like your dad!” you immediately blur out and stomp towards the bathroom while she hunts you down with the only purpose of shutting down the outpour of nonsense flowing out of you.

***************

Neon Devil Club, 10:36pm

“Are you going to dance?” Emma’s red cheeks pop up next to you.

“No, not tonight. Don’t worry, I’m having fun!” you point at the two empty cocktail glasses in front of you, still working on your third one. “I think I might call it a night soon, I’m tired.”

“OK, Y/N. Let me know when, we’ll both go!” she yells over the deafening tune.

“Stay and have fun, I can get a ride!” you glare at The Joker sitting at the bar a few inches away from you, totally absorbed by his text messages.

“Are you sure?” Emma hesitates and you poke J’s arm in order to get his attention.

He finally looks up and his daughter pleads:

“Daddy, can you take Y/N back to our house when she’s ready? I want her to be there when I return, this way we can gossip after the wild intercourse I’m gonna have with one of these lucky guys!”

The Clown Prince of Crime stares at her, displeased with the comments.

“Hilarious,” he growls and she jumps up and down, excited to see Bane’s son in the crowd.

“Don’t get mad, daddy!” she pecks his cheek. “I’m joking… Maybe…” Emma chuckles at his grumpiness and you are proud of her achievement in mocking the forever serious Joker: despite the nickname, the green haired menace is not the epitome of joyfulness.

“Are you supposed to have alcohol with the medications you’re taking?” he gestures at your cocktail.

“Nope,” you serenely confess and guzzle down more. “I’m a burden to my father and he doesn’t even know it,” you sniffle and J senses something strange about your affirmation. “He locks himself in the lab for days, researching on ways to overcome my terminal cancer. Did you know Evelyn left him two weeks ago?” you ask and The King feels cornered; you’re probably tipsy and in mood to chat while he’s not. “She’s perfect for him and he let her go… He would ignore her for days, immersed in his ridiculous project of saving me. The amazing Doctor Crane can’t take the hint this is a battle he won’t win. I made peace with what’s happening to me, but he can’t...,” you wave at the bartender for another glass. “Why won’t my father accept the inevitable outcome?” the pain in your tone prompts J to mutter:

“He just tries to postpone the inevitable.”

“I’m grateful for his help,” you ramble on. “I take remedies he makes for me and it’s nice to avoid the traditional chemo and losing my hair. I don’t look like I’m dying, correct? If you wouldn’t weren’t aware of my illness, you couldn’t tell, right?”

“Yes,” The impatient Joker signals the bartender to halt mixing your fresh drink; in his opinion you had enough.

“I got my test results this morning, “ you disclose, pouting. “They’re bad…” Y/N inhales the rest of her liquid courage and taps on the marble counter, disappointed at her own statement. “Did you ever taste death?” the weird question makes him taunt.

“Naahhh.”

“This is what it tastes like,” the heartbroken Y/N softly kisses The Joker and his remark hurts more than her disappointing routine evaluation:

“Strawberry margarita?”

You hop off your high chair so fast he realizes you’re flustered; it was the first time you kissed him, not that kind of kiss anyway and he completely dismissed your candor in the worst possible way.  

“Can we go please?” you intensely glare at your sandals and J opts out of attempting to patch up his callous reply; possibly the best decision regarding these circumstances simply because it doesn’t affect him at all.

“Sure, we can bail,” he grumbles and escorts you out of the club, wondering if you are done talking about matters of no importance to him.

****************

The master bedroom is cracked opened and you knock until The Joker bothers to acknowledge your existence.

“What is it?”

You sneak inside, adamant to request a tiny favor.

“Can I watch TV in here?”

“Why?” he wiggles in the middle of his bed, certainly not thrilled at your proposal.

“I won’t inconvenience you, ok?” you evade his inquiry and still being a bit tipsy briefly aids your plan; your drag your feet to the humongous mattress, then slip inside the purple sheets at the edge of the bed. “You know… If I would have lived longer, I bet you would have married me,” you gaze at the man relaxing close to your body.

The Joker nonexistent eyebrows go up so high it’s possibly a new record: why did Emma have to stay at the club instead of distracting you from whatever the hell this is?!

“We would have had at least 4 kids…” you continue your story. “ I’m young so every two years I could have been convinced to get pregnant; we would have had a small army of little Jokers and Y/Ns… I picked a few names already, would you like to hear them?”

“NO!!” he sucks on his teeth, irritated.

“Hmm…” you get discouraged yet it doesn’t last. “ You would have died at 65…”

“Why would I die at 65?!” J interrupts and his interest gives you a boost of much needed confidence.

“Car accident; you’re a shitty driver,” you lift your shoulders up, instantly correcting your sentence. “I meant reckless.”

The Clown Prince of Crime huffs and the fact that he engaged into this monologue of yours hopefully suggests he won’t chase you away until you finish.

“After your demise I would have mourned you for a decent amount of months, then I would have remarried a guy my age, this way I’m not in any danger of becoming a widow for the second time. I would obviously have our children too so not to worry, I would have survived without you.”

“Awesome, I was anxious you won’t overcome the grief,” his sassiness triggers your approval.

“Indeed; yet I have to warn you: if you ever cheated on me, I would have asked my father to create a special virus to obliterate you from the face of the planet!”

“Why are you shouting?!” The Joker scratches his chin, confused about your attitude.

“Sorry,” you take it down a notch. “I always get emotional when I think about this part…”

“Is this soap opera of yours almost done?” the impatience emerges; I suppose you tested his composure enough.

“I really like you,” you cut off his vexation. “You should be happy a young woman would crave an older man in his 40’s or 50’s,” you snort while adding to his growing restlessness.

“I think it’s time for you and the alcohol in your system to take a nap!” J hints at your departure and you abruptly bring it up since he’s basically throwing you out:

“Do you like me? You never get mad or chase me when I flirt with you…” you scoot over and cuddle next to him.

“What are you doing?!” J gets pissed at your boldness.

“I’m cold,“ you lie without a problem and he’s done with the dumb night he had to put up with so far.

“Get out!” The King of Gotham snaps and his sudden aggressiveness throws you off.

“I want to stay and watch TV; I promise I’ll be super quiet from now on. Cross my heart and hope to die!” you smile and your silly pun doesn’t have the outcome you hoped for.

“You know why I indulge a shallow brat’s idiotic flirting?!” he raises his voice and you shrivel because you realize he won’t utter anything nice at this point. “Who wouldn’t feel sorry for a walking corpse, hm? Despite what people think, I’m not that insensitive!”

You gulp and slowly roll out of bed, trying not to cry in front of him; you don’t remember sensing a stronger pain in your life, not even after you got sick.

“You’re so mean, “ you whisper and can’t stop the first tears streaming down your face. “I wouldn’t have married you anyway,” you rush out of the master bedroom and The Joker reprises his movie, undisturbed at the events he created out of spite.

“Fuck…” he mumbles when it hits: Emma will chew him alive if she finds about his behavior; would you mention this to her? Or she would guess something went wrong if you depart from the mansion when she asked you to stay? The only person that counts is bound to make him rethink his awful actions; his daughter wouldn’t forgive him unless he patches up things. Might as well get it over with before he lands in hotter waters.

“Uggghhhh,” The Joker puckers his lips and contemplates his choices: not too many, thus he ends up in front of your bedroom 10 minutes after the fight.

He can discern your sobbing and opens the door without knocking because another human’s privacy is simply not his issue. You are standing by the windows and turn towards him, mad you didn’t lock the entrance.

“Your company is required in the master bedroom,” J elaborates on the subject and Y/N’s silence evokes a faint apology. “I don’t think you’re a walking corpse… … …”

No reaction.

“Come on, let’s watch TV in my room…”

“Why would you need a shallow brat’s idiotic company?” you blow your nose in a tissue and emphasize. “I don’t want your pity.”

“Crane’s a genius but the trait is clearly skipping a generation,” his way of attempting to restore the mood totally sucks. “It’s not pity.”

“What is it then?” you wipe your tears and he has no clue himself.

“Not…pity.”

Are you debating on his offer?

“Come on,” J grabs your hand and your resistance works a miracle nonetheless. “I’m sorry, alright? Not a word to Emma, deal? Or your dad, he would probably create a goddamned virus to exterminate me from this planet. Don’t laugh, it’s not funny,” he sulks, crabby at the idea of being killed for offending Scarecrow’s princess.

“I won’t…” you promise and you’re actually surprised when he lifts you up, guiding your legs around his waist.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want to… until Emma gets back,” The Joker recommends and you hide your astonishment the best way you can.

“Sleep like in dozing of or…?” you wish to determine and the response doesn’t fail to deepen the mystery:

“As I said, genius sometimes skips a generation.”

The King strolls out of the bedroom with Y/N clinging to him while he lifts her higher in his arms, closing his eyes when she kisses him.

And the only thing The Joker can think of for the moment is that if death tastes like this, it’s not the worst way to go.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[aseriesofunfortunatetexts]

I posted another chapter of the zombie fic! Now featuring Esmé, and her being surprisingly concerned for Kit.

You can also read it under the cut, if you want.

There’s a plume of pitch black smoke rising to the east, out in the forest. The color tells Kit that it’s still burning. She slows the taxi down to a stop and sits for a moment staring at it. She’s too late. She just hopes Charles got away before whatever happened went down.

Sir can burn for all she cares.

She knows she should continue onward to investigate, although that wasn’t her original mission. She ought to have something to show for her journey into the field, some information to bring back to Dewey at least, so he hasn’t been forced to worry about her for absolutely nothing. But the part of her that just wants to go back to headquarters argues that there will be very little left to investigate, with no firefighters on hand to combat the flames.

There’s a twinge in her gut and she immediately reaches down to touch the slight swell of her stomach. A kick? If so, it would be the first one. She’d hoped she’d be with Dewey when that milestone was reached, and that’s what helps her make up her mind. She’s writing off the mission and going to the hotel, mission be damned.

She’s just put the taxi in gear when she spots a figure on the side of the road out in the distance, walking towards her. She immediately reaches for her spyglass, hoping against hope that it might be Charles.

It isn’t. Not unless he started wearing black catsuits and elaborate blonde wigs. No, she knows who this is even though they’re too far away to make out their features.

Once again Kit is faced with a choice. She can drive up there, like her superiors definitely wouldn’t want her to do, or she can turn the taxi around and pretend like she never saw anything.

Weirdly enough the thought that crosses her mind in the last second before she shifts the taxi into gear and drives ahead is that Esmé is probably donning really impractical footwear with that outfit.

For a person who presumably just burned down a small town and a lumber mill, and fled on foot in boots with five-inch heels, Esmé looks good. Great even. When she recognizes Kit as the driver of the Snicket taxi she smiles wickedly and waves at her. Kit ignores the gesture and turns the cab around so it’s pointed back towards the City, then brings it to a stop. Esmé opens the passenger’s side door and slinks inside, making herself comfortable on the seat with a satisfied sigh. Finally she turns to Kit, “Hello, darling.”

Kit fixes her eyes on the road ahead and floors it, enjoying the way she is pressed back into the seat as the taxi lounges forwards almost as much as Esmé yelp of shock. The taxi gains speed at a much faster rate than you’d expect for a vehicle of its age, but Kit doesn’t let up until they’ve hit 100. It’s terribly irresponsible to be going this speed, even out here in the middle of nowhere, what with random Infected shambling all over the place, but Kit wants to get back to the City as fast as possible, so she can kick Esmé out somewhere relatively safe, and then return home.

Esmé takes a few miles to relax. “You’ve made your point,” she then says, tersely.

Kit doesn’t slow down. “Why did you do it?”

Esmé somehow shrugs without shrugging. “Orders.”

Kit bites down on a snide comment, realizing that she’s not really in a morally superior position this time. “Charles?” she asks, trying her hardest to sound uncaring.

Esmé gestures dismissively with one hand. “Didn’t see him.”

That’s not comforting in this world of theirs, but Kit still finds herself relaxing her press on the accelerator.

And she regrets this choice of action immediately when Esmé’s hand comes to rest on her knee. “It was very... noble of you to pick me up.” There’s an undeniable hint of mockery in her voice and nary a trace of genuine gratefulness. “Must have been a difficult decision.”

Kit doesn’t answer, but nor does she try to get Esmé hand off. Human touch is in short supply in this world, it despite everything it feels comforting. That obviously changes when Esmé inevitably starts sliding her hand up Kit’s leg, nails dragging along the fabric of her pants. Now would be the time to put a stop to this, but Kit is uncharacteristically frozen. Esmé reaches her thigh and then goes for the button of her pants.

Which is the moment her inner wrist comes in contact Kit’s stomach, and she immediately jerks her hand back as if she’d been burned. Kit doesn’t need to look at her to know Esmé is stunned, her temporary silence is enough.

Her hand darts out again, moving Kit’s jacket out of the way and exposing her middle.

“You’re pregnant?” she shrieks, loud enough for Kit to flinch. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“It wasn’t planned,” Kit replies tersely.

“You do realize there are ways to fix problems like this, right?” Esmé asks, voice still laden with disbelief.

The very thought makes Kit press harder on the accelerator as she is overwhelmed with emotion and finds no other outlet for them. She’s not going to cry in front of Esmé.

This time Esmé doesn’t react to the change in speed. “Who’s the father?”

Her gut instinct is to ignore the question, even though there’s really no reason to keep Dewey’s existence a secret anymore. What’s the other side going to do, kill him? There’s no reason, Dewey’s work no longer involves gathering evidence to put firestarters in jail, so why should they care that he’s alive and working?

“Dewey Denouement.”

“Dewey Denouement isn’t real,” Esmé says. “Or he’s dead.”

Kit sighs. “He’s real. And alive. And he’s the father.”

Esmé covers her eyes with one hand and sighs dramatically. “Immaculate conception would have been more understandable,” she asserts.

Kit doesn’t answer.

Esmé removes the hand again and out of the corner of her eye Kit can see her giving her a surprisingly serious look. “Does your side have any qualified doctors? Or a midwife?”

Kit frowns. “What?”

“Do you even know what the mortality rate is amongst women giving birth without professional help?” Esmé asks, sounding increasingly disturbed. “Imagine dying in childbirth during the apocalypse, that would be very not in, darling.”

“You still care about what’s ‘in’, do you?” Kit asks, because she doesn’t know how else to react to Esmé unexpected concern.

“Dying has rarely, if ever, been in,” Esmé says, then adds, “I’m serious. We have a couple of doctors who used to work at Heimlich Hospital in our ranks. They could help you, when the time comes.”

There should be something fundamentally wrong with considering letting some firestarter help her give birth, but Kit finds herself doing it anyway. Sure, almost all of her associates are trained in first aid, but there are no real doctors amongst them anymore. And while there are plenty of books on childbirth and care in their libraries, actual experience with the process must be vital.

Esmé must sense her wavering resolve, because she pops open the glovebox and fishes out Kit’s common place book (she still remembers that Kit keeps it there during missions, that’s almost flattering) and a pen, flipping it open and writing something down. “This is the address of one, he lives in the Free Zone, so unless you people are banned from entering the safest place in the world, you should be able to get to him.”

Kit almost tells her that, actually, all known VFD members have been banned from the City by the authorities, and they’ve had to create false identification papers by the hundreds and brush off even the oldest disguises to keep moving freely. Obviously the tunnels are still safe, and they will remain so no matter what, but sometimes you need access to the streets.

Esmé tosses the book back where she found it, “Please consider it. I would hate to see you dead.”

Kit feels tears threatening to form in her eyes again. She was never this emotional before she got pregnant. She takes a minute to compose herself, then speaks, “Thank you, Esmé.”

“You can thank me once you’ve safely delivered the ghost’s spawn and both of your made it.”

“Please don’t call my baby a ‘spawn’,” Kit says, but she finds herself smiling despite it all.

Esmé makes a dismissive sound, then asks, “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Kit replies.

“Is that a fact or a feeling?”

“Just a feeling.”

Esmé scoffs. “Typical. Got a name picked out yet?”

“Not yet.”

“How about Gigi?” Esmé asks. “As a show of gratitude for my help.”

“I’d rather not advertise your involvement,” Kit says. “If I can help it.”

She doesn’t need to look at Esmé to know she’s rolling her eyes. “You people are absurd, shouldn’t your safety be more important than anything?”

“I’m afraid some people will never accept it if I seek help from your side,” Kit says, and she knows it’s true.

“Then I guess we’ll just keep it between us, won’t we, darling? I can be discreet.” 

Kit lets out a bark of laughter, which morphs into a series of half-hysterical giggles. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she finally manages to say.

Esmé doesn’t sound offended when she replies, “You forget, I’m a very good actress.”

There’s no denying that. Hell, if it weren’t for Jacques, Esmé would be married to Jerome by now, and they wouldn’t have the penthouse, the last safe place in the City for them.

Actually, Kit can’t help but gloat a little at the thought. “Too bad about Jerome,” she says.

Esmé waves her hand casually through the air. “Easy come, easy go,” she declares breezily. “He was a terrible, cowardly little man anyway.”

Kit feels unexpectedly defensive of her brother’s lover all of the sudden. “He is a kind, generous, well-meaning man.”

“Exactly. It’s incredibly pathetic.”

Kit decides not to argue any further, and the irony of doing that during a conversation about Jerome isn’t lost on her. “Where should I drop you off?”

“The edge of Zone 3 would be nice,” Esmé answers. Then she leans further back in her seat and sighs. “Wake me up when we get there.”

Kit finds herself feeling sad at the apparent end to their conversation, but she doesn’t want to appear desperate to talk with someone other than her associates, so she floors it and lets Esmé doze. Burning things down can be tiring. She knows from personal experience.