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chaotic-iguana · 10 months

Note

Javi p x reader where ummm uhhh he is gone for long trip (post Columbia, where they’re on the ranch and his new job occasionally has to travel) and reader wears his clothes bc they miss him/clothes smell like him and javi comes home early to reader in his clothes and he’s like oh my goddd ur sooo cute and he just scoops reader up and idk it is cute

yes. this is the prompt. thank you anon sending you forehead kisses for life.

Away

Summary: Javier’s gone on a trip, and you just can’t help but miss him. lots of fluff. im a SLAVE for soft javi negl.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Pairing: Javier Peña x female! reader

Warnings: just a lot of domestic fluff and a little angst. some kissing and slightly suggestive language towards the end. also a little bit of swearing too. let me know if this works, anon!

masterlist. ao3.

part 2

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Even the coffee didn’t taste the same when he wasn’t here. Laredo had been perfect, a much required (and welcome) change in pace after Colombia. You’d met Javi working as an assistant of the Ambassador, practically detesting him at first.

He’d sauntered into your office, batted his lashes at you (no, seriously), complimented your nails, and just oh-so-casually asked you to get him some paperwork he had absolutely no business looking at. So you’d just clicked your pretty nails (his words) in his face and told him to get the fuck out and come back when you’ve got your head out of your ass.

Two weeks later, he’d just shown up again - sheepish, with proper coffee as a bribe this time - and asked for ten minutes with your boss. Impressed by his newly-discovered manners, you’d gotten him twenty minutes with the guy and helped sway him into authorizing a mission the Ambassador normally wouldn’t even have looked at.

The next morning, there’d been flowers on your desk with a little note scrawled in chickenscratch. Thank you, hermosa. Sorry for being an ass last time. I like the new nails too, maybe you could show them to me up close sometime? You’d exaggeratedly rolled your eyes and thrown the note in the trash, of course, but you couldn’t quite keep the grin off your face that whole week. Nor the week after that, when he took you out, and you did, in fact, give him a fully immersive tactileexperience of that new set of acrylics you’d gotten before the note.

Soon, the arrangement evolved from just sex to practically living together. You never spoke about it; Javi just had a closet in your home and his toothbrush in your bathroom. You went out for anniversary dinners without calling them anniversary dinners; flowers and coffee kept mysteriously showing up at your desk; and his informants started getting paid more and fucked less. By the time Javi left the DEA for good, you both had spent too many years by each other’s sides to change the routine. So the apartment was packed up, tickets to Laredo were brought, and you’d just followed him down here.

It was like just breathing Laredo air was enough to change the man. He’d asked you to marry him practically a week after you met Chucho, who had welcomed you with open arms. Obviously, you said yes, and you lived happily ever. Or as close to it as you could get with his work stealing him away most of the time. It made you laugh, the way you were still waiting on him to come back from his trips - but atleast they weren’t to Bogota anymore; your heart stuck in your throat the whole time he was away because what if he didn’t come back?

No, now that fear had long-faded - and though it flared up at times - a pathetic yearning took its place. Instead of being worried about Javi, you missed him when he was gone, counting down the days like a kid at summer camp waiting to go home. And in a way, you were waiting for your home too.

You loved Chucho, and Laredo, and your new job and all the comforts life had given you here, but the apartment just felt cold and empty when Javi wasn’t next to you. Waking you up with slow, languid kisses in the morning, laughing when you grumbled and rolled over - only to tickle you awake, instead. That cocky grin he got when he realised you were too short to reach something, coming up behind you to pull it down and immediately kissing your forehead because of course you were struggling and of course you were too stubborn to ask him for help. The tough poker face he put on before making one of those witty quips that made you laugh until there were tears in your eyes and you couldn’t stop giggling because it was so ridiculous.

His laugh, his kisses, his smell and his warmth - you missed all of it so fucking much - but you’d never so much as indicate that to him, of course. It was something you’d promised yourself back when the two of you were just a newly-transferred secretary and a DEA agent who might have happened to be in the same bar a few too many times on weekends; you never wanted to make it harder for him to leave, to make him feel like he had to choose between you and his job.

Today, you felt his lack of presence a bit more than normal; it was a day off and you had nothing to do. You and Javi would have spent half the day lounging on the couch and watching terrible movies, taking turns to put on quirky voices for scathing commentaries, ordered takeout and gotten into bed. To either sleep like the dead or get no sleep at all, depending on the mood.

You could go out, but you just didn’t want to meet people right now. You’d had dinner with Chucho a few days ago, which meant you couldn’t just show up at the ranch unannounced and say you’re bored, either. Not that he would mind, but he’d spent the day showing you how to make tamales and that had understandably thrown his work schedule off a bit and you didn’t want to make it worse.

So you showered and pulled out one of Javi’s sleep shirts and boxers, reveling in their comfort before curling up on the bed. You were flicking through the channels, bored out of your mind, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Cariño? It’s me.” The second his voice came from the other side, you were stumbling across the room to unlock the door and wrench it open. Beaming, you barely got to look at him before he was bursting through, throwing his bag down and he’d just scooped you up into his arms with practiced ease.

Walking you to the bed, he set you down gently before manoevring you both so that you were in his lap. Tugging at the hem of his shirt, his smile widened. “What’s this, hm?” A teasing tone crept into his voice as you flushed and looked away, biting your lip. You didn’t show affection easily, and you’d never worn any of his shirts before - scared of coming off as too needy, too clingy - even when you were married to the man, for god’s sake.

Watching you blush, Javi tilted your chin to make you look at him as his lips twisted into a smirk, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your face and giving you reprieve only when you squealed, pushing at his chest while giggling uncontrollably. “Did you miss me, honey?” Your shy nod just made him chuckle, gripping your chin to pull you into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. “You’re fuckin’ adorable, you know that? Walking around wearing my clothes when I’m not around - refusing to admit you missed me when I heard you trip on your way to the door.” The twinkle in his eye is only getting brighter with each word, and you’re struggling to meet his eye by the end of it. You knew he found it amusing - the fact that your usually foul-mouthed, unyielding nature; the woman who hadclicked her nails in his fucking face the first time they’d met - melted away to become all shy and flustered, just for him.

“Don’t laugh” you huff, burying your face in his neck to avoid meeting his eye because that was honestly just making your blush deeper. He just snickers again, the asshole, before kissing your forehead and mumbling softly.

“‘Course not, sweetheart. Hated being away, y’know? ‘N then I got home, and you just looked so cute in my shirt dwarfing you that I jus’ couldn’t help myself.” You leaned back, with a teasing grin of your own.

“Couldn’t help yourself? Sounds like you’ve gotta make up for laughing at your poor wife now, Mr Peña.” You peered up at him through your lashes, watching him catch on with widened eyes before fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and pulling it over his head, hurling it to the floor next to him.

“Come on then, wife. Let’s make amends, huh?”

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings

#narcos fanfiction #narcos #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fluff #javi peña x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena imagines #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña fluff #javier peña imagine #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x female reader #cool-iguana

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jedijesi · 7 months

Text

Caught in the Cat's Web Chapter 8

Miguel O'Hara x Felicia Hardy! Reader

Previous Chapter 🕸️ Series Masterlist

Warnings: SMUTTY, Fluff, she/her pronouns

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Miguel and Felicia become busy with mission and trying to keep their affair a secret.

Co-Author: @stclairesplace

Life had undeniably gotten busy for Miguel as he, LYLA, and Jessica investigated the Vault break-in. This meant he had only been able to see Felicia a few times in passing. Days were long and nights were restless for Miguel. He missed exploring Felicia's body with his lips and hands, missed the way she teased him, the way she'd get so passionate when upset.

Felicia also couldn't help but miss bickering with Miguel until his eyes turned that sexy shade of red or watching him strut around the Spider Society with such intensity. A month ago, Felicia would have been over the moon to find out she didn't have to see Miguel for a whole 12 days, but now, she dreads it. The only good thing to come out of this was that Felicia was finally able to go back home now that she had her new suit and watch.

New York, Earth-192

The window creaked as Felicia opened it, gracefully slipping inside. Once she found herself in the comforting embrace of her bedroom, she casually tossed her mask onto the bed. A quick touch to the spider emblem on her chest initiated the process of removing her sleek black suit. Now in her underwear, she sauntered over to the kitchen, hunger gnawing at her after the mission's exertion.

Felicia yanked open the refrigerator door, her curious eyes scanning the contents. The fridge held nothing more than a motley collection of condiments and a carton of oat milk that might have seen better days.

She leaned against the cool kitchen counter, a sigh escaping her lips. Eventually, she decided it was time to return to Nueva York after her week-long absence. Swiftly, she changed into her lacy black underwear, harboring a glimmer of hope that she might get lucky with Miguel.

Nueva York, Earth-928

"Felicia!" Margo and Julia cheer at their table in the cafeteria, waving her over. "Come here! It's been forever!"

"Hey," Felicia said with a sheepish smile as she slid into the seat next to Julia. "Sorry, I haven't been around recently." She casually reached over and swiped a forkful of side salad from Julia's tray, earning an amused scolding from her friend.

"Did Miguel scare you out of Nueva York too?" Margo says with a giggle.

"Something like that..." Felicia mumbles as she shoves in a bite.

Margo raises an eyebrow curiously, sensing that there might be more to Felicia's story. "Oh? Do tell! Did you two get into a nasty fight again?" she prompts, genuinely interested in their drama.

"A lady never tells," she says with a smirk. "Imma head out, I'll catch you two later," Felicia says as she slips out of the booth seat.

As Felicia wandered the halls of the penthouse wing, a hand suddenly reached out to grab her arm. Startled, she swiftly turned back, only to be met with the sight of none other than Peter Parker. Without hesitation, she yanked her arm out of his grasp and, with her free hand, delivered a swift punch to his jaw.

"Ouch! Fuck! Again?" He curses as he cradles his throbbing jaw.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Heat enveloped her body as anger coursed through her.

"I work here, remember?" Peter snaps. "I'm the one who got you in here, don't forget that!"

"What do you want, Peter?" She spits out.

"You've been ignoring my calls."

Felicia scoffs in his face, "I blocked you months ago."

"Yeah, but that never stopped you before." He shrugs. "You stopped meeting at our spot."

"I told you, it's over! No more booty calls, no more late-night chats, nothing! I don't want anything to do with you," Felicia declared as she turned around, her voice firm and resolute. She was about to storm off when Peter couldn't hold back any longer.

"Oh, I see how it is!" Peter's tone was laced with a seething anger, his words simmering with resentment. "You used me to infiltrate the Spider Society!"

Typically, Felicia would dismiss such a claim, but this time it struck a nerve with her, causing her to come to an abrupt halt. "Excuse me?"

She gives Peter the opportunity to backtrack, instead, he puffs his chest to speak wholeheartedly. "You used me like the manipulative bitch you are!"

"You, have no fucking right to accuse me! You wanted me to join all this in the first place. You're the one that wanted me to change! Don't you think for one god damned second that I used you just to 'infiltrate' the Spider Society! I have finally found people here who actually like me for who I am and my skills. I'm not just a late-night fuck to make themselves feel like a better man. So you can just crawl back into your pathetic little hole, that you like to call your girlfriend, and drop dead!" She stormed off, leaving Peter to stand alone, his face scoffed in anger, and his eyes full of rage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Felicia approaches the door of Miguel's penthouse, she skillfully employs the EMPs embedded in her claws to disrupt the door's security, causing it to hiss open effortlessly for her. Inside, she heads directly to Miguel's well-stocked pantry and fridge, rummaging for a quick snack to appease her growling stomach.

After satisfying her hunger, Felicia decides it's time to wash the day's grime away. She heads to the bathroom, turning on the water for a long, hot shower. The soothing cascades of water wash away the sweat and dirt, leaving her feeling refreshed, revitalized, and smelling like Miguel.

Dressed in nothing but a towel wrapped around her, Felicia proceeds to rummage through Miguel's closet for a suitable change of clothing and to be her nosey self. She selects an old sweater, paired with her lacy black underwear, before doing a twirl in the mirror.

Meanwhile, Miguel made his way back to the penthouse, completely exhausted from today's work. He felt like every Spider-Person known to man had needed him for something today, on top of all the paperwork, supervising, and three different missions that he was needed for today. The man was purely exhausted. The door to the penthouse slid open, and Miguel made his way to his couch. He let his body drop onto the couch, running his fingers through his hair and over his face in pure exhaustion.

"Hey there, stranger," Felicia emerged from his room, slowly sauntering down the stairs toward Miguel on the couch. Miguel looked over at the sound of her voice and watched as she made her way over to him, now standing directly in front of him. It took him little time to notice that all she wore was nothing but an older shirt of his, practically cascading down her body like an oversized dress. The tip of her hip barely showed above the pair of black lacy underwear she was wearing. Miguel sat back to fully take in the view.

"Do I even want to know how you managed to get into my apartment?" he asked with a knowing smile. She pretended to ponder her answer for a moment, looking up as if the answer were written across the ceiling. She looked back down at him, a wide smile spreading across her face, as she shook her head 'no'.

Felicia took notice of how tired he actually looked and decided to take a seat by straddling Miguel's lap. Her fingers started to rub smoothing scratches along his scalp, sending his head lolling back onto the couch.

"What's troubling my Spider today?" The possessive nickname causes Miguel's cock to jump with excitement.

"Just a... long day today." He frowns.

Felicia nods in understanding before her famous crocodile smile makes its way across her lips. "If there was only some kind of way to help my Big Spider feel better, I would do it in a heartbeat... that is if he asked nicely." She teases, grinding onto his lap just enough to make his hands grip tightly onto her waist.

Miguel leans up from the couch, arms now fully wrapped around her body, and says nothing, but sweetly and desperately kisses her. Felicia smiles from the sweet sentiment, before sliding herself off his waist, grabbing his hands in an assist to pull him off the couch. He follows her movements, gradually standing up and following her as she walks him back into the bedroom, his eyes never once leaving her eyes as they walk. She enters the room first, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the bed as she looks up at him seductively. He lets go of their hands and instead places them onto the edges of her shirt, slowly lifting the material, and exposing her breasts. His warm palm presses against them softly, as his thumb rubs soft circles against the feel of her soft skin.

Felicia sighs longingly at the feeling of his hand touching her body, before suddenly climbing backwards onto his bed. She leans back laying her head on the plush pillows, her legs spread out in order to make room for the large man to enter, or rather her large man.

Miguel follows her lead, placing a knee right in between her thighs, slowly placing his elbows on either side of her head. He leans down to her, his lips only inches away from touching hers. He softly kisses her on the tip of her nose, before finally connecting his lips to hers in a long-awaited kiss.

"You look so perfect under me, Hermosa." Miguel groans as he leans down for another kiss.

Felicia slowly brings her hands up from the bed, making her way over his suit as he slowly kisses her more and more with each passing second. She starts at his hips tracing up to his belly button, before placing a flat palm against his stomach, reveling in the feel of his abs with how they stretch and move with each breath he takes.

Miguel's cock twitches at the feeling of Felicia's fingers wandering his body. The slow, sensual kissing, quickly heats up at a faster pace. Felicia can't seem to get enough of him, and Miguel can't seem to get enough of her. She starts to feel the all too familiar heat between her legs, now needing more of the friction he was giving her before. She starts to slowly grind herself onto his knee, still resting in between her legs, her toes curling in anticipation and want, even more with need.

"You're so wet for me, baby." Miguel moans into her lips.

Miguel pulls away suddenly, causing the woman beneath him to let out a groan of protest. She quickly stops as she watches his suit retract, revealing his chiseled body. Quickly Miguel returns to Felicia's lips, only for a short few kisses before reaching down to pull her shirt above her head as well. Their bodies are both hot to the touch the more they grind on one another, their kissing turns more feverish as they can now touch and feel each other's heated skin.

Miguels suddenly moves his kisses down her body. He kisses her chin, making his way down to her neck softly sucking onto the skin there. He smiles into it when he feels Felicia start to stretch her neck for him for better access. He leaves her neck, moving down to hover over the black lacy bra she wears, pushing her breasts together as if perfectly made for his eyes only. He kisses the tops of each of her breasts, then traces his lips along her stomach in feathery light kisses, before finally reaching his destination of the matching cotton panties she wore. He kisses his way around her panties and travels along the inside of her thighs with his lips. Felicia now sits up slightly in anticipation, her breaths shallow, Miguel taking pride in how her breasts move up and down with each impatient breath she takes.

"I need you." Miguel moans as he tosses her panties across the room, and returns to grind his cock into her pussy. "Fuck." He pants, throwing Felicia's bra across the room.

"Miguel, I need it," Felicia whines, the feeling of his lips on her neck, making her even more wet.

Felicia gasps, causing Miguel to turn around, finding LYLA floating next to them. He panics, throwing the duvet over their naked bodies. "LYLA!" He growls. "What are you doing!"

LYLA stands there unfazed. "Is this sex?"

"It was about to be." Felicia rolls her eyes playfully.

Meanwhile, Miguel doesn't take the interruption as well as Felicia. "LYLA it better be an emergency or I'm powering you down!"

"Not an emergency, per se, Margo Kess and a few other spider-people in the lab had a bit of a malfunction when testing some Vault security systems. I handled the disaster!" LYLA quickly added, knowing grumpy Miguel wouldn't take it well. "They'd like your input and it could help with the investigation."

Miguel groans before commanding his suit to pixilate over his naked form. "I'm sorry, Felicia, rain check?"

"Of course." She says with a seductive wink, watching Miguel stand from the bed.

"So... are you two... together?" A grin begins to appear on LYLA's face.

Felicia looks to Miguel to respond. "Taking it slow." The blue and red mask looks to Felicia for reassurance. "So... Yes. We are. Just keep it under wraps or I will delete your code." He threatens.

LYLA chuckles to herself, knowing full well how big of a hypocrite Miguel is. "Yeah, Yeah, it's a secret. I won't lecture you on why this is wrong."

Miguel heads for the bedroom door to leave before stopping and running back to Felicia. His mask disappears as he pulls Felicia in for one last passionate kiss. "I'll be back to finish what we started, gatita." He whispers against her lips.

Holding the duvet up to her chest to help keep some modesty, Felicia smiles softly as she watches Miguel rush out of the bedroom, engaged in a heated exchange with LYLA.

"Have you two had sex before? Wait- do you do it a lot? Oh my god- How long have you two been having sex for?" Felicia chucks as LYLA interrogates Miguel through the penthouse.

"ENOUGH LYLA!"

Chapter 9

A/N: LMK what u think! I love reading your comments they make my day!

Taglist: @leahnicole1219 @oscarissac2099

#jedi jesi #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x reader #stclairesplace #miguel ohara x female reader #miguel x reader #felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy reader #spider-man x black cat #spider man x reader #spider man x felicia hardy #peter parker x reader #miguel o’hara smut

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mostly-marvel-musings · 3 years

Text

Typical Stark - Part 2

A/N: Sequel to Typical Stark, but could be read as a standalone fic too!

Fall Prompts Masterlist

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: Fluff and sass, some kissing!

Word count: 1338

Tony Stark Taglist - @raspberrymama @ladyeliot @boop-le-snoot @make-a-memory-drink-it-up @loveisallyouneed1125 @ownsmyheart @anthonyjanthony666 @downeyreads

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @marvelgirl7 @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf

Tags are open! Send me an ask or DM if you wish to be in any of the taglists ;))

…

Tony’s offer replayed in your mind a thousand times over, an offer you approached him with first on the day your mission had gone awry. Sure it had been your idea but, a part of you had believed Tony would never take you up on it, sooner or later he’d forget about the whole thing.

It was Tony, after all.

A week later, you had FRIDAY enquire you about your schedule for the weekend before revealing the real reason for such unpredicted prying. After trying on every fancy outfit in your wardrobe like a teenager before a first date, you settled on a simple pair of jeans and a comfy sweater.

You weren’t going over to try and impress Tony, it was just casual conversation over drinks, not a date. You needed that reminder every so often.

Not that you had expected any less, Tony Stark’s penthouse screamed rich. There was nothing ‘home-y’ about the place, which made you wonder how much time Tony actually spent in the living quarters rather than the infamous lab you had heard so much about. Sure you lived in the compound but, you hadn’t been to his apartment before, given the fact that you’d spent the last two years hating his guts and callous attitude.

Way out of your league and certainly not your style.

“So Miss (Y/L/N) what can I impress you with today? Glenmorangie? A fine 16 year old Highland Park? Some good old Bourbon?” Tony bragged, sauntering over to the bar counter, sparing a glance at you over his shoulder.

“How about an honest conversation for once? With Bourbon please.”

Your retort making his previously forgotten apprehension resurface, however he had expected nothing less knowing it was you.

You were different. As much as he hated to compare, you had traits very similar to those of Pepper. She never took his bullshit and neither did you.

And he was glad you were so unlike the girls he brought back here before Pepper. They’d gush about anything and everything to flatter him and it usually ended with that flattery continuing in the bedroom before he’d leave them or have them kicked out. Clothes they wore aimed to catch his eye but here you were in a humble attire looking stunning as ever, aiming for his heart without even trying.

Tony smiled as you kicked off your shoes and settled on his plush couch, legs folding under while your eyes scanned his apartment interiors, as if judging his sense of style. For the first time in forever, he found himself genuinely wondering if his apartment was up to the mark.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. Cheers.”

The amber liquid swished quietly in the crystal glass as you raised it against Tony’s to clink.

“What are we toasting?” Tony asked, settling a safe distance away from you on the couch, his expensive cologne overwhelming your senses.

“The first real conversation Tony Stark’s had in decades?” you shrugged, a nervous laugh followed when Tony’s expression changed.

“I’m being a bitch again. Sorry. Force of habit.” Shaking your head in regret, you took a big gulp of the bourbon in hopes that the burning liquid would blunt your unnecessarily sharp tongue.

It was a habit developed in order to protect yourself from getting your heart broken by guys like Tony, and now it was just a natural response. And now Tony seemed hurt, and you were guilty.

“No, they’re hard-to-swallow pills shooting out of your mouth every time we meet. I need them every now and then. Just never thought I’d hear one on a date.” Tony’s eyes widened on that last sentence he’d just blurted out.

You stopped mid sip and stared at the man, mildly amused at his flustered state, eyes flitting towards his glass to check if he was tipsy.

That was a first!

“A date huh?”

“Uh n-no it wasn’t what I meant. I just—”

“Shh relax Tony I was only teasing.”

He stood up suddenly, leaving you smirking on the couch alone while he downed the rest of his drink, face scrunching up in disgust as he looked down at the city facing his large floor to ceiling window.

You were one of the few people who could actually make him nervous, Tony wondered if he continued to pursue this, you’d leave him too, just like Pepper had.

Damage control was vital and you decided to break the ice the best way you knew after gulping your own drink in one go.

“So what are Tony Stark’s first date moves?”

His chuckle spread relief through your system, letting you know that you hadn’t royally fucked this up.

“Actually this could be considered my first date ever.”

“What crap.”

“Honest. You knew how I was before there’s no need to rehash that. And with Pepper well, we never had a proper date. We just got together and then we didn’t.”

Tony shrugged, his face holding sincerity but fear of having said too much, some hesitation for being so vulnerable for the first time ever and a glimmer of hope that you wouldn’t walk out after hearing him.

“Umm..Another round perhaps?” You offered with a kind smile watching Tony’s demeanor visibly relax as he handed you the empty glass, nodding.

He watched how you moved around the space as if this were a routine and not the first time you’d been to his place, how your calm composure actually reduced his anxieties, you move behind the bar and collect the bottles you needed before staring up at him in expectation, making him realise you’d asked a question.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I asked if you’d be interested in trying a cocktail I make that’s not half bad.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

Two hours and three dangerously potent drinks later, you two settled on his couch once more, this time leaving little to almost no space in between.

Tony had his eyes closed and his head thrown back in laughter while you narrated one of your stories with Cap where he’d accidentally seen you changing after walking into what initially seemed like an empty gym, that ended up in him turning into a beetroot and tripping on a punching bag.

“Lucky fella.”

“Ah the flirt resurfaces!” You giggled, pressing your cheek against the plush couch, facing him, the alcohol pleasantly warm and buzzing through your system.

As much as you’d appreciated Tony’s real more vulnerable side, you couldn’t help feel glad his carefree flirty self was back. He seemed more in his element when he was like this, and it had been a while since you last saw this Tony Stark.

“So no guy worthy enough to deserve your love yet (Y/L/N)?”

“I would say things are looking up.”

He mirrored your position, drink-free hand sliding up your thigh, up your arm before reaching your face, thumb hesitantly halted above your cheek. You leaned into his touch, shifting closer, sighing when he caressed your cheek ever so gently.

A smile playing on his lips as he got closer, breath tickling your face before you felt his soft lips press against yours. Your own hands went behind his neck to pull him closer, kissing him back before teasing your tongue against his bottom lip, coaxing them open. Tony obliged by pulling you into his lap, tongue delving into your mouth, the taste of whiskey, lime and tequila you had earlier evident. Rough hands planted on your butt, grinding it against his crotch had you moaning into the kiss.

It took everything you had in you to break the kiss as you caught your breath, Tony however had begun littering your jawline and neck with feather-light kisses.

“I’m not sleeping with you when we’re this drunk Tony.”

“Why?” His voice a whine, almost making you cave. You opened your eyes and held his face between your hands, foreheads touching.

“I’m not like the others remember?” Your voice barely a whisper.

“No you’re not. You’re everything I’ve missed and more.”

Part 3? Lol I should stop.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark one shot #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #iron man fluff #iron man fanfic #iron man x reader

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baggebythesea · 3 years

Text

The lady and her knight

a drabble for the day 4 prompt of Glitra week 2021 - Princess/Knight AU.

@glitra-week-2021

"Glimmer," Angella said. "You are now thirteen years old, and it's time for you to have your own..."

"Pony?" Glimmer asked with eyes full of hope.

Angella sighed.

"No, Glimmer. We have been through that a million times. Horses are dangerous. No, it's time for you to have your own body guard."

"Ugggggh!" Glimmer said. "Moooooom. I don't need a baby-sitter. I can take care of myself."

"A lady's knight is far from a baby-sitter," Angella said, voice a bit sharper. "Your body guard will be someone in your own age. Someone you can bond with, share experiences with. Grow to trust with your life if necessary. It's not uncommon for such bonds to grow in time." She smiled warmly and Juliette, who returned the smile. "Your knight could become a trusted companion, a close confident, a..."

The word 'friend' hung unsaid in the air.

Glimmer gave her mother an uncharacteristically placable look.

"It might not be horrible..." she said slowly. "But who would it even be?"

"Ah, I have actually already asked General Juliette to chose a suitable candidate among the aspiring knights."

"Indeed," Juliette said with smooth voice and opened the door. "Could you join us please, Catra?"

A girl Glimmer's age entered. She was dressed in leather armour and carried a light sword at her side. She stepped up to Glimmer with the bearing of someone who has been told very sternly by her superiors to behave, and the irreverent smirk of someone who knew in her heart that she wouldn't. She sank to one knee and met Glimmer's eyes.

"My lady," she said, and even if the words were proper and the tone of voice were subservient, her eyes danced with obstinate light.

Glimmer gave her a long look.

She held out her hand, a queenly gestured practiced a million times to placate a mother who had told her very sternly to behave, but at the same time smiled a smile of someone who has no intention of doing so.

"My knight," she said with velvet voice.

They looked each other in the eyes.

Oh, you're so going to get it, they communicated - loud and clear with no need for words.

Catra took Glimmer's hand.

Glimmer helped her to her feet.

They both squeezed as hard as they could without breaking eye contact, without their smiles faltering.

"Catra has shown great promises in basic training," Juliette said. "She is an able fighter and a skilled strategist, and it has been suggested that she might benefit from some, ah, variation in scenery."

"Ah," Angella said.

Catra smirked.

"Glimmer might also... benefit from a... new perspective," Angella said.

"Ah," Juliette said.

Glimmer grinned.

They all understood each other, loud and clear.

"Glimmer," Angella said sternly. "I trust you will do your uttermost to treat your new knight with the dignity and respect her station deserves, and most importantly, behave like a lady."

"Of course, mother," Glimmer said, her eyes never leaving Catra's face.

"Catra," Juliette said. "I trust you will do everything in your power to serve and protect princess Glimmer, and most importantly behave like a knight."

"Of course, General," Catra said, her eyes locked on Glimmer's.

Oh yes, they understood each other perfectly.'

"Then I suggest you take your leave and get to know each other," Angella said. She gave Juliette a fond smile. "Me and the general have urgent matters that needs to be discussed."

"Indeed, my Queen," the general answered with warm voice.

And thus, Princess Glimmer and the knight Catra were left to their own devices.

- - -

The first shot was fired in unison. There was no communication, no agreement, but apparently they both felt the importance of both of them taking responsibility for what was to unfold - whatever that might be. The shot itself was trivial, just the two of them trying to squeeze through the doorway together and roughly pushing each other in the side. They traded a few sarcastic, demeaning apologizes, but they both felt this was just warm-up.

They strolled down to the balcony to 'get to know' each other and begin in earnest.

Glimmer took the next swing. Perhaps they felt it suitable for her status. A few lofty remarks, a demand for 'her knight to serve her' (they were drinking tea).

Catra didn't miss a beat and spilled the entire content of the tea can in Glimmer's lap. She looked her in the eyes and 'apologized'. Glimmer wasn't even mad, it was such a flawless execution.

Then Glimmer had Catra find a broom and sweep up the fallen tea tray, servant style. Catra managed to make such a mess of even finding the broom closet that Glimmer had to abandon the attempt and leave it to the servants.

Then Catra, apparently tired of leaving the initiative to Glimmer, started to make a fuss over Glimmer opening doors, walking up stairs, reaching things from the high shelf... all solid taunts targeting a spoiled little brat of a princess, but somewhat loosing in execution since Catra was just as short as Glimmer, and since Glimmer could teleport up the stair, which she smugly did.

Catra narrowed her eyes.

Time to step up her game.

Catra suggested they take a walk, and they just 'happened' to come by the training grounds. Catra suggested she'd take the opportunity to show her new lady what her knew night was capable of. While Glimmer jealously watched, Catra spun and jump and struck and flipped and reduced a poor training dummy to splinters, looking incredibly cool the whole time and not like a stupid pampered princes who's mother wouldn't even let her have a pony.

Then Catra administrated the coup de grâce - as efficient as it was cruel - by saunter up to the staring princess, a bit sweaty but otherwise as cool as anyone Glimmer had ever seen, and casually suggested that now when Glimmer had been so good to indulge her knight's fancy maybe they should do something more suitable for a princess, such as ballroom dancing or - she indulged in a moment of dramatic silence before she looked Glimmer in the eye and continued - embroidery.

Glimmer hated her. She hated her with a passion she never felt before in her admittedly short but still very passionate life. She hated her stupid grin and her strong arms and the way her fangs made her look dangerous and cool and she hated her smug, irreverent way of sauntering and she hated the way she swished her tail when she thought she had done something extra clever and what exactly did Bow think was funny with all this?

"Nothing," Bow promised and hid a smile under his hand.

Catra hated Glimmer. She was such a spoiled brat. She looked like a cupcake and smelled like strawberries and wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty and sparked like the sunset and... what was Adora laughing at?

"Nothing," Adora promised without even trying to hide her smile. Catra snarled and ran out of the soldier's quarter they shared and force the images of Glimmer's warm smile out of her mind.

The next day they escalated.

Glimmer was snooty, Catra was irreverent. Glimmer gave unreasonable commands, Cara obeyed them in as useless a fashion as possible. They traded barbs, as hurtful they could think of. They glared at each other with pure, undiluted hatred.

They both knew this would end in a catastrophe sooner rather than later.

"How do you to get along this far?" Angella asked.

"Just fine, mother," Glimmer has answered.

"Really? No problem getting to know each other."

"Of course not, mother."

"And nothing to remark on Catra's performance of her knightly duties?"

"Absolutely not. She is a credit to her order," Glimmer had answered with calm voice.

"How is the princess?" Juliette had asked. "These royal types can be such a pest sometimes."

"I couldn't say, General," Catra had answered. "The princess is the very epitome of grace and kindness."

"No problem getting along, then?" Juliette asked.

"No problem at all," Catra answered, voice unwavering.

The last thing they wanted was outside intervention.

This was their war.

It was such a tiny thing, really, when they first broke script. Just one barb hitting a bit closer to home than usual, a mask faltering for just a moment, and the other suddenly looking worried, suddenly reaching out a hand, as if for comfort.

The moment was over in the blink of an eye, and they both did their best to act like it hadn't happened.

But they didn't forget.

After that it was all downhill, really.

Or uphill, I suppose, depending on your frame of reference.

It was their barbs being more and more designed to provoke laughter rather than hurt.

It was them more and more often trying to impress rather than put down.

It was Glimmer asking if Catra could perhaps teach her some of the cool moves she did on the training ground.

It was Catra asking if Glimmer could perhaps show her some of the acrobatics she did while teleporting.

It was the two of them, walking hours over the castle ground and talking and laughing.

It was the time they got in their head to climb the old tower. Only a quick teleportation saved their lives.

It was them sneaking down to the cavalry unit and beg Adora to let Glimmer have a go on her horse Horsie.

It was Glimmer asking Bow to teach Catra some archery stunts deemed less than suitable for impressionable young knights by the Bright Moon military leadership.

It was the two of them deciding that knightly duties absolutely involved guarding the princess at night from unspecified but obviously real dangers.

It was the two of them staying up long after midnight in Glimmer's room, laughing and talking and thinking and plotting and eventually falling asleep, snuggled up together.

They become inseparable, much to the Castle staff's chagrin. Where one went, the other was sure to follow, and with both of them in the same place, trouble was not far away.

In hindsight, perhaps it was somewhat of an overreaction, the things Catra did to the knight of the Princess of Salineas after said princess had appeared rude to the Princess of Brightmoon during an official gathering (don't worry, the knight's moustache grew out again).

Definitely an overreaction was what Princess Glimmer did to the diplomatic attaché from Mystacor after said diplomat had made what could be constructed as snide remarks on Catra's behalf.

Luckily, Bow, Catra, Angella, Micah, Juliette, three thirds of the servant stab and half of the available palace guard managed to hold back the furious princess before Light Spinner suffered lasting damage.

Angella and Micah DID manage to coax an apology from Glimmer afterwards, but back in Glimmer's room, Catra and Glimmer laughed about the look on Light Spinner's face.

- - -

"More tea, Juliette?"

"Thank you, Angella, just a drop."

"I trust the scones were to your liking."

"Simply divine, as always, my dear Angella."

They were in the west tower, one of Angella's favourite retreats for tea with her knight. It was airy and light and they could see the court yard down below.

They watched with interest how Catra and Glimmer hid behind a couple of crates, apparently intent on sneaking outside as soon as the guard looked away.

"It seems my daughter is a bad influence on your knight," Angella remarked.

"Please," Juliette laughed. "Catra has been unruly from the very start. She would never fit in the usual command structure. As the personal knight of a member of the royal family on the other hand she can be forgiven for a higher degree of freedom."

"And the lonely, unruly princess just so happens to have found herself a perfect partner in crime," Angella laughed. "Juliette, I owe you thanks. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Juliette took Angella's hands. They shared a long, soft look.

"What is a lady's knight for, if not helping her lady facing the challenges life throws her way?"

"What, indeed?" Angella echoed.

They held each other's hand, looking lovingly in each other's eyes as their tea grew cold.

#spop #She-Ra #Glimmer #Catra #Glitra #angella #general juliet #glitra week 2021 #fanfic

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rebellconquerer · 3 years

Note

oooh, could we get 9 (you're in love with her) for the prompt meme. bucky and sam talking about sarah?

Here you go Anon, angst and feels. Will be crossposted to AO3. Technically a missing scene from In The Woods Somewhere, it'll be a little confusing if you haven't read that. Also it's a bit long.

Sam is worried. He’s trying very hard to hide it as he saunters down the gleaming walkway that leads to the Wakandan apartment they have set Bucky up in for his recuperation, but the fact remains that he is just a bit…worried.

The after had been worse than he expected. After Sarah had left, after Shuri had figured out the deprogramming, after they had started the process. He'll be honest, he hadn't been around much the first time. A mix of him not really knowing or trusting Bucky when this happened before (and vice versa), combined with Steve's almost obsessive need to shelter and protect Bucky then.

Still, the deprogramming had gone about as well as could be expected and Sam had remained with Buck until midway through the first week when major cities across Europe had started to be attacked by some weird environmental monsters. Hill, and then Fury himself, had reached out to say that the kid, Spiderman or whatever, had the situation under control and that they would call in reinforcements if they needed it. So Sam had stayed with Bucky for the first couple of days after the deprogramming as they were testing it to make sure it took, then some tv nutjob had leaked the kid's name.

Very few of the Avengers bothered with secret identities, but the kid was like 15 or something, so Hill had requested Captain America come help out with PR, ensuring that no one believed a teenager could be one of the Avengers.

Sam had said no initially, obviously, but Bucky had insisted he was fine and didn't need a babysitter. Had even managed to say it without that crazed, trapped animal look behind his eyes he got sometimes, so Sam had jetted off to New York for a few days. He had gotten exactly two texts from Bucky during that time. One that said 'I'm fine, mom' on day one and a thumbs-up emoji on day three.

Then Sarah had called him, trying to be all relaxed and casual as she fished for what the hell was going on in Wakanda cause Bucky hadn't spoken to her or responded to her since she left. As ancient as the dinosaurs though Buck may be, he damn well knows how to use a phone, and him deliberately cutting himself off is… concerning.

He comes to the right apartment number and knocks, then waits, then knocks again. Still no response. Sam frowns. He knows he's in there. Shuri told him they've still been monitoring his vitals and that he had requested a bit of time to himself in the aftermath, but he wasn't in the clear yet so she knew where he was.

Sam pounds on the door again.

"Buck, it's me. You gonna open up?"

Silence.

"Ok, Bucky, here's the thing, you either let me in or I'm calling Ayo or Shuri to override this lock… come on, man. Please." Sam whispers at the door, knowing Bucky's advanced hearing will pick it up.

He doesn't want to call in reinforcements and doesn't want to invade Bucky's space if it's not necessary, but as he mentioned before, he's worried.

He waits for one, then another overly long minute before the door finally opens.

Bucky looks like shit. His hair is messy and greasy. His blue eyes stand out as bright spots in the pallor of his face, broken only by the intense, almost bruise-like dark circles under his eyes. His cheekbones don't stand out as much as they did when Sam left so at least he was gaining back the weight he had lost, but he's standing with a blanket around his shoulders, hunched in and holding himself like the feral creature he hasn't been in years.

"Buck?-"

"You wanted to see me, you've seen me. Can you go now?" Bucky says flatly, eyes glinting with the acerbic 'fuck off' his lips haven't yet formed.

Oh hell no.

Sam slips his foot in the door just as Bucky goes to close it, preventing it from shutting. When Bucky pulls the door back open, Sam slips inside, pushing past Buck as quickly as he can.

Bucky growls, closing the door behind him and turning a glare on Sam.

"No please, come in. I'm definitely in the mood for visitors." Bucky says sarcastically.

Sam glances around the room. It's a lot like the first apartment they all stayed in together. Floor to ceiling windows cover one whole wall, the kitchen is immaculate, clearly unused, like most of the rest of the space, save for the couch where the cushions have been left haphazardly on the floor.

"Buck. What the hell is going on here?" Sam asks, voice coming out much softer than he intended. Bucky'd been in rough shape when he left, but he had been clearly on the mend. That was the only reason Sam'd even agreed to go help out.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I don't need you here." Bucky grits out, that muscle in his jaw flexing.

Sam stares for a minute then sighs. He's starting to get it, the lines of pain that seemed to carve through Steve whenever Bucky had pushed him away. It's hard for Sam to see the desperate way Bucky is holding himself while still pulling away, and Sam hasn't been his lifelong best friend.

"Look Buck, you're entitled to a couple bad days, but I'm going to need you to convince me that this is a par for the course breakdown and not something worse 'cause we've had a monumentally rough couple of weeks," Sam says clearly.

Bucky holds his gaze for a long moment before the harsh lines of his face seem to soften and he ducks around Sam, heading back to the couch.

"Like I told you, I'm fine." He mutters as he moves. "It's just… the come down from the deprogramming is a bitch, ok?"

Sam frowns, following him to the couch and sitting next to him.

"Would you like to elaborate, Buck?"

Bucky sighs, scrubbing both hands through his messy hair.

"Best as I understand it, it's like coming down from a high or something. There are a lot of biochemicals involved in the process and the washout… well it sucks." He shrugs. "Plus the process itself is like opening Pandora's box up here," he mutters, tapping the side of his head. "It leaves me… what I mean is it makes me-"

"Your nightmares get worse." Sam finishes for him. Bucky doesn't look up, doesn't say or do anything really.

Sam huffs. "Why didn't Shuri tell me? I expect this bullshit from you, but from her?"

Bucky goes very still, continuing to avoid eye contact. It finally clicks.

"She doesn't know, does she? You never said and… neither did Steve. That's why the two of you were hold up on that little farm for so long after. For god sake, why the hell didn't you say anything Buck?"

Sam doesn't try to hold back the frustration bleeding into his voice.

"That child has more than enough of my pain on her hands. She doesn't need any more. And I'll remind you… I never expected to have to do this again." Bucky finishes softly. Sam's anger deflates as suddenly as it started.

They sit in silence for a minute, Sam watching Bucky, Bucky pretending that Sam isn't watching him until Sam finally breaks.

"Is this why you haven't spoken to Sarah? She called me, you know, said you'd been ducking her calls."

Bucky's expression changes minutely then and if Sam hadn't known him as well as he does, if they hadn't been basically living in each other's pockets for the last year, he wouldn't have recognized it: a quick flash of guilt.

"Buck, what's going on in that head of yours?" Sam asks seriously. "Didn't I tell you if you break her heart I'd break your legs?"

Bucky huffs out a bitter laugh. "Actually the last I heard on the matter you said you'd kill me if I hurt her but we'd be ok. Way to send mixed messages by the way buddy."

Sam can't sit still any longer. This whole experience is surreal. God, he needs a vacation. He strolls over to the kitchen, filling a glass with water for himself and another for Buck. He places the second glass in front of Bucky and backs up to lean on the counter, careful not to hover.

He takes a long drink, draining half the glass in one go as Bucky just stares at his.

“How was New York?” Bucky eventually asks.

Sam shrugs. “Went okay. No one is quite ready to call Captain America a liar to his face, even that piece of shit blowhard.”

That earns him a small smile from Bucky. “You think it’ll hold?”

“Well, they’ve got Pepper, Rhodey, Hill and Fury against them. I’m not sure much could stand up to that team long term so I wouldn’t worry about it.” Sam replies. Bucky isn't going to succeed in changing the topic, but maybe going the long way around will help.

They drop back into the silence. “I think Shuri is gonna let me go in a few days. The deprogramming seems to be holding.” Bucky finally says, still staring unblinkingly at his water.

Sam sighs. “You ready to come back to Delacroix?”

Bucky makes an uncomfortable-looking face, a strange cross between constipated and in pain. “I-I was actually going to go back to New York. Haven’t been home in a while, you know,” he says carefully.

Sam frowns.

“Alright Barnes, cut the crap. My nephews have been worried about you, Sarah is worried about you. What are you thinking-”

“I’m thinking that maybe this is the time to let it… let it die.” Bucky interrupts, eyes flicking up to Sam, a hard look on his face.

Sam just stands there, gaping at him for a minute.“The fuck do you mean, let it die?”

That unearthly stillness that Bucky usually carries in his frame starts to fray. He stands up, pacing to the window. “Sarah and I had a fight the night before I agreed to let Shuri do the deprogramming,” he says, then just leaves the sentence hanging.

“Yeah, the whole goddamn world could have guessed that." Sam prompts. "You’re stubborn as hell. If she got you to reconsider it wasn’t with sweet nothings whispered into your ear.”

Sam watches the tips of Bucky’s ears go a little bit red as he ducks his head at that. He really doesn’t want to know any details about whatever memory that triggered. Bucky still doesn't continue.

“So what, are you angry with her?” Sam asks.

“What? No! Of Course not!" Bucky responds, turning to face him. He still looks weary and a little… lost.

"She said… she said she didn't think I wanted this life. That I hadn't gotten to choose it and so I was too comfortable throwing it away." Bucky mutters staring at the floor.

Sam frowns in confusion. That was harsh. Probably entirely truthful, but harsh nonetheless. And Sarah said he was tough on Buck.

"Ok…" Sam prompts again.

"She said I needed to think about what I wanted to live for. What future was worth fighting for because without that I'd always be … stuck." Bucky goes quiet again and Sam's frown deepens.

He doesn't get it. Doesn't get what Bucky is trying to tell him. "Ok, so you did that and decided that she isn't in that future?" Sam tries, keeping his voice as flat and without judgment as possible.

Bucky doesn't look at him, just keeps staring at the floor between them, the expression on his face pained. Sam watches him clench and unclench his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping. But still, Bucky says nothing.

It's Sam's turn to pace. He pushes up off the counter, walking closer to Bucky as he rubs at his temple. He's tired and stressed and he's been through too much in the last 3 weeks to play decoder with Bucky and his-

He comes to an abrupt stop beside the couch. The gears in his mind grinding to a halt so suddenly he thinks you should be able to hear them shrieking.

He turns to face Bucky, eyes tracing over the tight lines of his body as astonishment slides in under his skin, under his breastbone, and behind his eyes. How had he not seen it before? How had he not noticed?

“You’re in love with her.” he breathes out, the acknowledgement hitting like a brick. Bucky goes absolutely still as Sam stumbles back a few steps, sitting heavily on the arm of the couch.

“That’s what this is about. You’re in love with her and you’re afraid.”

“Look at me Sam, look at me?!” Bucky's voice is raspy, hollowed out. Sam lifts his gaze and meets Bucky's eyes.

“I’m a mess. On a great day, I’m a fucking mess. Most days I feel like I'm barely holding on to who I am because of what I am. On a bad day?” Bucky looks back out the windows, eyes going unfocused. “I shouldn’t be in love,” he whispers flatly. “What right do I have to get this after all the carnage I have caused. What right do I have to bring someone else into the hell that is my life.” He sighs then and leans back on the window, sliding down the glass to sit on the ground. The movement is slow, achingly so, making him look every one of his 107 years.

Sam slips from the arm of the couch coming to sit on the ground facing Bucky.

“This isn’t you Buck." He whispers. "This is the deprogramming and the night terrors. This is the lack of sleep and bone tiredness talking. This isn't you."

Bucky laughs, the sound empty. "Isn't it? Are you sure about that? Because I'm not."

"The two of you have been going great. You haven't been afraid before now, is this all fallout because of what happened, because Buck, you can't let that asshole Novikov take her from you."

Bucky lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back against the glass and staring at the ceiling, face blank. "Too good. It's been too good." He mutters and the last piece of the puzzle falls into place for Sam.

"She told you, didn't she? She told you she loves you."

Bucky's eyes flick down to his, expression sharp. "She told you what she was going to do?" Bucky asks, suspicion clear in his tone.

Sam shakes his head. "She didn't have to. You forget I've known her a lot longer than you have. I know what my sister looks like when she's in love."

He has one of those moments where he wishes Steve were there because he feels he would know what to say to help. But that's not really true. He'd watched Steve stumble through enough of these conversations to know he would be just as lost. Not that it matters. Steve's gone now. Left them both.

"It was fine when it was just you, right? When you'd be the only one risking anything? But it’s different now you know that she’s as far in as you are.” Sam mutters.

Bucky’s staring at the ceiling again, face blank. “That’s not it. I’m not afraid. I’m just seeing things clearly for the first time in a long time.” he mumbles.

Sam’s lips twist into a rueful smile. Clearly? Bucky hasn’t been this muddled in a year. “You know I almost flunked out of Pararescue training?” Sam asks, trying a different tact.

Bucky looks over at him, frowning confusedly. Sam nods slowly, looking down at his hands.

“I got referred by my prior C.O. Spent 2 days in the air over the course of the first week and decided it was not for me. I mean, it was madness, right? Jumping out of a plane with nothing on but some wings someone else had made?”

Bucky smirks. “That’s real hard to believe, Sam. You’re a natural.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nah, Riley was a natural. Took to the skies like a duck to water.” Sam can still hear the excitement in Riley’s voice after his first jump. How he could barely catch his breath to talk because all he wanted to do was laugh and grin.

“Went back to my C.O. Told him thanks for the recommendation but… I couldn’t do it. He fed me this bullshit story about how some scientist somewhere had done some experiment, right? That they gave a group of people some glasses that flipped the world upside down.” Sam looks up at Bucky to find him staring back at him, blank look retreating, intense blue eyes focussed.

“The first two days everyone was walking around bumping into things, begging to be let out of the experiment, but by the end of the third day, they had all adapted. Their world was normal again. He told me to give it three days, and I did.”

Bucky purses his lips and looks away, letting the meaning of the words sink in.“You realise you’d already been there for more than three days, right? You said it was the end of the first week.”

Sam huffs out a tired laugh. “Man, do you ever get tired of being a pain in the ass?” he asks.

Bucky slips into that small, sad smile he wears so well. “All signs point to no,” he mutters back.

“It’s been a long fucking month, Buck. I’m not saying you’re wrong or you’re right, but… just give yourself a moment to adapt to your new normal before you go making any drastic decisions.”

Bucky doesn’t respond for a while, but then he nods slowly, still refusing to look at Sam.

“And honestly, Buck, no jokes this time. Whatever happens, I’ll still be here. You don’t have to be alone.” Sam says as clearly as he can.

Bucky finally looks back over to him. “Guess Steve was right leaving me to you.”

It’s Sam’s turn to look away, laughing. “Nah. He left us to each other,” he replies easily.

“We’re probably giving the punk too much credit. Like he ever thought ahead in his whole stupid life… but… the same goes for you, you know. I’ll be here as long as you need me, for whatever that counts as.” Bucky says.

Sam looks up at him, their eyes meeting and he can’t help but smile, relaxing the tension a little. “So you love her, huh? You realise she’s just a less pretty version of me. This is tantamount to you declaring your undying love of me.”

Bucky lets out an honest to God laugh. “You ever get tired of being so in love with yourself?” he fires back.

Sam shrugs, pushing himself up off the ground and reaching a hand out for Bucky. He looks at it a moment before he grabs on and Sam pulls him to his feet, wrapping one hand around his shoulder and leading him back to the couch.

“Well honestly, someone has to be.” Sam jokes.

Bucky laughs again

#bucky x sarah #bucky x sarah fic #fleur de louve #barah #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws fic #rebellwrites

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justkeeptrekkin · 5 years

Note

If you're still taking prompts, does the dialogue "You strike me as an angel who has never been satisfied/"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself" offer any inspiration? You're an absolutely wonderful writer and thank you for sharing with everyone!

“You strike me as an angel who has never been ssssatisfied.“

The way he says it as he leans forward, sunglasses slipping down his nose and gold eyes fixed on Aziraphale- it’s deep and silky and smooth like syrup. Crowley’s draped over one of the bookshop’s many armchairs like he’s a coat that’s been thrown over the arm, curls of red hair pouring over the edge. A smug head tilt. A growing smile, jaw jutted and teeth bared menacingly. A look of intense mischief that isn’t anywhere near evil- far closer to indulgent.

A demon’s seduction is not easy to miss- particularly not when it’s coming from Crowley, who lost any subtlety and grace he may have once had during his vague sauntering downwards. No- right now, Crowley’s gaze sizzles with very obvious flirtation.

Well, Aziraphale thinks. You’re going to have to do a little bit better than that, dear boy.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” he remarks casually as he sinks further down into his seat, glass of merlot sloshing slightly. He isn’t looking at Crowley at all, in fact- he’s far more preoccupied with the task of drinking wine whilst practically lying down. “You forget yourself when you’re drunk, my dear- try again.”

Aziraphale lifts the glass to his face and watches the way the evening light pours through his red wine, making it look like a liquid ruby. It’s really quite fascinating, and he stares at it giddily, a daft smile on his face. He’s rudely interrupted by Crowley clearing his throat.

He peers around the edge of the glass. “Pardon?”

“I’m. You didn’t. I don’t think you understood what I was getting at.” Crowley roughly pushes the sunglasses up his nose so his eyes are once more hidden. He continues to lie across the armchair, legs and arms hanging off in all directions, as if he has forgotten he is in his human form rather than snake.

“Oh?” Aziraphale replies. He takes a slow sip of his wine, and Crowley seems frozen. “I don’t see how I could’ve misunderstood, you were simply saying I’ve never been satisfied. Weren’t you? It seems like a bit of a silly statement.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up, though the rest of him still seems frozen in time. “You’re- you’re- you’re- you’re-”

Aziraphale waits patiently for Crowley to restart. He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. Perhaps it’s a little mean of him, but he enjoys making these casual remarks and watching Crowley flounder. He wonders if the demon realises how unfazed he is by his pomp and swagger. With the lilting voice and bad boy attitude. And with that whole pinning him to a wall business.

I mean, really.

Crowley makes a series of incomprehensible noises, and Aziraphale delicately sips from his glass again- except from this angle, with his chin to his chest, he sort of pours it down his front. He miracles his shirt clean again.

“I’m- Angel, obviously I’m trying to suggest that. Christ are you really going to make me say it?”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort. I haven’t made you say anything, I’m quite frankly just trying to enjoy my merlot.”

Crowley covers his face with his hand and growls in frustration. “Aziraphale- fine. Ignore me. Forget about it. Fuck you very much, too.”

And he watches. He watches Crowley continue to murmur and grumble to himself, leaning his head against the armrest and staring at the ceiling. Lips pouted angrily.

Aziraphale smiles.

The truth is, Aziraphale finds himself most flustered when Crowley isn’t trying at all. When he makes small gestures that mean more than he could have realised- because he just knows Aziraphale that well, so well he doesn’t even think about what it could mean to save books from burning rubble. He simply does it, no questions asked. He simply performs miracles for him and saves his life on an almost annual basis.

Alright, so maybe not so small gestures- maybe they’re quite grand after all.

“Crowley.”

“Hmph.”

“Oh, come, now. I’m only teasing.”

“Yeah well- teaches me to never try flirting with you again.”

Something in Aziraphale’s chest soars at that. They’ve never been ones to talk about their feelings, only eluding to them with subtext and riddles and jibes. Aziraphale tries to purse his lips against the smile, but to no avail.

He sits up in his seat. “Oh, don’t say that. That would be a shame.”

Crowley’s head turns towards him, and his face slackens. Mouth falling open in soft surprise. “What?”

“Go on, don’t give up now. Try again.”

“Try again?”

“Naturally.”

“Oh- well- of course- yes, absolutely, nothing humiliating about that now, is there?’

“Crowley,” Aziraphale nudges gently.

And Crowley seems to falter. For all his defensiveness and posturing, he softens so easily. Aziraphale sees his shoulders relax, sees the way his glass of wine tilts dangerously as his grip on it loosens. And he watches the way his glasses slip again, eyes blinking blearily at him and brow pinched.

“I’m in love with you,” Crowley eventually says, voice fragile. Then, more bluntly. “There. That more what you were thinking?”

And the world seems so much brighter now those words are spoken. After six thousand years of dancing around each other, he’d rather begun to wonder if he was imagining it.

Aziraphale watches him for a moment longer- this gentle version of Crowley seems so natural. Seems to harken to an earlier time before his fall, before they knew each other. And then, Aziraphale stands up- with some effort, and a bit of wobbling once he’s on his feet- wandering over to where Crowley’s draped. The demon’s eyes widen in alarm, and he freezes in his seat again, animal instincts kicking in.

Aziraphale bends down and kisses the top of his head.

Crowley shivers.

“More than I could have hoped for,” Aziraphale whispers, hair tickling his lips. “Thank you for being braver than me and saying it. For the record, now that we’re being honest, I love you too. Very much indeed.”

When he stands upright again, Crowley is gazing at him. Looking a little like he might even cry. He’s seen Crowley look as if he’s about to fall apart too many times these past few weeks, with all this Armageddon nonsense- it’s a look that breaks his heart. He won’t have any more of it.

Aziraphale can’t deny him; he lays a hand on his cheek. And with all the love he can muster- which is really rather a lot- he says softly:

“There’s more merlot in the back.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fic prompt #fanfiction #my writing

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lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

Note

could you please make a loki x reader where he finds out how good she is at drawing/ art and it’s all just fluff?

Imagine: You just wanted to draw a beautiful stranger in a coffeeshop when suddenly everything goes pearshaped.

A.N.: Thank you @marvel-ous-buckyy for being the first one to request something! I did my best to put this prompt into action and I really hope you like it! It kinda turned into a coffeeshop AU but only a little bit :) let me know what you think!

Beautiful stranger

You were sitting in a small coffee shop downtown, shortly after 10pm, with a nice hot cup of steaming brew in front of you. It was your favorite spot in the whole city, all kinds of people came in for their daily caffeine fix. Some even came into the shop more than once a day. Especially this late at night, people came here more frequently than one might expect. As usual, you were sat on a small table in the middle of the room, your sketchbook in front of you along with a couple pencils and watercolors. No eraser, as you didn't believe in erasing when sketching. Whatever came out of your hand and onto the paper was worth to be kept or worked around. Other than that, there were hardly any huge mistakes in your drawing anyway. You had practiced your art all your life and nothing filled you with greater joy than sitting in public, drawing strangers or nature.

Today was no different. You sat in your usual spot and after a few warm-up sketches you decided it was time for a larger and more detailed piece. So you looked around yourself, taking in the surroundings while taking a sip of your coffee. It was too hot still and burned your tongue, but the smell it emitted was just too delicious to resist.

Your eyes wandered from the seemingly daily-changing staff to the customers. Most just ordered to go and were out and about again at this time of night, but then your eyes fell upon a tall man with raven hair who was sitting on the opposite side of the shop. You blinked a couple times, trying to get your eyes to fully focus after having stared at your sketchpad for an hour.

He was astonishingly gorgeous, almost surreal in his appearance. You coughed, awkwardly trying to swallow your own breath. Had you seen him here before? You were sure you'd had remembered seeing him.

You could see a little more than his profile from where you were sat. He looked down onto a journal he held in his hands. Blinking a few more times, you noticed how graceful and elegant his hands were, his whole physique. He looked out of this world, even if he wore a casual dark grey suit and a green dress shirt like most business people working late. His raven hair hung loosely around his beautiful face, framing it perfectly.

What was a person like him doing at such an ungodly hour in a coffee shop? Well, you were also sitting here, touche, but for the sole reason that you wouldn't be able to sleep at home anyway. If the heavy insomnia you suffered from kept you up all night, at least you could use the time to draw in peace and be happy for once.

Back to the beautiful stranger. The energy he radiated seemed to draw you in like he had his own gravity, only working on you. He was so focused on his journal, he didn't seem to notice your staring. His high cheekbones and sharp jawline were just screaming at you to draw them.

So you started with delicate but certain lines, making sure to capture every detail of his being. Drawing the hair, you suppressed the urge to just walk over and run your hands through the black locks. It looked so soft… you tried to do it justice in your work.

Exactly there lay the problem you saw in your drawings. You wanted to capture the most magnificent and the most beautiful the world had to offer, but in your eyes you often failed to truly reflect their outer beauty. Instead, it turned into both, a structural and aesthetic representation of the emotions they conveyed. This time… there was so much sadness radiating off this man, but also so much passion and the pure intensity of it made your skin crawl with excitement. This drawing would turn out a masterpiece, you just knew it!

For a little more than an hour you drew and sketched, only then wondering why on earth he hadn't finished his coffee yet and left. Maybe he was here for something different after all? You didn't know and as long as he remained sitting in this same position for you to draw, you also didn't care why he was here.

Once you finished the rough sketch, you went on to inking your work. Why hadn't he left yet? Usually the people you drew only remained sitting still for no more than the time it took them to finish their coffee or maybe the news feed on their phones. He was so different…

You finished inking a while later and he still hadn't moved. Not believing your luck, you went on to color the drawing, keeping everything in cool tones and rough textures. Except for his face. That, you drew with the utmost care and delicacy. Just as you were about to finish the piece, time seemed to stop for you, as a bulky and seemingly drunk man stumbled against your table and poured the contents of his to go cup all over your sketchbook. Immediately the ink and the colors started running together and off the page, replaced by black hot liquid. You let out a yelp, jumping up from your chair and knocking it over in the process. No, this couldn't be happening… It had taken you months to fill this sketchbook and now the whole thing was ruined. After a second of utter shock, you jumped into action and grabbed the first thing available to try to save what you could from the mess.

"S-ssorry…" The man slurred, bumping into you on his way to the door, fleeing from the situation without another word.

Using the hem of your shirt, you gently patted the book dry, but it was by far too late. A young barista came rushing to your side with a bunch of napkins, cleaning the table and offering some to you. Only now did you notice that your jeans were drenched as well as your shirt. But you simply stared at the heavily smudged, crinkling book in your hands. All these memories kept in there, all the emotions you could never have explained outside of their colorful visual representations. Gone. You felt tears stinging in your eyes and your vision became blurry as you suppressed a sob. The barista finished cleaning your tabe and apologized for the hundredth time to you, but you were lost in your own mind, tears running down your face even though you willed them not to. You hated crying, hated emotions and most definitely hated people in this very moment. Without any more care for your surroundings you slumped down on your damp chair again, starting to slowly gather your drenched supplies. You just wanted to leave, go back to your tiny apartment and cry in the shower until there wouldn't be any more tears left.

Grabbing your bag, you pushed the chair back under the table and bid the staff goodbye. Outside, the cold but fresh air hit your face and you felt a little calmer. The night just happened to have this effect on you.

Just as you were about to saunter down the street, a smooth voice addressed you from behind.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I believe you forgot your book."

The voice made you shiver slightly, it was deep and calming, yet very in control.

"It's a sketchbook, but it's of no use anymore. Some douche emptied his…" You stopped mid-sentence once you turned around and saw who the voice belonged to. The beautiful stranger stood so close to you that your breath hitched and you took a step backwards out of instinct.

He was even more intriguing from up close. Your gaze shot to his face. He had green eyes that could've swallowed your soul if you kept looking at them. To your surprise, he seemed just as taken aback when he looked into your own orbs.

A blush crept up to you cheeks in no time and you quickly looked down to the book he held out to you. It looked nothing like the drenched and wrinkled thing you had just thrown into the trash. Instead, it looked almost like new.

Frowning, you took it from him. "This can't be mine, mine is all damaged…"

You flipped it open in the middle, staring at one of your drawings from a few weeks back. Completely and utterly intact and beautiful as ever. Incredulous, you flipped back and forth, but every drawing in the large book seemed to be completely fine as it had been a few hours ago.

"What…?" You breathed, your gaze shooting up to meet his once more. "How did you do that?"

A slow smirk played on his lips as he watched your irritation with great amusement.

"I noticed that you were drawing me." He simply said in this incredibly soothing and yet dangerous voice.

You blushed an even deeper shade of red. "When did you notice?"

"Oh, just about right when you ogled me for the first time." He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. "When that guy dropped his coffee on your book, I was quite furious."

"And why is that?" You asked, gaining control of your body once more. Something told you to stay away from this man and something else, something much stronger, told you to learn everything you could about him.

"Well, I wanted to see how your drawing turned out. If you got the best angle, you know…" He winked at you, making you chuckle slightly.

You took another look at the book and twisted it in every direction in your hands. "But how did you restore it completely, I mean, all the ink had started running and…"

You were cut off once more when, with a slight wave of his hand, the moisture and stains in your clothing started to simply float out of the fabric, before vanishing into thin air. Your eyes widened and you stared at him open mouthed. "Who are you?" You finally managed to ask.

"My name is Loki. Of Asgard. Or of Jotunheim. Depends on my mood, really. It's a pleasure to meet you, my dearest." He grinned at you, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

You snapped out of your awe rather quickly. He was the infamous Loki, a literal god?! That explains the magic. You hadn't heard all that much about him other than that he was the brother of one of the Avengers and capable of magic

You smiled at him. "I'm Y/N. Thank you so much for saving my book! It means a lot to me, really. Can I buy you a coffee or something as a thank you?"

He let out a small laugh. "Oh dear, I had so much coffee while waiting for you to finish your drawing, I don't think I can take another cup." His smile turned into a grin once more. "But you could let me take a look at your drawings. If they are only half as intriguing as you, then they'd be very much worth saving."

You let out a shy laugh. "You don't need to flatter me to take a look." But then, when you were about to hand the book over to him once more, you felt insecure. It contained so many memories and emotions you hadn't ever shared with anyone. And now you'd show them to a beautiful stranger? YES, part of your mind screamed. So you let him take it out of your hand and simply hoped for the best.

He noticed the shift in your mood immediately and kept the book closed in his hands. There was something in your eyes that reminded him of his own and he felt the sudden urge to comfort you. That was new… he never really cared about the people he met and so he would always put on the charming facade everyone seemed to expect of him. With you however, he suddenly felt like he could try something new, something… true.

"If you are not comfortable showing these drawings to me, you don't have to, you know..." He said quietly.

"It's silly, I just… feel so vulnerable showing this real life imprint of my soul to a stranger." You laughed nervously and looked into his eyes once more. There was no trace of his previously cocky expression left and all you could see was sincere worry and… hope? Hope for what?

"Maybe… would you…" He seemed rather introverted now, as if someone had switched his personality for a different one. "Would you like to take a walk with me?"

You smiled, a real and happy smile this time. This man right in front of you, this version of Loki, you liked much better than the previous one. It just felt more real fo you.

"I would love to." You answered gently and the two of you took off down the street.

For what felt like hours the two of you wandered the streets of your city, talking about everything and nothing. You warmed up to him quicker than you could believe for yourself and you felt like he opened up to you too, if only just a little for now.

It was already about sunrise when you yawned. That hadn't happened in a long time.

"I'm sorry I kept you up all night." Loki apologized with a small laugh.

"Nah, it's fine. I suffer from insomnia almost every night, it's a surprise to me that I'm still able to function." You brushed it off with a shrug, realizing only now how much you had told him about yourself in the past hours. And how much he had told you. It felt like you'd known him for such a long time, it was ridiculous. But something had just clicked with you and Loki and you could feel a serious crush developing. You were not sure if you minded it though, as he seemed to be quite enamored as well.

The two of you were still a block away from your apartment and yet you already felt sad. You didn't want to leave him just yet, but it was getting rather difficult to keep your eyes open.

"Do you want to come in? I… I could make you coffee or…" You turned to him once you stood in front of your building, hope all over your face.

Loki shot you his amazing smile in return. "I would love to, but I think that wouldn't be very appropriate."

You looked down to your feet. He was standing so close to you, you could feel his warmth on your skin and even smell his cologne and it all made you want to just lean against him and let yourself dwell in his sweet embrace. But you didn't dare to just hug him, so you slowly reached out and first touched his hand with a single finger, gently brushing against his thumb. He got the sign and took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers and gently brushing over your knuckles.

"Do you… do you still want to?" You asked in a breath.

"Pardon?"

"Do you still want to see the… the drawings?"

He nodded in return and you let go of his hand to find the book in your bag and place it in his hands.

He looked into your eyes once more and you nodded, so he flipped the book open on page one.

Slowly, one by one, he looked at every single page and all the while remained standing mere inches away from you. You didn't dare to look at his face, fearing to see a reaction you weren't ready to cope with. Time seemed to stand still for you; you heard nothing but his breathing and the flipping of pages.

When he reached the last page there was utter silence. The electricity and tension in the air finally made you look back up again.

He was watching you with huge eyes, with an intensity you had yet to comprehend.

Gently, you took the book out of his hands and placed it back inside your bag without breaking eye contact.

"So…" You breathed. "What do you think of the…"

You were cut off by his chilled lips crashing against your own, passionate and capturing.

There was nothing you could think, nothing you could do but kiss him back and let him push you against the wall behind you.

This was right. So so right and you didn't doubt it for a second. The kiss was gentle, yet passionate and oh so sweet. His soul was reaching out to yours and worshipping it in every way possible.

"Y/N…" He growled when you broke apart, not daring to open your eyes for you feared this dream would come to an end. "How… how did you do it?"

You frowned against his forehead, which rested against yours. "How did I do what?"

"You… you captured their soul. Every living thing you drew, it was just… as if you had taken their very essence and poured it onto the pages. The drawing you did of me, it's… I have never seen something like it. It's not mere beauty, it's the soul that…"

You cut him off with another gentle kiss. "I dearly promise: your soul is safe with me."

___________

Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille

(fyi this is my other account besides @nightrose64 )

#loki fanfic #sketchbook #avengers #tom hiddleston fanfiction #loki x reader #loki imagine #coffeeshop au #loki #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel #loki laufeyson #loki love #loki odinson #loki (marvel)

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mustardprecum · 5 years

Text

Prompt: Vampires

Steve stayed in Hawkins after he graduated high school. Most of the town thought it was because he didn’t have amazing college prospects and had stayed to work for his dad. That wasn’t entirely untrue, of course, but a select few knew that there was way more important work to be done.

There was an infestation in Hawkins. It was worse than cockroaches, worse than spiders, worse than skunks or raccoons, or just about anything Steve would have imagined. Somewhere in the woods, hidden where no one could find, was a vampire nest.

Normally, Steve would have thought that this would be on every headline of every newspaper he’d ever heard of. But apparently, the US government preferred to keep news of creepy crawlers and all things bumping in the night a secret.

In fact, Steve only found out in his junior year when a little girl escaped a lab and helped find a kid who had been kidnapped, ostensibly as food for the nest. Steve had been roped in peripherally thanks to Nancy’s involvement with Jonathan Byers. (And that was a whole different story.)

Chief Hopper gave Steve the most answers, and in the end, the most purpose in life. Because from what Hopper could tell, the soldiers at the lab hadn’t been providing adequate protection from wayward vampires, or demogorgons as Nancy’s little brother insistently called them.

When Hopper heard about how Steve dealt with the vampire at the Byers house, he offered to teach Steve a little more about fighting, and when Steve was getting ready to graduate, recruited him to keeping an eye on the perimeter of the forest.

That was where they came from, and all Steve had to do on his nightly patrols was make sure none of them made it past him. Steve stayed in Hawkins because he was one of the only people who stood between the town and the infestation.

God, that sounded cool.

Steve grinned, even as he studiously scanned the edge of the forest as he drove down the country road. He was so accustomed to searching for monsters trying to slink out from the trees that he almost missed the very benign sight of a car pulled off to the side of the road.

The blue glinted from his headlights through the trees for several seconds before Steve thought to step on the brakes. He came to a halt before he passed the car and pulled over to the side of the road.

He left his headlights on, shining on the bumper of the car and lighting his path as he got out of the car.

“Hello?” he called, gripping his bat.

There was a snap of branches and for a split second Steve froze, but then he spotted figure. A distinctly human figure.

“Evening,” said a young man as he stepped into view. He was tan with blue eyes and golden curls, and Steve was very relieved until he realized that the guy was eyeing his bat. “Are those nails.”

“Uh,” Steve cleared his throat and tried to angle the bat behind him as if the damage wasn’t already done. “Force of habit, the woods and all… You new in town?”

“I am. Didn’t realize stopping for a smoke would get me a welcome party,” he took a drag from a half smoked cigarette.

“Sorry about that. But you should be careful,” Steve looked past him into the shadows beyond his headlights. “These woods get real dangerous at night.”

"That a fact?"

“Other than me,” Steve tossed his bat back into his car. He smiled sheepishly, unsure if it was even visible. The guy didn’t seem to mind, but the light was hitting his eyes so directly they were almost glowing. “I promise I’m not a creep.”

That got a promising laugh.

“It’s Harrington, right?”

Steve blinked. “Uh, how－”

“There a lot of people in town who don’t know who you are?”

There were probably plenty, but Steve didn’t encounter them often. Still, he paused with his hand on the door of his car. “I didn’t realize we’d met.”

There was a pout, before, “I’ll choose not to be offended by that.”

“Oh shit, have we?”

“We’ve been in the same place,” he dropped the cigarette and stomped it out. “Don’t worry, I’m just fucking with you.”

Steve was starting to get whiplash. He smiled helplessly. “So this is our official meeting, Mister?”

“Billy Hargrove.”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Much obliged. We’ll have to braid each other’s hair next time.”

Steve laughed for real at that one and his nodded jovially. “Sure, come over any time.”

There was a slight glint when Billy smiled back, but it was gone before Steve really noticed. “I’ll clear out then, wouldn’t want the spooky ghosts to get me.”

“You really don’t. Have a good night.”

Billy gave him a two fingered salute before sauntering around toward the front of his car. Steve figured he was safe enough, and backed up, waiting until Billy was in his car before driving off.

That was the end of that. Until the very next night when Steve was cooking dinner for himself at home. There was an itch in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something old and instinctive that was warning him there was a predator nearby.

But no matter how much he snuck around, looking outside for anyone or anything, he was alone.

That carried on for nearly a week before he finally told Hopper. He took it more seriously than Steve expected and told him not to patrol alone anymore. Considering that meant Steve’s options went to patrolling with Jonathan or staying home, he decided to stop going out.

He didn’t hate Jonathan anymore, but that didn’t mean they had anything in common besides Nancy. Hell, once they stopped dating, Steve realized he didn’t have any shared interests with her either.

No bad blood or friendship there, just awkward history that made for long awkward silences.

Then he reached out to Mike, and by extension, all of Mike’s friends. They piled into his house one day so Mike and Will could talk about possible precautions he could set up around his house, mostly using D&D terms; Dustin and Lucas mostly spent the visit talking about a new girl at school.

Steve did his best not to do anything stupid. After all, that was Hopper’s number one rule for joining the watch. But the habit of patrolling was too ingrained, and Steve felt frustrated just going home each night.

He wanted to be alert, especially considering he felt out of practice, so he was grabbing a coffee from a gas station when he heard a drawl from the aisle over.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?”

Steve turned, raising his eyebrows when he saw Billy Hargrove peering at him over a rack of candy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Billy tilted his head, and Steve realized somewhat belatedly that the glint from that night had been an earring. It really spoke to how much Steve had matured that he only slightly hated how incredibly handsome Billy was, even in the unflattering fluorescent lights. “Been a while.”

“I don’t get out much these days,” Steve said with a self deprecating smile. Every now and then there was someone who expected him to suddenly return the old Steve. He wouldn’t be surprised if Billy was a mainstay on the party scene.

“Guess not. Where’re you going now?”

“Just for a drive.”

Billy kept looking at him, expectant almost, and Steve had a thought sneak in from somewhere that Billy expected to hang out. He didn’t know why Billy would expect that, considering they had one exchange that made Steve look sort of like a serial killer.

But maybe that interested Billy. After all, he was standing there patiently while Steve sorted through his syrupy slow thoughts. He hadn’t realized he was so tired. Maybe he shouldn’t be patrolling alone.

“That invitation still stand?” Billy asked.

“Huh?” Invitation. Hair braiding. Oh right. Billy could come over and keep Steve company while he tried to wake up a little more. “Yeah. Yeah man, that would actually be nice if you have time.”

Billy nodded. “I’ll follow you back.”

They make it to Steve’s and are talking. Steve feels weirdly tired but also buzzed, but he’s not falling asleep, and he feels interested while he and Billy talk. Billy notes the cross hanging in front of the backdoor and Steve is too zoned out to lie.

“Vampires.”

Billy chuckles, “wouldn’t want the big bad vampires to get you.”

For the first time, Steve takes exception to Billy. There’s something that’s been on his mind for a while, after observing the vampires. With the exception of the big bad one, the one Eleven had to seal away with her powers, none of the vamps in the woods seemed ‘bad’.

“Bears aren’t bad,” he says unthinkingly. Billy tilts his head so Steve continues. “They just gotta eat. It’s not bad. They just can’t eat us.”

Billy hums, looking out the backdoor, the light is catching his eyes again. He looks like a heartbreaker. Steve is glad he wasn’t around in high school because he would have been dangerous. “They’re feral,” Billy says casually. “If you could talk to them, would you?”

Steve would like to talk to bears. “Yeah.”

“With the right ground rules, it could be a good set up. Especially if I could help with your little problem.”

“Ground rules are good. Like, don’t eat us. Or, we’ll all agree on eating.”

“Would you still want to get rid of the vampires if they didn’t attack people at random?” Billy looked at Steve, his hair haloed but for some reason his eyes were still glowing. “They have to eat, but they can agree not to kill. And they can help with the hive at the quarry.”

The quarry? They were out at the quarry? How were they able to hide there? His mind was starting to work a little faster, the sweet haze that had been present since the gas station finally starting to bleed back.

“If they,” Steve licked his lips. Why was his mouth so dry? “They’re not bad, if all they want is food and a place to live.”

Something was strange. Steve’s mind was finally clear enough to realize that he brought a stranger back to his house. Billy was looking at him, his eyes were so incredibly blue and now that he was awake, Steve realized how hypnotizing they’d been before.

“You smell amazing,” Billy stated. His sharp teeth didn’t catch the light, like Steve was sure they had before, but they were fully visible.

“No biting,” Steve said.

“I won’t,” Billy grinned, leaning in. “But you can feel free.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Steve asked as Billy nuzzled along his hairline.

“Nope, just came for a chat.” Billy’s eyes were glowing again when he looked Steve in the eye. “You’re open to that, aren’t you amigo?”

“Totally,” Steve gulped. “I like a friendly chat as much as the next guy.”

“Good. Because I think you and I can help each other,” Billy tucked some of Steve’s hair back. Steve noticed the claws that moved gently against his scalp. “But for now, you gotta keep this just between us. Deal?”

Steve didn’t stop to think about it, worried that if he gave it too much thought he’d realize what a terrible idea it was to answer: “deal.”

When looking back on that moment, Steve could have sworn that the whole room had been spinning. And then he suddenly woke up, as if he’d been dreaming the whole time, and Billy was gone.

Steve later learned what Billy meant by ‘helping each other’ when he found several dead feral vampires in a pile in his backyard. The sticky note on the top one read:

Burn before they start to stink. - Billy

#HarringroveHalloween #Harringrove #vampire!Billy Hargrove #hunter!Steve Harrington #I have this idea in my head that Hopper begrudgingly started a hunter clan without realizing #and of course without having nearly enough information #since all they know about are the feral vamps #not that REALLY dangerous ones like Billy #mywriting

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antipodeanpineapplelump · 5 years

Text

Fast Times at Konoha High

This was supposed to be a drabble, but like everything else I touch it got totally out of hand. It’s inspired by some really pretty art of grumpy janitor Obito by @glas-onion-nard which you should definitely check out. Thank you so much for letting me write this Jay! (and no pressure at all to like it - I just had fun working on something completely different for a day).

‘Can anyone tell me who Konoha’s founder was?’

A room full of less-than enthusiastic faces stares back at him and Kakashi breathes out a long sigh. Is it just his imagination, or is the ceiling light above his desk flickering? He wouldn’t mind if it is, though realistically it’s probably just wishful thinking. The bulbs were changed only two weeks ago after all.

‘No one?’ he prompts again, already anticipating the answer - or lack thereof.

Late-afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, shades of warm amber and gold. The question plays out just as Kakashi expected – blank faces and disinterest - and not for the first time, he wonders why he bothers. It’s clearly one of those days. The classroom looks deader than the staff party last Christmas – wrapped up by nine pm without so much as a single inappropriate drunken speech. Kakashi’s been to more exciting funerals. But it is nearly home-time on a Friday, so he can’t exactly blame them.

The bell rings, and the kids come alive like someone’s electrified the floor beneath them. ‘Alright,’ Kakashi calls out over the screech of chairs over wood, the clatter of stationary and books being zipped into bags, ‘Make sure you read that chapter this weekend, because anyone who doesn’t know the answer by Monday is definitely going to fail the test. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘Yes Mr. Hatake,’ they intone as one.

He smiles just a little bit at that. Enthusiastic or not, it’s still nice to hear his name spoken the same way as the teachers he remembers. After all, they’re what inspired him to pursue this career. They made a difference, even if he didn’t always appreciate it at the time.

‘Have a good weekend,’ he says as they file out, one by one.

Typically, Sasuke lingers in the corner, slow to leave again, and Kakashi makes a mental note to talk to Gai about him. It’s nothing more than a fleeting suspicion, but he gets the feeling all might not be right at home with him. He’s never been good at broaching that kind of thing with students himself, but surely the ever-cheerful guidance counsellor will know what to do.

A giggle from the corner of the classroom alerts him to the ongoing presence of Sakura - the quiet achiever of the class, and most enthusiastic member of Sasuke’s fan club. Kakashi will never understand what all the girls see in him – something about the mysterious, troubled, brooding type maybe – but wherever he goes, she goes. And where she goes-

A stack of books tips over at the back of the room.

‘Naruto you dunce!’ Sakura exclaims loudly, directing a scowl at the clumsy blond boy, then glancing back toward Sasuke for approval.

Kakashi wants to slap his palm over his face. They’re the worst, most oblivious, most patience-trying love triangle ever, and some days he just wishes he could-

The door to the classroom opens and his head snaps around, eyes drawn to it, hoping.

A man trudges in, stepladder under one arm, and brown cardboard box in other. He’s wearing a faded blue uniform, an eye patch, and an expression that can only be described as cantankerous. Or unreasonably grouchy. Or any other of a thesaurus-full of variations on the theme that Kakashi might care to apply. Like being here is utterly ruining his day, and he knows exactly who he blames it on.

Kakashi tries very hard not to swoon.

‘Hatake,’ the janitor growls, unimpressed.

There’s something oddly appealing about the way it sounds in his rough, gravelly tone though. ‘Obito,’ Kakashi replies warmly, suppressing the smile that wants to break through his careful mask of composure.

‘I presume you have something to complain about.’ Obito dumps the ladder on the floor. ‘Since you always do. Air conditioning again maybe. Or another squeaky door?’

‘Actually I think that light above my desk is flickering again,’ Kakashi says evenly.

‘Really?’ Obito drawls, one narrowed eye assessing him like he doesn’t believe it for a second. ‘Because I only changed the bulbs in it two weeks ago. The last time you complained,’ he adds snidely.

Kakashi holds out his hands, placating. ‘Maa, I can’t help it if the school doesn’t have the budget to look after these things properly.’

Obito breathes out through his nose, looking for all the world like he might hit Kakashi with the box he’s carrying. But instead he just rolls his eye, holding the box up. ‘Well, aren’t you lucky I brought replacement bulbs with me then?’

Kakashi actually smiles at that, bright and genuine. ‘That is lucky,’ he says, feeling a familiar flutter rising in his chest. He tries to lean casually against his desk, but it’s lot further away than he realised. Overbalancing, he flails gracelessly into thin air for a couple of seconds, then steps into a clumsy recovery, coughing awkwardly and trying to pass the whole thing off as intentional.

The wry expression and raised eyebrow suggest Obito’s not buying it though. He snorts sharply, something like amusement – or certainly the closest Kakashi’s ever seen - passing over his face, then drags his ladder toward the light in question, shaking his head.

The second he looks away, Kakashi sags against the desk. God he’s such an idiot. A completely hopeless mess whenever Obito’s around. Though in his defence, Obito does seem to be all Kakashi’s weaknesses rolled up into one man – and undoubtedly the most interesting person in this place. His past is a complete mystery, and regular topic of discussion in the staff-room over lunch. Ex-criminal, undercover secret agent, education ministry inspector – you name it, it’s probably been suggested. Although personally, Kakashi doubts any of them are right.

In any case, he just can’t seem to stay away from the man, and it’s caused the number of maintenance complaints he makes to skyrocket. A couple of really juicy issues, and he has a good excuse to stick around chatting to Obito for at least half an hour on Friday afternoons when he does his weekly rounds of the school. It’s made them Kakashi’s favourite day of the week.

‘So,’ he says, hoping to recover some of his lost dignity. ‘Do you have any plans for tonight?’

Obito pauses screwing in the light bulb momentarily to scowl at him. ‘Do I look like I have any plans?’

Ok… so maybe that was a bad question.

Kakashi bites his lip, distracted as Sasuke saunters past without the slightest acknowledgement. There really is something about the kid’s attitude that’s just not right and he probably should-

‘Naruto, don’t!’ Sakura exclaims.

Kakashi looks up just in time to see Naruto’s fingers slip off the spare bulb in Obito’s box, expression one of foiled mischief as Sakura drags him back by a shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says to the janitor, looking terrified.

Naruto grins ridiculously, not the least bit put off by this change to his plans.

Obito glares at them both, expression exuding barely-contained menace. It’s enough to make Kakashi reconsider that suggestion about possible past criminality, and he knows it should probably concern him, but it’s also unreasonably attractive…

With a nervous laugh, Sakura tugs Naruto toward the door. ‘Come on,’ she entreats, as he refuses to budge, staring between Kakashi and Obito with the oddest expression on his face, like he’s just realised something terribly important.

Kakashi tears his eyes away from Obito (though that’s hard, because the view is very good) and pushes off his desk. ‘Time to head home Naruto. Mr. Uchiha needs space to do his job, and your parents will be expecting you.’

Still reluctant, Naruto pokes his tongue out at the janitor’s back, then much to Kakashi’s relief, follows Sakura to the door. That’s… less pushback than he was expecting.

But just before he gets there, and just when Kakashi thinks he’s home free, with Obito to himself for a whole few glorious minutes, Naruto pauses, fixing Kakashi with a terrifying grin and asking loudly enough that no-one - least of all the janitor perched on the ladder at the front of the room – could possibly miss it, ‘Do you want to be alone so you can finally ask him on a date Mr. Hatake!?’

Teach children they said. It’ll be a rewarding career they said.

Well whoever they were, they obviously hadn’t accounted for Naruto.

Kakashi’s face feels like it’s on fire, Obito’s shoulders have stiffened and Kakashi just knows he’s heard. It makes him want to bolt straight out of the room. Anything to avoid having to explain to Obito, who - if he hadn’t realised before why so many things always break in Kakashi’s classroom – must surely understand by now.

‘Naruto!’ Sakura gasps. ‘I’m so sorry Mr. Hatake.’

Gritting his teeth, Kakashi smiles at her. ‘It’s alright Sakura. I hope both of you have a good weekend.’

‘Er… you too,’ she says with a final horrified glance at Obito - still frozen on the ladder - before dragging Naruto out.

Kakashi can hear her admonishing him all the way down the hall. Not that that helps him.

There’s a completely dead, stony silence. Kakashi swallows, wondering what he can possibly say to talk his way out of this. It’s all he can do not to just run away right now. As much as he likes Obito, he’s never imagined actually telling him how he feels, more than content to just admire from afar. But the way things have gone he has to say something.

‘Obito…’ he croaks out, name sticking in a too-dry throat. ‘I can explain.’

Almost in slow motion, Obito turns. His eye sweeps across Kakashi’s face, no doubt taking in the particular shade of red Kakashi knows he’s sporting. The nervous tongue that flicks traitorously across his lips, betraying the truth behind Naruto’s words.

‘Is it true?’ Obito asks flatly.

Kakashi’s resolve crumbles before the other man’s gaze. His eyes drop to the floor between his feet and he sucks in a deep breath, feeling like nothing in the world can prepare him for what he’s about to say. ‘I… yes, it is. I like you Obito. But I’d never… not if you didn’t want to…’

He trails off, unsure how to finish, and hating the deathly silence that fills the space between them. The heat in his face is spreading outward now, creeping along the tips of his ears and down his neck. Shifting uncomfortably, he scuffs at the floor with a toe.

There’s a noise that sounds suspiciously like someone clearing their throat. Steeling himself to face the music, Kakashi looks up. Obito’s still staring at him, but his expression is a lot less deadpan than before. Now there are tiny creases around his mouth and eyes, and if Kakashi didn’t know better, he’d say the janitor looks almost… amused. It’s not enough to make Kakashi relax, but it is far better than he was expecting.

Obito grunts, glancing at the box in his hands. ‘So tell me… should I finish changing these bulbs, or not?’

‘Um…’ Kakashi runs a hand through his hair nervously. Might as well come clean about everything, considering. ‘You probably don’t need to. Sorry… about that.’

Obito nods slowly. He steps back down to the floor, appearing lost in thought as he folds up the ladder. He’s taking this remarkably well. So well, Kakashi has almost begun to think he might be able to breathe again. That he might actually get away with this being one of those embarrassing incidents that they both agree (by omission) to pretend never happened. It’s probably the best he can hope for, realistically.

But Obito stops right in front of him on his way to the door. ‘You know,’ he muses, like he’s trying out each word before he actually says it. ‘I don’t have any plans tonight. But I could.’

Kakashi’s heart leaps into his throat. ‘Are you asking me… on a date?’ he squeaks.

The janitor’s mouth quirks subtly upward, slight but unmistakeable this time. ‘No. You asked first. I’m just telling you I accept.’

The noise that escapes Kakashi’s throat is almost embarrassing in it’s enthusiasm. This is not at all what he was expecting.

It’s so, so much better.

‘Do you like music?’ he hears himself babbling. ‘There’s a live band playing at my favourite bar in town tonight. Maybe we could go?’

‘Sure, that sounds fun.’

Kakashi resists the urge to punch the air. ‘I can pick you up at five?’ he suggests, aiming for cool and collected, but landing a lot closer to breathy and excited. There’s a smile plastered across his face, he just knows it, and from the way Obito’s eyes are lingering over his lips, he hasn’t failed to notice it.

‘I finish at six,’ the janitor says, wry but not displeased. ‘You can pick me up then. Assuming you don’t have anything else that needs fixing while I’m here?’

Kakashi blushes again. He’s probably never going to live that down. ‘Yeah uh… I’m pretty sure everything is working fine now, thanks.’

There’s an obvious smirk on Obito’s face, and it’s edging rapidly toward smug. ‘Funny that. I’ll see you at six then.’

‘Yeah… see you then.’

As soon as Obito leaves the room, Kakashi really does punch the air. Best day ever! And all thanks to Naruto’s inability to keep his mouth shut. Who’d have thought?

Minutes later he saunters from the classroom, drawing stares from his colleagues as he waltzes past them in a hazy dream-like state, whistling cheerfully.

Let them wonder. He’s got a hot date to prepare for, and he’s pretty sure it’ll be the talk of the school in due course.

But for now at least, it’s going to be a great start to the weekend.

***

The mop seems to float, weightless in his hands, as Obito works his way down the hall, keeping a watchful eye on the time. If anyone had asked him earlier today why he thought Mr. Hatake from homeroom six was always finding so many issues with the school facilities, he would have said the man did it just to spite him.

Instead, it turns out he’s just a pervert who can’t resist the view of Obito’s ass halfway up a ladder as he changes the light bulbs. Who’d have thought?

Not that he’s complaining. There was a lot to like about the way Hatake’s stupid handsome face lit up at least five different shades of crimson when he realised Obito knew. Just the sort of gay disaster Obito’s never been able to resist.

He hums to himself, mopping right over patches of floor-bound chewing gum that would usually render him irate.

Only one hour to go, then he’s going to find out just how deep a shade of red Hatake can actually blush. Maybe even what’s behind that stupid mask of his.

Obito grins at the thought. It’s going to be a good weekend after all.

#kakashi #obito #kakaobi #my writing #inspired by some amazing art #highschool au

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takadasaiko · 5 years

Text

Houseguest Chapter Three

FFN II AO3

Summary: Tony and Steve' investigate the burglary at the Stark Industry.

Chapter Three: Always Come Prepared

Tony didn't bother calling ahead to the location. He didn't typically make trips out to facilities unless R&D work was being done there, so on the off chance that someone inside his company had orchestrated the break in he didn't want to give them any warning. Granted, he had to admit there was something amusing about watching people scurry when the man whose name was on the side of the building showed up unannounced. Not everything could be strategic. Life was meant to be entertaining.

Cap had decided to tag along rather than go into town. He looked like a fish out of water as he followed Tony into the facility, and even more awkward as the SI employees went into overdrive for the surprise visit.

"Mr Stark?" Tony turned to see what he assumed was the man in charge around there barreling towards him. "Bill Wiley. I'm sorry nobody greeted you when you arrived. No one said you'd be coming in personally," the building manager said as nearly raced to meet him.

Tony greeted the sweaty man with a handshake that couldn't be avoided without coming across like an ass. "It was taking a while for the report to hit our servers. I thought I might be able to speed things along."

He didn't miss the way Bill Wiley glanced nervously at Rogers who, in turn, was sweeping every visible inch of the space with that sharp blue gaze of his. He might be behind the times on tech, but Cap had proven resourceful when he was interested in uncovering the truth on something. Maybe it was a good idea to have brought him along afterall.

"Well, it was in the middle of the night with our skeleton security crew, sir. We've been working with the police and running inventory on —"

"Perfect," Tony cut him off. "Whatcha got?"

"For… inventory…. sir?" the other man asked like he was certain he must have misunderstood.

"Yep. What'd they steal?"

The manager looked like he was bordering on terrified as he answered. "Nothing, as far as we can tell." He stopped, and Tony was fairly sure that he was weighing if what he wanted to say would get him fired or not. He motioned for him to spit it out and the man swallowed hard. "Do you… know what we do at this office, sir?"

"Something having to do with, uh…." Tony drawled out, desperately wracking his brain for the answer. He'd seen it, right? He was sure that he'd seen it or that JARVIS had told him or something. The hangover was starting to recede, but that didn't mean he hadn't missed a few things on the way there.

"I'm with your marketing division. I just happened to be the manager that answered the call at six this morning and came in."

"Six? They said the break in was at three."

"Might have been, sir, but I was at home asleep." Poor Bill Wiley, who appeared to be too far out of his depths for comfort, ducked his head. "We're the catch-all. We've got a few marketing teams that aren't housed at HQ or in New York, the aviation department holds meetings and keep their offices here, and a couple of underwriters that live out this way come in here to avoid the commute. We don't house anything worth stealing."

"Hey, Tony?"

Tony turned, finding Steve further away than he expected. He was standing with a security guard that looked more than a little starstruck. Good. Maybe that meant he'd helpful.

"Tony, this is -"

"Juan Morales. Wow. I didn't think I'd actually ever get to meet you. You're Iron Man."

"Sometimes," Tony answered casually as he sauntered over. "Right now I just own a company who had a break in that I'd like to know more about."

"I wasn't on duty when it happened. I start the morning shift at nine."

Tony shot Cap a look, but the other man motioned for patience.

"I'm buddies with Tom in the main office. Guess it's the one you work out of?"

"I work out of my house most days, but you were saying?"

"Right… So, Tom said that some of the other security guards from around the city sent in reports about signs of guys casing the places. I mean, most of them were warehouses and storage facilities and stuff, but we've all got the same basic security protocols, right? It's weird."

"Do you think they were testing them?" Steve prompted.

"Yeah. I mean, response times are gonna be different in each location, but the alarms, how long they take to go off, if the building has any lockdown protocols…."

It was like a slap to the face. "Which they all do," Tony managed.

"But no one was here. There was a delay in the lockdown. No code or anything, but nobody trapped either."

"Like they found an override….. Can you get me a list? The other locations your buddy mentioned?"

"Oh yeah, sure, Mr Stark. Anything you need."

"Just that list. And, kid, if this leads to something, you're getting the bonus of a lifetime." He turned towards Steve as the young guard bolted off to get him what he needed.

"You think someone's after something."

"More sure of it every second. Listen, uh… this is my problem. If you wanna go do the whole touristy thing -"

"What? And let you have all the fun?"

Brown eyes met blue and there wasn't even a hint of sarcasm. Cap wanted to help. Okay then. This could get interesting.

_____________

JARVIS has been running probability calculations all day, leaving Tony to tinker and Cap to wander around LA at his leisure. He'd left his things at the mansion, though, so Tony assumed he was coming back.

It left him with time on his hands and time was spent tinkering with suits and a variety of other projects in his downstairs workshop. It did wonders for his nerves and let him focus on something else when he didn't have enough data to start tracking down this unseen enemy.

"Tony?"

He jumped at the light touch on his shoulder, hissing a soft curse as the soldering tool touched his opposite hand and burned it. He turned, finding Pepper to his left and she looked startled by the extreme reaction. "I called your name a couple of times."

"In the zone, sorry," he mumbled and held his hand up to examine it. He'd had a lot worse.

Pepper reached for it, her hand gentle against his as if she didn't trust his assessment. "You should ice it."

The argument died on his lips and he offered her a smile instead. He stood, but instead of moving to the freezer to grab one of the waiting ice packs he kept there, he leaned in. She snorted a laugh, muffled by the kiss, and Tony wrapped his arms around her to pull her just a little closer. She gave in and he could feel her smile against him as she reached up, one hand trailing along the side of his face until her arm rested against his shoulder, elbow bent so that her fingers toyed with his dark hair. Okay. This was nice. It did wonders for his nerves too. One of the many, many reasons he never wanted to let her go. "Hey, maybe we could -" he started in the same moment Pepper said —

"Did I hear something about a break in last night?"

Right. That. He released her and started towards to freezer. "Yeah, the offices out in Burbank."

"In Burbank? There's nothing out there to steal."

"I think they were testing our security protocols." He grabbed the ice pack and winced as he pressed it to the burn.

"Does Barry know?"

Tony snorted, shooting her a withering look. "My money's on no. Remind me why we pay him?"

"Because he's the head of security, Tony."

"He's terrible at his job."

Pepper leaned against one of his work tables and crossed her arms. "And who would you replace him with? You've hated every name I've given you in the last five years."

"We didn't know any of those people."

"Tony," she said in that tone that said she thought he was bordering on the absurd, "we don't know most new hires. That's what references and due diligence is for."

"Happy."

She blinked at him. "Hogan?"

"Yeah. He's been running my personal security for years-"

"Babysitting you, you mean?"

"- and yours for the last two. He knows every last security protocol we have and I guarantee he has ideas. We know him, there's no question we can trust him. How have we not already done it? Let's do it."

"Promote Happy to head of security?"

"Yeah."

She was still looking at him like he'd lost it. After a long moment she loosed a breath, letting her arms drop. "I'll make you a deal. You do what you're going to do anyway and figure out if this was more than just a one-off break in and if - if, Tony - SI's security has been compromised we'll revisit the topic when I get back from London."

"Deal. Wait. London?"

She crossed the space between and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "It's been on the books for two weeks."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. I'll be back on Saturday. Think you can manage?"

Tony feigned a hurt look. "No faith in me, Miss Potts?"

The look didn't phase her and her voice was painfully sweet as she spoke. "I just know you, Mr Stark. I left a reminder with JARVIS about the R&D meeting tomorrow. Please don't miss it?"

"Promise."

"Thank you. And try not to get shot at or blown up while your looking into your thief?"

He reached out for her hand and pulled her close again. "Do my best," he murmured, and she was close enough he could feel her breath on his skin. He didn't want her to go. Selfish, he knew, but it didn't change the feeling.

"The calculations are complete, sir," JARVIS' voice rang out, causing them both to jump, instantly pulled from the moment.

Pepper cleared her throat. "I need to head to the airport. Let me know how it goes?"

"Will do. Love you."

He loved that smile of hers. "Love you too."

Tony waited until she was out of the lab and starting back up the stairs. "This better be good, J."

"I wouldn't have interrupted if it weren't important, sir," his AI responded. "I've run the calculations that you requested, and have come up with two likely targets and the top five most likely times that the breach will be attempted."

"Put it up on the screen," Tony instructed and watched the data flicker into his vision. "Pretty sure you can take the warehouse on the right off, JARVIS."

"I was afraid you might say so, sir. Shall I contact the authorities?"

"No. Let security onsite know there's an issue, but I'll deal with it."

"Sir, if I may -"

"You may not."

"I only wished to inform you that Captain Rogers is back. In case you would like to enlist his aid." The second half of the announcement was spoken so quickly that Tony had to wonder if JARVIS was trying to get it out before the mutecommand was given. He should probably be more nervous that he was that his AI had developed quite that much obstinance when it came to his warnings being heard at the very least, even if he really still couldn't do anything about making Tony follow them.

"Thanks, buddy," Tony said instead, letting it slide. He couldn't fault JARVIS for trying to look out for him.

_____________

Agreeing to help Tony Stark was turning out to feel like he'd been caught in a riptide. There was no real control. All he could do was let himself be dragged along until he surfaced at the other end.

Steve had barely walked into the house when Tony had come flying up from his lab and told him that if he still wanted to help, he better hurry up. He barely stopped long enough to add that he knew where his mysterious burglars were going to strike next and that he wanted to get out there to go over everything with his security team onsite. If Steve wanted any more details than that, he could get them on the way.

Tony talked almost as fast as he drove, rattling off so much information that Steve had to listen fast to catch the important pieces. "Wait, Wait. Hold on a second. What exactly are you doing with alien tech?"

The other man was halfway through a new sentence when he seemed to hear the question. "Huh? Oh. I created a new department at Stark Industries after the Battle of New York to work with the government to help with the cleanup."

"You? Working with the government?" Steve asked, shooting the other man an amused look. He'd seen clips of what happened a couple years before when he'd been called to Capitol Hill to discuss the Iron Man suits. His mockery of the Senate wasn't the top video when Steve had searched his name, but it was close. Funny thing, he's found some old reels put on the internet of Howard in a similar position after the war. He'd responded flippantly, hoeing no rea respect for the elected officials that had questioned him. Like father, like son.

"It does happen every once and awhile."

"I'm still not sure why we didn't contact the police. This seems like the type of thing they should handle."

"All the cops will do is scare them off and we'll lose them," Tony grumbled as he took a particularly sharp turn too fast for comfort. He glanced over, and Steve couldn't shake the feeling that he was sizing up his reaction to tailor his own. "I need more data. Let's get there, get the lay of the land, and then maybe we'll loop LAPD in."

"Backup couldn't hurt," Steve pressed. "In case things move quicker than you're expecting."

"I don't need that kind of backup. The LAPD are great for what they do, but I became Iron Man to make sure that no one could use my stuff to hurt people. This falls firmly in that category."

"And they're okay with that?"

"Oh no, they hate it. Just can't really stop me," Tony chuckled and turned a corner. A warehouse came into view, large and gated with a guard station at the edge. The guard did not look happy as they pulled up next to it.

"Mr Stark," the guard greeted, his tone matching his worried expression. "I was just about to put a call in, sir. Communication with the warehouse went down about two minutes ago. I can't get through to anybody inside. I know you said -"

"Yep," Tony cut him off and killed the car engine.

Steve watched him step outside and followed half a moment later, his gaze trained on the warehouse. It was quiet, which might be expected after the close of the business day if it weren't for the fact that Tony had sent a warning ahead. For that, it was suspiciously quiet.

It didn't last. There was a loud crash that drew their attention and a figure stumbled out the door and fell hard against the ground.

"Shit," Tony cursed. "They're already inside."

"Call the LAPD," Steve instructed the guard before Tony could counter him. It wasn't until no argument came that he saw him toying with what looked like a bracelet of some kind. "What are you-?"

Tony nodded at the car. "Check the trunk."

Steve shot him a questioning look, but circled around to where it had popped open. Inside he saw his shield. The same one Tony had asked to take a look at while he'd been out earlier that day. "Just coming to check things out, huh?"

There was a loud roar that he'd heard before and one of Tony's suits came into view from seemingly nowhere. It barreled down and opened up just long enough for him to step in before it snapped shut around him. "Always come prepared, right?" he asked through the suit and Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"The police are on their way," the guard offered.

"Fine. We'll have it wrapped before they get within a mile." Steve could feel that dark gaze move to him even through the helmet. "You with me, Cap, or do you wanna wait for your buddies?"

Steve pushes a frustrated breath out his nose as he grabbed his shield.

_____________

TBC

Notes: I was just writing along and suddenly Tony's pitching Happy for the head of security position. Don't know what to tell you. Apparently Barry sucks at his job. He's a lousy Forehead of Security :P

Next Time: Tony and Steve race against the clock to rescue the hostages and catch the thieves.

#MCU fanfiction #Iron Man #Avengers #Tony Stark #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Pepper Potts

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the-reason-to-sail-home · 7 years

Text

The Cuddlist (2/3)

ProfessionalCuddling!AU. Maybe going to a professional snuggler was the craziest idea Emma ever had, but it certainly wasn’t her worst. In fact, weekly cuddling with Killian Jones could’ve been the best decision she ever made.

Inspiration for this fic finally struck (after over nine months) and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to surprise @swanandapirate, who has been studying her butt off. This fic is for her, my sweet love! I hope you all enjoy it just as much. Special thanks to @phiralovesloki who gave me feedback of immeasurable worth. This fic would have suffered without it.♥

Note: This chapter contains very brief and non-descriptive mentions of a client crossing personal boundaries toward the beginning.

(Rated T) (6k words) (ao3) (chapter one)

Session Six

Emma Swan was Killian’s favorite appointment. His magnetic refrigerator calendar - a sailing themed one - had all his clients and the times they would arrive printed in his flourished cursive with black ink. Swan’s name had been written in a light blue color slightly larger than the rest of the things he’d written on his schedule.

It was the one thing he looked forward to. Emma Swan. Every Wednesday. Noon to one in the afternoon. His midweek break.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved every - well, most - of his clients, and he loved his job even more. He’d seen so much change in so many people, it was hard to not become addicted to the warm feeling he got from giving therapy.

It was just that Killian wished he liked all his clients as much as he liked spending time with Emma, but not of all of them could be as great as her. She didn’t know, but in the time he had met her six weeks ago, he had turned several people down for a second or third appointment. It was one of the few downsides to his job. Some people wanted more than a friendly presence.

And he had decided years ago, without question and without much thought, he was not going to be a male escort, contrary to what some people expected from him.

Take for example the woman in his arms, who was one such person. Cora Mills. One of his older clients, Killian knew that she had acquired quite the sum of money from a strange marriage to a younger CEO. It was the only time someone had abused his confidentiality policy to allow for their cheating habits. Because sure, the touches were platonic on his end, but the way she tried to feel all over him made him squirm.

Especially the way her hand was trailing up his thigh. Killian felt a wave of nausea flood over him. He caught her hand before it could travel too far up, and clutched it into his chest.

“Boundaries, love,” he reminded in his most professional cuddlist voice.

“To have fun, one must push boundaries, darling,” she replied, sickly sweet in his ear. She tore her hand from his grasp and moved to continue her search along his thigh, but Killian jolted back.

“Cora, I’ve asked you more than once,” he said sharply. He spun away, standing up and putting distance between them. “And I shouldn’t have to. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

“I paid for an hour.” Killian glanced at the clock, relaxing just an ounce to see it was 11:59am.

“And an hour you got, ma’am.”

Just as Cora opened her mouth to argue, at which point Killian planned to call the police, a steady knock resounded throughout the room from the front door. He could have cried in relief. Emma Swan truly was a savior.

“It’s open!” Killian called, before Cora could intervene.

Emma came tumbling into the room, as radiant as the sun peering behind the fall leaves. She wore a white turtleneck sweater tucked into a burgundy skirt, the personification of autumn spirit. She smiled as soon as she saw him, leaving a warm feeling in his chest, but paused as she caught sight of Cora.

“Did I interrupt?” she asked, glancing down at her watch. Killian shook his head, trying to show just how thankful he was in his heavy stare. Her smile twitched, a minute sign that told Killian she caught how perturbed he was.

“Not at all, love,” he answered. “Miss Mills and I were just finishing up.” Both women in the room could tell his tone meant finishing up for good.

Like a tempered child pouting, Cora slipped her shiny black heels on, grabbed her wool jacket, then clacked across the room toward the door.

“If he refused me, don’t expect him to keep you for very long,” he heard the woman murmur to Emma, but the door had slammed behind her before Killian could voice just how very wrong she was. He planned on keeping Emma around for quite some time if he could, thank you very much.

But just having the woman gone was enough to make Killian’s pulse slow down and his hands stop trembling. Emma was by his side at a second, a comforting hand on his arm. He closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing. A hand come up to cover Emma’s on his arm, offering a gentle squeeze.

“Are you okay now?” she asked.

“Aye, love. You have immaculate timing,” he replied, voice hitching on the tightness winding in his throat. Emma dropped her hand to give him some space, but the loss of contact made Killian’s nerves thrill under his skin.

“Though perhaps we should reschedule. I’m afraid I’m in no condition to give you what you paid for.”

It was unclear just what she was thinking as she held him in a scrutinized gaze. He felt frozen to the floor, knowing that if she showed even the slightest sign of disappointment, he would take it all back within an instant.

There was no disappointment in her eyes. There was only something akin to understanding, and a fiery bite of rage that she seemed to have held back by a single thread.

“Give me your phone,” she demanded gently. Killian’s hand immediately reached toward his back pocket, but then he hesitated.

“Why?”

“Just hand it over, Jones. Weren’t you the one who taught me about this whole trust thing?” It was enough for him to comply, and within moments, she was pattering away at the screen with furrowed eyebrows.

“You said her name was Mills?” she continued, fingers scrolling up through a list. “Cora Mills, there she is. And…number blocked. She won’t be able to call you again.”

Emma paused, waiting for him to respond. As Killian took back his phone, his mouth was locked in a gape, searching for some way to answer. All words had escaped him. There was nothing but this woman before him, so stable and sure.

“I was going to-” he finally tried to defend.

“No, you probably would’ve thought about blocking her number and then let her call you back, only to forgive her and rinse and repeat whatever happened in here today. She’s not worth the anxiety, Killian.”

His pointer finger found the spot behind his ear that prickled when he was nervous. Of course Emma would understand. Other people in the past had criticized him whenever something like this had happened, subtly claiming that it was his fault for putting himself in such an intimate profession. He was wise enough to know that it was never his fault, but it never made it less horrible when it did happen.

When he looked up from the floor, Emma was lounging across his couch with a massive chinese menu in one hand with the other dialing a number.

“What are you doing?” Killian asked. “And where did you get that?”

“Ordering lunch. I never leave the house without a take-out menu,” she replied, as if it were obvious. Killian sauntered over to her, pulling her phone and menu from her hands just as she finished dialing the number.

“Darling, I told you. I can’t today.” Killian began to fold the expansive menu, but Emma plucked it back just as quickly.

“Look, I’m ordering you lunch, sticking around to make sure you let me pay for it, and then I’ll be out of your hair,” she explained casually. His incredulous stare prompted her to add one last clarification. “You spend every day pampering people, but you never have time to let anyone pamper you. I’m not here as a client, I’m here as a friend.”

A warm rush spread through Killian. Her presence seemed to brighten the room in a way that was almost therapeutic. He considered all his clients his friends to eliminate the awkwardness of holding a complete stranger, but it wasn’t often the other person reciprocated.

He suddenly became aware of something: there was nothing he liked more than being Emma Swan’s genuine, bona fide friend.

Within the hour, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, white cartons in hand and stomachs filled with delicious food. Killian could sense Emma’s relaxation radiating off of her, coming off in gentle exhales.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Killian admitted. His eyes stayed glued on his fork searching around for tiny pieces of chicken lingering at the bottom of his take-out box.

“Me too.” Emma set her empty container on the table in front of them. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“A woman violated our client-therapist agreement which resulted in her permanent removal from my services. What else is there to talk about?”

“And you’re okay?” Emma placed a comforting hand on his knee, a touch that seemed to pull the answer right from his lips.

“Yeah,” he said on a breathy exhale. “I think I’m okay.”

Any sourness left over from the incident earlier was erased away minute by minute as Emma put his favorite indie movie on the TV. As gentle acoustic music played behind the opening of the film, Killian leaned his head into her lap, cheek nuzzling up with the soft fabric of her long skirt.

And maybe Killian’s heart raced as Emma threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp. Maybe her touch was just what he needed to send away everything nasty he’d been carrying, leaving room for her comforting presence in his heart. He nearly suggested that she become a cuddle therapist herself, but the very thought of her hands on someone else sent a recoiling scowl down his face.

If Killian Jones was developing a crush on Emma Swan, then no one needed to know. It would probably go away before anything could become of it.

* * *

Except that it didn’t. If anything, Killian’s growing infatuation was only getting in the way of his work. He’d have a lonely widower in his arms, but find himself aching for her touch. His routine of massages was muddled with the thought of her creamy skin and lovely smile.

It didn’t help that Emma started scheduling appointments for twice a week, rather than their usual single consultation. She even had a habit of popping over when she knew he wasn’t busy and visiting as a friend, rather than a client.

Eventually, their dynamic shifted without any spark or prompting. It was organic, their relationship growing in a way that friendships do when the people and the conditions are right. It started as timid text messages - Would you care to come over for pizza tonight? I rented Back to the Future. - and shifted into Emma’s sporadic visits after his business hours. She did occasionally schedule an appointment with Killian the Professional rather than just popping over to see Killian the Friend, especially when she had some extra money saved and work was wearing her down.

It was good. It worked.

Killian blamed habit of routine for the way they always ended up tangled together in each other’s arms.

* * *

“How many sessions does this make?” Emma murmured into Killian’s chest one day. They’d been laying like this on his couch for an hour, legs a tangled mess. There were few places she liked being more, held by her best friend while his fingers rubbed along her scalp.

“This isn’t even a real session,” he answers, his breath whisking through loose strands of her hair.

There were certainly benefits to your best friend being a professional cuddler, Emma decided. For one, he was naturally affectionate. Gentle touches and warm hugs came easy to Killian, a talent Emma had always been glad she didn’t have. It was different now that she’d felt the comfort of his embrace, so she thought she’d make an exception. And boy, was she glad she did. From that day on, Emma spent the end of her stressful days in the company of a friend who genuinely cared about her, made her laugh until her stomach was in knots, and gave a damn good foot massage.

Of course, there were also disadvantages.

Like the intrusive thoughts that Emma certainly did not ask for, the ones that insisted that she was nothing special to Killian Jones and that he was only being nice to her to earn money off of her. Or worse, that he was just like every other guy she’d been with who always seemed to take advantage of her.

The one thought that really kept her up at night, the one that she was most ashamed of, was the small tiny voice in her head that admitted that she was falling for him. Getting feelings for Killian was absolutely, under no circumstances, allowed. She’d signed the agreement and everything.

“Swan, if you think any louder the neighbors are going to start complaining.”

Emma jolted a little in his arms, like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Shaking her head, she leaned up to burrow her face into the side of his neck and muttered an unconvincing, “I’m fine.”

The hand weaving through her hair moved down her back, his fingers gliding over her skin. He was waiting for her to say it, because they both knew that something was wrong. There wasn’t any point in trying to hide it from him.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked in a low voice.

“Of course.” Killian held her in place as he shifted against the couch so that they could face each other. It was a tight fight on the small cushions, and Emma could smell the spearmint on his breath. It was his eyes that coaxed the question out of her, the way they didn’t judge or hold suspicion.

“How many people do you do this with?”

Killian gaped at her. Smooth, Emma she sneered at herself. Real smooth. He was careful to keep his expression fixed, though she swore she saw the slightest hint of offense dampening the light in his eyes.

“Do what, exactly?”

“Spend time outside of consultations.”

Killian sat up, taking Emma with him that she had nowhere else to look but at him. His brows furrowed, gaze intense. Running his hands down her arms, he locked their fingers and squeezed.

“I love each of my clients, and I like to think that I’m not just their therapist, but also their friend.” Emma opened her mouth to interrupt, take back the question, change the subject, forget that she even mentioned it , but he stopped her. “The people that visit me all have their own lives, their own friends, their own families. Many of them are embarrassed to admit they see a professional cuddler, so they leave me separate from their real lives.”

“Does that bother you?” she asked.

“No. People don’t keep in contact with their chiropractors or dentists, I don’t expect them to treat me differently.”

“But I’m different?”

A smile broke on his lips. “Very.”

Emma could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks as he grinned at her. All her life she’d been ordinary Emma. Nothing special to her foster parents. Nothing special to her teachers. Nothing special in general. But to be different to Killian Jones felt good.

“So, when people ask me what my best friend does for a living…”

Just when Emma thought that his smile couldn’t get wider, he proved her wrong with a grin that sent butterflies to her stomach.

“You tell them he’s a professional cuddler. Trust me, the reactions are priceless.”

* * *

Life with Emma Swan was great.

It was what they both needed: something reliable, something familiar and routine. They spent their time together at his apartment because Killian, I’m poor and my apartment is the size of a walk-in closet. And when he wasn’t convinced - Fine, it’s because you have that fantastic bean bag that I would give my left kidney for.

She always brought food, whether a full meal from that surprisingly good chinese place down a few blocks, or just a few brown bags of groceries. Somehow they always ended up tangled up together, watching YouTube videos or one of those Netflix series which can’t actually be that good, and turns out an all-time favorite.

Sometimes he played guitar while she chopped vegetables in the kitchen. And other times she added songs to their joint Spotify playlist (appropriately named “untitled” because Emma wouldn’t allow any of the other ridiculous names he’d suggested) that she just knew he’d be playing on repeat for the next week.

And when he was having a really shitty day, she brought Captain Morgan. That was how he knew she was his best friend. He didn’t even have to say anything, the bottle would already be in his hands.

It had been eight months since their unlikely friendship began. Had it not been for his constant stream of clients - who valued their privacy - in and out of the apartment, he’d have already asked her to move in. Once Killian’s last appointment ended for the day, she was there and really only ever went home to sleep.

“Just because you live somewhere doesn’t make it home, Killian. My apartment is like living in a graveyard. There’s no life. At least your apartment has ferns.”

“Aye, love, well I’m glad my ferns keep you coming every day.” His chest tightened as he wondered where exactly she considered home to be. If he had any other job, he could just allow her permanently into his life, whatever that meant. Instead, Emma would continue to pay her rent and sleep in her own bed, but eat her meals at his table.

“Can I schedule another appointment?” she asked through a mouthful of fried rice, chopsticks digging around the white take out carton hidden shrimp. Killian blinked a few times.

“Did something happen at work?” Emma shrugged, not in the mood to elaborate. Lately, it wasn’t often that she kept things to herself. He was glad to help her, though, even if it was as a professional before it was as a friend. Finally he said, “Yes, I have openings, but I’m not going to ask you to pay me. That’d be ridiculous.”

“Why? If you were an artist, and I wanted you to paint something for me, you’d still ask for a commission. You’re a businessman who has to work for a living.”

“Oh, now you’re making me sound like a white-collar.” He paused for a second. “You’re adamant about this?” If she wanted to hire him once more, then who was he to deny her?

“Alright, love. How’s Wednesday at noon?”

* * *

It began like it always did, Emma standing in front of his apartment dressed in comfortable clothes. Her fingers tapped mindlessly against her hip while she fought the urge to check her watch for the fourth time.

It felt almost the same way it did that first appointment when she didn’t know who he was or what to expect. But this was Killian, her best friend of all people! He was the most predictable thing in her life, the one who never expected more than she could give, the one who always could read her as easily as one of the books on his shelf. When she was wrapped in his arms, there was no place in the world that was safer.

That was all she’d ever wanted since she was a little girl, and she had long since given up hope that she would ever find it. But it had happened, after almost twenty-eight years it had finally happened.

She couldn’t even thoroughly enjoy it because she was falling in love with him. Emma scoffed. Who was she kidding? The falling had already happened. The falling had sent her plummeting toward over a cliff where she crash landed, head way over her heels.

Emma couldn’t help it, she glanced down at her watch and saw that he was thirteen minutes past noon. She frowned. Killian always had his clients in and out very promptly, and she was positive he was supposed to have someone in there with him. Tugging at the bottom of her sweater, Emma decided to wait for a few more minutes.

Five minutes passed and no one exited the apartment. Killian hadn’t even gone out to check to see if she was there, so she knocked lightly. The next moments were agonizing, the anticipation of seeing him making it difficult to breathe. But he never came. She checked to make sure she had the right apartment - of course she did, she practically lived here- and that she had no messages on her phone. Trying the handle, Emma discovered the apartment was open. First she peeked in to see if Killian had just lost track of time with a client on the beanbag, but the apartment was empty.

“Killian?” she called out. Entering the apartment, she dropped her purse and keys on the counter. “Killian, are you home?”

No response. Okay, that was different. Killian was always home to be available for potential walk-ins. Emma padded through the apartment, noticing the minute differences in its condition. There were dishes in the sink, a half full mug of cold coffee beside the stove, and a dirty plate sitting on the end table beside the couch. Killian was never the type not to not pick up after himself.

She searched the apartment for signs of him, but he wasn’t in his bathroom or in his bedroom. Just as she pulled out her phone to call him, she heard a cough from outside the window.

What was he doing on the fire escape?

Emma peered out of the open window and found him sitting on one of the metal stairs, a flask at his lips.

“I’ve never known to you do drink,” she called out.

Killian’s head snapped down at her and for a second his eyes looked right through her, dazed and confused. Reality dawned on him as the fog in his gaze cleared. With a quick glance at his watch, he groaned.

“Gods, Swan, I totally forgot. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” It wasn’t just an apology, Emma noticed. It had an unsettling amount of self-loathing and grief. Emma leaned over the windowsill, letting the cool fall breeze cut through her hair. “Just maybe not today.”

“Are you alright?” she asked. His response was an ashamed look at his flask. “Mind if I come up, then?”

Killian shook his head.

Emma settled herself just below him, sitting parallel to the stair with her knees to her chest. Killian mirrored the way she sat so that he could look at her.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked. His fingers fidgeted around the curve of the flask.

“I saw something earlier that reminded me of my brother,” he stated simply, if not a bit sad. Emma blinked, attempting to keep hide her surprise.

“I didn’t know you have a brother.”

Now that she thought about it, Emma knew next to nothing about his family. She’d never asked before to avoid answering any questions about her own family, but it was different now. She was ready to open up if he was.

“His name was Liam,” Killian finally admitted quietly. “He was the man who raised me, the one who fed me and sent me to school each day. But he was my role model too. Everything I learned about being an honorable man, he taught me.”

“What happened?” Emma asked. The muscles in his jaw clenched, the tension making his hand clench around the flask. When his sea blue eyes began to glisten, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked at all.

“He passed away,” he stated simply. “A boat accident five years ago. He was supposed to be repairing it, but there was a gas leak. The engine sparked and well…Anyways, there was an incident down at the harbor last night and when I saw it on the news, I guess I realized I wasn’t entirely done grieving.”

Emma waited as he took a swig of the rum and let the alcohol ease the ache of remembering. She didn’t know what to say. Her own experience with tragedy made her sure that he didn’t want any pity, but she didn’t want to discount the strength it took to talk about it.

“You’re an amazing man, Killian Jones,” she finally said. The warmth in her eyes matched her sweet tone, and Emma hoped it told him just how proud she was of him. “This world is a brighter place with you in it.”

Then she leaned her head on his knee, stroking his hand with a soft touch. Killian remained silent, letting the atmosphere between them whisper all the things he couldn’t say to her. The shaky squeeze of his hand said thank you, the tiny smile on his lips hummed I’m a better man when I’m with you, and his tender gaze spoke the message that he hoped she couldn’t hear. I’m falling in love with you.

Emma didn’t stay for her appointment. Instead, she turned on his favorite music, warmed up some leftover mac and cheese, and let him spend the rest of the night with himself. He was thankful. Any other time he would’ve wanted her to stay, but this last ounce of healing was something he needed to do alone.

Besides, if he needed her, she’d only be a phone call away.

* * *

Two days went by before Emma heard from him again. She had just woken up, her hair still a mess atop her head and a steaming coffee in hand, when her phone buzzed.

Killian [8:47am] - My apartment, 5pm, come hungry.

Killian [8:47am] - This is a real appointment, but don’t even think about paying. I owe you one.

Emma [8:49am] - Sounds like I’m seeing my best friend AND a professional cuddlist tonight. I’ll be there.

She was three minutes late to knocking on the door. From the hallway she could smell the aroma of something sweet in the oven, traces of cinnamon and apple reaching her senses. When the door swung open, she was greeted by a Killian Jones who looked like his few days alone had done him some good. There was a new life in his eyes, an excitement to go through with whatever he had planned for her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said casually when he was frozen in the doorframe with a grin.

“Nonsense, we’ve all evening. Come on in.”

“How would you like to start, Master Cuddler?” Emma asked, starting to feel her nerves prickle in anticipation as he rushed into action.

“You can start by getting comfortable. Is a massage okay with you?” he asked, his voice taking the warm tonality of his professional self. When she nodded, he laid some soft towels across the couch. “I don’t really have a massage table, but I hear the couch works just as well.”

Standing across from him not knowing quite what to do, Emma crossed her arms in front of her and watched as he pulled a basket of candles from the cupboard. She’d never gotten a massage from him before, only at fancy spa getaways (which were also gifts from her mother). Unlike the other places she’d been, she didn’t plan on stripping out of all of her clothes. Instead, she pulled off her sweater, leaving her in her leggings and cami.

“I need to go grab a few things, but you can lay down on your stomach and get cozy.”

Emma did as she was told, feeling her body relax into the soft cushions of his couch. Her mind, on the other hand, raced at a million miles a minute. Had she known he planned for a massage, she definitely wouldn’t have agreed to coming tonight. How could she ask him to touch her in a borderline intimate way when she was developing feelings for him? Before now, she’d been good about hiding her romantic affections, especially from herself.

Folding her arms under her chin, Emma frowned. This was a doomed situation if she ever heard of one. She should probably just run while she has the chance.

Killian came back before the instinct to flee could grow too strong. There was a bounce in his step, like he was excited to do this with her for real. At the very least, the melancholy from earlier seemed to have faded. She watched as he lit candles, plugged in the space heater, and pressed play on his stereo.

“Are you alright, love?”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Was she that transparent?

“Yeah, why?” Killian didn’t answer. He simply knelt in front of her and brushed some hair out of her face.

“Just checking,” he said gingerly. “As always, stop me if you get uncomfortable. It’s just a basic massage, though. No funny business.”

Emma would’ve chuckled, but as he settled into position, the only thing her brain could process was his comforting smile. Killian instructed to relax her arms so that they settled at her sides. With one last confirmation of her consent, he began his work.

The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the hum of ambient electronic instrumental music. She could tell Killian was in full concentration mode as he worked, rubbing his hands together so that the friction would warm them up.

Killian started with her feet. He’d given her foot massages before, but not quite like this. His hands pressed into the soles of her feet slowly, urging the tension to release and relax the muscles. The nerves all over her body vibrated even though his focus was latched onto rubbing her feet. Chills erupted up her leg when his hands moved to knead her calves, each slow pull of his hands completely unwinding her.

As his hands worked into her leg muscles and nerves, Emma felt the passage of time slow to a halt. It was the first time in years she’d felt so at peace, so safe and well-taken care of. When he was sure all the tension in her legs was gone, he trailed his palms up to her spine where he massaged her unhurried and tender. Smooth palms over her back alternated with his fingernails as he scratched in gentle circles.

Emma bit her lip to keep from vocalizing how marvelous she felt. But it wasn’t just the massage itself. He caressed her with such reverence, as if she were precious treasure in his hands. All she wanted was for this to continue forever, to always be free to feel his worshipping hands on her skin, to hear his breath in her ear. She wanted it indefinitely.

And that scared the hell out of her.

There were many things she expected to feel during this, but fear wasn’t one of them. Shouldn’t she have felt glad that he cared for her, respected her? After all, he was the only person she’d met in a long time who wanted to do something like this for her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing how she seemed to have tensed up. She hummed in response, unable to lie to him. But he knew her well, and he removed his hands, and instructed her kindly to “Sit up, love.”

She complied, hands folding nervously in her lap.

“Can I keep going?” he asked.

“Of course! But only if you want to.” He frowned, and she was quick to explain herself. “I wasn’t sure if I did something wrong or-”

“No! Never. I was wondering, myself, if I had done something to make you uncomfortable.” He was so good to her, always paying such detailed attention to her reactions.

“Killian, I’m fine. This has probably shaved ten years of stress off of me.”

He began again, this time closer. With her sitting up, he had better access to her shoulders. Warm puffs of his breath ghosted her neck as he dug his fingers into her shoulder blades. His touch emitted even more veneration than before, as if his concentration was well honed to perform his best work.

When his fingers reached her hair, she leaned back into his touch. The man was too talented for his own good, fingernails scratching along her scalp bringing sensations that distracted her from her fears. She could feel his chest pressed against her back, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed calming her down.

His touch began to slow, becoming fainter as he brought the massage to a close. Emma sat frozen, unsure if he was really finished, because his hands still rested on her shoulder.

The next events passed like a hazy vision, her mind blurry with fogginess, but nerves aware of every touch.

There was silence, and then his lips pressed against her shoulder. Emma turned rigid the same second he did, both of them stunned into stillness. Killian immediately pulled his hands off of her, swallowing as he skirted a few inches away from her. Emma turned and sucked in a breath of air. He was closer than she thought, far enough away to give her space to breathe, close enough that he was within reaching distance.

The spot on her shoulder he had kissed still burned sweet, and she craved more. This was new territory, ground they hadn’t traveled yet. He was just Killian now, the professional cuddler dissolving as desire filled his eyes. Just as she was about to reach for him , he leaned forward and took her cheek in one of his palms.

Killian opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. They hung in the intensity of his eyes, their meaning just out of reach. Maybe she didn’t know about him, but Emma knew what she wanted. She tilted forward just a fraction, the movement so slight she doubted he noticed it.

Something in his gaze sparked, and that was it.

Before she could register the decision on his face, he was kissing her. Emma’s mind numbed of all sense and awareness, overwhelmed by the soft way his lips were pressed to hers. He tasted sweet, like refuge and acceptance. Her hands grasped at his shirt, seeking an anchor.

When she lifted her arms around his neck, the kiss dissolved into a search for the other’s touch, needing to soothe the ache to bring the other closer.

And just when she was starting to think that she could do this forever - kiss him, hold him - a voice spoke to her loud enough that she could hear it over the roaring in her ears. He’s using you. Emma kissed Killian harder, as if the intensity would hinder her walls from rising. Just wait. He’s not going to want you after this.

Right on cue, Killian tore away.

He looked as stunned as she felt, chest heaving, cheeks flushed.

“That was a mistake,” he murmured, shooting to his feet and clenching his fists. “A really bad mistake. I shouldn’t have even considered-”

Emma stared at him, utterly horrified. Was it that bad? Was it so appalling to even consider wanting her?

“I’ve gone three years without the thought even crossing my mind, much less acted on it,” he rambled, pacing across the floor. “But this….you…”

The man was unraveling and she was the cause. Maybe that was what she wanted, but not like this.

Suddenly, Killian’s pacing halted. He took a fortifying breath before turning to look at her with a composure that meant that the professional was back, masking what he was really feeling.

“That was completely, utterly inappropriate and I am so sorry.”

“No, I’m the one that’s sorry. I put you in this weird position by scheduling an appointment and then I gave into the moment.” Killian shook his head, like the fact that she was feeling guilty was something he wanted to extinguish. “I just really, really don’t want this to ruin your career.”

He heard the silent or our friendship.

And out of all the things he could’ve said, she wasn’t surprised when he murmured in a quiet voice, “I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that I can’t accept you as one of my clients anymore.”

Emma expected as much, but it still ached to her core to hear the words spoken aloud. He wanted nothing to do with her, and she was senseless and shortsighted to think that anything would change.

But she wasn’t going to let him see her cry, so she rose to her feet, grabbed her shirt, and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he called out, voice rough.

“You’re absolutely right, Killian. About all of it,” she said weakly. “I should probably just go.”

Killian’s blood ran cold as he got the slightest feeling that when she vanished out of his front door, she was leaving for good.

* * *

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs au #tessa writes #i'd love to hear feedback!!

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lestwinsfanfics · 7 years

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Just Friends - Chapter 52

Aaliyah

“So with that out of the way, I would like to officially welcome you all to the brand new Keller and Associates offices in New York City!” Linda raised her glass and everyone in the room followed suit.

A resounding ‘cheers!’ sounded off, mixed with a few salud-s, the clinking of glasses and cups, and claps from those with free hands. Those with free hands clapped. Before we knew it, the music commenced, filling the room with the perfect amount of ambiance. The energy was buzzing.

I took a sip from my champagne flute and casually checked the time on my phone. As we neared later into the evening, I planned on switching over to the hard stuff. “You look like you have the same thing on your mind as I do.”

I turned slightly to see Dalia’s smiling face, her long pixie cut hair slicked backward, highlighting her plush mouth and button nose. “Refilling my glass?”

“Bitch, you guessed it.” We both laughed quietly at her silliness. One of the waiters walked past and caught my eye, stopping to make sure we were both okay. I bid him to check on the DJ, as I saw his glass was nearing an empty state as well. He nodded and swiftly headed that way.

DJ Sonic was one of our newer clients. He worked with Dalia heavily, and was given the opportunity to either attend the party, as all the clients were invited - or get contracted for our music for the evening. The decision was easy and he had done his job amazingly so far.

“We should have taken shots before we left the apartment.” My nod was slow and deliberate, in complete agreement of her statement.

Gone were my scruples about drinking on the job. Once upon a time I would have done my best to conceal any activities that were of anything else than of the sound and professional mind. The business had now put a tiny chip on my shoulder in a good way, and once I realized that these execs were doing the same if not worse, I allowed myself to indulge, never going too far down the rabbit hole but far enough to where I could enjoy some of the perks.

Linda’s smooth walk in our direction bid me to put my drink down, and my smile clued Dalia to her presence as well.

“Aaliyah, Dalia” Linda said as she sauntered over. I moved my glass aside and turned my body to her fully, as she reached out and wrapped us individually into her embrace. “Oh don’t stop on my account, please, enjoy yourselves!”

“You ladies look lovely.” Linda commented, and just as quickly as conversation began, Dalia began to excuse herself. Eva Dalton, an up and coming model and one of Dalia’s clients, sauntered into the room.

“Dalia, the woman over there in the emerald dress is named Asa St. Claire, she is a jeweler, and looking for models for her winter collection. See if you can make the connection, I promised her I’d wow her with our talent.”

With a nod, she was on, smiling as she introduced Eva to Linda and I, then with an ease that I was always impressed by, segwaying the conversation in the direction of one of the large windows, right were Asa stood.

“The work never stops.” Linda said, casually watching over my shoulder as the two likely began to converse. The smile on her face and focus back on me told that the goal was achieved. “Who needs play time when the work is fun.”

Linda laughed, and we clinked glasses again.

“We have to get you a refill.” she noted. I agreed, surveying the crowd for another bartender who would be able to oblige her request.

My body developed a chill out of nowhere. It was odd, considering the room was borderline the perfect temperature, just warm enough to be comfortable but not enough to sweat. I shivered quickly, and inhaled deeply thinking it would leave but it didn’t. My breathing heightened, and the noise of the room faded, leaving the quick pace of my heartbeat to fill my ears.

I was lightheaded.

My eyes darted around the room, confused at why all of a sudden everything seemed to be going haywire and instantly, I figured out the source.

Two pairs of small almond eyes looked right back at me, teeth buried into his bottom lip so hard that it turned the area near the sparse facial hair he had below it white with lack of bloodflow. His hair was twisted and pulled back into a ponytail, making him look even taller than the 6’4” he stood normally. My mouth dropped, and just as quickly as I noticed, I shut it with a swallow.

He wouldn’t stop staring.

I couldn’t stop either.

Linda’s hand on my wrist startled me back into reality as the music refilled the room and everything seemed to level out. My heart was still racing and my throat still dry, but I had forced my eyes away from Larry and back to Linda. With a soft smile, I held my glass tightly as the waiter filled it with the pale, bubbly champagne.

I nodded my thanks and although I still felt the eyes covering my skin like the summer sun, I didn’t look.

It was laughable that I thought I would be ready for this.

“So, how does it feel?” Linda said with a small smirk. I raised my eyebrow as I lifted the glass to my lips, taking just a sip even though I wanted to down it and ask for the whole bottle to myself with a bendy straw.

“Come on.” She turned toward the large window facing the city where the twins stood. “Do you really think I’m that dense?”

I kept the glass at my mouth, hoping it would cover my widened eyes. Had Larry and I been that obvious just now? I felt my cheeks warm and my hands dirty, like I was busted. I knew one day we would be-

“You never had plans on being in L.A. long term, Aaliyah. I knew that when you first applied with Keller, your sister told me after I told her you accepted the internship. She was shocked, you had an amazing game face about wanting to move to the west coast and really dig into the industry.” I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“My sister told you that? Snitch.”

“She did.” Linda replied with a laugh. “She was surprised you were so into the internship idea but you were. She stayed out of it until I told her you were offered the position. I thought maybe you had a change of heart about LA, until we offered you the program in New York and your eyes got so big I was sure they would dislodge from their sockets.”

I laughed. “What can I say, I have an actors spirit.”

“You got to New York, and boom, gone was the curly hair week one. I mean you brought it back for a minute, but now here you are, with this long black hair, dark makeup. It was like you were waiting for your moment to debut this Aaliyah.” I smirked, fingering my locks. “I love it. How does it feel?”

“New York feels…” I paused, finding the perfect word on the tip of my tongue. “Right. It feels so good and it’s where I’ve always wanted to be. The work is crazy… ten times busier than being in LA, but being in New York makes it all worthwhile. I love it. I really do.”

I had always dreamed of living in New York. Everything felt so fresh and new when I moved here, which was why I changed my hair so quickly.

Periodic visits during college were nothing like this. This was a whole new experience. Getting a different look felt like the perfect fresh start to everything and it ended up being a fun thing for me. The long jet black hair I currently sported made me feel sleek and sexy, and sharp. It made me feel just like my old naive thoughts when I was younger of what I felt it was to be a New Yorker.

This city was completely different than LA. I was more of an east coaster at heart.

“Well congratulations, Aaliyah. You have done more work here than I could have imagined. I’m very proud of how hard you’ve dedicated yourself to your business. No one could ever accuse me of nepotism for hiring my friends little sister.” We both grinned.

“I appreciate you more than you know.” I felt emotional but I wouldn’t show it.

“Please, everything you have you well deserve. Cheers.”

We clinked our glasses together and sipped once more. “So does this mean I can’t move you back to LA for a couple months?”

“Um… if work calls.” I answered hesitantly. Linda’s laugh was instant.

“I’m kidding!”

“What we laughing about?” A hand placed itself on my back and I froze only slightly, the tonal difference clued me in instantly to the person whom the voice belonged to.

“Laurent, hello dear.” Linda said smiling upward at him. He let me go and kissed her cheek. “I love when you clean up, you look so nice.”

I looked up to catch his bashful smile. Laurent was far from insecure but the attention directly to him always made him like this. “Linda you more beautiful every time i see you, how is this?”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I get better with age. Where’s your twin?”

“This is true.” He draped his arm across my shoulders affectionately and I patted his hand, noticing there hadn’t been a peep from Larry, meaning he was somewhere around here. A quick survey of the room lead me to notice he wasn’t anywhere that I could see. “Larry somewhere around here, I don’t know. Where’s Joseph?”

“Entertaining clients. Which reminds me, I have to go talk to Michael Johanneson, he’s was one of the early investors.” Her whole tune changed as she zeroed in on her target. “Laurent make sure you and your brother come over to see Joseph and I before you leave, the kids have been asking about you two.”

“We will for sure.” he nodded.

“Good. I’ll leave you two to it, I’m sure you have catching up to do.” Linda leaned toward me, kissing my cheek lightly and placing her hand on Laurent’s. “Don’t you miss living with those two?”

My laugh was as dramatic as my head shook, nonverbally screaming ‘hell no’, which caused Laurent to grip my shoulder in mock offense.

“She just saying that don’t listen to her!” Laurent said as Linda departed. “You don’t miss me, Aaliyah?”

“Of course I do.” I said, reaching around to hug Laurent. His long arms hung at his side, prompting me to look upward as he rolled his eyes.

“You lucky I love you so much.”

“Awwwww.” I said, squeezing him tighter. He smelled clean, gone was the musky scent of the day and what replaced it was a fresh soapy smell that clung to his clothing. The soft cream colored sweater he wore touched my exposed chest as I held my face back, avoiding contact with my makeup. “You look nice.”

“You look so good, peanut.” He fingered at the top of the leather dress I wore. The A line style was sexy enough with a zipper down the cleavage, but appropriate for a corporate work party with its flow on the bottom and it hitting just above my knees. “I was gonna say something for your hair but I think I shocked enough when I see you yesterday.”

I laughed. Laurent immediately asked me why my hair wasn’t like his when he saw me. “You move to New York, stop talking to everybody, and change you hair?”

No ‘hi’, no ‘I miss you’. Just a huge hug and interrogations about everything that had happened in the past few months.

“Stop it.” I twisted my body just slightly, giving me a view of more of the space, as I looked around wondering exactly where Larry had gone off to.

“If you looking for my brother, he right behind you at the bar, pretending he not been staring at you all night.”

“I’m not looking for anyone.” I replied quickly. “Not when you’re standing right in front of me.”

“So now you lie?” Laurent said jokingly, calling my bluff.

“Who me? Never.”

“Wooooowwwww.” Laurent said with the perfect tone of every fuckboy who had ever elongated that word in a false offense. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Here, Laurent.” I froze, the sound dying in my throat as my heart began in my ear again but I willed my body to calm its instinctive reaction.

Larry’s arm reached over my shoulder to Lau’s chest, handing him what seemingly was a sprite. We were close enough that I could feel the air between us every time he inhaled and exhaled. We weren’t touching, but we all well could have been. Larry was testing me and my boundaries and I was annoyed but I refused to be shaken at my event, around my coworkers and connections. But our proximity was definitely working against me.

The minty coolness from his gum travelled down toward me.

The woodsy scent of his cologne.

The sound of leather on his jacket, shuffling around.

The faint sound of his vibrating phone in his pocket was even audible.

A deep breath had me turning my attention upwards at Laurent, his very confused face directed between the drink in Larry’s hand and the two of us standing together.

“What is this?”

“You tell me you want something to drink.” Larry’s voice shook me to my core again. Its softness caressed my skin leaving goosebumps in its wake and yet its depth managed to travel through my skin, to the blood in my veins.

I couldn’t believe he still had an effect on me. Maybe it was the time apart that heightened it.

Part of me naturally wanted to lean into his lean chest, let him rest his arms on my shoulders and just breathe in his essence. I had missed him so much, but never planned on admitting that. There was a tiny voice, breathy and smooth, reminding me of how comfortable and easy it would be to just, tilt my body backward. Just a bit…

“I tell you in the car on the way here i’m thirsty. You still thinking for this?” Laurent said to Larry, who still had yet to acknowledge me. I stared at Laurent, waiting for something and feeling stuck.

Larry silently dropped his hand and remained in his spot when Laurent accepted the drink. I shook my head, sliding over to the side and taking a deep breath before I turned to face them both. It took every bit of courage I had to make this move. I was now facing him and my words had lost me yet again. All I could do was force out one.

“Larry.”

My chest thumped so hard I was convinced everyone who looked my way could see it through the pale caramel skin on my chest. My free hand remained at my side, holding my clutch, as the other gripped my empty glass. I wished I had something to satiate me, to allow me to remain calm and centered. But the sharp shooting lasers that had initially switched my body into overdrive were so close that they made me light headed.

He bit his lip again, taking his time to survey my body all the way from my heeled feet to my glowing face, the deep lipstick highlighting lips that he always said he loved.

How was it that my anger could be overruled in this emotional court by the sheer existence of someone whose feelings were so powerful at one point… and with whom your feelings were mutual.

Maybe I couldn’t do this.

“You look really pretty, Aaliyah.”

“Thank you.” My heart felt a surge.

“You change your hair.” I laughed softly, knowing it was going to be the first thing he noticed, just as Lau did.

“I did.” I felt myself almost ask if he liked it.

What the fuck was my problem.

His phone rang again and he silenced it quickly, placing it back into his pocket and staring at me again.

“Yall guys gon be quiet some more or you gonna talk forreal?”

I exhaled… his phone reminding me of words exchanged between us and how there was so much to discuss and clear out between us. I prayed quietly for a savior, and looked to Laurent quickly, in hopes that the staring would stop some.

“Lau can you see any of the servers walking around? I need a refill.”

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice interrupted from behind me and I couldn’t help but break out into a megawatt smile. “I’m sorry to break up you all’s discussion but I absolutely couldn’t let another minute of this night go by without speaking to this woman.”

“Preston.” I said with a grin, hugging him tight as he lightly kissed my forehead.

“Aaliyah you are stunning, love.”

“Thank you so much.” I raised one hand to my chest. “You look amazing, but of course you knew that.”

He beamed with the comment. “Compliments from you are truly always a treat. Excuse my interruption, gentlemen.”

I smirked, Preston was always a presence.

“Guys,” I let go of the hug to introduce him to my twins. “This is Preston Scott, he is a head of the design department of Keller, extremely talented graphic designer and curator.”

Preston was a transplant from Vegas oddly enough, but like me was born and raised in Chicago. He was just a few years my elder, fabulously dressed, stood about 6 feet even with an athletic build and a pearly white smile that shined brighter against his mocha colored skin. He was the most charming man I had ever met, and with a quick wit, he and I became fast friends in the office, as he lovingly referred to me as his work wife.

Linda had a habit of hiring dope people, who could do a myriad of tasks and still remain polished and personable. Preston was no different. He shined wherever he existed.

“You two are Les Twins, forgive me if I can’t tell you apart yet but I have seen your photo in Aaliyah’s office.” I internally rolled my eyes. They didn’t know I had the picture of us in Vegas framed and on my desk. It had been moved behind me and out of my direct eyeline but I couldn’t bear to get rid of it, even with how upset I was with Larry.

“She have a picture of us? Thats so sweet.” Laurent said, grabbing my cheek with a pinch and I brushed his hand away, rolling my eyes. Larry was surprisingly quiet, his eyes baring into Preston’s face with a challenging look that I recognized instantly.

Larry was jealous. The slick comments would begin soon, I was sure. But he knew how I was with work, and should have known better to assume this was someone I was dealing with on anything more than a work and friend level.

I had been so caught up in the haze that I really forgot the main issues at the core of Larry and I’s relationship. His jealousy, his lack of care, and his impulsivity being main ones that were presenting themselves right at this moment.

I wouldn’t quell his curiosity, though. As he transferred his stares to me instead of Preston, I rolled my eyes at his shit. Gone was the admiration I peeped earlier. Now it was irritation, a bit of smugness.

He sipped his drink and smirked.

“Yeah, Aaliyah has a picture of the three of you. If I didn’t know any better I would have been jealous,” Preston’s tone told of his joking but Larry wouldn’t budge. He continued to stare.

“So, you and Aaliyah?” Larry found his voice. The words slid out of his mouth like the smoke from the end of a lit fuse… waiting to finish its journey to combusting and fucking up everything in its vicinity. “You really close huh.”

Laurent shook his head and laughed, and I eyed him as well, begging him to control his brothers impending outburst.

“She’s a very special person. I would have lost my mind without her on some of these late nights.” His vibrating phone buzzed, interrupting his train of thought as Larry took the opportunity to sip his drink and prepare himself for more slick words. “Speaking of special, remember I told you I needed you to meet someone tonight… I’ll be right back.”

He straightened his tie and placed his empty glass on the table near us. “Excuse me.”

I sucked my teeth once Preston was out of earshot and glared at Larry. “Really?”

“You serious right now?” He laughed. “Wow. You know I almost shocked but I really shouldn’t be.”

“Larry, shut up man.” Lau said, exasperated at his twins outburst.

“You shut up.” he bit back. “Aaliyah change up once she get to New York, stop trying to save her ass. Well maybe she don’t change. How we know?”

“Larry, I’m not about to do this shit with you right now.” I said under my breath. I refused to let him make me upset and have us make a scene. His implications about me and Preston based on his and my relationship made me want to haul off and smack him. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a full reaction.

“So thats why its so easy for you to not talk to me huh? You fucking with uptight Preston and you make me sit and wonder why I don’t hear from you in forever?”

“Are you literally kidding me? You know exactly why we haven’t spoken.” I bit back, feeling indignant. I started to become hot, the copious amounts of champagne filling my empty stomach with now drunk butterflies. These hors d'oeuvres weren’t nearly enough to satiate me and now that I was angry my head began to pulse. “I’m literally not fucking doing this shit with you tonight Larry, I’m not.”

“There you are,” a slightly nasally voice called out a bit too loudly for the conversation going on in the room. “Hi Laurent, you look nice.”

“The hell she doing here?” Laurent bit to Larry, pissed. I stood nearly slack jawed at the scene in front of me, but my pride wouldn’t allow my mouth open. My lips pursed together as I shook my head. Really it was fucking laughable.

Karina stood in front of me in a nude jumpsuit which clung to her every curve. The color was just slightly lighter than her tanned skin, and she looked very cute, but not for this event. Even Larry, who almost always leaned sportier than he should be dressed, was in a nice leather jacket and button up shirt.

Her makeup was pristine however, and her hair, long, straight, and flowing down to her ass, was glistening in the lights of the room.

“Sweetie can you refill this?” Karina said, raising her significantly arched brow ever so slightly as we locked eyes. Her glass was extended a mere few inches away from my body and my chuckle was obvious as I turned my head to Larry’s, his face a mixture of frustration and shock, only for him to turn to me with an indignant look on his face.

Before he could open his mouth, Laurent jumped in. “You fucking kidding me right? You know exactly who that is, don’t bullshit right now trying for be funny.”

“Check that shit in, Larry.” he added after a pause, while he stopped to grill Karina for her purposeful shade toward me. I couldn’t stop shaking my head and smiling to myself.

“Here she is!” Preston’s baritone voice filled my ear. “Aaliyah, I would like you to finally meet my boyfriend, Alvin.”

My smile was forced but, perfect. It quickly transformed to a real one once I turned my body and finally placed my eyes on Alvin. “I have heard so much about you!”

“… and I you!” He said with a kiss on my cheek. “You’re just as beautiful as he described you to be.”

“Alvin this is my friend Laurent Bourgeois.” I said with a smile, placing my hand on Lau’s shoulder. “And his twin Larry, and Larry’s date.”

I barely acknowledged the two of them, but a brief glance allowed me to see Larry’s slouched shoulders and Karina’s uncaring nonchalance.

“If you all would excuse me, I have to run and chat with one of my other clients.” I said, abandoning my glass on the table behind me. “Feel free to mingle more or converse amongst yourselves. Just enjoy the party. Alvin, we will have to chat more tonight I promise.”

My megawatt smile was a facade that I refused to break, even with Larry’s eyes prodding my armor as I walked away.

–

Larry.

“You look really familiar.” Laurent said to Alvin as I remained confused by everything that was happening. I don’t know when this night went left but what was in my plans was not even close to what had just occurred.

Yes, I was testing this nigga Preston based on their relationship but what was I supposed to think? That level of intimacy couldn’t have been anything but something special between them. I was wrong in my assessment but I couldn’t help it.

I would always be that… protective over Aaliyah.

Karina being here was the icing on the cake of fucked up shit that had just happened in the span of about ten minutes and now my head was starting to kill me.

I was supposed to walk in, find Aaliyah, pull her aside, and squash this shit between us. All day I had been thinking about exactly what I was going to say and how I was going to say it. I jumbled over words and figured I’d just wing it, with hope that me being candid would earn me some points.

I saw her annoyed with me for trying to discuss our personal relationship at a work function. I saw her resolve breaking, and her finally willing to sit down with me and hash shit out. It was idealistic as fuck, sure, and she and I had a lot to discuss. I’m sure she had questions and I had them too, but I was ready to be the bigger person, put it out there and figure out our shit. Even if I had to chase her. I would do it.

Aaliyah had no clue. Even in my most frustrated moment… I missed her so much.

I had a habit of kicking people aside when I was over it. There was no dwelling on my anger. Yes I would be mad, I would speak ill of them if ever asked by anyone. It was petty and childish, but with Aaliyah, all of my frustration was confused with my feelings of missing everything about her. I don’t know if it was because she told me she didn’t want to be with me romantically, or if it was because I just… didn’t understand how our friendship went left like it did… I was stuck.

Tonight was supposed to be the start.

“Yeah, we did work together at the Vegas show! Larry, you remember?” Laurent slapped at my arm to get my attention as I nodded, sipping my drink. Preston raised his eyebrow at my clear inattention and I wondered what he knew. His look was… not all knowing but definitely of someone who had some sense of what was going on.

“You worked for the Marquis?” I questioned, faintly remembering hearing his words. Karina sighed below me, searching for some attention. I wouldn’t give her that. I was pissed.

“Yeah, I do.” Alvin nodded, and Preston beamed in pride at his boyfriend’s success.

“I remember meeting you. I bad at names but not faces. Whats up man.”

I reached my arm past Karina, who’s huff was audible at my behavior. I couldn’t help but be agitated. She wasn’t supposed to be here and her being here currently was a slap in my face.

The two calls from her that I ignored could have been a warning… or her trying to piece together why I didn’t want her here, I wasn’t sure.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Aaliyah hug someone and make her way away from the group with a breath, a smile painted on her face and a carefree look about her.

I had been staring all night.

It was undeniable how good she looked. She looked so happy at work, and I knew it wasn’t just the glasses of champagne she had consumed. Her hair was different, but the long waves suited her. I missed her fro. Her lipstick was painted on perfectly, her clothes tailored to a t. I watched as she placed her now empty glass down, and paused to check her phone before sighing deeply and heading toward the bathrooms.

“I’ll be right back.” I shocked myself with my own words.

“Where are you going?” Karina said, giving Laurent and the guys her back with her arms crossed.

“Bathroom.” I was short with her, putting my glass down as Preston sipped his, eyeing Karina and I and shaking his head.

“We need to talk.” Karina said louder than she needed to. She had her arms crossed and was clearly upset.

“We will.” I said, with a nod that told her to let it go.

Running into Linda and Joseph briefly stalled me just enough to reach the bathrooms right when Aaliyah exited the women’s room.

I caught her by complete surprise. The quiet restroom area was fairly dark and me lurking in the shadows was likely the least of her expectations. I couldn’t leave things as they had been.

Once the shock wore off, I was met with the eyeroll of a century.

What was once an enjoyable smile on her face earlier was nowhere to be found. Her lips pursed together completely flat, and while one hand grasped her purse, the other found its way on her full hips.

“Really.” She said, her head tilted to the side as her hair bounced with the motion.

“Aaliyah… “

“You can’t be serious right now.”

“What you mean?”

“What do I mean? You seriously - no.” She said, stopping herself. “I’m not doing this. I told you that already. I’m done with this shit. I am.”

“No, Aaliyah you have to listen to me. We need to talk.”

“You had ample opportunity to talk to me. You barely spoke, but found your words once my coworker came around? I don’t get it.”

“Okay, I was acting crazy for that bu-”

“No.” She interrupted. “I’m not done. You pull that shit then you bring your little girlfriend here and let her disrespect me, again?”

“Aaliyah I didn’t-”

“I don’t care about your dating life. I don’t. I don’t give a fuck.” Those words made my heart ache. “Do what you want, you do it all the time. But damn, you’d think you had some sort of chill at least a little bit… my God.”

“Aaliyah I didn’t bring her.” I pleaded her to believe me. “She come on her own.”

“Larry, I don’t care how she got here. The point is she was here and… she’s not even the point. You’re the problem. You want to bring someone important here bring them. But you know you and I have unsettled shit and you come in here acting like….” I could tell the words were escaping her. “Like… ugh!”

Her frustrations were causing her thoughts to run faster than she could keep up with. I could see the aggravation in her face. After a few deep breaths, she found her resolve and raised her head to look me in the eyes.

“Look. Larry… “

“No, Aaliyah, listen to me. I’m sorry. It’s your night… you look beautiful.” My heart began to beat harder. “I don’t want to make you pissed or whatever. I promise you I didn’t bring her here and I promise you I not trying for make you mad or anything like that.”

My arm reached out to grab hers instinctively.

She flinched.

So did I.

“I want you to have a good night. I’m sorry about earlier. I just come here for let you know I not fuck with you for ruin shit. Me and you, we gotta talk, okay?”

Aaliyah sighed.

“Okay?” I repeated, shaking her arm slightly.

“What are you doing?”

I turned quickly to see Karina’s head cocked to the side, surveying the scene in front of her. My hand hadn’t left Aaliyah’s arm. I didn’t care to drop it either.

A scoff resounded next to me as Aaliyah shrugged her shoulder and removed herself from my grasp. Her head shook before she stopped, looking me in the eyes with a look of disgust before she walked away, passing Karina with no form of acknowledgment at all. I watched it all in front of me, ensuring that nothing crazy would pop off between them, moreso concerning Karina and her actions.

“Yo, are you fucking kidding me right now?.” Karina’s voice raised and my eyes bugged at her. “Like, seriously Larry?”

“Calm down, why the fuck you yelling?” I bit back, stepping closer to her to make her quiet down.”

“You say you’re coming right back and I walk back here and catch you with that bitch huddled up in a corner? Like… Are you fucking joking?” Karina yelled, angrily. I could smell the alcohol on her breath.

“You drunk?”

“Nigga worry about why the fuck I have to chase your lying ass around, not what the fuck I CONSUME AT A PARTY.” I knew she was loud, and I could only hope no one in the party could hear her. There was no one in the bathroom at the moment, and for that I was lucky.

“You wouldn’t have to chase shit if you hadn’t come.”

“You fucking lied to me!” She seethed. “Intimate party my ass. You just didn’t want to bring me so you could be all up her ass? Are you fucking kidding me? For. What.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I brushed off her sentiments that were mostly correct, but fuck that. I told her no and she was here anyway. What she saw was only of her own doing by being here.

“Oh I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Her head pushed forward and one hand sat on her hips with an anger I rarely saw from her. In fact, things were so easy between us that this was one of our first major fights. She and I never saw too much drama. That was part of the attraction to having her around.

But this was a whole new side.

I wasn’t prepared to deal with this one. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

The speed with which her two fingers made their way to my forehead caught me off guard when I felt the pressure of my head being pushed backward.

“Huh? You fucking heard me, Larry.” She raised her arms angrily and gave me a push.

“Yo, keep your fucking hands off me, Karina. What’s your problem?”

Before she could reach up and shove me again I grabbed both of her wrists and pinned her against a wall. Just as I did that, my brother came around the corner.

“Larry what the fuck man. Let her go.” He grabbed me without a fight. My chest heaved as I wondered how I got that frustrated so quickly.

“No fuck that, Larry. Go ahead! You wanna rough me up again? What’s next, huh? A slap?”

“Yo, you fucking kidding me?” I gritted back. Laurent pressed against me angrily before turning to her.

“Karina what the fuck you doing right now. You acting crazy as fuck now you tell my brother for hit you? You fucking stupid? What the fuck, forreal?”

Instantly, her brows went from a sharp furrow in anger to a complete crumble of her normally beautiful face. She burst into tears. A wail.

I cringed, and rounded my brother, who stood in disbelief. I walked over to her as she collapsed onto the couch and cried harder.

“Larry what the fuck wrong with her.”

“Shut up Lau.” I said, sitting by her side as she turned her body into mine. My arms raised instinctively to comfort her even though I was pissed. Women crying was my weakness.

“You fucking kidding me?”

“Lau, go back to the party!” I bit back as her tears became heavier and louder on my chest. I could hear her mumble into my shirt.

“Karina… what’s wrong with you?”

She raised her head slowly, her hair covering most of her face and wiped away some of the tears that clung to her lashes. “When am I going to be enough for you, Larry?”

“What you mean?”

“When am I going to be enough for you?!” I sighed. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. We had always been casual, that was never an issue for us. I didn’t understand what this was about but I wasn’t about to just dismiss her tears. Other than today she had been nothing but respectful of me.

“Karina…”

“This a joke.” Laurent scoffed. “She sitting here playing victim and you falling for the shit.”

“Lau.”

“Larry!”

“I am a victim!” She yelled at my brother. “Larry I have always been there for you, when she wasn’t. I have always catered to you, I’ve done everything. I fucking love you and I thought you loved me too.” Her tears began again as she put her face in her hand.

“I want to go home.”

“Good.” Laurent said offhandedly, his face in his phone.

“Fuck you, Laurent.” She bit back with a slur as she rose to her feet and immediately toppled back down to the couch. She wasn’t just drunk, she was wasted. “I”m leaving.”

“I’m going to call us an uber. I’ll take you home.” I said lowly, and Karina looked to me with a smile as she wiped away the remnants of tears, leaving makeup on the sleeve of her jumpsuit.

“Larry.”

“Laurent.”

“Fine, whatever man.” Lau said as he stormed off. I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. I’d had enough of this evening and I needed to get out of here before anything else happened to ruin this evening for me, or for anyone else - especially Aaliyah.

#lt fanfics #les twins fanfic #les twins fanfiction #Just Friends fanfic #Jay #submission

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silence-like-sleeping · 7 years

Text

a light that won't go out

(this started as fluff and then got way too relevant to the times, and i guess i needed to write this, but. i’m sorry. i’m torn up in my head.) .

Avie doesn’t wake up easily in the morning—that’s one of the first things Emera learns about her.

“Ngh, where are you going?” she whines that all-important morning after, when Emera’s still reeling from the sparks lingering on her skin and the warmth that’s seeped into her marrow, and she quirks an uncomprehending brow.

“What?”

“’S too early, don’t…don’t…” Avie trails off, her head sinking deeply into the pillow (did she ever really raise it? Emera wonders, dimple appearing in one cheek), and the tension melts out of the arm she has thrown over Emera’s waist.

She’s asleep again.

Delicately, Emera lifts that arm and slips out of bed with the utmost care. Avie’s adorable, and she wants to stay, she really does, but damn, she has to pee.

For breakfast, Emera likes toast (wheat, crisp, but not burnt, never burnt, she’ll scrape the charcoal off with a knife if she has to), and blackberry preserves, and mint tea. It’s very simple.

Sometimes, Avie doesn’t eat breakfast. Sometimes, she just slopes out of the apartment, buried in her hoodie and mumbling sluggish farewells because she’s late, she’s late, she wanted to keep sleeping so she’s late. Sometimes, she complains about the lack of frozen waffles in Emera’s fridge, which amuses Emera, who never has bought frozen waffles once in her adult life. After a few weeks, there appears a small box of Eggo’s and a squat bottle of maple syrup (the good kind, Canadian and Grade A Dark Amber and tasting like crisp autumn days where the sky’s so blue that the leaves look even redder until it seems they’ll burst into flame), and Emera teases Avie about being so picky about her condiments, and Avie sticks out her tongue and steals a sip of Emera’s tea.

Sometimes, Avie makes Emera breakfast, but she always burns the toast. Lying in bed, Emera smiles fondly as she listens to the scrape scrape scrape of Avie sheering charcoal off the bread (sometimes, she thinks she ends up with half a slice of toast, but Avie’s so damn earnest that she always just makes up the deficit with jam, and really, there are worse ways to eat it).

Whenever Avie’s syrup runs low, Emera replaces it. It really does taste better than that supermarket crap.

Avie has a thing for unconventional surfaces: walls, doors, counters, kitchen islands, coffee tables, dresser tops…

Emera’s never blushed so much when she cleans her apartment, vacuuming the living room rug that left a burn on her back and rubbed Avie’s knees raw only the night before.

She tries not to think about it when she has company over, but damn, this apartment is tainted. She ought to buy stock in Lysol at this rate.

And she told Avie this once, and now, when the band’s over or Emera’s co-workers stop by on the weekend, sometimes Avie will catch her eye and just grin, this sultry slow smirk, and Emera’s toes curl in her shoes and she hopes she scrubbed hard enough.

(Once, she lost a pair of jeans for two whole weeks because they got kicked underneath the couch. What worries Emera most is she didn’t miss them at all the entire time.)

Avie sings in the shower. This doesn’t surprise Emera, who expected as much from her rock star of a girlfriend, but the funny thing is, Avie never sings her own songs. She always belts old jazz classics, the smooth swaying songs, all sultry tone and husky rasp.

It drives Emera crazy…not in a bad way.

She asks Avie about it, casually as they’re lounging on the couch, Emera’s feet in Avie’s lap and a pillow hugged to her chest. “How come you only sing jazz in the shower?”

Avie rolls her head along the back of the couch until she’s facing her girlfriend. “Mm? Oh, I dunno. Maybe ’cause the way the shower echoes makes my voice, like…deeper? Darker? Y’know, that bluesy thing. It never sounds quite right out…well, out here,” she concludes with an irritable wave at the entire world and its rude tendency not to be small, enclosed, and covered in tile.

“I didn’t even know you liked jazz,” Emera observes, flexing her arms comfortably on the pillow.

“Babe, I love jazz,” Avie chuckles. She considers the doctor sidelong for several seconds, and then she shifts Emera’s legs aside and bounds to her feet. Extending a chivalrous hand, she prompts, “Up.”

With the beginnings of a bemused grin, Emera allows herself to be pulled to her feet as well; Avie’s not looking at her, cycling through her phone with the thumb of her other hand. Patient moments later, blues starts spilling from the device’s small but serviceable speakers: thoughtful piano, sauntering bass, nylon brushes whispering secrets to the cymbals.

Avie sets her phone on the coffee table and pulls Emera in close, fingers lacing on one hand while the other anchors confident on the curve of Emera’s waist. They’re pressed flush, not one inch of their torsos separated, and Emera swallows as she hooks her hand on Avie’s shoulder, encountering the firm resistance of sculpted muscle.

Avie grins, low and cutting, as a harmonica swells to life, and moments later, she accompanies the vocalist with the dark, rolling rasp: “Well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars all a-glow in your eyes…”

It’s the most romantic thing Emera’s ever experienced, and it’s all she can do to keep her knees from buckling so they can keep dancing, even though it’s less of a dance and more of just an intimate circling sway.

(Afterwards, if they’re walking hand in hand along the street and pass a restaurant or bookstore or café or anything, really, that’s piping crooners or jazz into the streets, Avie will always pull her close and give her a twirl and sing a few bars, all with the brightest fire in her eyes. And Emera’s heart soars even as her chest tightens, and they laugh about it as they start walking again, and people might be looking, but Emera never sees them.

She’s gotten really bad at wrenching her gaze away from Avie.)

And then the world tips off its axis, and suddenly, their steps are plagued with danger and they can’t hold hands in public anymore and they definitely can’t dance and Avie’s always angry, this heartbreaking impotent sort of anger. Emera knows how she feels, but it manifests as a weary sort of hollowness for her; her hours at the hospital seem to be longer now, or maybe that’s just because she sees more women of all colors and stripes constantly in the ER, always bleeding, always bruised, and if she wants to go on, she has to go numb.

Avie can’t fix the world, not single-handedly, and that’s breaking her down inside, somewhere essential. She tries. She’s an artist, and a rebel, and she tries. She does everything she can, because her voice is as good as a fist under circumstances like these. But still. She spends more time brooding over cigarettes, washes the day’s bad taste out of her mouth with too much whiskey.

And Emera doesn’t know how to fix her. She’s a doctor, a healer. It cracks her somewhere essential, too, that she can’t take her own girlfriend’s pain away. Still, though, whenever they’re in private, their fingers are laced bone-crushingly tight—this is the only place they can hold on, so they’ll never let go.

One night, after Emera has to explain to the landlord that no, no, Avie’s an old friend, she’s just crashing on the couch while her band’s in town, we’re not lovers, we’re not gay, we’re not, and they’re huddled in Emera’s bed like the blankets can block out the world, and their limbs are tangled and their breath is mingling and Avie is shaking, from rage or despair or both and…

That night, her voice broken in a dozen places, Avie wonders, “I know we can’t, babe, but if we could…” She draws a breath in; it shudders all the way down to her lungs, like a death rattle. When she closes her eyes, forehead-furrowing tight, tears leak out of the corners.

“If we could,” she concludes, raw, “would you marry me?”

“Oh, Avie,” Emera breathes. She dies a little, in her chest (and as a doctor, she thinks that can’t be good). “I—of course. Yes. God, I would—in a heartbeat. In a heartbeat.”

And she takes Avie’s face in her hands and presses the sincerest kiss to her lips, and it doesn’t stop the bleeding, but it somewhat slows the flow.

And Avie kisses her back like she needs Emera to live, and she does. She does.

They don’t get married, and Avie has to deny their relationship on tours and to fans and to the label because she won’t let Emera suffer the backlash, but nevertheless, they endure. They find ways to smile at each other in public that won’t attract attention. They dance in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway. Avie sings jazz outside of the shower (or sometimes, Emera just joins her).

Discretely, they get each other’s initials tattooed on the inside of their left third fingers, and that’s not a wedding ring, but in a way, it’s better. Now, they’re embedded in each other’s skin, and that feels right. That rings true. Vows can be made in different ways, and promises can still be honored without the blessing of the law.

One day, maybe, the world will tip back. They’ll never stop pushing.

But in the meantime, Avie’s gotten better at not burning toast, and Emera bought a waffle iron, and Avie still can’t get up in the morning. Emera watches her sometimes, sidelong glances while she’s reading some medical text and waiting for her girlfriend to stir (because Avie’s been abandoned enough in her life, and Emera never leaves while she’s sleeping). Her gaze lingers on the tousled waves of Avie’s hair, the feathered dark of her lashes, the slope of her cheek and clear cut of her jaw.

Perhaps in another life, Emera thinks, it’s easier. Perhaps in that different universe, everything didn’t go horribly wrong, and they got married on the beach like they always planned and had a bonfire afterwards with s’mores and cocoa and barefoot dances in the sand.

But.

Emera looks down at Avie’s hand, which rests loosely on her stomach, and she traces the ink angles and curves of the ES with featherlight fingers, considers the lines of the AR on her own.

But even so. The world might be cruel, and life might be hard, but…

If this is the only way she could have Avie, if this is the only universe where they can lay like this, warm and content in the homes they’ve built in each other’s hearts, then Emera would walk clear-eyed into the breach every time.

Avie wakes up after another half hour, and she yawns and halfheartedly stretches and shifts and only pulls her girlfriend closer. Emera curls into her willingly, studies forgotten as the pages slip backwards, and they carve out a few moments of sacred silence, folding that gentle glow into a piece small enough to carry in their pockets.

When they leave to go about their respective days, their steps are the slightest bit lighter.

And Emera reflects on love, and secrets, and the things nobody can ever take away—the whispered words and the subtle glances and the feel of Avie’s hand in her own—and she walks with her head held high.

#my writing #avie #emera #wlw #i'm sorry again for the doom and gloom #this was kinda like bleeding out some of the poison though #so cathartic i guess #still #sorry

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