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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : a sweet truth

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : you get an overwhelming need to share with John how you feel, unable to keep it to yourself anymore, leaving only the good to follow.

— warnings : none, issa soft one

note: my first one shot back and it’s john of course! anyways i need to binge the movies again because this man’s voice was difficult to master this time around, now i will be getting to requests now i have indulged myself oops

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The dull crackle that runs mindlessly beneath the audio of the radio is the only sound that can be heard illuminating the space of the bedroom where you and John lay contently together. He’d offered to repair the object, or even buy another but you refused stubbornly — remarking that it gives it a certain endearing charm. You had joked that it reminds you of him. In the sense that while it has a flaw, it was able to bring joy and amusement to a person’s life. It’s humbling to know that even the John Wick was human, that he had his flaws despite being difficult to witness them in the flesh.

It took a lot for John to bare the darkest and most damaged parts of his conscience. He couldn’t go another day where his mind leapt endlessly to conclusions, his mind conjuring haunting images of your departing body that would eventually come to pass — to him, it was inevitable. He fully convinced himself he was hallucinating when you had not retreated in fear, with the look of disgust cosying up to your reflection, but the opposite. He is still a man greatly feared by a whole world beneath yours, yet you still gaze upon him with nothing but warmth.

You will your mind to focus on the words from the small object, yet it’s the heat that is emitting from his body in waves that prevent you from fully taking in what is being said, its presence doing more to provide white noise than entertainment. The minor glint in your gaze turns upwards to drag your sight across the body that half lays on top of you.

Like vines, to be found in a twist of limbs that would be almost difficult to distinguish what belongs to who is a common occurrence, the sense of shielded from the scorching realities that the world bares boldly is an addicting concoction that you can only find with him. Your heart swells tenfold at the mere thought of him and being here in such a simple way that holds so much affection just for two people.

“ What ? “

The suddenness of his voice lifts you from your thoughts that run their own race, a shy lift of your lips can be seen twirling gracefully in response.

“ Nothing, I’m just thinking. “

“ Thinking? “ he asks you, a light hint of laughter gently coating the question with a feather-like touch. “ Are you trying to scare me? “

Eyes widen in response to what he says, a heavy burst of air plummeting to the soft mattress below the two of you. “ Don’t be so rude! “ A short chuckle trails behind your reply, secretly loving the cheeky side of his personality coming out to peek out.

You’ve realised that he has a warmth whenever you’re together, but even still he maintains an air of such seriousness you’re surprised he has not collapsed under the pressure of holding such a wall up with his bare hands, these moments are the kind that you paint mentally — a still of this moment in a thousand shades of gold. Upon your first meeting of his, you’d never associate that with him, with how intimidating and stone faced he was, it would be a honeyed lie if someone would have described him in such a way but here he is. Not a honeyed lie but a sweet tasting truth that you never want to be without again.

“ I’m sorry. “ he apologises as the amusement in his tones still very much present that would aim to refer to him as a hypocrite, but it’s not spoken with vitriol, his words directed towards you rarely contain any harshness. “ Tell me, I’m curious. “

It’s a minor debate that dances with only itself, zig zagging with a biro pen that creates a mess of lines converging at multiple points to create a tangle plot point that should not be as complicated as it’s being made out. Neither of you have muttered the L word, not even under your breath in passing and the one dominating emotion you can feel overwhelming your body entirely is incredibly close to it.. but is it too soon? Even as a description? It’s a fear you can feel tickling your neck from behind, whispering stained words of discouragement, but if you have learnt anything, it’s that hiding your feelings will be worse off in the long run. Never can a human being strive for the euphoria of authentic happiness clutched in their fist when they lock away their thoughts and their desires in a box to gather age and dust — leaving behind a hollow shell of what could have been had it the opportunity to bud and grow.

“ Well.. “ you begin, your sight lowering to meet the sight of his neck, unable to look him in the eyes fully and you approach the topic. “ I was thinking about you. “

“ Yeah? “

“ I’m just.. happy. More than I thought I could be and it’s you I have to thank. “ Your shoulders shrug as best they can from your position laying down on the bed.

“ I think I should be the one saying that. “ he replies softly, his words ringing truer than they could ever be realised to be as he leans down to leave behind a ghost of a peck behind your ear. It’s an action that is short and sweet.

Never did John imagine himself being rewarded for being the architect in more tragedies and more horrors than he could ever recall. Though, he soon realised your presence was rather the opposite, a ticket to a greener field void of bloodied bargains and death, and should he keep you in his life that would be an opportunity he would not let pass him by in a sea of missed chances left to drown due to his lack of motivation. He gazes upon you fondly in affection, a hand reaching up to draw mindless circles in the back of your hair, memories of his last bargain to leave his previous life playing before him as if an old gritty movie.

“ Stop it, John. I haven’t done a thing! “ your nose wrinkles as you refute what he says with a bashful glint that explodes in your gaze. After all the time you’d spent together and you still refuse to see yourself in the way John has painted you in —

“ You’ve done more for me than you realise. “

It feels like yesterday you shared your first kiss, fondly remembering how you’d mentally remarked that it’s so unfair that what is between you should be so perfect, a cruel joke were it not to work out. Though your heart is full of gratitude when you still tell yourself that not a worry should be had, your need for a physical reminder as you move your hand to his clothed back — bringing him closer as if to burn a permanent reminder into your fingertips.

“ I guess that’s why we compliment each other so well, huh? “

A wispy sigh plummets, your thoughts and emotions mixing more and more into a blend of intensity as you fully realise just how much you have fallen and adore the man who shares your bed. It has been such a long time you have had these emotions to this degree rouse from, what has felt like, an endless slumber. Yes, there had been a few who had caught your eye, but compared to the substance that has been created and nurtured from you both, they had nothing more than a water drop in a boundless and enduring sea. It’s a hope of yours that you don’t look foolish before him, getting so emotional over something like this, you scold yourself mentally — trying to pull yourself together before you completely crumble.

“ What’s wrong? “

“ It’s nothing, really. “ you shake your head, accompanying the almost denial. You want to let everything in your heart free, but the question is how to without scaring him off. There’s not much that can scare him, but you’d rather not throw a spanner in the flawless equation.

“ You don’t have to tell me, but it might help if you do. “ John lends a soothing weight in your hand as he interlocks your fingers together, leaving the choice completely up to you, refusing to force you to share something that is so personal to you. “ it’s your call. “

“ It’s nothing crazy.. “

The side of John’s brain that has been hardwired to jump to every scenario imaginable — good and bad, is running rampant. Itching to be prepared so nothing is able to disrupt the perfect day dream of a life that had only been made available through television shows and movies, now that he has it, every day he promises to never let it be ruined. Nothing good can ever occur from ripping away the first drop of water that touches a person starved of it for days, only a troublesome path of anger can walk that path on its twisted and turned limbs.

“ I think it’s time that I tell you how I feel, “ you state, your lips almost devouring your lips by how hard they bite them, a lost thought of how you have not drawn a drop of blood seeping into irrelevancy. “ how I really feel. “

“ Right? “

For the first time, John is completely unable to get a read of you. The apprehension that is emitting off you in strong waves is not something that comforts him fully, though the fact that you speak not from anger and have opted to stay in your current position as opposed to fleeing is the only source of relief he can continue to draw energy from. Curiosity is the only thing that dominates his mind, wanting desperately to hear the next part of your statement.

In his silence, your brows furrow purely from your own thoughts. Mainly in the wonder of how you can approach this while sounding as if you have capacity and are not obsessed with him as some are with their idols. You know that would be something that would probably scare him off. Your fingertips lay a random beat on the top of his hand, you nestle closer to him as to make yourself comfortable — this does feel like the right time. Should it not? You remind yourself that it is part of a plan that the universe has for you, that it is part of a bigger picture you are not allowed to know until the final moment.

“ I just, “ you pause, blinking as you gather your thoughts and your words further. “ It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything remotely close to this. “

Your words are like a cozy kiss goodnight before two lovers depart until the next time they see each other, a warmth that slowly grows in his heart overspills at the sentiment you individually wrap with each word you speak. He can’t help but tip his head ever so slightly, to take in every detail on your features — in his mind, nothing is more so perfect than this moment.

“ What I’m trying to say is, and you don’t have to say anything — “ the rambling leaves your lips so effortlessly, as if to savour the last few moments of normally before the inevitable confession. “ I can’t help but realise how much I am in love with you. “

His eyes widen instantaneously as his features follow suit, his lips part in surprise. With how your speech had begun, it should not have come as a surprise, yet to hear it from your lips is as pleasant as the final summer’s day, surrounded by warmth and an impenetrable energy that shields you from any harm that would befall you. He’d lived the life of a haunting ghost story that it soon became a belief that he was a monster, to hear you in this moment recite something so real is something that is difficult for him to wrap his head around. Maybe he isn’t a monster that has made its peace with the darkness, that there is more for him as a person.

The emptiness is soon replaced by a soft weight on your lips, he has leans down to join you — unable to fight the desire to savour the taste of him as you often do when you kiss. It’s a fight you have not yet one, and it’s a fight you imagine you would prefer losing. Time is no longer a concept, you’re too wrapped up in the concept turned reality that is John Wick, only are you able to concentrate on the burning that his free hand leaves as they slide up and down your waist. If this is a dream, neither of you want to awaken.

“ Who says I’m not feeling the same as you? “

#John Wick imagine #John Wick x reader #john wick oneshot #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

57. “Wait a second.. are you jealous?” + Poorly Timed Confession + modern au 😍 pretty please!!!

~Notes: OMFG angel!!! Thank you SO SO much for the prompt<3 You are a complete babe! I hope you like :S It’s cheese, but like also what else would I do? LMFAO XD

Smash Prompt Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Is Like An I Love You!!

“Hmmm… All right, would you rather, mmm… Smell Borris Johnson’s sweaty gym socks, or snog Professor Slughorn full on the mouth for a straight minute— oh erm, not so straight I reckon on second thought.”

Remus wrinkles his nose at him from across the bed, and clucks his tongue at the awful pun. “You’re unruly.”

“And you’re dodging,”

“Am not arse, I’m just recovering from that very terrifying scenario you’ve spewed out like the sadistic satanist you are.”

“Which scenario are you recovering from though?” Sirius leers, wiggling his eyebrows and jostling Remus’s textbook with his foot.

“I hate that you’re enjoying this so much,” Remus intones in a deadpan.

“Mary John, I’m waiting,” Sirius says with far too much glee.

Sometimes Remus is sure that he hates him. “Fine, the answer is I hate you.”

“Filthy and slanderous lies, Lupin.”

“You’re demented.”

“Five. Four. Three—“

“I won’t choose.”

“See, all I hear is that you wanna get it on with our chemistry professor, you saucy minx, you.”

Remus sniffs. “Better than touching that prick with even a ten foot pole.”

“Mmmm, have I ever told you how hot and heavy I get hearing you talk politics at me?”

Remus throws him the bird, which makes Sirius laugh. Remus can objectively say that Sirius has the most beautiful variations of laughter in the world, and he’d know considering he’s catalogued each one. This version is definitely top three. His care free, effortless laugh when Remus takes him off guard with a snide remark or lowly muttered retort that’s not appropriate for most company— It’s really more of a experience, truly. His breaths stutter out in a lovely staccato, and his eyes glimmer like the sea, and sometimes it feels like the world’s been suspended and it’s only the two of them in that slice of eternity.

Erm, Ah, but yeah…. That only happens occasionally, and it’s only because Sirius is Remus’s greatest friend— has been since the final year of primary school after Remus had moved to the London outskirts from his small, coastal town in Wales, and on first sight, Sirius swung a snowball straight to Remus’s face, which he of course responded to by throwing two more his way, and well… The pair of them were soaking and breathless by the end of it, but their fate was sealed, they were the greatest of friends, and nothing would ever alter that unquestionable staple.

So what if sometimes Remus’s chest thuds painfully when Sirius dimples his way, or Remus only ever wants to talk to him over anyone else— even Lily or his Mam— if he’s had a bad day, or good one, or if something remarkable had happened, or , or… Or whenever really. And there’s absolutely no significance that Remus can’t help the totally delighted grin that splits his face in half whenever he gets a text or snap from Sirius.

None of that is at all relevant.

Sirius is Remus’s greatest friend, and he’d never risk ruining that by allowing some pesky little crush swallow him whole and clammer out his mouth— vulnerable and throbbing in the open space between them. It doesn’t matter if Marlene always makes kissy faces their way, or how James only ever refers to them as a couple, and so what if Peter’s got a pole running that Remus knows basically the whole school is betting on.

They’re all wrong, Sirius would never, ever feel the same sort of way that Remus does him, that’s downright preposterous and ridiculous and just simply impossible. And Remus’s perfectly content with that very real truth… He is.

Remus is fine with it God help him. So everyone else just needs to but the fuck out of their business.

Besides, this, this right now— Him and Sirius splayed out on opposite ends of Remus’s bed, with Sirius’s feet nudging at Remus’s elbow whenever he’s got a question about there homework, with the window cracked open just so, letting in some of the chilly winter air because Sirius absolutely can not focus if he’s not cold— the fucking furnace— Where Remus can still hear the going ons of his family playing out on the floor below them… This is the most perfect place in Remus’s eyes, and he won’t ever change that, especially not to live out some boyhood fantasy that would never come into fruition in his wildest of dreams.

Remus’s content… He is… He has to be or else he’d lose one of the most vital people in his world.

“You’ve got footie practice after school, right?”

“Mmhmm, you coming to watch?”

“Only if you admit i’m your good luck charm,” Remus sardonically bats his lashes at Sirius as if he was in a mascara advert, and the taller boy blows a raspberry right back at him.

“Nice, real nice. You’re extraordinarily mature, you know that, Black?”

“And sexy, don’t forget that, oh so important descriptor Lupin.”

Remus leans against the locker besides Sirius’s, watches as he trades his current binders for the lot he’ll need for the afternoon, and tries really hard not to stare too longingly at how Sirius’s arm muscles ripple beneath their school’s maroon, uniform jackets in the most delicious of ways. (He hates the fact he’s been dissolved into a starry eyed mess lusting over the star striker, but thus is his fate.)

“I’d never commit such a faux pas, and I’m insulted that you’d ever think as much.”

Sirius sneers at him with a slight shake to his head. “So you coming or not?”

“I’m still contemplating my options,” he preens, but before Sirius could retort, Marlene, megawatt smile and dangerously sharp smirk— swaggers over towards them.

“Good morning my two beautiful chums!”

“What do you want?” Sirius asks before even glancing her way, to which Marlene blinks up at him, faux owlish. “S, I just wanted to greet a couple of my closest companions this lovely December morning,” she defends herself.

“Marls, you’re never this agreeable before noon,” Remus points out hesitantly.

“ And you rarely are even afterwards,” Sirius tacks on.

“Rude,” she pouts.

“Accurate,” Remus pipes in with an apologetic grimace.

Marlene stares them both down for a solid minute before finally relaxing her shoulders, and thrusting out the legal pad in her grasp. “The student council and spirit society are selling corsages for the snowflake formal, and Dorcas has deployed me to get some orders.”

“Whipped,” Sirius teases through a counter-fit cough.

Marlene doesn’t hesitate before smashing the legal pad on his head. “And you traipsing around getting people to buy the tickets for the theatre department last semester even though Re was only playing Mercutio wasn’t you being wrapped around his littlest finger?”

Remus flushes, feeling an unnerving amount of bees stinging around his stomach, and is thankful when the conversation pauses after Sirius casts her a very heated V. “Sod off.”

“So are you guys gonna buy or not?” Marlene huffs, weight slung to her left hip, and arms crossed against her chest.

“I’m a gay bloke, Marls, did you forget that?” Remus pins her with a one eyed squint, and she just scrunches her face up at him, exasperated.

“I’m sure there’s matching boutonnieres.”

“Fine, I just don’t have any school spirit then.”

This time she glares. “Lily and James are Head Boy and Head Girl, isn’t there like an oath between you lot, one for all and all for one, or some rot?”

“That’s the three musketeers,” he says.

“isn’t that basically who you guys are?” She reasons.

Before their wage of words could continue, Sirius just grabs the order form out of Marlene’s hands and fills out a sheet with the flurry of his pen. “Happy?”

“Positively delighted,” she leers, pecking them both on the cheek before strutting off, reminding them of their group study session at Alice’s tonight in her wake.

Sirius shakes his head, reluctantly amused with a grin gathering on the corners of his mouth, but for Remus everything feels like it’s frozen. “You didn’t have to do that you know? ’S not like James is much of a Head Boy anyhow, and Lily wouldn’t have really cared.”

Sirius shrugs, commences their walk to the opposite wing of the school for their shared history class. “Emmy likes that sort of romantical shite.”

Remus sees red, feels his heart lodging in his damn esophagus. “Oh, so— Erm, you’re taking her then,” Remus wonders if his tone sounds as detached as he feels.

“Yeah,” Sirius eyes him, questioning. “She wants that title of snow queen real bad, made me promise I’d campaign with her and the whole shtick.”

“Oh,” it’s like Remus could feel it when he closes off completely, can feel his hopes squashed down and his heart contract and his every organ collapsing in on themselves, leaving him feeling hollowed out completely.

Sirius slows down marginally, eyeing him with a slight frown. “Is that all right? I know you two don’t exactly get along and we were planning to go as a group, bu—“

“It’s fine,” Remus hates how screechy his voice gets, how he feels like he’s about to scream. “You two are a shoe in, no doubt.”

Sirius tries to mirror Remus’s faux excitement with a tepid grin of his own, but Remus doesn’t let him, instead commandeering their typical table on the back row and tries focussing on the thousandth war with France while his world tilts off kilter.

Emmy is beautiful, and popular and her smile alone dazzles the whole room. She’s everything that Sirius should look for in a partner, someone to match his whip lash wit, and his taste for all things exuberant that skirt on flashy, and someone who’s got just as many friends and admirers as him.

They’re perfect and Remus should just get over his petty ass hatred of her, even if he still thinks she can be down right cruel and selective and selfish. Qualities Sirius surely isn’t… But maybe it’s all in his head how she sneers at people who she finds plane, or how she literally guffaws over the misfortune of others. Maybe his perception of how she wields people in like moths to a flame just to get what she wants is all a misunderstanding, or in his head or something.

Maybe all that’s possible, even if Remus seriously doubts it.

But at the end of the day, Sirius loves her— has been basically infatuated by Emmeline Vance since she first transferred at the start of their Freshman year. Sirius loves her, and who ever Sirius loves is merely an extension of him… Right?

Remus just needs to get over it and somehow rid himself of this crush he’s been fostering for so long it’s basically a part of him at this point. Though, he thinks it’d be a lot easier if he didn’t see their faces plastered on posters everywhere the week and a half leading up to the dance— looking like actual royals that would put Will and cate to shame.

“Yo cheekbones!”

Remus starts, swivels around from where he was scratching his pen to paper, finding Sirius— as glimmering and beautiful as always— swaggering up to him, insanely electric smile painted over his face.

“Would you rather eat a jumbo jar of jalapeños without a break, or eat the toenails from someone with athlete’s foot next to your dinner every night of the rest of your life?”

“I thought you were having lunch with Emmy to keep up your royalty status before this weekend?” Remus asks, tacitly side stepping from the horrific images swimming to the forefront of his mind because of his cruel question.

“Now that doesn’t sound like an answer to my ultimatum,” Sirius says in a singsong sort of voice.

“You answer me first,” Remus says airily.

“But I asked first,” Sirius argues haughtily.

“Well both your options would kill me, so I wouldn’t do either,” Remus retorts.

“That’s not how the game works!”

“You’re the one who always says that rules were made to be broken,” Remus says, lofty as all get out,, and dissolves into laughter at the completely cross look Sirius’s giving him.

“You were born to be contrary, weren’t you?”

“So lunch?”

“Got bored,” he shrugs, hopping onto the corner of the desk Remus’s working on. “What you up to instead of eating?”

“My position paper for Model UN.” Sirius smiles down at him, and Remus can’t help the flush that spreads across his cheeks in return. “Not as glamorous as running as Snow King, I know.”

“It’s precious,” Sirius contends, his soft timbre sounding like syrup and his long fingers fluttering against Remus’s skin, pushing back a lock of his ever disheveled, tawny curls in a far to gentle way, and Remus gulps before averting his gaze to break the sudden tautness that’s built between them.

They’ve had so many of these almost moments, ones that Remus’s always treasured but he knows doesn’t mean much of anything at all to Sirius— Sirius who is effortlessly hilarious, and brims with genius and who is so beautiful that sometimes it hurts looking at him for too long. Sirius who has a new suitor at his beck and call on a near weekly basis. But whenever they transpire now, it just hurts all the more because Remus knows in his heart of hearts that they will never lead anywhere, and Sirius is in love with Emmy and Remus can’t let himself float around in this daydream for any longer.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, shuffles in his seat only slightly. “I’m Algeria so my Mam’s pretty excited about it. She’s been telling me all the stuff Wikipedia’s got wrong and everything.”

Sirius laughs, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Your mother is kinda everything, you know that?”

Remus twists his mouth up, reluctant. “Don’t tell her as much, or else she’ll go on and on how she won Miss Teen Great Britain when she was only sixteen.”

“Hmm, I was wondering where you got that pretty face.”

“You, Sirius Black, can go lick an unwashed arse.”

“You’ll never catch a suitor with that cheek of yours though. I’d work on that, Lupin.”

“I don’t think I could ever win Miss Congeniality, alas.” Remus doesn’t quite catch Sirius’s reply, to busy responding too the text his phone just chirped with instead.

“Mary John, are you listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sirius’s brows hike up, flabbergasted smile stretched across his face. “So totally rude! And I came all the way here— to the place where dreamers die— just to spend time with you.”

“Sorry,” Remus gives him an abashed little half grin before setting the phone back down. “’s just Fabian.”

Sirius’s expression drops, goes inquisitive instead of his typical ebullience. “Fabian? Why’s Fabian Prewett texting you, and why is he,” Sirius crooks his head so he’s able to read the new message that popped up on Remus’s phone’s screen. “Asking about color coordination?”

Remus blushes for an entirely new reason now, one he likes much less. “Ah, he’s the sort to like it when our suits like match, but not in an abrasive fashion, you know?”

Sirius’s face goes scarily blank.

“Your suits? Suits for what?”

“The dance…” Remus says slowly, he’s confused what Sirius’s confused about.

“The dance… Right… I thought you were still going with everyone else?”

“Pff, no way,” Remus scoffs. “Lily’s only pretending to be single, you know how red in the face she gets whenever around James. They’ll end up dancing the whole night away. And with Dorcas running the whole event and Benjy thinking any social function is a plague on society, that’d leave me stuck with Peter and Mary, . And honestly I’ve seen enough of her tongue shoved down his throat for a lifetime.” Remus is only slightly surprised that doesn’t even elicit a chuckle from Sirius, who’s now looking a bit stormy— and he thinks he’ll never be accustomed to his mercurial moods that can change as quickly as the snap of the finger.

“Right… So you’re going with Fabian Prewett… as your date?”

“Yes… Why is that so hard to believe?”

“it’s, it’s not,” Sirius scrambles, suddenly standing up.

“Then why are you being so weird about this,” Remus argues, getting up to meet him at his level.

“Am not!”

“You’re going with Emmy,” Remus reminds him, this edge of desperate.

“I know I am, okay. But you— you—“ Sirius tappers off, eyes glassy and lips parted with words he can’t get out, and Jesus fucking Christ is it weird how for the first time ever their roles have reversed. Sirius can’t put any sentences together, and everything Remus’s been beating down— everything thrashing inside of him— are now burning his throat and warring over who can spill out first.

“What? I’m suppose to stay behind like the pathetic, nobody friend. The guy who’s just there to moon after you while you have an actual life. The Judie garland to your Mickie Roomie!”

“What are you even talking about right now!” Sirius shouts, sounding as torn apart as Remus feels.

“As if you don’t know!” He snarls, collecting his books into his backpack— Suddenly this room feels to stifling. He can’t breathe and it’s too hot and his chest is pounding.

He’s imploding and Remus has no idea how to rectify it.

“Just stop! Remus Stop!”

“leave me the fuck alone Sirius!”

“Why are you being such a prick about this!”

And that, that makes Remus angry, angrier than he’s ever been.

Before he could even think about it for a moment longer, Remus is rounding on him, dashing so close to Sirius that he can taste his breath with how close their faces are skirting against each other.

“I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you for forever, and I know that you don’t feel the same way, and I know that you’re in love with Emmy and, and I just know okay.”

“Wha—“ Sirius sputters, looking like a gaping fish. “Wait a second, are you jealous? Of sodding Emmy Vance?”

“Don’t!” Remus practically growls out. "Don’t disrespect me, okay? Don’t pretend that you never knew, or that I was such a good actor. I’ve been in love with you for years and you always knew and Fine, I get it. You never felt the same way, that’s fine. But just don’t pretend as if you never had the choice, don’t make me out as the bad guy for actually, finally saying yes to a bloke who’s actually into me. I need to fucking give up on the premise of us, I need to get over you. So I’m going out with fucking Fabian Prewett and you’re going out with Emmy Vance and that’s that!”

His breaths are labored, jagged and painful, as they race out of him, but Remus can’t move. He’s staring straight into Sirius’s beautiful, gray eyes, and he sees everything he’s always seen there, and hates that this is probably the last time he’ll get to be this close to him.

Not after this.

“I didn’t,” is the first thing Sirius croaks out, broken and helpless. “i didn’t know, Remus you have to believe me— I didn’t—”

“How! How could you not know!” He shouts back, but Remus doesn’t get his answer in so many words, instead he feels it.

He feels it when Sirius clamps his hands on either end of his waste-line, feels it when Sirius smashes their lips together in a cacophony of lips, and teeth and spit. He feels it when Sirius moans in side of him, when his hand moves down, spreads across the width of the small of his back, pushing their torsos even closer. Remus feels it when everything goes into focus, when he takes Sirius into his arms, greedy and excited and disbelieving.

And Remus thinks to all the other times he’s kissed another boy— To this prior weekend swapping snogs with a beaming Fabian in the back of a theatre. He thinks of how there was never anything worth anything when he kissed any of them Because it was all Sirius, always Sirius. And he could try to love Fabian, or some other cute boy, and he tried, and he tried, and he tried, and he gave all he had…but it was never enough, could it ever be enough?

Remus knows it in his bones that it’s enough when it’s with Sirius.

When they finally pull apart it’s difficult to breathe and Remus feels lightheaded and it’s wonderful in the most marvelous of ways.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says in a whisper.

“Maybe next time give a guy some warning?” Remus can’t help the shit eating smirk that swipes across his mouth and is elated at the adorably cross scowl Sirius answers him with.

“Fine jackass, how’s this for a warning, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“That’ll be sufficient, I suppose,” Remus goads, laughing against Sirius’s lips when he does just that.

~*~

Sirius ends up winning snow king, but rejects the dance with Emmy, opts to ask Remus to join him instead, as if they were in the middle of some John Hughes movie from the fucking 80s.

It’s utterly ridiculous and overdone and simply way too much— but everyone applauded and cheered and when Sirius kissed him in the middle of it, Remus felt as if his whole body sung with joy.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #SPILT INK #PROMPTS #I love you endlessly #!!!!

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reluctant-mandalore · 4 years

Text

Break a Nail (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 2,061

Warnings: Fluffy fluff. Cursing. There are some sexist undertones towards the reader from a bounty. But it’s mostly just Din and the reader being a cute bounty hunter couple. Grammar and spelling warning, because I’m a dummy who can’t English.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

a/n: Thank you so much for the request!! Sorry it took so long. It was really fun to write and I really enjoyed it <3 Honestly it was such a fun idea! I enjoy the whole tough in public but soft in private kind of trope that’s going on here.

EDITS: Grammar and spelling. - also another edit to make the fic more inclusive.

The contrast between you on the job and you on the Razor Crest baffled the Mandalorian at times. He didn’t really understand how someone could go from absolutely demolishing men twice their own size, to fretting over their newly painted nails and trying to decide which dress went with what shoes. When out on jobs you dressed and acted like a man, the helmet you wore modulating your voice to sound deeper and more gruff. In public, you were serious and almost stoic. You would radiate confidence in everything you did, whether it be bartering for a better price, shooting a blaster with pinpoint accuracy, or being able to take down men like flies.

The first time he met you he was sure you were a man, there was no doubt in his mind about it. The way you acted, talked, and fought just screamed to him that you were a man. Nothing gave away the fact that you were a woman below those layers of clothes. So, when you first removed your helmet in front of him, he was amazed to see your true self, and was surprised to hear your sweet voice speak to him.

Without the helmet on you instantly changed into another person, your atmosphere turning bubbly and energetic. Gone was the most manly and badass man the Mandalorian had ever met. Instead, a beautiful and kind hearted woman stood in place, looking at him with the biggest smile he’d ever seen. In fairness, both in your get up and out of it, you were still a badass in your own quirky ways. It just so happened that you tended to be more open about your likes and dislikes without your gear on.

He was in love with you within seconds of discovering this about you. Honestly Din couldn’t have fallen in love with you any faster. He fell for you hard and almost instantly. He adored everything about you, both your public and private self. Every aspect of the person you were was spectacular to him, and nothing could change that in his mind.

He loved being around you and would spend most of his time with you. He was happy to see his clan expand with your addition to it. Him, you, and the kid made the perfect little family in his eyes, though he’d never tell you that. Going with you on jobs had turned out to be one of his favourite things. He didn’t know how he had survived doing jobs without you until this point in his life. Every day with you around was interesting and today was no different.

Currently, Din watched as you had dragged the bounty up the Razor Crest ramp, plopping him on the hulls floor before his feet. The asset struggled within his binds, spitting curses and insults in both of your directions. He was surprised at first, at seeing you with the bounty, as you had originally left earlier for the market. Last he checked you were just getting supplies, not dragging a whole man back to the ship.

On another note, the both of you were supposed to be going after him together later that day, after your little supply run. He was mainly surprised because he knew you enjoyed going on jobs with him. You would even refer to the two of you working together on jobs as your ‘couple bonding’ time. So, it was a bit of a shock to see you having ruined your little bounty hunting date by doing the job on your own.

“Fuck you dude.” The man on the ground spat at you in a growl, “You think you’re some sort of hero bringing me in? Huh?”

“No, but I definitely think I’m going to be a hell of a lot richer.” Your reply came, the smirk on your face evident in your voice.

At this point you had pressed your foot into the center of the asset's back, holding him in place, as he pitifully squirmed on the metal floor of the ship. The addition of your weight had stilled him for a moment though, as he glared daggers over his shoulder at you.

Din watched as you removed your helmet, shaking your head while chuckling in the process. It was one of his favourite sights, something he found attractive anytime you did it. He could not explain why seeing you remove your own helmet was so alluring to him, but he chalked it up to the fact that anything you did he saw through rose tinted lenses. There was nothing you could ever do to convince him that you weren’t perfect.

“What the fuck you’re a woman?!” The bounty snarled, his expression wrinkling with anger and confusion. “There’s no way a damn woman captured me.”

Looking down at the man you let out a giggle, “I always love when they realize a woman took them down.” Setting down your helmet, you crouched to level yourself with him, a toothy grin across your cheeks, as you ‘booped’ the man on the nose, beginning to taunt him. This being a normal occurrence that occurred when a bounty was being extra mouthy to you.

“Quit messing with the asset and put him in the carbon freeze.” Din said, putting a stop to your harassment of the man, as funny as it may have been.

At his words, you had turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “You want me to put him in the carbon freeze?”

“You brought him back, so yes.”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, you shook your head and forced a pout in the Mandalorian’s direction, “It’s a shame, but I actually can’t lift him right now, guess you’ll have to do it.” You had said, now standing next to your companion.

The Mandalorian’s head turned to look at you next to him, his eyes narrowing underneath the helmet, “I’ve seen you lift a bounty twice the size of this one.”

“Oh I know. Strength wise I totally can, but I just did my nails earlier you know?” You continued, moving away from him and sitting on one of the crates located in the hull. At this point you had pulled your gloves off to examine your recently done nails, sighing in relief at seeing that they still remained unscathed and painted to perfection.

“You’re kidding.” Din replied, a little more on the irritated side. He was aware that a few hours, before you had left to go into the market, you had decided to redo your nails. So aware in fact, because you had made him help with picking out a colour.

“Kidding? Din what if I chip them? Or worse! What if I break a nail?” You exclaimed to him “It’s already bad enough I had to drag him back here!”

“Is that why it took you so long to get back?”

“Yes!”

He had crossed his arms over his chest at this point, staring down at you intensely. It was the look he’d give to someone when trying to shake them down for information, or for a merchant to lower their prices. To many people, it would strike fear through their bodies and make them quiver in their boots. However, you on the other hand, had grown quite immune to the deadly gaze that your Mandalorian partner possessed. At this point in your time together, not even his most fiercest of looks to throw you off balance.

Seeing that you weren’t letting up under his gaze, he let out a huff and looked back down the bounty. “Why’d you bother painting your nails in the first place?” He asked, titling his head to look down at your coloured nails. “Why do you bother at all honestly?”

You had given him a look of mock shock, a small gasp leaving your lips, “How could I not bother?”

“You can’t see it but I’m rolling my eyes.” He muttered with a sigh, as he went to work freezing the bounty, seeing as he knew you wouldn’t be doing it anytime soon. He may have been acting annoyed with the whole thing, but the truth he really didn’t mind. This man would find a way to move a whole galaxy for you if you had asked him to.

At his remark you had stuck your tongue out him, before watching as the bounty did his best to escape from your Mandalorian lover. The man had begged and pleaded with Din, even apologized for all the nasty things he had said to you on your way back to Razor Crest. A scoff left you at that, with your own roll of the eyes. Of course he apologizes to Din for how he treated you, rather than even bothering to say it to you, a typical asshole thing.

The mandalorian had heard the noise you made in regards to the man's pleas and had paused in thought over it. In truth, he hated how many people would disregard your skill and work as a bounty hunter after learning more about your true self. When he first met you, he didn’t understand why you would parade around as a male bounty hunter. However, the more time he spent working with you, he had begun to understand why you put up such a strong exterior in public. People didn’t take a feminine looking and acting hunter seriously. Instead, they would look down on you for it and would disregard your work almost entirely.

Admittedly, he did enjoy seeing the contrast between your badass self in public and bubbly self in private. It was entertaining in a sense and rather endearing. The thought of others treating you poorly for any part of yourself though had boiled his blood. In other words, he could not understand how anyone could ever mistreat you simply over the things you liked, and hated the idea that you may feel like you had to act the way you did to be taken seriously. Whether you actually felt that way, or just thought it was fun to be the way you wanted, was entirely only known to you.

“Listen I didn’t know she was ya gal! I’m sorry alright?” The man continued his plea, thinking the Mandalorian was starting to reconsider his impending doom, “Listen if I knew she was a woman, your woman, I wouldn’t have messed with her in the first place-”

“-She’s more than just my girl or my woman.” Din cut the man off in a low voice and picked the bounty up by the front of his shirt. “She’s one of the best hunters in the galaxy and she’s the one who took you down. Remember that.”

Those were his last words to the bounty before he had shoved him in the carbon freeze.

“Look at you, getting all angry over a rude bounty for me,” You teased him, watching as he finished up with his task. “I’m not even really mad about it, I’ve heard worse, you know?”

He let out a grunt in reply, “Doesn’t matter. People shouldn’t treat you or act like that around you. You’re one of the most skilled bounty hunters I know.”

“More skilled than you?” You playfully said to him, as he had moved closer to you, until the two of you were toe to toe.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t go that far.” He managed to tease back at you, lightly tapping his forehead against yours.

After his little forehead tap, he took one of your hands into his larger ones. He brought your hand close to his helmet and began to examine your nails up close, almost as if he was admiring your work. His gloved thumb had rubbed smoothly across the inside of your palm, sending shivers down your spine and causing for a wave of heat to flow through your form.

“Your nails do look nice.”

“I know!” A cheeky smile had spread across your cheeks once more, the mischief within its depth drawing him into your words, “You should let me paint yours~”

He let out a small chuckle at your teasing remark, a smile etching across his features that you couldn’t see, but knew was there from his posture alone. He let go of your hand so he could remove a glove from his own, holding his bare hand out before you, palm down.

“What colour do you think would suit me best?”

---

Tags:

@ah-callie @readsalot73 @starrywatermelon @karnita-mexicana

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lustresky · 4 years

Text

all i ask [peter parker x f!reader]

summary: You question your true feelings for Peter after missing out on five years of your life.

wc: 2400ish.

themes: angst(ish), fluff, happy endings, best friends to lovers trope, mention of dermatillomania, existential questionings...

a/n: this is the first x reader that i have ever written, so sorry in advance if it’s awkward:’’’) english also isn’t my first language, so please do hit me up if i make any mistakes/some things sound wrong! still, i hope that some of you out there will still like this lil thing. i just want to keep peter in my pocket gawd what a bby:’’’’’’’( p.s. title is a song by adele! just had to name this that cuz it unexpectedly came into my playlist while i was writing this and the song just fit so well that it shocked me haha

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER ENDGAME, RIGHT BEFORE FFH. IT EXCLUDES THE LOVE STORY BETWEEN LIZ & PETER IN HOMECOMING.

available on ao3.

The rom-com flickered on the screen in front of your and Peter’s eyes, the only light illuminating the small living room.

Your legs were sprawled on top of Peter’s own, your arms becoming a bit numb from the fact that you haven’t moved them from their cramp inducing position for the past fifteen minutes. It wasn’t your fault— the small sofa could only leave you and Peter enough space to lounge about.

He had invited you over for some much needed “hang out” time. Considering the fact that both of you had missed out on five years of your life, you had suggested you both catch up on all of the movies the two of you had missed; but one thing led to another and now you were both watching late 90’s and early 2000’s films.

You were surprised, and maybe even mildly offended, when Peter had said that he had never watched Mean Girls nor Clueless. The boy who spew out pop comic references every other second had never watched the classics for every teenage girl? The blasphemy!

You fiddled with the fluffy throw covering your legs and partially, Peter’s. Your attention wasn’t really on the movie anymore, you’d seen it multiple times. Could probably recite it by heart, you thought, if you concentrated hard enough.

Speaking of concentration, your eyes inadvertently found their spot upon Peter’s face. It was quite funny, and maybe even adorable if you wanted to go that way, how concentrated the geeky boy was over such a cliché film. You had never once thought, with all of the years that you had known him, that he would listen and take Cher Horowitz’s words to heart.

Peter didn’t notice your gaze, and so you took that as an unspoken permission to roam your eyes over his features: the small lines already appearing beside his eyes, a tell-tale sign of how much he smiled— or at least, tried to, these days. There were those chiseled cheeks and the sharp jawline that he somehow managed to maintain despite eating delivery food every other day. (You can’t blame May, she tries her best, really; but sometimes Thai or Chinese is just way more palatable.) His nose, a bit crooked, from an ”accident.“ (You still don’t really know the exact details about that one, and frankly, you think it would hurt just hearing about it.) Soft curls of his brown hair fell over his forehead, messy and barely brushed.

Truly, you could probably spend a whole hour just staring at him. It’s weird, you know, who the hell stares at their own best friend for long periods of time? Well, MJ probably does, but then again she draws people most of the time so that’s socially allowed... and well— she’s MJ. She just… does that. You suppose.

Maybe she does have a point, you mused. People-watching seemed fun, seeing the way that people processed information was interesting, but you couldn’t really imagine doing that to anyone— anyone else but Peter, at least.

You loved Peter. It wasn’t even a question. Truly, you did— he was family. However, after the Snap, you started to question how you truly felt about him.

Did you ‘love’ him? You had asked yourself that question multiple times already. Then again, he was cute, goal-oriented, stubborn, loyal, smart, geeky, strong... (not just physically, between his difficult childhood and what you both had just gone through, you think that he may just be the strongest person that you know, mentally.) He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you feel safe… God, he was your exact type.

However, you had always put your feelings aside ever since you came back from the dead. What if it was just your mind craving for affection, afraid that you would never be able to experience the love that you had always wanted? Were you just terrified of the thought of not living your life to the fullest, that you started to ’love’ the first person to have ever given you warmth, just because the choice to do so was taken away from you?

Did you actually love him in that way? Would you still have loved him in that way, even if that purple fucking raisin didn’t come out of the fucking sky and take you both away from reality without even asking? Were you just blindsided? Were you wearing rose-coloured glasses?

What type of love for him did you feel, exactly?

It didn’t really help that Peter was way more clingy and touchy now. Sure, you were best friends even before then, but you never really touched each other so often before. His actions only further spiraled your pondering.

His hands seemed to linger more on your shoulders, nowadays. Now, he would, absentmindedly, lay his hands on your thighs while you were talking. Now, his hugs were tighter, warmer, and always included both of his arms— unlike those casual, one armed hugs that you would give each other while saying goodbye after school, right before you both ceased existing.

While talking, his eyes seemed to stare straight into yours, which always made you falter with your words before you shook his gaze off. Once, you saw him fixating his eyes on your lips while you vented to him about a mathematical formula that gave you a hard time.

He never really did that before— whenever you didn’t understand something, he would always just give you a small grin before shaking his head and finding a way to better explain the topic to you. At first, you thought that maybe he just had a lot on his mind, that he was just staring into space…

Or maybe, just maybe, he loved you. In that way.

Though, now that you thought more about it, maybe he just craved affection like you did. He went through a lot. His life was never devoid of danger, and it wasn’t questionable to want comfort after all of the things that he had gone through. Did he truly feel that way about you, or did he only see you as a comfort tool? You wouldn’t be angry if he did, out of all the people that you knew that deserved more reassurance and love, he was definitely on top of the list.

You didn’t mind. You understood.

Was he in the same boat as you?

You startled yourself away from your thoughts when Peter suddenly retracted his body further back into the couch, as if he wanted to bury himself in it. His brows were furrowed, nose scrunched, lips curled up in disgust; though to your relief his eyes were still glued to the screen and he hadn’t just seen you checking him out. You chuckled at the unexpected reaction, “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Peter shook his head from side to side, as if that would help him from his current situation. “I get that they aren’t really related, but it’s just— weird.” He replied.

Intrigued, you shifted your eyes over to the screen, and was welcomed by Cher and Josh kissing. You laughed at Peter’s disgust.

“How is it weird? They’ve had— like, very evident tension for half of the movie, Pete.” You replied, eyes watching the way Josh held Cher’s face in his hands. As much as you would never admit it, your stomach fluttered at the scene. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect it to happen.”

Peter groaned. “It’s not that I didn’t expect it to happen, it’s just— Josh is what, almost twenty or something? And Cher is our age!” He rattled off. “I’m having flashbacks to when I learned that Luke and Leia were actually related.”

You shook your head and let out a snort. Typical Peter, always finding a way to reference Star Wars.

“It’s just a lil’ kiss scene Pete, don’t get so worked up about it.” You chuckled. You let out a dreamy sigh, your lip unknowingly curling into a small smile. Truth be told, you've always wanted something so passionate yet so soft like that to happen to you.

You couldn’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth. “Isn’t it romantic though? The fact that the person that Cher has been searching and looking for so hard was actually just right there.”

“Always there…” Your voice slowly found itself becoming quieter, until it was only a ghost of a whisper. “Right by your side.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot. What the fuck was all that sudden sentimental bullshit, Y/N? You thought to yourself.

You hoped that Peter just didn’t pick up on what you had just said. The movie was loud enough to cover it, right?

With a reassuring breath, mostly to yourself, you turned your gaze back to Peter’s face.

Only to find him staring back at you.

Fuck, what were you thinking? With his enhanced senses, of course he would’ve heard what you had said.

Your breath got caught in your throat as your brain almost short circuited from the unexpected eye contact. His stare was unrelenting; from the dim light of the television, you can see his dilated irises, swimming with what you can only assume was longing… and hope.

The air suddenly seemed thick with tension. What kind it was? You weren’t really sure, but the movie and its noises were now just background noise and lighting. From the corner of your eyes, you see Peter’s Adam apple bob up and down as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Y/N…” He started, slowly, seemingly unsure of how to word his sentence. You mustered up a small bit of courage and sent him a small smile, patiently waiting for his brain to catch up with his mouth. It was one of his quirks that you adored so much, how much he struggled with the right words to say, because he knew the gravity of them; even if he did end up just spewing them out in the end.

“I— I don’t really know how to say this exactly, but,” Peter chewed on his bottom lip. “God I just— I just need to man up and say it because it’s been on my mind ever since I came back and I don’t think I can put it off any longer because I’m scared that you’ll disappear again and that I’ll never have the chance to say the truth and I—“ He stopped in his tracks, seemingly running out of words to say. His head dropped to look at his lap, as he started fidgeting with his hands and picking at his cuticles. A nervous tick that you recognized.

You straightened up from your lounging position, and slowly reached out your arms to lay your own hands on top of his, effectively gaining his attention and stopping his quite destructive habit. Bit by bit, he faced you once more; albeit now his eyes seemed to be more glassy.

“Y/N,” He took a shaky breath. “You— you mean so much to me.“ His eyes stared straight through you, and by now you felt your eyes start getting teary too.

“When it was happening I— all I could think about was how I felt about you. I— I felt so fucking selfish. I didn’t even think about Aunt May— or Ned, or MJ. All I thought about was how much I regretted not telling you how I actually felt about you sooner— that I’ll never be able to tell you how much I actually fucking loved you—“

Instinctively, you cut him off with your index placed on his lips. Now it was your turn to let out a shaky breath as your hand descended and found itself laying once more on Peter’s own.

Peter loved you. Even before the snap. Even before you disappeared.

The sight of Peter in front of you: vulnerable, hair ruffled, cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears red, his eyes watering as he poured his heart out to you was the moment that answered all of your doubts from before.

That was when you realized that you loved him, too. Truly. Without a doubt.

You loved him before everything went to hell, you still love him now, and fuck, you would still love him even if you hadn’t died. You weren’t wearing rose-coloured glasses, hell, far from it. You were seeing everything clearly. You were seeing everything just the way that they are.

You opened your lips, and a strangled but genuine giggle came out. “Pete, I love you too. I’ve loved you since— fuck, I can’t even remember when I actually started fucking loving you. You’ve been such a constant in my life that I questioned myself whether I truly loved you romantically, because I’m also a fucking idiot that thought that the type of love that I had for you was only platonic. Turns out they’re both one and the same.” You were laughing now, with a few hiccups here and there from the hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“And shut up— you aren’t selfish,” With a new wave of courage, you lifted up one of your hands again and cradled his face. He leaned into it, impulsively, sniffling. “You’re one of the most selfless people that I know, hell, you put yourself in danger for people that you don’t even fucking know. I… I honestly think you could use more selfishness sometimes.” You laughed, softly, trying to regain a bit more composure with the tidal wave of emotions washing through you.

Peter, thankfully, found your quip funny. He snorted, shaking his head, as he lifted the sleeve of his Midtown Tech hoodie up to wipe at his tears. He wiped yours too, and you thanked him with a genuine smile.

All hearts now bared, you both just stared at each other, not really knowing what else to say nor do. From what you could tell, the movie was over now, the ending scene just slowly rolling in as it always does.

You opened your mouth, about to break the silence, when Peter beat you to it.

“Can I kiss you?”

A chuckle escaped your mouth before you could reply properly, and a huge grin overtook your face as your cheeks heated up once more. You squeezed his hands, and nodded.

Peter leaned in, and you had never felt more at peace.

#lily’s lil’ stories #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #fanfic #ff #x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #spiderman #spiderman x reader #one shot #angst #best friends to lovers #fluff #subtle (not really) movie references #existential musings #pete n reader's been thru a lot ok:(

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irelise · 4 years

Text

Fic “Behind the Scenes” - Alex Rider

Trying to dip my toes back into writing, so I thought I’d ramble about some fics I’ve already written! This started off as ranting about my title choice and how they’re usually Final Fantasy XIV songs I butcher in order to forcibly fit the fic, but it expanded into musings about things that didn’t make the cut into the final fic, and potential sequels/things that happen down the line.

Just doing Alex Rider fics for now since that’s my current active fandom, but drop me an ask if there are any fics you’re especially interested in from any fandom!

Starting off with: Time (2368 words, gen, Alex & Yassen focused) aka my untagged Inception-flavoured AU where the plot twist was that it was a dream all along That said, this title was probably one of the easiest to come up with and was obviously from the main theme of Inception, Time! Which is fantastic like the whole movie aaaa i love Inception AUs and this fic is probably the one I’m most likely to expand into longfic if I dredge up the motivation from somewhere. It would be a mission style fic, possibly a heist, where Alex and Yassen are seemingly working together in order to steal some valuable intel from another group. Of course, it’s all a dream! Through copious dream symbolism and mind fuckery the real mission was set up by MI6 for Alex to extract intel from Yassen, who by this point is steadily losing his grip on dreams and reality after months, possibly years, spent under sedation.

Yassen has a few tricks up his sleeve, though. He’s aware that he’s (probably) dreaming and he can see the fractures in Alex’s resolve after such a long time of being used and manipulated by MI6. It would only take a little nudge to get Alex to defect -- or, at the very least, to escape.

So while Alex is busy trying to extract information from Yassen, Yassen is trying to do the opposite: inception.

The rest below cut for length and also because they’re nsfw since most of my writing was for the kink meme! Warning for general fucked-upness and unhealthy relationships

at the end, on a dusty road (8154 words, Yassen/Alex) aka the reputation sabotage fic, aka where’s part 3b?!

Title from Origa’s Polyushka Polye:

The wind scatters your brave songs Across the green field. Songs of the past, Leaving them alone with your glory, And right at the end, on a dusty road…

i just wanted something wistful and Russian about past soldiers and fading glory ok....... I came pretty close to titling the fic leaving them alone with your past glory but decided it didn’t make much sense out of context.

ANYWAY my first Yalex fic! Very much inspired by a hodgepodge of comments on Discord about how MI6 would react if they ever saw Yassen paying Alex visits in the middle of the night - “Could they be exchanging information?” “The whole night? Maybe the answer is something more obvious...”

ANYWAY the ending at the moment is pretty open - there’s two main ways I see it going:

1) Yassen comes back shortly afterwards, realises he had fucked up colossally, stays and helps Alex rebuild even though Alex (very justifiably) no longer trusts him. Very slow reconciliation and healing but ultimately happy ending.

2) aka the one where I broke Nanibun’s shipper heart over Discord: Alex and Yassen eventually reunite, but it isn’t until years later, when Alex is nearing middle age and Yassen has faded into obscurity. Alex managed to pick up the pieces of his life and even moved on properly from MI6, and now lives a fulfilling life. Married, 2.5 kids, white picket fence, the whole lot. So what if his marriage is more for partnership than for love? He’s content with the direction his life had taken and has strong ties to his community. He even managed to forgive Yassen, even though it took him a long time.

He and Yassen meet for the last time in a sunlit cafe in spring. Alex looks at Yassen and sees only a stranger with lines crinkling under his eyes.Yassen is getting old, he realizes. He thinks he should be happy that Yassen even had the chance to get old, but all he feels is relief that their paths had diverged. Alex is done with that life and he can never trust Yassen again. All that old passion had burned away to nothing, not even a flickering flame. Even though the initial parting had been painful, Alex had managed to find peace long ago, and he hopes Yassen will be able to do the same. But it's a distant, unemotional hope, the sort of hope you'd have for a distant acquaintance you haven't seen in years. The type of well wishes that are etiquette more than actual sentiment.

He's glad when their drinks are finished and Yassen melts away into the chattering springtime crowd, one final dangling chapter of his life closed at last.

...............or, 3) Alex throws himself into increasingly dangerous situations in an attempt to feel something and dies young.

(part 3b is coming someday i swear! it’s the alternate path where Yassen has second thoughts, tells Alex the truth, and doesn’t send the sex tape to MI6)

---

Lemniscate (3562 words, Julia Rothman/Yassen) Not a whole lot to say about this one, except after I finished I realised it was really similar to another fic I previously wrote which also involved a young man desperate to reinvent himself completely being taken advantage of by his superior............ i have a Type

Title - I was jamming out to Locus while writing this which is a song all about an inability to escape from cycles - When fighting back right out of this system/Means falling back right into this space ; When falling back is better than simply/Falling back into pieces again - but it was long and unwieldy so I thought about shortening it to Moebius but that was a bit overdone... In the end I settled with Lemniscate which is also an infinity symbol, Moebius-like shape. Mostly it’s a reference to how Yassen never quite breaks free of his “cycle” even though he’s with Scorpia now - he was Sharkovsky’s slave and bedwarmer and...now he plays basically the same role for Julia Rothman. (Just with a bit more murder and moral erosion!)

---

This probably needs a special content warning - major character death (gun suicide from the second Russian roulette scene), gore, necrophilia

closing the circle (3650 words, John Rider & Yassen) aka is it still a gen fic if there’s offscreen necrophilia?

This was originally written for a kink meme prompt for corpse mutilation + necrophilia but then the John and Yassen plot thread kind of took over and I never actually ended up writing the gory stuff oops since it was too out of place compared to the rest. So everything below can be considered not “canon” since the fic diverged so heavily from its original plan (which is why the section numbers skip around - I cut out Yassen’s bits). But if you’re curious, here’s the details for what I originally planned to happen to Yassen (well, his corpse) and the Sharkovsky family, copy-pasted straight from my notes and full of as much karma as I could stuff in:

Yassen’s death, Sharkovsky shoves his fingers in the bullet hole and spits on the body in disgust. Yassen regains consciousness halfway through this; he can feel what Sharkovsky is doing

Ivan comes running in, attracted by the sound of the gunshot. Sharkovsky tells him to do what he likes with the body as long as it’s disposed of in the end. Necrophilia scene? Afterwards Ivan disposes of the body by locking it in the cellar alone with the Dalmatian for a few days

Yassen starts getting his revenge. Ivan is the first to go when he comes to let the Dalmatian out – the Dalmatian savages him and tears out his throat before it’s finally shot. Yassen’s bones get buried along with the Dalmatian. Ivan’s body is kept in the cold storage room in the basement where they kept the old food taster’s body while they decide what to do with him.

Maya, Sharkovsky’s wife, is next. She passes away in the middle of the night. Sharkovsky wakes up next to a cooling corpse.

There are whispers that there is some sort of curse. One of the maids talk about finding blood on the carpet of Sharkovsky’s study. She’s the next to disappear. Some other workers stop turning up.

Finally it’s Sharkovsky’s turn. He dies of poison. The dacha burns down that same night.

A Scorpia agent was sent to tie up loose ends (Scorpia didn’t know Sharkovsky is already dead); Yassen kills him too. He has no loyalty to Scorpia and just wants to be left alone.

Hunter is sent to investigate. He and Yassen talk, in the end, Hunter invites Yassen to come with him, Yassen agrees. But when they leave the dacha and Hunter looks back, he finds that Yassen is gone.

And an excerpt:

Yassen is dead. He does not remember dying. There are some things the human mind tries to shield itself from, and the memory of a bullet traveling through bone and brain to erupt on the other side in a shower of gore is one of those things.

Yassen is dead. He had hoped death would mean oblivion. At his most naïve and optimistic, he had hoped death would mean reunion. Happiness. A return to simpler days.

He discovers, instead, that death is not so different from life, except he is even more powerless now than before.

There is a body on the floor of Sharkovsky’s study. Its hair had once been pale white-blond, but now it is matted with coagulating blood. That same blood spreads in a dark pool against the carpet, clotting the fibres together into ugly clumps, stiff and flaking. The fire in the hearth is still burning sullenly. Its light glistens against the grotesque strands of viscera splattered against the ground, the furniture, the wall. A round hole had been punched into the side of the corpse’s head, piercing bone and brain. That was how the man who had once been Yassen Gregorovich had killed himself. The fingers of the corpse remain loosely curled around the old-fashioned revolver that had been the instrument of death.

The only living person in the room rises slowly from his wheelchair. Sharkovsky’s skeletal face is twisted into an ugly grimace of anger. He totters over to the corpse, nudging it with the tip of one polished leather shoe. “Waste of time,” he says coldly. “Ruining a perfectly good carpet, and for what?”

In a sudden fit of temper, he lashes out with a kick. Once, it would have been strong enough to break several ribs (Yassen knows from intimate experience). Now, the corpse merely flops limply to one side. It incenses Sharkovsky further. He drops heavily to his knees, breathing harshly, and backhands the corpse across the face with one shaking hand.

#fandom: alex rider #My writing #meta

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demonsonthemoon · 4 years

Text

You Know Every Part of Me

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairings: platonic Jehan & Grantaire, romantic background Grantaire/Enjolras Word Count: 3793 Summary: "Isn't it weird?" Jehan helps Grantaire pick out an outfit for her date, and the two of them have a discussion about their relationship. Note: Years ago (I'm guessing around 2014, but I'm not sure anymore), the ever amazing @anastasiapullingteeth posted a Jehan/Grantaire fic on Valentine's day. That fic changed my life, because it allowed me to meet someone I'm very proud to call my friend. I posted this fic on AO3 on Valentine's day 2020, and I'm still both proud and lucky to call Caro a friend. Also, I'm still totally in love with Jehan and Grantaire. Happy meeting anniversary, Caro. I love you. Title for the fic is taken from the song "Dear Jealousy" by Mika, because I was uninspired, and also, it's a bop. I changed some of the characters' pronouns in this fic, so Grantaire uses she/her and Enjolras ey/em (which is totally a reference to my old fic Tunnel Lights, because I was feeling nostalgic.) Also, the book mentioned in the beginning of the story is The Heretic's Guide to Homecoming by Sienna Tristen.

Also available on AO3.

“Isn't it weird?”

“Um?” Jehan shook himself from the novel he was reading – a fantasy book, one that actually engaged with the idea of language barriers, and how was Jehan supposed to resist to that? - and looked up at Grantaire. “Don't wear that shirt,” he immediately said. “You already wore it on your last date.”

Grantaire looked down at the black collared shirt she had put on, an eyebrow raised. “Really?”

Jehan couldn't help but smile a little. “Trust the only person in the room with a fashion sense.”

Grantaire's eyebrow managed to rise by another centimeter, and she gave Jehan a pointed look. There was a possibility that Jehan deserved that look, because he was currently wearing Mickey Mouse leggings under an oversized knitted jumper he'd found in a charity shop. “I never said that I had a good fashion sense,” Jehan pointed out, trying to stop himself from giggling. “Just that I had one.”

“This is why people don't trust you,” was Grantaire's reply as she started taking off her shirt.

Jehan dramatically pressed his open book to his chest as he mimed being fatally wounded. “I have no idea what you mean. I am obviously the most innocent and trustworthy person anyone has ever met.”

Grantaire's response to that , was to throw her newly-discarded shirt at his face. Jehan tried to make an affronted noise, but he started laughing before he could properly pretend to be mad.

“Okay, so what should I wear, dear innocent-one-with-a-fashion sense?”

Jehan properly sat up from where he was lounging on Grantaire's bed so he could look at her closet. Truth be told, she didn't have a lot of options that were date-appropriate, although Jehan had to scoff at the notion that there were such things as inappropriate clothes for a romantic occasion. Wasn't the point of those things to be yourself with another person? But if it meant something to Grantaire to dress up before a date, he would do his best to help despite their limited options.

“Go with the black tanktop that has lace on the front and your green turtleneck.”

Grantaire picked out said items from her wardrobe and oblingingly put them on, before assessing the outfit in front of her mirror.

“Yeah, I guess that will do.”

Jehan rolled his eyes. “Could you show any more enthusiasm?”

Grantaire turned towards him at that, her curls bouncing with the movement. She grinned as she approached the bed. “I'll show you enthusiasm,” she said. She then picked up Jehan's book from where he was still clutching it and marked his page before putting it down on the bedside table. It was a small gesture in the middle of a bigger moment, but Jehan's attention latched onto it. That small act expressed all the care that Grantaire put in her relationship with Jehan, and it made him echo her smile even as she bent down to kiss him.

Grantaire was indeed enthusiastic enough, and their clash of lips was anything but chaste as she kneeled over Jehan and licked her way into his mouth. Jehan was more than happy to respond in kind, sucking her lower lip between his as he ran his hands across the soft fabric of her sweater.

After making some sort of satisfied noise that Jehan would lovingly qualify as a purr, Grantaire pulled away.

“Wait,” she said in a fake-serious tone. “I was making a point.”

“If the point was to remind me of how much I like kissing you, consider it made,” Jehan retorted with a grin.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, young man.”

“Not even into your pants?”

Grantaire laughed at that. “That line was so bad I think you stole it from me. Aren't you supposed to be a poet?”

Jehan shrugged. Grantaire bent down to kiss him once more.

“Nice try, but these pants are staying on for the time being. You're supposed to be helping me get ready for a date, not seducing me.”

“I can perfectly do both at the same time. I'm sure Enjolras would appreciate seeing you out of your pants as much as I would.”

Grantaire blushed a little at that, swatting at him half-heartedly. “Stop that!”

It made Jehan laugh, free and easy, because the fact that such a simple comment could make Grantaire glow like this was just delightful.

“Like I said, I was making a point. About this. About us. I don't know.”

“And what was the point exactly?”

“Just...” Grantaire quieted down a little, sighing. “Isn't it weird? Shouldn't it feel weird?”

Jehan shrugged, tilting his head in consideration. “I mean, we've talked about 'this, us', before, I think we've been over the fact that most people would find it a little weird. A lot of people are still weird about stuff like open relationships and polyamory, so if you try to bring up stuff like 'commited platonic sexual relationships', it's gonna raise a few eyebrows.”

Grantaire rolled her eyes. “I know that, it's not what I mean.”

Jehan didn't say anything in reply, waiting for Grantaire to figure it out herself. This was something they'd talked about. They'd had to, both when they had first started flirting and Jehan had oh-so-casually slipped in that he was aromantic, and when Grantaire's simmering love story with Enjolras had finally turned into a proper romance. Those conversations hadn't exactly been fun, because discussing emotional needs and establishing boundaries was complicated work, but they had gone well enough that their relationship still worked. That didn't mean there weren't kinks that needed to be worked out from time to time (pun fully intended, some kinks being a lot more fun than others.)

“What I mean is that this, this whole helping-me-out-before-a-date thing, that wasn't part of the package. That's not something we talked about. And it just... I don't know.”

“You said that it should feel weird,” Jehan started carefully. “Does it?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I don't really know. That's my issue here. It's weird because I don't actually know how it makes me feel. I feel like... On the one hand, it's nice to have you here. I like you, obviously, and it just feels... normal, reassuring. On the other hand... I guess I'm kind of always aware of how it might look to other people. It just feels like... Like I'm flaunting it. Like it should make you uncomfortable.”

“You mean you and Enjolras?”

Grantaire nodded.

Jehan took the time to think about it, sitting up and crossing his legs so as to be more comfortable. This sounded like it was quickly turning into a conversation, so he might as well put himself at ease.

“Well, first of all, it's not like you're showing off something that I actually want. It's...” He paused for a moment, picking his words carefully. Jehan prided himself for the fact that he was pretty attuned to his own feelings. He did write poetry, thank you very much. But that also meant he was particularly aware of how contradictory his feelings could get, and overly conscious of the things he preferred not to think about. “It does sound... nice. It obviously makes you happy.” Grantaire couldn't repress a small smile at that, like she still couldn't believe her luck after three months of dating, and fuck but she was adorable. “Which is great. But I guess sometimes it does make me feel... envious, in some way.” That got the smile right out of her face, which made Jehan want to flinch. “Not in a... not in a personal way. It's not that I'm jealous of Enjolras, or of what you have with em. Not really. Not... specifically. It's more... Well. The feelings you have for each other seem to mean so much, and to make you happy. So I do sometimes feel envious that I don't... feel anything like that. That I don't get what it's all about. But it's all abstract. It doesn't mean I actually want it. Not really. Am I making any sort of sense?”

Grantaire had settled on the foot of the bed, mirroring Jehan's position. She looked at him, pensive.

“You are. At least I think so. It's not about jealousy for a person in particular, more about... the general sense that we're enjoying something you can't feel.”

“Yeah, something like that. But I don't want you to... try and hide it, or anything. That would feel weirder. And I think it would kind of be sad. I would rather know about the good things in your life than know you're hiding something from me to spare my feelings. And it's not as if society wasn't constantly throwing huge fucking clues at my face that I'm supposed to feel like I'm missing out on something, so I doubt those feelings would disappear anyway.”

Jehan shrugged again. The gesture wasn't enough to cover the bitterness in his words, but it was all he had to offer. Grantaire didn't say anything for a few seconds, considering his words. At least she wasn't looking at him with pity. That was probably one of the best things about her, and about the relationship they had. The fact that Grantaire – despite not exactly understanding how his emotions worked – didn't pity his lack of romantic attraction, and the fact that she was well aware that he was still perfectly able to pursue the kinds of relationship he did want. For example, the kinds of relationships that involved getting into Grantaire's pants.

It wasn't that Jehan was usually so single-minded about this type of thing. It's just that Grantaire cleaned up good.

“So it's not weird for you?” She finally asked, and Jehan had to re-route his train of thoughts and catch up with the conversation.

He shrugged again. “It's not that it's not weird. It's just that so much of my life would be considered weird by a lot of people, that at some point I stopped getting worked up about that feeling. I would say that my technique is to vaguely acknowledge the norm and how I feel about it, and then move on and ignore it for the rest of whatever it is I'm doing.”

Grantaire grinned at that. “Like you seem to vaguely acknowledge fashion and then ignore it every time you take clothes out of your dresser?”

Jehan mimed wiping tears off his face. “I know, it's so sad. For such a brilliant woman to die so young. Oh, no, it couldn't have been anything other than a natural death. Who would want someone like that dead?”

Grantaire laughed at his antics, and Jehan had to admit he was fairly proud of himself for finding friends who still laughed at that kind of things despite his having left the highschool drama club four years ago.

“But seriously,” Jehan said, back to a more serious tone. “I don't think asking if it feels weird is the right question. Sure, it's weird, but so am I and so are you. Doesn't mean I would change anything about it.”

Grantaire hummed under her breath in agreement.

Silence settled after that, allowing the moment to quiet down. Jehan let it. Grantaire wasn't the type of person to be quiet. Not usually. Not unless she was feeling particularly comfortable. Talking a lot, giving an answer to everything and having a brash attitude were all ways that she had of protecting herself. Silence was her true way of showing vulnerability.

Jehan lied back down on the bed, and opened his arms. Grantaire smiled at that, and settled into the embrace until they were properly spooning. The position felt a little silly, due in large part to the fact that Grantaire was the little spoon despite being nearly a head taller than Jehan, but neither of them really cared. It felt comfortable.

After a few minutes of easy quiet, Grantaire mumbled something.

Jehan made an inquiring noise, loathe to actually talk, which would involve moving from his position.

“I said that if you're not jealous of em, there's no reason for you to hold me hostage until I miss my date with Enjolras.”

Jehan giggled a little, closing his arms tighter around his friend. “Oh yes, that is exactly what this is, a dastardly plot to stop you from leaving,” he whispered against Grantaire's back.

“I've always known you were an evil mastermind,” Grantaire quipped back, still not moving away.

“Sure,” Jehan easily agreed. He suddenly felt confused. Was he really supposed to be jealous of Enjolras when he could have this? Something easy and soft, something that didn't push him to give more than he wanted to, but still offered him so much in return?

It wasn't that it was easy. It just felt like it was worth it. More so than anything else he could imagine.

Still smiling, he pushed Grantaire away, earning a groan from the woman. “Come on, I didn't help you pick a killer outfit for no one else to see it.”

#Meeni writes fics #Les Mis #Les Misérables #Jetaire #OTP: Words Unsaid

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bytheangell · 5 years

Text

Desperate Hours

(Read on AO3) (Coda for 3x13 and compliant with the 3x14 sneak peek of Magnus&Lorenzo, so spoilers for both ahead)

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Magnus says, stepping inside Catarina’s apartment.

“Of course, Magnus. You’re acting like it’s some huge struggle to pencil you in, and not like I wouldn’t gladly welcome a visit from one of my closest friends any time.” She smiles at him but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes - she knows that this isn’t just a social call. Magnus wonders if she could hear the desperation in his voice over the phone… or maybe she put two and two together when Lorenzo undoubtedly contacted her to forbid her from assisting him after he started asking around.

That wouldn’t surprise him. He’s tired, physically and emotionally, and there’s only so much faking he can do before he has to let his guard down at some point. Catarina, bless her, is the unfortunate recipient of his unfiltered woes.

“Drink?” She offers. “I don’t have much, but there’s some beer or a cheap bottle of wine with your name on it.” She grabs a bottle of beer for herself in the meantime.

“No, thank you.” Now this, if nothing else, sets off a red flag. He’s trying to appear nonchalant but the way he fidgets gives him away. Plus, the last time he came over focused enough to not share a casual beer with her was when he showed up to tell her about Ragnor. Concern flashes across her features.

“Magnus, what’s wrong?”

Where to begin?, he wonders.

“Everything?” He jokes, attempting for sarcasm but there's a bit too much truth in it to be comfortable. “Isabelle came to me for help earlier. It was important, a matter of her heath, and all I could do was stand there and watch her hurt. She lied and said she was fine to spare me the regret of being useless.”

The irony isn’t lost on him that for all the years he complained about everyone coming to him to help solve their problems, now that he couldn’t he actually missed it. How long until no one bothers to ask in the first place? A week? A month? How much time does he have left before word gets around that Magnus Bane isn’t capable of anything that goes beyond a trip to the market in town or something he can look up in a book already in his possession, unless you’re willing to wait for him to taxi to the nearest reference?

How long until Magnus Bane, as the world knows him, is entirely obsolete?

Cat sighs. She always could read him best and it’s easy to hear the strife behind his words. “I’m sorry.” Magnus doesn’t look her in the eyes just yet, knowing the pity he’ll find there and not wanting it. He’s done with pity. He’s done with trying to get used to an existence he doesn’t want. “What do you need? You know I’ll help however I can.”

“For Isabelle? Burdock root, native to L’Isle-Adam, which I do need, yes. But that isn’t the whole reason I came…”

Magnus keeps his expression stoic, unwilling to betray the trepidation he feels at the path his current thoughts take.

“I need to get my magic back... I was reading up on a reversal of the spell Asmodeus used on me. Instead of taking magic, the caster would give part of their own to another. There isn’t a lot written on it, but… I think it can work.”

“...I’ve heard about that.” Catarina says, and Magnus’ face falls. He was counting on the fact that, by some small miracle, she hadn’t. Because if she knows what he’s talking about then Magnus already knows what’s coming next before she even opens her mouth.

“You can’t seriously be considering that so soon, can you?”

“I know it’s primarily been used on Non-Warlocks-”

“-all of whom died from the rejection of the magic in bodies not meant to hold it.” Cat supplies quickly, making sure he couldn’t skip around that fact.

“But it does have documented attempts on Warlocks, too.” He continues.

“Yes. Attempts to transfer magic which have resulted in uncontrollable powers at best, and, again, death at the very worst.” Cat looks at him with a mixture of surprise and concern. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t have any ideas, good or bad. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to find that seems even remotely helpful. And it’s never been used on a Warlock with no magic before. All of the previous complications with warlocks were from having two different sources of power fighting within the host. If I only have one…” he trails off. He doesn’t know what will happen with just one, of course, but he’s desperate enough to find out.

“Your magic - your specific signature - is a part of you. To put some foreign essence inside of you like that, the chances of your body rejecting it like a bad transplant, the chances of it going wrong-”

“-are all chances I’m willing to take. I can’t keep living like this, Cat. You don’t know… you can’t imagine how empty I am. How wrong it feels to just exist like this. I haven’t stopped since I got back because every time I’m too still--.” He pauses, looking up at her with pleading eyes just shy of tears. He can’t bring himself to talk about it anymore, it’s too overwhelming. “I need your help.”

“Magnus...”

“I can’t perform the spell on myself and no one else will so much as speak to me about it, by direct order of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Magnus spits the title out with bitterness.

“Magnus, I can’t. Not because of Lorenzo - you know I want nothing more than to help you get your magic back, and if I thought giving you part of mine was the solution I would, I really would, consequences be damned. But I’m not powerful enough for something of this scope. Not with how much magic I use every day with work. And even if I was…” She hesitates. Magnus wants her to stop there. He almost cuts her off because the idea that it was simply a matter of her not being able to, that he could compartmentalize and store away. But it isn’t, and they both know it. He remains silent as she continues. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You’re upset, and you’re frustrated, and you haven’t given this enough thought.” She’s only looking out for him. If he were actually thinking clearly he’d see that. But instead all he hears is that she thinks he’s being foolish. That he’s making a mistake, just like the mistake he made in giving Lilith that potion, and in thinking he was strong enough (or clever enough) to deal with Asmodeus. Just another mistake to add to the list that would be the end of his legacy: a great man buried by an avalanche of missteps.

“I’ve given it nothing but thought. Thinking is all I can do since I’m useless everywhere else now.” Magnus shakes his head, defending himself but no longer working to convince her. They’ve been friends long enough for him to know when her mind is made up.

“You’re not useless and you know it. There’s more to you-” “-oh just shut up already.” Magnus snaps. “If one more person tells me I’m more than just my magic, I’m going to scream.”

There’s a heavy pause immediately following his words in which Magnus knows with no uncertainty he fucked up.

“I think you should go home.” Catarina’s tone isn’t angry, but it is colder than the comfort she offered before. “Take a step back and give me a call later. I’ll have the burdock root for you then.”

Magnus winces, her controlled politeness worse than any anger she could respond with. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She pauses. “You know what else I know? That you came here to ask me to help you perform a spell that might kill you, or have any number of consequences we don’t know about - and that would all fall on me. The Magnus I know would never put his friends in a position like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again, because it’s all he can seem to do. She’s right, of course. And it’s why he didn’t want to go to her in the first place - he wanted to find someone neutral, someone he could pay off to go through with it no questions asked. It was a solid plan until Lorenzo went and complicated everything.

So Magnus was forced to go to Catarina because if anyone is willing to go to extremes to help him, it’s her. Perhaps that’s the very reason he shouldn’t have - he’s abusing her good nature for something selfish. What if she agreed and something happened to her? How could he live with himself?

Not to mention if something happens to him. Magnus knows the risks and accepts full responsibility for them, which would do nothing to stop Cat from blaming herself if he dies with her magic coursing through him. Maybe he isn’t thinking clearly, but the longer he goes on without magic the worse he imagines that problem will become. He certainly isn’t going to grow more rational the more disconnected he feels from himself.

Magnus is broken out of his thoughts by the sound of Catarina’s voice. “What does Alec have to say about all this?”

Magnus winces again and remains silent.

“You haven’t told him, have you?” Her tone turns accusatory again.

“No need to if it isn’t going to happen, is there? I’ll worry him when there’s cause to. He has enough on his plate right now without my wild goose chases.” He shrugs, mentally cursing the dead-end Lorenzo caused him, when a thought occurs to him. He hates it, but it gives him a flicker of hope just the same.

“We’ll figure this out,” Cat continues, unaware of his epiphany. “We can do more research on the reversal spell first - we don’t have to write it off entirely - and keep looking for other alternatives. Safer alternatives. There’s a solution out there and none of us are going to stop until we find it, alright?”

“Alright,” he says, distracted, and hears the word fall flat. Magnus is careful to throw a smile her way and brighten his tone, which is an almost impossible task given the stomach-turning idea that crosses his mind just then. If he’s really going to go through with this he needs to make sure Catarina isn’t keeping tabs on him. He needs her to believe he’s dropping it, at least for now… at least long enough to make one more visit.

“Of course. You’re right. I’m rushing into this… I’m not thinking clearly.” Magnus nods. “I’m mortal now, but it isn’t like I’m on my deathbed. There’s time to figure this out.”

He says the words in response to Cat but his mind is elsewhere, thoughts racing at a possibility of one last place he can turn. Catarina eyes him suspiciously but decides to embrace the change of heart as a good thing. And why shouldn’t she assume he’s fine for now: with no Warlock in the city willing to help him it isn’t as if he can run out and do something immediately, right?

“Just promise me you aren’t going to do anything stupid. I’ve nearly lost you twice now, I can’t do it a third time.”

“You have my word.”

It isn’t a total lie because he’s convinced this isn’t stupid. Risky, yes. Humiliating, certainly. His absolute last resort is enough to make his skin crawl to even consider, but it’s the only option he has and he needs to try.

There’s only one warlock with access the level of power he needs. One who won’t bat an eye at the potential side-effects to him. The only warlock who isn’t forbidden from helping him, because he’s the one who gave the order in the first place.

It’s time to pay a visit to Lorenzo Rey.

#magnus bane #catarina loss #shadowhunters #shfanficnexus #sh spoilers #i had to rework some of this when the sneak peek came out today but I MADE IT WORK #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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the-haven-of-fiction · 5 years

Text

Journal

Title: The Haven

Chapter 44: Journal (Tom’s POV)

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Author’s Notes: It’s been over five years since I wrote this chapter and over four years since I posted the previous chapter and the reality of posting this one is almost making cry. Time is so strange. If you are still interested in this story, thank you. If this story is new to you, please check out the Master Post. <3

“Tom, have you ever cheated?”

The question absolutely stunned me. She had just walked into the living room and was holding what looked like an old book.

She was speaking so softly, it was almost a whisper.

“What?”

I thought I understood what she had said, but I wanted to be certain.

Moving to take a seat on the couch, she set the book down with great care, as if it was very valuable to her.

Her tongue darted out, a nervous wetting of her lips, before she repeated the question.

“Have you ever cheated on anyone?”

So many different thoughts were zigzagging through my mind, I couldn’t speak right away.

Have I given you any reason to ask the question?

Do you think I would cheat, on you?

Do you not trust me after all?

The last thought brought a tremor of fear.

I looked down at the engagement ring on her hand that was resting on a throw pillow. Taking it gently and running my fingers over it, I looked into her eyes, hoping that they would tell me what exactly she was thinking.

“I love you, sweet girl.”

Now her voice was indeed a whisper.

“I love you, too.”

A faint sense of relief shot through me that she was able to say it. I didn’t know what was bringing this on, but it was scaring me.

“You asked me to marry you, darling. Remember?” I prompted with a smile a gentle brush of my fingers across a flushed cheek. “I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

It wasn’t the first time I had asked her after the initial proposal. Usually she laughed and kissed me and told me how silly I was. This time, she frowned in confusion and tears were beginning to form in her eyes.

“If…if the answer to your question isn’t what you hope it will be, will you…will you still want to marry me?”

Now the tears spilled over, but her voice was gaining a little strength.

“I gave you my word, Tom,” she assured me as she lifted her hand and pointed to the ring.

“I would never have let you put this on me if I didn’t think that you would be faithful to me.”

Her eyes closed and she dropped her head, drawing deep slow breaths.

It wasn’t exactly an answer to my question.

Sensing that she had more to say, I waited, even though I had yet to answer her own question.

She raised her head finally.

“I just found an old journal from when I was a teenager. There was a quote from Reverend Powers. He said when you marry someone, you marry their past; you marry the triumphs of their past, you marry the mistakes of their past, and you marry the current consequences of those triumphs and mistakes.”

Another pause.

Again I knew she wasn’t finished.

Patience, old chap. Give her time.

“Tom, seeing Sam last week, it…it made me think about some things. One of the reasons I wanted to be with him was because we had known each literally our whole lives. We grew up together. I knew his triumphs and I knew his mistakes. I knew that I could live with the consequences of those things. It was safe. There weren’t any unknowns. It wasn’t a risk.”

She looked down and began to twist the ring round and round her finger.

“It’s different with you. It’s unknown. It’s a risk. We met barely eight months ago. There are so many things about me that you don’t know, there are so many things about you that I don’t know.”

Her voice was getting weaker again and I felt like I was going to have to stop her even if she had more to say.

“I…I’m frustrated that we missed so much of each other’s lives, that we don’t have memories of birthday parties and holidays and BBQ’s. I’m sad that we don’t have albums full of awkward adolescent photos together. We’ve talked a lot about the present and the future, but we haven’t talked much about the past, and I…”

I was sitting in one of the armchairs adjacent to the couch and up to that point, I was making a conscious effort not to spring from my seat and wrap my arms around her. I didn’t want to overwhelm her or make things worse.

But she wiped away a few tears that were immediately followed by more and when she whispered “Angel face, please,” I knew exactly what she was asking.

I was next to her in a flash, holding her as close as I could, as if I could transfer all the fear into my body so that she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.

I was surprised when she spoke again so soon.

“I don’t want the past to sneak up on us one day. I don’t want those kinds of surprises. I love you and I want to marry you, regardless of your answer. But please, tell me the truth.”

I quickly decided that while it seemed she was actually thinking about two separate issues, it would be best if I addressed her actual question first before moving to talk about the lack of shared history.

“I have a single drunken sloppy kiss to confess. That is all. I was very young, too young. And the only reason I know it even happened is because she gave me a strong right hook while my girlfriend looked on in glee. I had the black eye to prove it the next day.”

Expecting her to laugh, I was alarmed when she began to cry harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she stuttered out, “I hope I haven’t hurt you by asking, Tom, I-“

“Darling, stop. Your concerns are completely valid. You have every right to ask me. You have every right to learn about my triumphs and my mistakes. I will tell you anything you want to know. You’re going to be my wife, sweet girl. We can’t hide anything from each other.”

She sighed when my fingers found her wrist and began the familiar dance over her skin, appearing to be content with my answer. I moved on to the second thing that was plaguing her.

“I can’t say that I ever considered the lack of shared memories like you have, but that’s probably because I am just so immensely grateful to have met you at all. I’m grateful for these nine months. They have been the most exhilarating, the most edifying, the most beautifully terrifying eight months I’ve ever experienced.”

I had to stop and kiss her before continuing.

“Do you know what you tell me if our positions were reversed? You would tell me that we can’t change the past and that we should not spend time dwelling on that non-existent shared past; we should instead focus on making memories now.”

“I make entirely too much sense most of the time,” she sniffled.

That made me chuckle.

“Yes, you do, my prickly pear,” punctuated by a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You’re the sense. I’m the sensibility. That’s why we need each other. That’s why we fit together. That’s why you asked me to marry you. That’s why I asked you to marry me. Will you? Will you marry me, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” she whispered against my freckles, “a thousand times, yes.”

“And for each of those thousand yeses, there will be a thousand memories we will make together.”

“I love it when you talk purty, England.”

I shifted so that I was speaking very close to her.

“And I love these adorable little ears that listen to me.”

She giggled and shied away from me when my breath fell on her neck.

“That tickles, Tom.”

“Shall I move back to the armchair?”

A pinch was my answer.

“No,” she pouted, “I have something to show you.”

She reached over and picked up the journal which I had earlier mistaken for a book.

“I found a loose piece of paper in this journal. It’s a list I made after...after Sam moved away and some time passed and I…I started to consider the idea of marrying someone else.”

It was a struggle, but I managed to keep from smiling; I didn’t want her to think that I was making fun of her, especially when she seemed to be ready to talk about something so serious. Her lists. They were one of the quirks I so loved about her.

The journal was opened and she took out the paper.

“This is a list I made, after giving it some thought, of the kind of person I want to marry. Reverend Powers also said ‘Know what you want before you go looking for it.’ I thought of how much thought people put into decisions like which color carpet they want for their bedroom or what car to buy, but they don’t usually think much about the practical side of marriage, about the qualities they want and need in spouse.”

“That’s very true, my philosopher.”

Another pinch.

“So I made a list. It’s several years old. Here.”

She shoved it towards me.

I don’t know why, but I was hesitant. I didn’t want to know if I measured up to the list.

“It isn’t poisonous. Be brave, angel face.”

She was smiling.

Taking a deep breath, I plucked it from her hand and unfolded it.

It took me less than a minute to read it. When I looked back at her, she was still smiling.

“Darling, this…this is…this is…”

“I know,” she nodded. “It’s you. Well, except for a few minor things, which you can see that I noted those things as not being deal breakers, mainly because they are the only things that refer to superficial qualities and aren’t about character or personality.”

I glanced back over it, a slow grin spreading across my face; it was so HER.

“Yes, I see that dark hair is asterixed. You’ll probably get your wish at some point.”

The smile vanished in an instant.

“I love my British golden retriever. Will you please give me warning before you morph into a black shorthair?”

I had to giggle and leaned forward to give her a peck on the cheek before pulling back and placing a hand over my heart.

“I promise.”

Looking at the list again, there were two things that stood out to me.

“Darling, this one…”

I turned the paper to her gaze and pointed at one of the entries.

Strengths that are my weaknesses.

“Do you think this is true? Is this accurate for me?”

My expression of apprehension seem to take her off guard.

“Oh, Tom! Of course, of course! You are strong in so many areas that are weaknesses of mine.”

“I…I guess I think of you as a very strong, very intelligent woman and I-“

A soft hand covered my mouth and stopped my doubts.

“That’s very sweet of you, England, but I have faults and weaknesses enough. Do you know the greatest thing I have learned from you, something that is a perfectly depicts this dynamic?”

This was the first time I’d ever had this kind of conversation with someone and I was finding myself rather emotional.

“I’ve learned how to see and respond to the person first instead of just responding to the problem. You’ve helped me to be more empathetic, more caring. Thank you.”

The hand that had been over my mouth traveled to my back and she was rubbing little patterns across my shoulders and down my spine. It reminded me of the first time she had touched me, when we group hugged in the kitchen with Auntie and Marie and I stuck my foot in my mouth like a tit.

She could see that I was a bit overwhelmed and she pointed to another entry on the list.

“Tom, look at this one.”

I saw that she was pointing to the second thing that stood out to me.

Will tell me, gently and patiently, when I am wrong and will help me discover how to be better.

We sat in silence for a bit, her face resting against my shoulder.

“What are you thinking, angel face?” she inquired softly.

I set the list on the coffee table and took both of her hands in mine, looking directly into her eyes.

“I am thinking that you surprise me every day, every day. I suppose at some point, these things shouldn’t surprise me any longer. But you are the only woman I have ever met, at least as far as I know, who has a list like this, with these types of things on it. Darling, these descriptions actually reveal a great deal more about you than about the kind of person you want to marry. They reveal a woman who desires to love and trust someone so wholly and completely, that it astounds me. That love and that trust, they are the most precious gifts that any person could ever give. This explains so much about you, my love, so much. I don’t know why you’ve chosen to give them to me, but I promise you, I will do my best to treasure them and I will do my best to fulfill the things on this list. I want to be that man for you. You…”

I leaned a bit to rest my forehead against hers for a moment.

“You don’t know what it does to me to know that you give, that you gave me, these things from the beginning and then during the times when I behaved in a way that would make many people retract them. I know it’s a frightening thing to love and trust like you, amazingly, love and trust me; but, my sweet girl, it’s also a frightening thing to be the person who is loved and trusted so whole-heartedly. It’s the most awe-inspiring, dreadfully breathtaking thing I’ve ever encountered and all I can ask is that you please, please continue to be patient with me when I err, just as you have always been.”

“Yes, I will try.”

How I adored the loving tone in her voice, the warmth of those big brown eyes, the delicious plumpness of those pink lips.

“My sweet prickly pear, will you kiss me?”

Merriment danced across her face.

“Only if it’s a freebie and doesn’t count against my daily allotment.”

I cupped her cheeks and murmured “Is that on your list as well?”

She stifled a giggle.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you about entries of that nature until after we’re married.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fan fiction #the haven #journal

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 6 years

Text

Spaghetti and Insecurity Fanfic

Title: Spaghetti and Insecurity

Summary: Virgil is neither Patton or Logan. He cannot offer emotional support or be a comforting pillar of rationality. He’s just Virgil, and sometimes he wonders if being Virgil is enough.

Something is wrong with Princey--he’s holed himself up in his room and has refused to join the others for dinner the last couple days. Will Virgil be able to find what’s making his life difficult and kill it? Or will he just make things worse by being himself? (Human!AU)

Pairings: platonic prinixety (background platonic LAMP)

Words: 2619

Warnings: self-deprecation, anxiety, insecurity, food mention

This is the result of someone randomly sending me an unsolicited one-word prompt. I’d thought I would write up a short fic for funsies. It was supposed to only be three sentences long dangit. Anyways, I’m sure this wasn’t what you were expecting, @focusteens, but here you go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Dinner’s almost ready.” Patton poked his head into Virgil’s room.

“What are we eating?” Virgil asked, taking off his headphones

“Food.” Patton winked, and then vanished. A moment later he heard a distant knock on Logan’s door.

Virgil groaned at Patton’s reply. He knew that Patton meant it in good spirit, but vague answers like that made Virgil…well, anxious. He knew Patton wouldn’t poison him. Not on purpose, anyways. There was that one time where Patton had forgotten about Virgil’s almond allergy. He’d apologized profusely for days afterwards.

He put away his headphones before standing up from his bed and stretching. Satisfied, he crept into the hallway, nearly running into Logan in the process.

“Virgil!” Logan called out, nearly dropping his book as he sidestepped away to avoid a collision.

“Sorry, Logan.” Virgil sheepishly muttered.

“It’s quite alright, it’s my fault for walking and reading at the same time.” The other man collected himself for a moment before heading towards the kitchen.

Virgil followed after him. Patton was already there, moving to place a steaming pot of something directly onto the table. Virgil rushed to clasp Patton’s wrist, stopping the pot from reaching the table.

“Pat, wait.” Virgil hesitated, his next words lost in a flurry of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Patton furrowed his brows.

“You forgot a potholder,” Logan explained, brandishing said item in his hands. In the time that Virgil stopped Patton, the other had recognized the problem and found a solution. Logan was good at that. Virgil was just a problem-identifier, not a problem-solver.

Logan placed the potholder onto the table and together both Virgil and Patton slowly lowered the pot onto the potholder.

“Thanks, Virge. I could’ve burned a hole in the table!” Patton grinned.

“It’s no problem.” Virgil murmured, as he slid into his seat.

He was embarrassed about how he overreacted to the situation. Patton placing a hot pot on the wooden table wasn’t the end of the world. But Patton had saw Virgil’s actions for what they were; a concern for Patton’s safety, and appreciated them for that exact reason.

That was one of the many reasons why he loved Patton Hart. The reasons were so numerous that it was incomprehensible as to why anyone wouldn’t love Patton Hart. Virgil has and would fight anyone who would say a bad word against him.

“Bon appetit!” Patton exclaimed, opening the lid of the pot to reveal spaghetti noodles.

Virgil glanced around the table to see tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese sitting by the pot. Spaghetti. Good, Virgil liked spaghetti. It was a favorite among all the occupants of the apartment including Logan, despite protests otherwise. He always groaned and cited other healthy alternatives they could be eating compared to the Italian dish. But Virgil knew who ate the most of the leftovers from Spaghetti nights.

As Patton started piling noodles onto Virgil’s bowl, he realized something.

“Hey, where’s Princey?” He asked, referring to Roman.

The two had met during a production of Into the Woods at the local community theatre. Virgil gotten himself roped into the tech crew and that’s where he met Roman, who played the part of Cinderella’s Prince. Virgil sarcastically referred to him as Princey once, and the nickname stuck.

But that was beside the point. There was only three bowls on the table, and Virgil was sure Roman was home. He’d saw the other in the kitchen a few hours ago. Roman practically bolted back into his bedroom, coffee mug in hand, moments after a quick exchange of Hellos.

Patton paused.

“He wouldn’t come out–said he had some writing to finish up.” Patton noted with a sad smile.

“Again?” Virgil scowled.

“This has been the third night in a row, if I’m not mistaken.” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.

“Now, now kiddos! You know how Roman gets when inspiration hits.” Patton said, thinly concealing his own concern, “I’ll bring him a plate of food after we’re done.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Virgil said, surprising even himself with the demand. But he needed to know if the idiot was still alive in there.

He cleared his throat, “I mean if it’s alright with you, Patton…”

“Of course,” Patton waved it off, “I can do the dishes tonight for you while you do that.”

“Patton you already cooked dinner,” Virgil protested, “I can still clean the dishes after I deliver the food to him.”

“I insist!”

Virgil opened his mouth, but Logan beat him to the punch.

“How about Patton and I do the dishes together?” He suggested.

“Alright.” Virgil sullenly agreed.

Once more Logan had solved the problem, this time through a compromise. Virgil didn’t hold a grudge against Logan. It was very much the opposite. Virgil admired Logan’s ability to view a situation objectively and apply rational solutions to it. He wished he could be as steadfast in logic as Logan was.

Dinner carried on without a hitch. Patton launched into a tale about the humorous pet parrot he saw today at the vet clinic. He worked as a vet assistant. Which was really the perfect job for him, despite how emotional he got when they were forced to put down pets. He knew the animals were in a better place now that they weren’t feeling any pain, but it was still really sad okay!?

After they finished their meal, Virgil stood up and made a bowl for Roman. He made sure to put an absurd amount of Parmesan cheese on it, as per Roman’s tastes.

As he left, Logan was attempting to hide a chuckle from Patton’s punning antics. As with spaghetti, Logan held a secret appreciation of puns. Patton knew this, which was why he tried fitting as many puns in one breath in his presence to get a reaction out of Logan.

Virgil walked down the hallway, taking a left at his door to where Roman’s bedroom was located. It was the largest of the four bedrooms in the apartment, as it was technically the master bedroom. It was perfect for Roman’s needs, however, as he housed a lot of his props and costumes from the various plays he participated in.

He drew a breath, balancing the bowl in one hand before knocking on the door with the other.

“Coming, Padre!” A muffled voice shouted. He could hear Roman stumbling his way over before the doorknob jiggled. Roman opened the door only about half a foot wide, causing Virgil to be unable to see the current state of his room. Looking at the state Roman was in, he had a feeling that the bedroom was likely messy.

“You’re not Patton.” Roman frowned.

“Very observant, Roman.” Virgil wryly remarked, “I got pasta for you--extra Romano cheese, your favorite.”

The other cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Thank you, Virgil,” He said, taking the bowl from Virgil. The door started to swing shut.

“Wait just a minute!” Virgil stuck out his foot, preventing the door from shutting all the way. He grimaced in pain but continued, “We need to talk!”

“About what?” Roman suddenly snapped, his grip growing tighter around the bowl.

“Why you look like shit for starters.” Virgil bit back, folding up his arms.

Roman spluttered but he didn’t deny it. Because it was the truth. He really did look like shit. Roman was usually a fanatic about his appearance. He spent a full hour fixing his hair and applying makeup. He was obsessed with contour; making his cheekbones appear sharper and his nose slimmer. He antagonized over his outfit, even during casual outings.

No he couldn’t just throw on a hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans and call it a day. Nor could he certainly wear those red sneakers with that shade of pomegranate, please take this seriously okay Virgil?!

However, staring at the man in front of him, it’d be impossible to know he was the same man that once ordered a pair of converse in three different colors to color-coordinate with his outfits. Virgil was almost certain there was a whole rat family living in Roman’s hair. Dark circles clung to his eyes, weighing him down like bowling balls. Usually Roman made an attempt to hide them with makeup. But his acne face was void of any make-up. He wore a baggy wrinkled polka dotted t-shirt that clashed horribly with his striped PJ pants. Saying Roman looked like shit was a nice way of putting it.

“Alright,” Roman relented, sighing heavily as he let Virgil in.

As suspected, the state of his room was just as bad as Roman’s appearance. Piles of dirty clothing, papers, and other various stuff cluttered the floor. He spotted a cluster of coffee mugs on Roman’s desk, solving the mystery of where all their mugs were disappearing off to. Sitting beside the mugs was a collection of partially eaten dinners.

This was definitely worse than what Virgil had expected. His spidey senses had been acting up ever since Roman holed himself up in his room. Yes, there were times when Roman was struck with inspiration and became obsessed with writing until it became scarce once more. But he usually was excited to share with the others in his triumphs, he loved to bounce ideas off of them.

Roman swallowed nervously, and opened up his mouth to speak but Virgil cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear what’s eating at you until you’ve actually eaten something, alright?” He said, gesturing towards the bowl of spaghetti.

Virgil glared at him until Roman started reluctantly shoving noodles into his mouth. He got halfway through before he almost choked, sobbing wrenching his throat.

“Whoa, whoa, hey.” Virgil set the bowl aside before turning to face Roman before hesitating. He wasn’t Patton or Logan. He wasn’t good at providing emotional support or being a pillar of comforting rationality. He was just Virgil, who was a walking anxiety attack waiting to happen.

But he was all Roman had at the moment, so he reached out his arms, silently offering Roman a hug. An offer the latter took full heartedly, launching at Virgil with such a force that almost caused him to fall over.

Virgil patted his back, doing his best to assuage Roman. When his tears faded away, Virgil pulled away enough to look at Roman in the eyes.

“What’s bothering you, Princey?” He murmured, “Do I need to find whatever’s making your life difficult and kill it?”

The corners of Roman’s lips turned up at the inside joke reference. It quickly fell as he mulled over his answer.

“It’s--it’s stupid.” He croaked, his voice lackluster and missing its normal regaliness.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Virgil raised his eyebrows.

“Oh you know me, I overreacted as usual,” Roman laughed apprehensively, “seriously, Virgil, I’ll be back to my usual fabulous self in no time--”

“Tell me, dammit!”

“Roman’s voice faltered as he blinked up at Virgil, spooked by his exclamation.

“Man, I’m shit at this,” Virgil mumbled underneath his breath before speaking up, “Look I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by pressuring you. I just wanna let you know that I’m...worried about you. I know saying this makes me a big hypocrite but you don’t have to face things alone. I’m here if you want to talk and I’m sure whatever it is, it’s not stupid.”

Roman studied his face, oddly quiet compared to his loud boisterous self. It could’ve only been a minute, but Virgil was already panicking. Did he mess up? Was Roman mad at him?

“I can also get either Patton or Logan if you want--”

“No, I want you.” Roman said, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. His head rested against his dresser as he let out a heavy sigh. Cautiously, Virgil moved to join him, sitting down cross-legged.

“I submitted one of my novels to a couple publishers.”

“Wait, really?” Virgil asked, eyes widening in surprise.

Roman had been working on becoming a published author for as long as Virgil had known him. The only problem with this was that Roman suffering from the usual writing woes. Too many ideas and not enough time nor motivation to quench them all.

Like in other areas of his life, Roman was passionate and spontaneous. He put his heart and soul in a project, claimed it was the One, only to abandon it for a more exciting project days later.

“I cannot write if there is no passion!” Roman once cried out when Logan suggested he should dig his heels in and finish a project.

As much as Roman went on about his projects, he was...hesitant about showing his writing with the others. The one time he allowed Logan to look at his writing it nearly ended their friendship. Logan had been rather zealous with his constructive criticism. Roman proclaimed that one day the others would be able to read his novel once it was published.

“I’ll give you all signed copies of course.” He winked.

Virgil didn’t need verbal confirmation to know that hadn’t happened.

“I--I wanted to surprise you guys,” Roman chuckled darkly, “I had it planned out and everything. I was going to drag you all to a bookstore and shock you all.”

He sighed.

“I took all the necessary preparations--but,” Roman turned to face away from Virgil, “they hated it, Virge. Th-they all hated it. I had my one shot and I blew it.”

“Whoa, whoa hey,” Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder, “there’s not a limit to how many times you can submit a novel for publishing, is there?”

.“No.” Roman admitted, sniffling.

“You’re not Alexander Hamilton, Roman. You didn’t have one shot that you threw away--you’ve still got multiple shots left.” Virgil winced. Did that sound good, did he do good?!

Roman looked back at him, studying his face.

“But what if everyone hates it?” Roman’s voice cracked.

“Okay, I know for a fact not everyone will hate it. You’ve got Logan, Patton and me--we don’t care about what stuffy old editors think, we’ll love regardless. Besides, J.K Rowling? She got rejected billions of times before the Harry Potter series was picked up.”

“Wh--how could they not recognize a masterpiece when they saw it?” Roman demanded, some of his usual vigor returning.

“I don’t know, but imagine being one of the editors who rejected it.” Virgil said. Roman let out a bark of laughter, and Virgil smiled in relief.

“Look, all I’m saying Roman is that imagine if Rowling gave up after the first few rejections. Imagine a world without Harry Potter and how radically different our generation would be because of that.”

Roman gave a horrified shudder.

“If Rowling didn’t give up, I don’t think you should either.” Virgil shrugged his shoulders, “after all, heroes don’t give up when the going gets tough, right?”

Something flickered across Roman’s face and for a moment, Virgil was worried he’d messed up. But then Roman leaned forward, burying his head into the nook of Virgil’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his middle. Virgil rolled his eyes, but placed an arm around Roman as he used the other to cradle his head.

“Thank you.” Roman whispered.

Virgil stiffened, startled by Roman’s stark gratitude.

“N-no problem, Princey.” He recovered, pulling out of the hug, “why don’t we go see if Pat and Lo are up for a movie night?”

“That sounds good--it’s been a while since we’ve done one,” The other smiled, “We should watch Aladdin--no Beauty and the Beast!”

“How about both?” Virgil suggested.

Roman’s smile grew, “I like the way you think.”

He excitedly bounded down the hallway like an excited labrador, singing a mismatched medley of songs from both the movies. Virgil shook his head at his antics, but secretly he was glad to see he’d helped Roman return to his usual self.

Virgil was not Logan or Patton. He couldn’t be there for Roman in the ways they were there for him. He was just Virgil, and Virgil was enough.

General Tag List: (if you’d like to be added or taken off, please message me or send me an ask!) @karebearmay @punsterterry @yourhappypappypatton@alextheodd@cryingtitan @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2@usothemarshmallow@madly-handsome @i-just-wanna-be-alone-blog @remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen@ashrain5 @otaku-marijane @pathos-logical@moonstone-fox@violetvirgil @fandergecko @echomist13

#thomas sanders #sander sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #prinixety #kat writes #i hate the title but it is what it is

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peculiar-monstar · 6 years

Text

It's just... Casual Sex

Paring: Loki x Reader

Genre: songfic!

Words: 3,565

Summary: Songfic based off the song by My Darkest Days---As the title states, you (who works as a lab tech along side the science bros) and Loki have been busy and have kept it quiet, but one morning after a exhausting night you fail to notice the thing your spy friend doesn't. This leads to the spilling of the beans so to say as she uses her skills to figure out who out of the two she suspects is the one you crawl into bed with.

The rich smell of the coffee filled the air as you pour yourself a cup of the dark liquid. With a raisin toast in hand you made your way to the closest bar stool and firmly planted yourself there, waiting for the caffeine to bring you to life. After the first few sips you closed your eyes and rubbed your temples, thank gosh you managed to make it in here before the rest of the team filled it with loud chatter and talk.

Typically no others were really around at this hour, if it was their off day then most would sleep in or even be out training already. Regret danced around your head as you finished your meal, you knew staying up and partaking in the activities that all but claimed your hours intended for sleeping would have you utterly drained today. Could you really hate yourself too much though, anyone in your situation would have done the exact same.

You'll never meet my mom,

Strings will never be attached,

We'll always get along,

'Cause it doesn't have to last,

Not sure if you drifted off or she's just that good at sneaking in on half dead to the world people, you were startled to open your eyes to a smirking Black Widow who was pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Morning Nat, sneaking about already this morning?” you question before sipping more life support. “Ha, not hardly... more like someone's been having too much fun. So tell me y/n what kept you up late this time? Project? Party a little too hard with some IT friends? Or is it maybe a guy?” her eye brows wiggled a little with the last question. You couldn't help but choke as you nervously tried to play off how her questions caught you off guard.

“Funny Nat.... it was just a work thing, you know how Tony and Bruce are with their projects... work work work.” She leaned against counter in front of you, eyeing you and sipping her drink. “Really.. so then tell me was it Tony or Bruce who left the rather large hickey on the right side of your neck?” You lost your coffee completely this time, just shy of it coming out of your nose with how hard you were coughing. “What hickey?” She quickly snapped a pic of it with her phone and showed you. Sure as the sky is blue there was a very obvious love bite on your neck right where your neck met your shoulder. “Well... Fuck... looks like ill be wearing a lab coat and t shirts for a while..” your voice was muffled by the counter you had placed your blush covered face on.

And anytime I call you, you don't have to call me back,

I'm never gonna fall, but I'm never hard to catch.

“So are you gonna tell me who this man of yours is? Or will I have to use my spy skills?” She asked in a rather eager tone. Your response was an aggravated huff. “Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? Married man? C'mon give me something. I honestly didn't know you had someone, other then your work that is. We all only ever see you busy in the labs.” You had always been so careful not to show any marks or let on about anything to anyone, and now your zombie self not only dint notice the mark as big as a truck but the best person on the team at uncovering secrets saw it.

The truth would be coming out no matter if you told her or not. Going with maybe she will keep it quiet you decided to give her enough to have her put it together. Sitting up and facing her, you took a breath, “Your not walking out of here with nothing are you?” Shaking her head she joined you at the bar, patiently waiting for you to start. “Okay.. so no I don't have a boyfriend and no I'm not with a married man....i uh.. it's not exactly friends with benefits, I mean yeah we know each other but I don't know if I'd call us friends..” your words trailed off a little as you tried to find the exact words to label what you have.

She said she's cool with it, She's down with it,

There's nothing wrong with it 'cause its easier this way,

She's so cool with it, She's down with it,

There's nothing wrong with it, Don't want it any other way.

“Oh so it's just casual sex?” she replied without missing a beat. You looked at her confused for a minute as if it was the easiest thing you could have said to explain everything. “Yeah..yeah that sounds like a good enough way to describe it.” You answer before sipping the last of your coffee before checking the time on your phone. “Basically you two hook up when ever but neither of you are together or in a relationship, and there isn't any rules or jealousy of what the other does.” She continues. “Then yeah that's exactly what it is, so no need to concern yourself, but I really should go change and get to the lab and start while I have the energy.” you say getting up to refill your cup.

Her arm on you stopped you, of course it wouldn't be so easy. “not so fast, there is more then just it being a hook up as to why you've been so careful about keeping this quiet. Clearly he's something to have caught your eye and pull you from your lab, so spill it.” slumping back into your chair you closed your eyes and watched as last nights moments played through your mind.

It's just your typical hardcore, casual sex,

We're single, but we're lovers, crazy for each other,

Just your typical hardcore, casual sex,

We're wild under the covers crazy for each other.

His lips started at yours with desire growing with each one he placed as he moved his mouth down your neck to your collar bone, going lower as he made his way to between your breasts. Suddenly his lips found your right ear and you had to hold back a moan when his silky voice whispered to you. “My dear you will not be finding any sleep here tonight..” you felt him place a couple wet kisses on your shoulder followed by more whispering. “I plan to make you beg me to take you, give you the pleasure you so desperately crave and make sure the only thing you able to say by morning is my name.” The shivers that shot down your spine with his last words make you throw out all cares on how tired you'd be for work, the only thing you wanted was to be entangled with the man currently assaulting you with his delicious lips and screaming his name as you came around him in pure bliss.

Natasha clearing her throat made you remember you were currently being interrogated by her on who the hickey leaving hook up you bang is. “Sorry.. just trying to see how to put this, and remember it if it uh decenigrats after today.” you say in a nervous tone. She didn't even try to hide the twinkle in her eye when you said that. “Ooh this got good, so it's clearly a co worker, but it is a fellow lab guy? Or is it..” her smile when the look on your face gave it away that it was definitely not lab personnel made you wish you had a poker face.

“That's why you've kept this quiet, it's one of the guys isn't it?” you wanted to face palm yourself into a coma at this point. “Yes.... I was afraid if it got out I'd get reassigned it would also affect him to because he prefers to keep others out of his personal business.” You explain. “I can understand that, but narrowing it down and knowing the guys like I do, Clint's married so not him, Sam is too much of a bragger to keep his mouth shut, Scott is too much of a sweetie to not be more public about it, Vision is with Wanda, Tony has Pepper, Thor is with Jane, Steve's got this weird thing with Sharron....All that being said that leaves two guys.. both are equally private..so go on keep talking.

We don't have to go on dates,

You don't have to like my friends,

I won't get in your face when you're making other plans,

Shit she's good, this was getting uncovered faster then you liked and the rest of the team would be showing up for breakfast soon and this is not the conversation you wanted to be having when they do. “Ever been told you're too good at this Nat” she simply smiles and waits for you to keep going.

“Well since the two I think you are referring to are Bucky and Loki, then yes, you are right there. They are both more along the quiet side and prefer to keep personal matters to themselves and not announce all to the whole team.” She Nods in agreement. “so which on is it y/n?” Shaking your head you smirk “aww c'mon Nat, don't wanna use those skills of yours...I'll help you out since your gonna make it your mission till you know anyways.” You roll your eyes and go to explain, but she cuts you off before the words leave your mouth.

“Now wait just a minute, I'll figure this out myself off of what you've given me, I was just seeing if you'd offer it up easily first.” standing she walks over to the sink then returns to her seat and looks you up and down. Your hair was in a messy bun, sweat pants clung to your hips, a light tank top and a silky long sleeved robe hung around your shoulders.

“So he likes to leave loves bites, you two definitely didn't stop at once, considering the state of your hair and lack of energy this morning, which would mean he has quite the stamina...And I can almost bet there is or has been some light bruising around your wrists..along with a few other well placed hickeys.” She watches as you pull the sleeves on your robe down and blush a little. “Mmm hmm.. so he like to be in charge and likes to mark you, but at the same time doesn't want to be singularly a couple. Either of those two fit this so far...” you can almost see her brain picking apart each clue. “Tell me y/n how did this all start exactly?”

If you're tired of the taste,

We can try another blend,

My heart will never break I'm just here to break a sweat.

Good lord he was walking temptation, all broody and dark, making it seem like he was so tough but no matter how much he pretended he wanted nothing to do with anyone, something about that made you want to prove him wrong. Working late was nothing unusual for you, happened more then you getting laid, as sad as that was. Buried deep behind your projects and formulas or one of the weapons you hardly left your space. Feeling frustrated with how your intended mixture wasn't combining like it should you opted for a break. Heading to the kitchen you found the place deserted, the quiet was nice but you'd kill to get rid of the frustrating feeling still lingering. Still processing the formula in your mind you collide with a very hard object, thinking it was the wall you were shocked to see instead you had smacked right into to the very temptation that had passed by the lab earlier and clouded your mind with not so helpful thoughts.

“Sorry!” you squeaked and moved out of his way. “Maybe you should pay more attention to where your walking.” He snapped. “Excuse me, it was an accident, sorry if I'm a little tired from working on stuff that could possibly save you on a mission.. geez no need to get a attitude with me..” You retort while grabbing a mug and pouring more coffee to fuel your night work.

Suddenly you felt the hard wall against your as he grabbed you and pushed you to it causing you to look up at him. “You have some mouth on you, coming in here and telling me not to speak to you like that when your the one who walked into me!” his nostrils flared with his words and your could see his pupils were blown as he stared at you. “So what if I do, what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged him. He stayed still contemplating his next move, before you found his lips crashing to yours with a rough kiss. You kissed him back with equal power, both of your arms roaming over each other as you continued, tongues battling for dominance before you pulled away needing air.

That's why she's cool with it, She's down with it,

There's nothing wrong with it 'cause its easier this way,

She's so cool with it, She's down with it,

There's nothing wrong with it, Don't want it any other way.

“Well it kinda just happened a couple months ago, after a really rough day at work....for both of us I guess.” you tell her as she taps her finger to her bottom lip. “I see, so probably started off as a confrontation when no one was around and lead to some intense sex... Well we don't really see either of them after missions or when they seem to be in a rather foul mood. I'll go out on a limb and say it probably goes both ways if one of you wants the other you meet up, but I bet he mostly contacts you after the missions?” You nod at her.

“Okay, both of them could still fit this, lets see what else can I get off you before I make my guess.” You shift a little under her gaze. “Do you interact with them other then when you hook up?” Looking down at your hand then back at her, “not really I mean if he's in the lab, sure but we don't really see each other much between. He doesn't avoid it but we also don't go out of our ways either. I don't care what he does and vice versa, if either of us went on a date or something the other wouldn't mind. We just have this mutual agreement to be there to release some steam in a beneficial way to both of us.”

It's just your typical hardcore, casual sex,

We're single but we're lovers, crazy for each other,

Just your typical hardcore, casual sex,

We're wild under the covers, crazy for each other.

The two of you were covered in a thin layer of sweat and tried desperately to catch your breath and steady your heart rates again. To say that was the greatest sex you'd had in your entire life was a true statement. You couldn't help but feel your pride swell a little hearing him just as out of breath as you. Who would have thought you'd have the same effect on him as he you, and that a un-mixing formula would have put you in this bed, in the room and in the arms of this man. Having calmed your heart back to a decent speed you went to get up but a rather strong arm stopped you.

“Where do you think you are planning on going?” he asked as he pulled you back closer to him. “Well I was gonna go back to the lab an--” He cut you off with another searing kiss, and you could already feel him grinding his rock hard erection into your thigh. “We are only getting started here darling, I have yet to grow tired of hearing those delightful sounds escape your pretty mouth as I make you come undone..” Immediately forgetting the formula you swing your leg over him and straddle his hips. You were in for one hell of a night.

She so cool with it, She's down with it,

There's nothing wrong with it 'cause its easier this way,

She's so cool with it, She's down with it,

There's nothing wrong with it, Don't want it any other way.

“Earth to y/n? Are you asleep or lost in thoughts?” Nat asked as she waved a hand in front of your glazed over eyes. “Yeah sorry I'm here still thinking about how this all came to be.” She squinted her eyes at you, as if she had just figured something out. “So are you starting to get attached or want more then just hook up with him? And don't bother lying I can see right through you.” You glared at her, if she knew then why ask. “I don't know, maybe, I mean get get along well and I think maybe if we were to actually pursue this as a couple it may work out, but I haven't brought it up and neither has he, I didn't want to affect him as a avenger or bring up anything that would up set him after what he's been though. No point to lose out on a good thing just to call him my boyfriend if you know what I mean.” You both laugh but then you see her eyeing your neck. “Has he ever left a mark in such an obvious place, I mean it's basically screaming I'm owned don't even try.” rubbing the mark with your hand you think back but shake your head.

“Not that I can remember, we've both been pretty discreet, I didn't even know it was there till you showed me.” She looked as though a light bulb went off after you answered. “Last night was intense, and he left a mark intended to be seen, so what did you say or do differently that may have spurred this?” You sat there thinking and only one thing had come to mind. “I did mention I would be out of town for a few days with a fellow lab assistant do to some work we have to do off base, the assistant is a he, and after that he did seem to want to make it a point to leave a couple hickeys on my thigh.” She smiled and looked at you “Yeah I'd say maybe your mystery banger wants to do more then just bang, so damaged, possessive, dominate, kick ass stamina, and moody.. I'm gonna go with--”

It's just your typical hardcore, casual sex,

We're single, but we're lovers, crazy for each other,

Just your typical hardcore, casual sex,

We're wild under the covers crazy for each other.

She was about to give you her answer, but the two of you were interrupted by Sam, Steve, and Bucky arguing about who knows Steve the best and who would be more help for him in a fight. You shot Nat a please don't say anything look and she winked at you. “Good morning ladies.” came Tony's chipper tone as he walked in followed by Thor and Loki. “hey guys, so thought I'd tell ya that our y/n here scored herself a date tonight with one of her hottie lab techs and she's not gonna be in this weekend, so no texting her Tony!” Nat announced. “Way to go y/n! Enjoy yourself then!” Steve said while grabbing the newspaper. Bucky gave you a thumbs up, Sam complained about how that meant he couldn't take you out, Thor gave you a huge smile while grabbing a full box of pop tarts, and Tony poured himself a cup of coffee then walked over to you and Nat.

“So was it this lucky guy your going out with the one who left that ?” he pointed to the mark you tried to cover. “Oh uh he--” before you could answer someone else did for you. “Actually no, that would be my handy work if you must know.” Loki's words caused everyone to share the look of surprise, all except for Nat who couldn't have had a more smug smile. “Now my pet if you would be so kind, I need to speak with you about this so called date.” You quickly followed him out of the kitchen out of more shock then anything after he had just declared you and he had slept together. The second the two of you rounded the corner you found yourself back in his bedroom. “Apparently I didn't make myself very clear the multiple times I asked you who you belonged to last night, as you came screaming my name.” His powerful arms resting on your hips. “Oh no you did, that was just Nat's way of say she knew who left this on me, but since we're back in here I'm more then happy for you to make it abundantly clear again.” you say as you look up through your lashes smiling.

Everybody wants a lover like that,

Wild under the covers, crazy for each other,

Everybody wants a lover like that

Wild under the covers, crazy for each other.

--/----------------------------------------------------------------

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myfearless-love · 6 years

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A Trip to Your Heart

Summary: Emma Swan is forging a devious plan to save the sanity of her best friend, Mary Margaret, or at least to stop her form quoting those stupid swashbuckling pirate tales. The core of her plan is to hunt down and neutralize the internet famous writer, dashingpiratecaptain aka Killian Jones. But soon her ideas go down the drain, because she certainly hasn’t counted on developing feelings for the man whose entire writing career she is about to destroy.

Rating: M

Word count: ~8.2k

Also on: FF.net and AO3

A/N: I’m so excited to finally share this little story with all of you!! It’s my first time participating in something like this so I’m hoping you’ll like the fic I created for this wonderful event. A huge thanks to @captainswanbigbang for organizing all of this and bringing us fans all together!

A big ass thanks to my my beta @1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob for helping me throughout creating this story and making sure that what I wrote is actually making sense and is presentable for all of you to read!

And an enormous thanks to @katie-dub who created ths kick-ass and beautiful art for my fic! Check out her art HERE And if you’re there, check out her other works because she’s super talented!

A Trip to Your Heart

Why is it that people always want the things they don't actually need?

This is the million dollar question Emma is pondering on as she sits down on one of the beach chairs with a rum-based cocktail in hand, christened as Salty Dog for some reason. She feasts her eyes on the open water and endless white sand as the wind is playing with the ends of her hair and the salt water is gently spraying her face – it's something she's absolutely not used to in the crowded and hectic city of New York.

She's aware that people must be giving her strange looks as they pass by her and she can hardly blame them. Her attire practically screams she's not really dressed for the beach: the frame of her big, red sunglasses almost cut a hole through her straw hat, her upper body is wrapped in a thin yellow blouse (its shade is so vivid that Emma is sure the material would glow in the dark) and her long legs are covered with a long, black summer skirt. The largest surface on her skin that remains uncovered are her feet, and not intentionally. She fell asleep on the ferry here, and in her hurry to get off the vessel she forgot to put her sandals back on.

Walking all the way here on the hot pavement and sand was quite a pain in the ass but what could she have done? She wanted her drink more.

Despite her looks, her brain is functioning quite well, but as it happens, she needs to make a certain someone believe otherwise. This person is called dashingpiratecaptain and she's been working on hunting him down for over a year now.

She's incredibly annoyed it took her this long to finally find him, considering she does this for a living on a daily basis.

The first time dashingpiratecaptain, or in short, KJ (as he usually signs his thank you comments) appeared on her radar was last June. He is considered a veteran writer in the world of online writing and his stories are a favorite of her best friend. Such original works emerged from his keyboard like The Crimson Flag, Isle of the Black Sand, Give No Quarter. If the titles and his username didn't make it clear, he specializes in pirate stories spiced with black humor.

Like really bloody pirate stories.

Mary Margaret is completely hooked on them. After a while, she just started vomiting quotes from his works, even during breakfast, which very nearly made Emma climb the walls of their shared apartment in annoyance and exasperation.

(She really can't wait for her brother to finally pop the question and have the flat all to herself).

Now imagine a twenty-something woman with a pixie haircut as she jabs her fork into her scrambled eggs and shouts "Avast ye, landlubbers! 'Tis cackle fruit is for me liking!"

Of course, Emma's first thought was to find a shrink as soon as possible (and the second to look up what the hell Mary Margaret said).

Her acquaintance, Archie Hopper, who is actually a therapist, said that there's nothing wrong with the brunette – her fanaticism, while a little intense, is still normal. Emma would beg to differ though, and she doesn't really want to imagine then what counts as 'not-normal' in Hopper's dictionary.

So the whole parade with the stupid pirate stories and references just went on. Just before the end of summer and the start of their last year in college, Emma's least favorite writer published his newest creation named 'Honor Among Thieves' which is about a brunette bandit woman who tries to seek passage on a pirate ship to escape being hanged by the authorities.

Let's just say that Mary Margaret felt a strong connection with this character pretty quickly. By November, almost her entire wardrobe was replaced with white (it's the character's favorite color apparently) and medieval looking clothes, and she all but stopped hanging out with others (except with her boyfriend and Emma obviously).

Nice words, threatening, stealing her laptop – none of that worked.

Emma felt like her friend was slowly withdrawing from reality, the only thing she wanted to talk about were these stupid swashbuckling tales.

So Emma decided she needed to single-handedly remove the source of the problem – alias dashingpiratecaptain.

But how?

First, know your enemy. The most effective way of getting close to a writer, she suspected, is through his works. So she read. A lot.

KJ got one or two brownie points from her – she found his jokes original, the mood of the stories were enjoyably twisted, the ratings were fairly correct.

In truth, there was not much she could hold against him except what he did to her best friend. But that alone demanded retribution.

In the next step, she started adding comments to a few of his chapters, then after a bunch of praise, she decided it was time to bring in the big guns and composed a fan letter to him.

But soon their exchanging of emails turned into a regular thing. In the end, she found herself quite frequently enjoying their correspondence.

And what had she found out?

The following things in a nutshell:

He graduated in Natural Resource Recreation and Tourism (she didn't even know they teach these kinds of things).

He was born in a small town in England and moved to the States a few years ago (he didn't specify the reason).

He wanted to take tourists on his ship and sail the high seas but an accident (again, he didn't specify) had thrown a wrench in his plans.

He has an older brother.

He's the proud owner of three dogs - adopted from three different places (how admirable).

Besides writing, he likes hiking and playing his guitar.

The question then arises; what did he manage to learn about her in turn?

Well, only the fact that she is completely nuts.

In the midst of midterms and getting her degree in Criminal Justice, she didn't have the energy to keep up with all of her lies. So, she fed him a different tale each time. Eventually, she got tired of it and went absolutely bananas.

She thinks he enjoyed it.

Because why else would he continue to reply to her emails and agree to meet with her?

That is why she's spending her downtime under the burning sun and among an endless number of squealing children running free whilst trying to enjoy her alcoholic beverage. Apparently, KJ (or one of his relatives) owns a vacation home near this beach and he's currently spending the last days of July here with his brother and sister-in-law.

And so on impulse, Emma thought she could visit him. Because crazy people are supposed to be spontaneous, aren't they?

Her phone shows ten o'clock - exactly when their little 'date' is supposed to happen. For guidance, she described her huge sunglasses and glow-in-the-dark blouse. He said he would wear his favorite leather jacket - probably no one would be stupid enough to run around the beach in that kind of clothing except him.

She peeps around.

She has the image of the leather jacket in her mind down to its every thread, but the rest is shrouded in mystery. She hasn't the faintest idea of how he looks. Usually, she pictures him somewhere between Calico Jack and Jack Sparrow, with tanned skin and scars, maybe even with a parrot on his shoulder.

As she continues to wait for her target, she wills the last remaining ice cube from the bottom of her glass and pops it in her mouth.

"Warriorprincess?" a deep voice echoes behind her suddenly.

She throws her head back on the chair, and the straw hat she's been wearing flops down to the sand. A pair of insanely gorgeous blue eyes are blinking down at her, and she has to do a double take. She's so stunned that it takes her half a minute to realize that this freakishly good-looking man just called her by her own username.

Warriorprincess.

It sounded quite catchy when she first thought of it.

She leans her head back a little more to take a better look at the notorious dashingpiratecaptain, but the movement causes the ice cube in her mouth to slide backward on her tongue. She quickly turns on her side, gasping and choking, trying to overcome her shortness of breath. After she succeeds, she pushes herself up and accepts his hand when he gives it to her to help her stand up from the beach chair.

And that's when she realizes his other hand, covered in something that looks a lot like a black glove. Which is odd, because his right hand is bare, except a ring on his thumb.

Then she remembers something he wrote in one of his letters - a sailing accident.

Oh.

So, that must be a prosthesis.

"You okay, lass?"

She nods, embarrassed, both at almost choking on a stupid ice cube and because she was practically ogling his fake hand.

If he noticed, he doesn't comment.

"Killian Jones," he introduces himself instead.

She can barely force back the groan that is threatening to escape her mouth. It's not enough that he's freaking handsome with his perfectly disheveled midnight hair and dark scruff along his sharp jawline, he, of course, has to have an accent like that.

And she didn't even mention the glorious chest hair peeking out of his half unbuttoned shirt.

She forces a crazy smile onto her face. "Anna Clarke," Her favorite but unfortunately very much deceased tutor in the foster home probably doesn't mind if she borrows her name for a few hours. Taking on the personality of the woman who she always thought was dancing on the verge of craziness but was the friendliest and gentlest human being she met in her life was probably what Emma needs right now to pull off this entire scheme.

He removes his sweaty hand from hers. "I'll soon perish in this jacket…" he explains, adorably scratching a spot behind his ear and gracefully shrugs the leather off.

For a brief moment, she thinks he's going to get rid of his dark blue shirt too, mentally preparing for that eyegasm she's just sure she will be getting - but he only pops two more buttons.

He snatches her stuff from the sand and nods toward the buffets and other booths along the beach. "Shall we go?"

Although she doesn't have any clue where he's taking her, she follows as quickly as possible. She thinks she can actually hear her feet sizzling atop the hot sand and pavement as they reach the stores and stands selling souvenirs and other useless things.

Killian comes to a halt beside her. "Where are your shoes?"

"I have none. I'm experimenting with the hippie lifestyle."

"And how's that working out for you so far?"

"Pretty great."

He watches her with amusement in his eyes as she shifts from one foot to the other. Eventually, the heat gets unbearable and she's forced to flee into the coolness of a nearby store.

Killian marches after her and targets the sandal collection in the middle of the place.

"I'm good without shoes," she insists, pulling him back by the elbow before he can pick up a footwear.

She's about to sabotage his online writing career, she doesn't need the additional guilt in the mix.

"Then what will it be? Should I carry you on my back?" he gives her a once-over and in a low and teasing tone he adds: "Though, a herniotomy might be a tad more expensive than a new pair of sandals."

She huffs and snatches off her sunglasses, giving him her best fake death-glare. "Hah, I'll have you know I'm as light as a feather."

She's really tempted to call his bluff though, she would really like to test out his back muscles.

God, it has been far too long since she got laid. It makes her mind quite one-sided and distracts her from her main task and the reason she's actually here.

"The cheapest, then?" he bargains, pointing at a green one with an ugly ribbon on top. It's really repulsive and not at all her style, but his intense blue gaze and the fact that she very much prefers to have skin on the bottom of her feet decides for her.

She fishes out her wallet and completes her purchase so quick that even The Flash would get jealous, just so it wouldn't even cross Killian's mind to buy it for her.

Somehow she knows he would.

He only shakes his head and smiles as she slips her now empty purse back to its previous place. Her life, consisting of constantly running away and living on the streets had taught her to be thrifty, which means, beyond her travel cost she gave herself a $10 limit.

Looks like now she has to reach that five o'clock train, or else she can walk all the way back to her apartment.

She walks silently beside him and notices a deep frown across his forehead as he probably broods over something. They're strolling through the walkway alongside the beach. On their left, a multitude of vacation homes and a huge forest stretches out. The air is mixed with the scent of pine and the ocean and Emma inhales, closing her eyes in the process.

Only to open them when her stomach decides to play the sound of a dying whale. She feels her face heat up.

"Are you hungry?" Killian asks, a child-like enthusiasm hiding in his voice.

"You could say that." Clearly, that one grilled cheese she had in the morning wasn't enough to get her through the day.

"My sister-in-law likes to play Martha Stewart and usually makes enough food to feed an entire army, even if it's just the three of us now," he informs her, rambling. "They already know about you, so ah, they insisted I invite you… if you want that is." He finds that same spot behind his ear and Emma thinks it's a sure sign of his nervousness.

But his invitation kind of leaves her like a living statue, probably looking very much like the figure from the painting called The Scream. He watches her reaction and lets out a hearty laugh.

She doesn't join him in his fun.

Horror is taking residence on her face. Emma only prepared to spend a few hours with him alone - emphasis on alone. During that time she would somehow get her hands on his phone, delete all of his stories in secret, and change his password for good measure. She already knew he was kind of a lazy shit when it comes to his phone, always using the "remember me" function - and besides, it's his fetish to answer every critic as soon as humanly possible, so he checks each story on his phone twice a day.

Her plan would've been perfect. But she didn't count in the brother and in-law. How the hell is she supposed to screw over a great guy while his family is around?

He puts a tentative but encouraging hand on her shoulder. "Relax, love, they won't eat you alive."

Mary Margaret - she reminds herself. Her best friend's common sense and social life are on the table.

She will deal with her conscience later.

To keep her gloomy thoughts at bay, she inquires about the menu.

"Tomato soup, the good old Spaghetti Carbonara and ice cream for desserts," her stomach gives an appreciative gurgle at that line-up. "I wasn't sure about that particular type of pasta though because up until last month you were vegetarian," he considers. Fortunately for Emma, her sunglasses and hat are able to somewhat cover her grimace. Where the hell did these brilliant ideas of hers come from? "But last week you shared your experience about a new diner and their heavenly Buffalo wings, so…"

She flashes him a cryptic and maniacal smile. She thinks he's satisfied with her answer.

They come to a halt before a lovely, two-story house. On the other side of the fence, there are three dogs, currently playing the "who can bark louder" game. The smallest is a Bichon Bolognese, its fur all white like the snow, the middle - quite the chubby thing - is a light brown terrier of some sort (or so Emma guesses, not that she knows much about dogs, though, but one of her foster families had a similar looking one). And the last one - the biggest - is a three-legged mixed breed with beautiful dark fur. Killian mentioned that this one is the closest to his heart and now she can see why.

While Killian slips through the entrance to try and tame the wild beasts, Emma attempts to match the names with the dogs from his emails. She remembers rolling her eyes when she got to know what they are called - he clearly loves Peter Pan too.

She crouches down and the pudgy one tries to reach her with its tongue through the bars, wagging its tail in the process. "Jolly?" she guesses.

Its mate, the one that looks like a living cotton candy, goes absolutely ballistic by her presence, pacing anxiously up and down in front of her. "Smee?" At that. the dog stops and leaps, bouncing off the fence as it prevents the wild thing from attacking her.

"Smee!" Killian scolds, and the dog cowers at his commanding tone. Emma can actually imagine him as the persona he so likes to write about in his stories, the dashing pirate captain standing on the deck of his ship in all black ordering his crew around.

She shakes her head. Now is not the time for fantasies.

The other two mutts seem friendly enough - Roger, the black one, even glares at her with loving doe eyes. Emma decides to venture inside, and to her relief, none of them bite into her ankles.

"You were right. They didn't eat me alive," she nods.

"Yet. The worst is yet to come, love."

He lays his hand on the small of her back lightly as he guides her further on to the house. She can see a nicely set table on the veranda peeking through the many plants and flowers decorating the front of the house.

It looks quite cozy.

She takes a deep breath and starts taking off her accessories.

As she reaches up to remove her hat, her one size too small blouse rides up slightly at the movement, exposing a sliver of skin by her hip bones. Killian's attention is immediately drawn to the bared area.

"Stairs," she warns him.

But it's too late.

He trips, and in order to not land face first on the ground, he somehow leaps to the table and grabs onto it, pushing it away a good half meters in the process.

Emma looks up and there's a man, probably in his late thirties, standing in the doorway, shaking his head. From his expression, Emma assumes he's been standing there since the beginning of Killian's little stunt. "Now, now, little brother. I don't remember asking you to redecorate. That table was exactly in the right place."

Emma can see as two red spots appear on Killian's cheeks as he finds that spot behind his ear with his finger. "I'm going to help Elsa…" he grumbles and stumbles into the house.

Emma and the man shares an amused and conspiratorial glance. He puts down a bowl full of soup next to the vase on the table and shakes hands with her. "Liam Jones."

"Anna Clarke," she continues to promote her dead tutor's name further with her ever-growing shame. Lying to only Killian didn't seem like such a serious crime, but doing it to his family is another thing. "Thank you for the invitation and sorry for barging in on your vacation."

"Nonsense!" his blue eyes, a deeper shade than Killian's, are glowing with warmth and a smile stretches onto his face, peppered with light brown scruff. "My git of a brother was practically counting down the days and it's always good to see a fresh face around the house," The words leave his mouth like a jingling serenity, accent very much the same as his brother's, and she immediately feels welcome.

It certainly is a first.

From inside, light rock music starts to filter through. Liam whirls around just as Killian appears by the doorstep again and waves a black phone in front of his face. "Your mate, Robin, was calling you."

And suddenly like thunderbolt, the sight of the dark device reminds her of the reason for her visit: to remove all of KJ's writing from the cyberspace and change his password.

The thought sends a wave of nausea through her. She doesn't even realize as Liam's wife approaches her. "Are you alright?"

"Of course!" she almost yells, forcing a huge smile onto her face. She quickly thrusts out her hand. "I'm Anna Clarke."

"Elsa Arendelle-Jones," she gives Emma a smile and suddenly Elsa has her in a firm and friendly hug. Emma is so stunned that at first, she doesn't know what to do, but then her arms tentatively snake around the woman's shoulder. The gentle squeeze ended with the other woman's thorough examination of Emma's attire. "I like your style."

Emma feels a strong need of correcting her – not hers, it's Anna Clarke's, her evil and crazy side.

"My dearest sister-in-law," Killian growls beside them, though there's no heat behind his words. "Can you do me a favor and stop harassing our guest?"

Elsa elbows him in the ribs gently and Killian lets out a laugh. She really likes his deep melodic laugh, Emma decides, while the two continues to bicker like little siblings.

"Now," Liam claps his hands together. "Let's eat," he practically shoves her towards his brother and he graciously pulls out the chair for her next to him. "Eat as much as you like," he urges. "Don't be shy!"

Liam only seems satisfied when her plate is full to the brim with all kinds of food (Elsa really overdid herself). He's such a mother hen, Emma thinks. And also, the fact that she hasn't had a good home cooked meal since she could remember is probably written all over her face.

When the dessert is served, she draws whipped cream circles vigorously on her plate until the strawberry ice cream is completely lost under the white colored foam. Killian is quietly chuckling next to her and when his knee accidentally bumps with hers under the table, her hand jolts at the sudden body contact and a small amount of whipped cream lands on his face.

"Oops," she puts her hand theatrically to her mouth. Killian blinks at her in surprise and his family lets out a laugh simultaneously.

After his face is clean again and declares that he intends to get even with her, the topic of their conversation drifts to everyday life, especially where it concerns her. She would even enjoy the special attention if she wasn't burdened with forging lies upon lies. They are half-lies, in fact. She's really attending a university in New York, but instead of dorms, she's renting a decent apartment with her best friend. And although she did want to study law and become a lawyer, her scholarship was only enough to go through with criminal justice instead.

Emma is more and more certain that she must be one of the best at being undercover, if her current situation is any indication.

Or not.

By the time they are finished with the whole three-course meal and Killian showed her around the house, she is all fidgety – all the lies she created has piled up inside her and every time she recalls them, guilt cuts through her like a sharp blade.

She starts chanting her best friend's name in her head, willing her determination to find its way back to her.

It doesn't work, goddamnit.

Her stomach shrinks with fear – her resolve is nowhere to be found.

What the freaking hell is she doing here?

She's jolted out of her thoughts by a light touch on her forearm. A soft smile is dancing at the corner of Killian's lips as he looks at her and all she wants to do is fling herself into his arms and confess her sins.

"Did you bring swimming suit?" he inquires and she nods. "Then let's go back to the beach!"

After she stutters her gratitude for the invitation to his brother and sister-in-law, Killian links their arms and drags her out of the house.

All the way to the seashore she's studying her blood red toenails as Killian walks beside her silently, his hand occasionally brushing hers in the process.

She doesn't mind the close proximity.

She's gradually becoming very aware of how much she's grown to like him, way before they met a few hours ago; and in parallel, a recognition takes root in her – she's in a hopeless situation. Her brilliant 'Operation: Save Mary Margaret's sanity' project is officially doomed as well as any kind of fantasy about Killian.

In the end, the only one she double-crossed is herself.

Congratulation, Emma, you did it!

She's hoping she can blame all of this on the nuisances and headaches that her graduation had caused her. Until then, if Emma can't get out of this game victoriously, Anna Clarke can still have some fun, right?

Killian turns his impossibly blue gaze on her, and when he notices her grin, he breathes out in relief. "I was beginning to be afraid my family has upset you with something."

"Of course not," she protests. "But if you don't mind I'm gonna go and change." With a graceful movement, she seizes her bag from his hold (he had insisted on carrying it for her, and while she typically wouldn't like this, she couldn't resist his intense gaze and the I'm a gentleman, love dripping from his lips) and slips in the nearest dressing room.

After a while, Killian emerges from the men's room and fuck, she's absolutely certain that happy trail goes beyond his waistline. They're trying to disguise their mutual ogling by doing mundane tasks in the process; Killian by neatly folding his clothes and Emma by searching for something in her bag. With a raised eyebrow, she removes a sponge ball from under her water bottle and holds it up to him.

His eyes brighten and the sight knocks the wind out of her lungs. Again. The contrast of his blue eyes and the darkness of his hair are in perfect harmony.

As she takes all of him in, she realizes he removed his prosthetic hand and even with the scars and angry marks at the end of his wrist he's still a freaking walking-talking genetic wonder. He glances back at her sheepishly when he notices where her gaze has wandered to, but when he doesn't find disdain or revolt or whatever he's assuming on her expression, he visibly relaxes and takes off towards the water faster than superhuman Usain Bolt. He dives into the sea when he's at knee depth, and laughing at his antics, Emma drops her bag into the sand and joins him. The salty water hits her heated skin and she doesn't even care that she forgot to apply sunscreen. It wouldn't be the first time she has to deal with a little sunburn.

"Baywatching to the deep water?" he offers and she approves his suggestion.

The scene, where she gallops forward in slow motion fits perfectly into her 'nutty as fruitcake' profile. They glance at each other occasionally and mouth silent and overly articulated words to each other. The people in their area are trying to avoid them and all the splashing water they're leaving in their wake - except the children. Emma reads something like this from their expressions: So we'll behave exactly like we do now when we're adults, only dumber and no one will scold us for it? Yay!

The deep water, in this case, reaches a little above Killian's navel and for Emma, the surface grazes her breasts. They're backing away from each other unhurriedly and she holds the ball in her hand ready to throw. Killian estimates the distance between and takes a couple more steps backward. He clearly thinks he can outwit her with a few more added feet.

"Let it fly, love!"

She swings her arm and the ball lands with a splash directly in front of him. He stares at her skeptically as if sensing some trickery in the air. "You've been working on this all summer, haven't you?" It's his turn to toss the ball, but he somehow miscalculates the gap between them and his fling turns out too short.

"And you clearly haven't been working out all summer, have you?" she taunts.

He purses his lips into a thin line; his man pride demands retribution. The next throw isn't directed at her, but rather at another freaking continent. She snorts resignedly because really, she can barely see that damn ball now it flew so far away. "Are you serious?"

"You were doubting my competence."

"What competence?"

"You seriously wound me, love," he feigns offense. She waves in a sign of surrender and dives in the water.

The last time she pulled off such a distance in freestyle swimming was probably in grade school, so it's not really a surprise when her urge to brag is overcome by weariness as she reaches her target.

But she decides, no matter how stupid it would seem, that she will inch back on her feet. She lowers her legs and sinks immediately. She thrashes until she's below surface again and attempts to scramble forward. Then a horrible thought flashes through her mind - what if one of her limbs starts cramping?

She only had to wish it.

Her calf twitches with a dull ache as if this is the first time it's used after months. Her brain is suddenly clouded by sheer panic.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. - she repeats to herself over and over again. The land doesn't seem to be getting any closer, her toes are groping for the ground in vain. It's like the sea is tugging her inwards, right into its belly. She can already envision with vivid clarity the news article about her death: Deceased young woman was masquerading as somebody else; her friends are standing astonished by her double life.

She's flailing without any consideration or co-ordination - her only goal is to somehow remain above surface and get air into her lungs.

"Anna, it's alright!" Killian's voice is coming from afar, even though she senses he's somewhere close to her. She continues to thrash uncontrollably.

"Clarke!" he shouts. She doesn't fully realize what is happening; she's busy fighting for survival. She clings desperately to the first solid thing her hands can reach. And at some point, freaking finally, her feet burrow into sand again. Her traitor of a calf starting to regain consciousness again.

"Bloody hell," he puffs out. She's still clinging to his neck like her life depends on it, and fuck, it was. His wet raven black hair is bundled with her blonde curls, creating an exquisite contrast. She untangles herself from his body, quite reluctantly, she might add.

He turns his gaze at her and their eyes lock. After a few silent moments of staring at the other, they both let out a laugh at the situation and can't seem to stop for several moments. When their amusement subsides, they straighten and look into each other's eyes. She swallows at the intensity of his gaze, but is unable to glance away. She holds her breath as his hand reaches under her wet hair below her ear, his thumb caresses lightly on her cheek.

His eyes search hers, silently asking for permission and she should pull away and run back to the beach and then to New York, but because she's a weak idiot, she stays. He leans into her, his lips drawing near and hers open in anticipation. He stops inches away, his blue eyes drift down to her mouth as though he's savoring the moment. Her heart beats faster than ever when he finally presses his lips to hers in a long kiss. It's gentle and slow first, she feels her hands begin to slide up his naked chest and encircle around his neck as the kiss begins to grow heavy. She exhales through her nose when his hand slips off her cheek and tightens around her waist. She doesn't want this moment to end. Her entire body has been taken over by the overwhelming feeling of relief (because she finally got a taste of those luscious lips), combined with a good deal of panic (because she likes him and she should be deleting his stories and getting the hell out of dodge) and lust (for obvious reasons).

But soon her tense nerves begin to relax and her troubling thoughts are melting away, their surroundings disappear, leaving only her and Killian.

This feels true. And good. And right.

She draws her tongue over his teeth and swallows his groan of pleasure as they slid closer to each other, no visible gap between them. She's about to get completely lost in him when a bunch of shrieking kids run by them, spattering their bodies with a great amount of salty water, breaking their moment.

(Stupid summer camps).

As they part, she sees his eyes sparkle and lips curve up into a gleeful smile and she can't help but smile back. As her heart calms down and starts beating at a normal speed again, she contemplates him. His hair is a complete mop of mess atop his head, locks of hair clinging to his forehead and his cheeks are slightly red from joy and the hot summer weather. All of this and the last couple of minutes don't even remotely fit into the notion she formed about him based on his writings. He looks so young and innocent.

She voices her thoughts to him too.

"Writing helps to let off some steam," he explains. "Otherwise I wouldn't be such a gentleman," he winks and she doesn't argue. She couldn't really find a fault in his manners since they met.

At the same time, an incredible idea strikes her - if they find him an alternative solution for managing stress and tension, then maybe… "Have you ever thought about athletics? Maybe running?"

"It wouldn't work," he dashes her hopes. "It would only tire me in the long run, thus making me more tense. Who the bloody hell loves being sweaty all the time and waking up the next day with muscle strains?" She couldn't agree more, if she's being completely honest. Besides running after jerks who skip their bail, she's lazing on her couch with a bag of chips all day, watching Jeopardy and screaming at her TV.

Forget it. She sighs to herself. A day late and a dollar short. Water under the bridge. She's full of idioms now for her stupid situation because she screwed up. It's time to face the music.

"I saw a park nearby. Let's walk there," she suggests after they make their way back to the beach.

Killian pulls on his shirt and Emma does the same with her flashy yellow blouse. He watches her with worried eyes, one eyebrow high on his forehead. "Are you sure? It sounds quite dangerous. You could trip on a pebble, or catch some disease from the birds there. You could bump your knee against a bench," he lists. "Based on previous events, I say you would do better in a meadow with nothing but a water bottle."

She presents him her best poker face. "I could get an allergic attack from the flowers," she argues. "Or choke on the water, as you saw earlier."

He looked on with no change of expression. "Aye, you are right. There's danger lurking out there at every corner."

"It's hanging over me," she agrees. "But lucky for me, you're here to get my back," she inches closer to him. She laces their fingers together and he gives her a brilliant smile.

On their way, they're discussing which one of them has the most embarrassing and downright weird stories under their belts. In Killian's anecdote, he, his brother and Elsa went to a restaurant one evening to celebrate the couple's engagement. A bearded, slightly chubby old man ate his dinner at the neighboring table and was peeping at them every now and then. Elsa and his brother paid no mind to him, only Killian noticed it; the man made his flesh crawl with his creepy glances. But after paying the bill, he left and Killian thanked his lucky stars.

"Half an hour later we, too, finished our meals. We were walking down the streets peacefully and when we turned at the corner he was there. The guy was just standing there, one of his hands fumbling for something in his pocket," he goes silent, intentionally increasing the tension, like the great storyteller he is.

"Gun? Knife?" she urges.

"Oh, no. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter," her face turns into a disappointed grimace. "When we got closer he smirked and spoke up for the first time. I'd wished he would have shot me instead."

"What did he say?"

Killian temporarily holds off the storytelling when they get to the cocktail bar because the girl behind the counter is shouting at them loudly. "Wait!" she yells. "You left this here!"

When they pass the stand, he continues his tale. "He said: Killian Jones! How you've grown!" he glances at her with a gloomy look.

In the background, the cocktail Girl is yelling out a name. "Emma! Emma Swan!"

Emma glances back over her shoulder, the bartender is waving a black card holder at her.

Killian reaches the end of his story. "He was my P.E. teacher in grade school. Every year he tried to fail me."

Emma freezes, her eyes are on the cocktail girl's hand, more precisely on her papers she is holding. I.D., Social Security card, etc. The girl can't really bring it to Emma, at least five customers are waiting in line to get a drink, one of them drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently.

"Anna?" Killian asks, puzzled.

"Emma!" the girl yells again, now happy that Emma finally noticed her.

Emma swallows hard and trudges towards the beach bar, only mumbling "My papers," at Killian's still confused expression.

She walks back to him with bowed head and a racing heart, the plastic card holder almost breaks in her vice-like grip.

Killian asks the dreaded question. "What the bloody hell was that?"

My march to eternal humiliation, my journey through shattered plans, Anna Clarke's last mission - she would have answered, but no sound comes out of her mouth. She needs to make a grandiose gesture. Something honest. She awkwardly extends her arm, like she's introducing herself for the first time.

She watches her slightly shaking fingers, the seconds tick by slowly, her embarrassment growing like weed. Then her gaze falls to his long fingers as they encircle her hand. She snaps her head up in disbelief. An army of emotions are battling on his handsome face: forgiveness sits at the corners of his lips, puzzlement rests on his forehead and hurt is swimming in his eyes.

Since her vocal cords decided to not work, he is forced to take the first step. "Killian Jones, still."

"Emma Swan, now."

The ceremony is extremely awkward. Killian runs his hand through his half wet hair and slumps on the edge of the bench nearest to them. Emma sits down on the other end.

"I was aware that you lied about plenty of things in your emails," he watches the sea with slumped shoulders. "Not that it bothered me that much. It wasn't your lies that I loved, but the way you presented them. After a while I just sensed when you were being truthful," he pauses. Shrieking children and chatting parents sound in the background. The gleeful noises are driving her crazy. "Or at least I thought I sensed it," his voice goes at least an octave deeper and he turns to her with a scowl on his face. "Why did you do this?"

She confesses to him the real reasons. It can't really make her seem worse in his eyes than it already is. "My best friend went completely nuts, because of your stories. I thought if they were gone, everything will be alright with her again."

He gives her a condescending glance. "Have you never thought about talking with her and trying to understanding her?"

Oh yeah, it did occur to her. Unfortunately for her, a few weeks too late. But it wasn't Killian that made her realize this. By the time they met she was already aware where she took the wrong turn.

This whole thing wasn't in the interest of Mary Margaret for a while now. She was led by her curiosity and adventurousness. She orchestrated a play for herself and without his knowledge, Emma forced Killian to play a role in it.

Why? Because she liked the character that she created: the heroic best friend, the witty pen pal, the dorky Anna Clarke.

But really, why is it that people always want the things they don't actually need?

She's mulling over this question yet again while fiddling with the hem of her ridiculous yellow blouse, the salty summer breeze hitting her face lightly.

Killian asked for some time, said he needed to sort his head out. He promised he would be back in an hour and they agreed to meet at their original meeting point. Her phone shows that she's quite ahead of time. She places her ugly sandals on the beach chair she occupied just a few hours ago and attaches a piece of paper between its straps with her goodbye scribbled on it: Thank you for everything. And I'm sorry. For everything. - Emma

That is the extent of her lyrical talent.

She's reflecting on the day's events for two hours as she waits for her ferry, and as the vessel arrives to take her back to the mainland, she realizes there's nothing to think over.

She screwed up.

End of story.

She was so caught up in her mission to fix her best friend that she didn't realize there's nothing to fix. Emma saw an opportunity in her best friend's obsession; an opportunity to break free of her monotonous life and be someone else. Someone who is spontaneous and trusting, who is the complete opposite of her. She wanted an adventure and now she got it: she was so far gone in her play that she hurt two people in the process without even realizing it: Mary Margaret, who did nothing wrong but love a few pirate stories, and Killian, who only wrote said pirate stories.

Emma made herself the villain in this tale.

She's learned from her mistake (or at least she hopes so) and as soon as she gets home she's going to squeeze the life out of Mary Margaret - metaphorically, of course, because she'll give her best friend the biggest of hugs. They will have a girls night and talk about what is really going on in her head. It will be great.

But there's hardly anything she can do to make it up to Killian. She owes him another apology in case her note doesn't get to him, but her options end here. She's not even sure if he will even open her emails, let alone answer them.

The farther she gets from the beach, the gloomier her mood becomes; a feeling of sad resignation takes over her. She pulls her legs up on the seat and flips through her card folder in boredom. Stupid papers; they were all against her today.

And at the top of everything, a damned mosquito is about to have a feast on her elbow. She strikes down hard and her green folder flies away, sliding on the dirty floor until the black hole underneath a seat swallows it up. She squats down to try and fish it out, but her fingers touch something completely different: the straps of a faux leather sandal.

She lets out a laugh and ceremoniously buckles her previously lost shoes back on her feet. She regards them as a sign from above. As if it was life's way to say that "She's wrong, the fates are on her side".

She grabs her notebook and a pen from her bag and writes her very first (and probably last) short novel about how much of a moron she has been. She finishes just as she arrives back home, the two-hour train ride goes by in a blur.

She types it into her laptop as soon as she arrives at her apartment, publishes it under the name 'Warriorprincess' and waits for the miracle.

After only a week, she gets it.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret bursts into her room, balancing her laptop in one hand. "You wrote this, didn't you?" she shows her the "masterpiece" of Warriorprincess.

"Yes," Emma admits.

"I can't believe it!" she jumps up and down like a kid on a sugar high, her voice several octaves higher than normal. "You're highlighted! You're among the recommended writers! Just under KJ's story! Oh my God!" she places her laptop down on her nightstand and starts pacing in front of the bed in pure ecstasy. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"What?" she's taken aback.

"My friends will die of envy if I tell them what a crazy genius my best friend and future sister-in-law is. You're even friends with KJ!"

Emma buries the urge to correct her on that, instead, she focuses on the first part of her sentence. "Your friends?" she repeats.

"From the site."

Since her little adventure, she's been fighting to restore their friendship to the way it was before Killian's stories, and now Warriorprincess had reached that breakthrough.

She steps closer to Mary Margaret. "Will you tell me about them?"

And words are flowing out of the brunette's mouth, because Emma is finally there to listen to them without judging her favorite stories and claiming her best friend went insane. Mary Margaret doesn't have any mental diseases, she proves to be a thousand times healthier than Emma and furthermore, she doesn't lack in friends or rationality. The only thing she's short of is the tolerance for boring people and, sadly, her colleagues at the preschool are included in this category.

Emma's best friend inhabits the large group of misunderstood artists and dreamers. Case closed.

"I'm happy we could talk this through," Emma grins at her when Mary Margaret is out of breath from talking for thirty minutes straight.

"Me too," she smiles at Emma. "So the next time KJ posts a story, you won't call our provider and have them shut off the internet, will you?"

"Don't worry. I'd probably break my own arms first before I would do that."

Mary Margaret appreciated her lame joke, she's still swimming in the waves of hyperactivity. She hugs Emma and grabs her laptop from the nightstand, clicking and typing in it a few times.

"Kj didn't write a comment on your story," she reports. "But someone else did," she turns the device toward Emma so she can look at the screen. She starts reading the review and when she gets to the middle she snatches the laptop from Mary Margaret's possession.

Dear Warriorprincess,

Stylistically, there is still room for improvement, and I advise you read the story over again; you left a few typos in it.

Moving to the content of the story: the heroine's motivations are absurd, as well as her actions. The storyline, partly as a result of this, is messy. Also, I could not take delight in the emotional background you have outlined. If your main character is inspired by a real human, I suggest she visit a specialist.

You did not let the male character's story to properly unfold, although I saw a great amount of potential in him. And huge competence. In addition, I missed the further demonstration of the characters' external features. Why did you not mention the heroine's big, aquamarine eyes and her shapely legs?

The ending is simply terrible.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed it. Congratulations on being highlighted!

P.S.: Would you be interested in exchanging some letters, which could help me fill your head with nonsense and turn your head? Then we could perhaps meet in person. I would introduce myself under a fake name, bewitch you even more, get caught red handed and vanish into thin air – of course, I would leave a dramatic goodbye note behind. So what do you say, love? I can tell you from experience, it works quite well.

Above her shoulder, Mary Margaret is trying to make out the name of the user. "Warriorcaptain...Do you know each other?"

"Not enough. But we can remedy that right away," Emma grins and clicks on the sign in button.

fin.

#cslb #captain swan little bang #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #one shot #cs oneshot #ouat #ouat ff #ouat fic #once upon a time #Emma x Killian #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook

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tonystarktogo · 6 years

Text

Secret Santa Gift Fic III

This is @thevanishedillusion‘s secret santa gift. You gave a very detailed prompt and I’m afraid this isn’t exactly what you asked for. Once I started, the character developed on its own. But I still tried to stay close to the initial premise and I hope you’ll like it anyways! Have fun and merry Christmas! :)

Fair warning: this is only the second time in my entire life that I write in second person. I did my best but it’s still a perspective I’m unfamiliar with. Also this fic contains references to character death, mental health issues, trauma and PTSD (all in references to events happening in Iron Man 1). The prompt is at the end of the fic.

“I love you. Isn’t that just the saddest thing?” –Quote from Elementary, S03E12

Unrequited love sucks. It sounds like a no-brainer. Something so obvious it should slap you in the face the first time it comes up in casual conversation—but it doesn’t. And sure, on an intellectual level, you’ve always known it. You’ve understood that the ‘unrequited’ is just a shorter way to say ‘no happy ending available’. You’re aware it means someone doesn’t get what they so desperately want, whom they so desperately want. But that doesn’t mean you’ve been prepared for the reality of it.

The truth is, it doesn’t just suck. It’s a bit like a sucker punch every time you see them smile—even, especially, when that smile is for someone other than you. It’s like slapping yourself over the back of the head over and over again, yet still misspelling that one word when the time for the spelling bee comes. In your case, that word was ‘misanthrope’. You always forgot the ‘h’, no matter how often your mom reminded you. No matter how often your best friend helped you practice, despite how much he hated sitting still and waiting for you to remember all the letters.

You still got it wrong when it mattered. You still didn’t duck fast enough to avoid that damn bullet that got you discharged from the closest thing you had to a home for good. And you still didn’t get the guy at the end of the story.

It sounds like the start of a Bridget Jones movie—or at least you hope so, because if your prince charming isn’t waiting right around the corner, your memoirs will make for one heck of a depressing story.

And, wow, talk about throwing yourself a pity party.

[continues under the cut]

Another truth—one you don’t care to acknowledge too often lately—is that life isn’t as bad as you make it out to be. Sure, you almost died in a bloody—in every sense of the word—terrorist attack a couple of months ago. And yeah, the first months after said attack made you wish you hadn’t made it.

But you’ve gotten past that now. For the most part. You’ve built yourself a new life, a civilian life—and who’d have thought you were capable of adjusting to it so fast, certainly not you—and it’s not what you’re accustomed to, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

You’ve got a real home now. A small flat, three rooms only, which drives your best friend up the wall every time he visits, but it’s all the space you need. Tony, of course, isn’t too happy with that explanation. He’s still pushing you, as much as he dares to anyways, to move into his tower—but so far you’ve held your own. Decades of prolonged exposure are probably the only reason you’ve managed to accomplish that particular feat. That and the trauma that you’re half-ashamed to admit you’ve used as an excuse more than once.

It’s what you need though. Your own space, away from Tony Stark and his larger than life personality, away from the papers and reporters, away from JARVIS’ all-seeing eyes, away from his beautiful assistant slash girlfriend.

Jesus, you’re starting to sound like a scorned ex again, you realise, and force yourself to push those bitter thoughts away. It’s not fair to Pepper Potts, the woman who’s managed to capture Tony’s heart after all these years. Nor is it fair to Tony himself, for that matter.

It’s not like you’ve ever had any sort of claim on him. And Tony never promised you anything, never tried to initiate something that went beyond the friendship you’ve both worked so hard to hold on to. In some ways, that actually makes it worse. Because you have no right to feel like you’ve been cast away—not when Tony keeps inviting you over for dinner like clock-work every week, not when Pepper always greets you with an honest smile, not when there’s been a floor with your name on it in Tony’s tower since long before he’s started to build it—you know that.

Tony hasn’t abandoned you. He hasn’t thrown nearly three decades of friendship away because of a woman, even one as brilliant as Pepper. That’s not the kind of man he is.

Unfortunately, none of those nice, rational facts change how you feel.

And that’s not even starting on the stomach-clenching sensation you feel every time you watch those small, but oh-so-telling affectionate gestures between them. The ones that tell you more than words ever could that Tony and Pepper aren’t eccentric boss and exasperated assistant any longer. They’re a real life, official couple.

As his best friend, you should be happy for Tony. For the happiness in his eyes, the way they glimmer when he looks at her. The fact that you can’t manage more than a tense, half-hearted smile makes you feel like the lowest scum on earth, which is why you spend a lot of time decidedly not thinking about it at all.

Sadly, avoidance only gets you so far in life. And when someone like Tony Stark is involved, that ‘so far’ isn’t very far at all. You love that dork to death, but if there is one thing Tony can’t do, it’s to let things go. He always has to pick and pick at them, until you get annoyed and lash out. Something that’s been happening more and more often lately.

It would be wrong to say that your friendship with Tony has started to fall apart ever since he confessed to being in love with Pepper. You like to think you’re not that petty, though as things currently stand you’ll never know.

Right now it’s not Pepper, who’s standing between you and Tony—or at least she isn’t the only one. There’s a whole immeasurably huge black hole titled ‘Afghanistan’ as well. And unlike Pepper, it’s not something you can throw a quick smile and apologetic last-minute cancellation at.

Afghanistan compiles all of your worst nightmares, your greatest terrors, your most horrible memories into one single word. As though anything human languages have created could adequately express what happened. What you lost. What you survived.

You’ve never talked about it, never even acknowledged it. There hasn’t been any time. Ever since Tony blew up the terrorists that held him hostage—and it should make you proud, relieved at the very least, that your civilian friend with no training managed such a feat, but all it really does is remind you that all the trained soldiers, that you, didn’t—life has been a whirlwind that shows no signs of slowing down.

But for you the world stopped turning four months ago. You lost your entire unit four months ago. You went to sleep every night with your best friend’s screams ringing in your ears for months every night since.

Of course the second Tony set foot on American soil again, he did what he’s always done: he evolved. He’s turned his company around, he’s asked Pepper out, he’s turned himself into a freaking superhero. He fought for his life on the rooftops of New York while you were trying to make it through a night without waking up shaking and screaming.

Somehow Tony has taken the trauma of those three months and compressed them into something that drives him forward—and you hate him for it, just a little, as much as you’re trying not to, because all you seem to be able to do is slow down.

Tony tries to help you, it’s not like he’s blind to your issues. Not like you could keep it from him either. But this—in this he can’t help you. You can’t let him. It’s ironic in a way: Tony is the only other survivor, the only one who was there when your world blew up around you. He was there, he’s the one best equipped to understand what you’re going through. And instead of helping you, instead of making things easier, it makes everything so much worse.

It’s why you’re here now. Standing in front of a bright building, just twenty minutes away from your home, unable to bring yourself to enter, yet unable to walk away.

Well, technically it’s Pepper’s fault—another thing you try very hard not to be bitter about. Because Pepper is smart, yes, but she’s also attentive in a way Tony has never had the patience to be, and it scares you sometimes. The way she looks at you, like she understands. Like she knows.

You met her for coffee three days ago, after months of avoiding her. Her words, pointed but gentle, like the warmth in her eyes could soothe the sting, have been haunting you ever since.

Tony is your friend, nothing will ever change that. But he can’t be your therapist. He can’t heal you, much as it pains him, and it’s not fair of you to expect him to.

You’d snapped at her, affronted, embarrassed or maybe just plain furious, and Pepper had apologised—I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place—but she never took those words back. You don’t think she could have, even if she wanted to.

The worst part, that’s about the only thing you’re currently sure of, is that she might just be right. Pepper has an annoying habit of doing that. Of getting under your skin, cutting straight through your bullshit to the heart of the matter. It’s moments like these when you realise what Tony sees in her.

And it’s because of that nagging fear, that worry Pepper has awoken in you, that you’re here now, trying to work up the courage to enter the ordinary, unthreatening looking office building. Half the time you’re convinced that this is a stupid, pointless endeavour, but even if a session with one of New York’s leading trauma therapists isn’t going to change your world—an outside view might help you get some perspective on the mess your life has turned into. Might help you sleep through the night without second-guessing your entire relationship with Tony, at least.

It still takes you another week to work up the courage and actually schedule an appointment.

The first time you met Tony, you were six and he was seven and the two of you were at a charity gala of some sort, bored out of your minds. You got into an argument that devolved into a hair-pulling fight, because you were taller than him and therefore insisted on calling him a baby. After your parents separated you—and you got a scolding that made you cry, you still remember that one—Tony defended you and you’d been inseparable ever since.

Sure, eventually you were forced apart by the realities of the different lives you lived. Tony joined SI straight out of college, as was expected, and he loved it like you knew he would. You, on the other hand, went against expectations and joined the military. But even though you spent less time together, the two of you remained close friends.

Looking back you can’t even tell when exactly your feelings for Tony changed. It wasn’t love at first sight or any of those other ridiculously romantic notions though, that’s for sure. You don’t think there is a precise moment where it happened either. More of a gradual process maybe. Tony has been your closest confidant for so many years that you haven’t been able to imagine a life without him in a long time—yet, thanks in no small parts to your career choice, a serious relationship has never been an option you’ve considered.

You’re honest enough with yourself to acknowledge that you only admitted to yourself how you truly feel after Tony became unavailable. Maybe you’re just that much of a selfish bitch—or maybe it was yet another attempt to sabotage the most meaningful relationship you have left.

That’s one of the questions that pains you the most. And it’s also one Meredith—your counsellor—has been unable to answer for you. You can almost hear her amused laugh at that thought. ‘I can’t give you any answers. The best I can do is help you discover them for yourself,’ is what she would probably say if she could hear you right now—and you don’t know whether it’s a good thing or not that you know that.

You don’t know a lot of things, these days.

The sessions help. It doesn’t feel that way at first—still doesn’t, on your off-days. In the beginning, you barely had anything to say to Meredith. Everything just seemed—too much, too big to be put into words. But it’s getting easier—not easy, mind you, you doubt it ever will be—to talk now. Even though you sometimes describe the same event four times. It gets easier to find the words, to put them to use. To work through what happened and how you feel about it.

It’s not always a flattering realisation, and certainly there are thoughts that have never made it past your lips, have never left the privacy of your own mind. But there are things you can share, and those lose some of their weight over time. A progress so slow you don’t notice it until three months have passed and the dinner invitation Tony sends you no longer invokes that crushing sense of despair-disgust-hate-want-confusion-fear it used to.

You still decline but you’re working on not hating yourself for it. ‘Your recovery comes first,’ you repeat to yourself, words Meredith uses all the time. ‘Take whatever measures you need to feel safe and comfortable.’ They used to be nothing but a string of meaningless words, but lately you’ve found yourself clinging to them, seeking comfort in them.

Lately you’ve forced yourself to admit that for all that you love Tony, for all that he means the world to you—whenever you look at him, gun fire is tearing your eardrums apart, and whenever he smiles, you feel that terrible mixture of resentment-self-disgust-affection cracking you open from the inside out.

You love Tony. Maybe you always have. But right now, you need him out of your life. Right now, all he does—if unknowingly and unintentionally—is pull you down, down, down, chains you to the worst days of your entire life. And there are still doubts creeping up on you sometimes, but you’re starting to realise that that’s okay.

You’re starting to realise that when Meredith says you’ve come a long way, she means it.

The first time Meredith suggests going to a group meeting, you almost walk straight out of her office again. ‘There are groups specifically for veterans suffering from PTSD,’ Meredith’s calm voice says over the roar in your ears. ‘People with similar experiences. People you might connect to and from who’s own experiences and support you might benefit.’

You’re aware that what Meredith is really trying to say is, you are not alone. And you hate that you’re so freaking self-centred still, but in that moment those words don’t bring you the comfort they are supposed to. Instead all you hear is ‘you are not that special’ and despite knowing better, despite everything, it hurts.

That night, Tony calls you for the first time in over two weeks. That night, you take a deep breath that does nothing to lessen the tight feeling in your chest, and press Ignore.

You read about a fight at Tony’s birthday party in the newspapers the next day, and are too ashamed to call him back. Ashamed because you didn’t answer your cell. Ashamed because you forgot about his birthday entirely.

At first, the group meetings are torture. You don’t even know why you attend your first one. Meredith brings them up on occasion, but she never outright tells you to go—“You’re a grown woman, you can make your own decisions.”—and yet there you are.

You don’t say a word that first time, barely manage to look anyone in the eyes. You feel uncomfortable, out of place, put on a spot even though nobody is approaching you either. No surprise, given the very clear leave-me-alone vibes you’re sending out.

You come back the following week though, and the week after that, even though you’re not quite sure why. You start to recognise the faces, start to remember the names they give. Start to feel like a part of the crowd. When you speak up for the first time, it feels like a huge step that has your heart racing and nervous sweat running down your back. When you speak up for the second time, it’s a giant fuck-you to your own, scary-cat self.

After that, you do it more often. You share more. You stay behind after the meetings end a couple of times, exchange short conversations with other attendees. You get to know the regulars, start recognising first timers like you used to be.

You don’t think these meetings are supposed to help when you don’t even believe in them, but somehow it sneaks up on you. The dawning realisation that nobody went exactly through what you suffered, but there are many people out there who went through something similar, many people who might not know but can still understand.

Not being special doesn’t sound as bad as it used to.

You don’t find out how close you’ve come to losing Tony forever until long after the drama has died down. Pepper mentions it in passing one day, during your bi-monthly lunches together that you’ve started picking up again recently. You’re still working up the courage to face Tony again, when she drops a comment about the poison and his almost-death.

That night you wake up screaming for the first time in twenty-two days. The worst part is that even now you know you’ve made the right choice when you cut him out of your life.

It’s Tony who calls you, just like it’s always been Tony reaching out and you blocking him off since Afghanistan. That word has started to lose some of that shadow it used to cast over you, gets easier to think these days.

That’s one of the many, many reasons why you answer when he calls you this time.

“Are you watching TV?” is the first thing your best friend asks you, and it’s simultaneously the most inane and most Tony thing he could have said.

There’s an almost laugh forcing its way out of your throat, and in that moment it’s like you’ve never been apart. Like Afghanistan never happened, like you’re still twenty-two and giggling on your smelly couch in your crappy college room. “No,” you reply and hope he can hear the I’m so sorry you’re not quite ready to voice yet.

“Good.” Tony’s voice is rough, and because you’ve known him all your life, you don’t have to ask whether something is wrong. You already know.

“What’s going on?” you ask, but he interrupts you before you’ve even finished the question.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and those are the last words you’ve expected to hear, “I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m—this is—listen, just, things got a little out of hand and I’m kind of on a timer, just—damn, I wish I’d called you sooner.” Tony laughs and it’s not a happy sound.

There’s an urgency in his voice you’ve heard only once before and it punches the air out of your lungs like you’ve taken a hit to the stomach. “I never blamed you,” you say, don’t even know where the words are coming from—except, that’s not quite true, is it? You’ve been thinking them since you first woke up in that hospital to the shuttered look in Tony’s eyes, have swallowed them down ever since. Because back then it wasn’t true and Tony would have known. You don’t know when you started to believe them, but now you do, and you want, need him to know that. “For anything. It wasn’t your fault, Tony. You had no control over what happened. And saving me was never your responsibility.”

Tony makes a strange sound then, an almost pained keen you don’t know how to interpret, and when he speaks again he sounds like he’s in a hurry. “Watch your back, baby,” he breathes, the childhood nickname back from your first meeting falling as easily from his lips as it always did, “you’ve always done the best job at that, never needed anyone’s help with it. Just—do one thing for me, alright? Don’t turn on the TV.”

The line goes dead before you can get another word out.

You call Tony back immediately, but it goes straight to voicemail. Call him again as you cross your kitchen and walk into the living room. Again as you switch on the TV. And again. And again.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” Your voice is shaking and you think you’re crying, but you can’t take your eyes off the screen long enough to check. “I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t handle it, any of it. Afghanistan broke me—I let it break me, and I know you tried to help, that’s what you always do, but I couldn’t let you. Be-Because you made it out. Seeing you, all it ever did was remind me that you did what I couldn’t, that you were stronger than I was, that you were handling things better than I was, and it hurt. It hurt so much and I felt so useless. And-and after everything that happened in that c-cave, all that time I was completely useless, and when I finally got out I still was! I couldn’t take that—I—“

Your voice breaks, maybe you’re sobbing or maybe you’ve run out of air, but you can’t stop now. Just like you couldn’t stop acknowledging that you love Tony the moment you couldn’t have him, because that’s just your thing, isn’t it?

“I’m working on it. I’m getting better and I’m sorry for locking you out, I’m sorry for pushing you away without an explanation because you deserved one. I’m sorry for expecting you to put all the work into our friendship, expecting you to reach out and support me and hold me up. I should have thought about how difficult things were for you as well, but I just couldn’t focus on anything but me—and I can’t undo that now, but I wish I had at least told you.

“You know what the worst part is?” you ask hoarsely as you watch Tony—Iron Man—your whole world—fall out of the sky in slow-motion, “I love you. Isn’t that just the saddest thing?”

It takes you three weeks to get up the courage to drive to the Stark Tower. When you step out of the elevator, Tony is there, dressed in an old MIT sweatshirt and loose pants, and you pull him into a hug before you can stop yourself. You don’t want to stop yourself.

And you don’t have everything figured out yet—you aren’t twenty-two any more and you threw that smelly couch out a long time ago, you still wake up screaming every so often, you still go to meetings, and you still see Meredith, and Tony and Pepper are in some sort of limbo you haven’t dared to ask about—but Tony hugs you back without hesitation.

You’re best friends, first and foremost, and for the first time in a long while you believe that that means something. You believe that it means everything. You believe that the two of you will figure it out in your own time.

@thevanishedillusion asked for a Fem!ReaderxTony Stark story set in Iron Man 1, who’s been best friends since their early childhood and who was with him in Afghanistan. Also unrequited love on her part. Not to say that it’ll stay unrequited, Tony definitely loves her, but I didn’t want to make the jump from Pepper to her too quick–it would have only made his feelings seem less genuine. Again, I took lots of liberties with your prompt but I still hope you enjoyed my take on your concept :)

One last time, merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it and a happy Sunday to everyone who doesn’t!

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theclosetpoet7 · 7 years

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Fluffy Fluffy Fuwa Fuwa

Disclaimer: Naruto isn’t mine.

Notes on chapter: In which Sakura gets a surprise.

Rating: T, with mild swearing.

“What?”

The blonde kunoichi nods her head, a teasing smile on her face as she observes her friend.

“You can’t be serious.”

Said friend in question proceeds to negate her claim.

“Oh, but I am Forehead.”

Her smile evolves into an evil grin while the person across her continues to shake her head.

“I don’t believe you. You must be mistaken.”

“I saw it with my own two gorgeous eyes.”

Uchiha Sakura stares at Yamanaka Ino for a moment and finally inwardly admits that her best friend may be telling her the truth and not just teasing her.

“There’s nothing special about today though.”

“What? Really?” the Jounin widens her eyes in surprise.

“Not that I know of.”

Sakura tilts her head to the side and raises one of her perfectly trimmed eye brows.

“You’re right, your anniversary isn’t ‘til three months from now.”

“Yeah…”

“First date then?”

“No.”

“When he became your boyfriend?”

“We never defined what we were before he proposed.”

“Seriously? He proposed before you guys were official?”

“Well, we kinda were after he returned from his personal journey.”

“But you never called yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“We didn’t need those titles.”

“Ugh! You guys make me sick with your hearts are connected this and that, blah blah. I get it, you both have a really deep connection. It always seems like no one else is in the world with you two. I don’t know how Naruto can deal with it.”

Sakura leers at her.

“Jealous Ino-pig?”

“As if! Sai-honey and I are so smitten that we can’t barely keep our hands off each other.”

“That’s too much information.”

Even now, Sakura can’t seem to place the current Sai with the robotic Anbu she met for the first time. She is extremely happy for both her friends.

“Anyway…first fuck?”

“So crass Ino! And… No.”

“Oho, so you do remember.”

“Sasuke-kun and I remember because…”

“Ieee! I don’t want to know! Maybe the day you conceived Sarada?”

Sakura begins to count the days and swiftly stops.

“Nope, if i can’t answer that question, he probably doesn’t know either.”

“Then why?!”

“Are you really sure of what you saw?”

“Come on forehead! Think about it. Uchiha Sasuke, walking around the village, holding a bouquet of pink roses! I can’t make this shit up!”

Sakura twirls around in her office chair and slumps on her table. Ino, who is currently sitting on the desk with her legs crossed continues to scrutinize her.

“I don’t know what those are for!”

“Wow, I can’t believe it.”

The head medic runs a hand through her hair and sighs.

“I’m terrible aren’t I?”

“Your handsome husband buys you roses and you have no idea what you’re celebrating. Yeah. You’re downright heartless.”

The Uchiha matriarch playfully glares at Ino, partly for calling her heartless but mostly for saying her darling was handsome, a bit of residual feelings of rivalry still simmering in her person, though only a speck of it.

“He knows my favorite are daffodils though. We kinda have a whole symbolic thing going on with it.”

“Pink roses, they mean love, gratitude and appreciation, one that someone gives to their loved one or a suitable mate.”

“I know.”

“Hold on. Forehead. Do you think…? No. It can’t be!”

“What Pig?”

“Do you think Sasuke-kun wants to tell you he wants to make a baby again?”

“Eeeeeeh?”

“It makes sense! Love, he loves you so much that he wants to make another human being to show it! Gratitude, he’s grateful for how you’ve been raising Sarada-chan all these years and for you waiting for him. Appreciation, we all know how much he appreciated you when you were carrying his first-born. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you now but he will appreciate it if you carry his child again. That’s it!”

“I think you’re overthinking it Ino.”

“Then whyyyy? I’m so curious.”

Ino bites on the edge of her thumb as she grinds her teeth to solve the mystery that is Sasuke buying pink roses on a day Sakura doesn’t recall is special. After all, she is privy to all things that involve the Uchiha couple.

“Aaah!” She grabs her head and ruffles her hair vigorously, a sign of frustration and impatience. Then she grips Sakura’s shoulder and looks at her pleadingly.

“Then go home will you? And find out! I can’t take this suspense!”

“But I’m not done with my shift yet.”

Sakura stares at her quizzically and lets out a nervous laugh.

“Go home.”

“I still have to do rounds in the surgical department.”

“Go home now.”

“It will only take two more hours, surely it can wait.”

“I said now.”

“Ino…”

“Fine! I’ll finish this shift for you.”

The pinkette raises her eyebrows.

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“If you don’t go home now Sakura, I swear I’ll go there myself and see what Sasuke’s up to!”

“What?”

“And you don’t want me ruining whatever surprise he has for you right?”

“That’s mean Ino-chan!”

“Oh and he’ll be embarrassed too.”

“I know you’re not seriously considering this.”

“I am and I will. If you don’t go home now.”

They stare each other down for a moment, an electric fizz connecting emerald green with sky blue. Then, both women let out a boisterous laugh as the hilarity of the situation sinks in.

“Okay, I’ll try to meet you halfway, if you make the rounds with me and look over the patients that are about to be discharged then I think I can be home in an hour. Some of them are your patients anyway.”

Ino smiles excitedly.

“You got yourself a deal.”

__________________________________

Uchiha Sakura comes home to a nervous, slightly embarrassed and glaring daughter.

Her eyes zero in on the mass of pink flowers in Sarada’s arms.

“What’s going on?”

The young girl fumbles with the bouquet and pouts.

“Papa is acting weird.”

“How so?”

“He… gave me flowers.”

Sakura comically twitches and sweat-drops, a bit of disappointment falling over her features.

So the roses weren’t for her but for Sarada.

Still though, this is incredibly sweet and cute that she couldn’t help but smile at her daughter. She decides to tease her for a bit.

“You look happy though.”

Sarada smiles lightly.

(Her daughter is such a tsundere)

“They look pretty.”

“And?”

“Papa is so… Shannaro.”

The young mother giggles softly.

“I’ll get you a vase for that.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

She walks into the kitchen and notices her darling husband, who is acting a bit weird today and widens her eyes when she realizes that he had already prepared dinner.

“Welcome back.”

“Anata?” She glances longingly at the bountiful spread before her, a hot pot, sushi, a bottle of sake and cake. Sakura blinks and looks up to see Sasuke taking his apron off.

She blushes when he walks towards her and plants a soft kiss on her forehead.

Her emerald green eyes catch the blurred form of their daughter in her periphery and inwardly chuckles when Sarada nearly breaks the vase full of pretty pink roses upon stumbling in on their moment.

“What was that for?” she breathes out when the blur of red can no longer be seen.

Uchiha Sasuke straightens up and smiles at her, right hand lingering on her waist.

“It’s a special day.”

“It’s not our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“Neither is it my birthday.”

“Of course not.”

“And we never set a date on when we became official.”

Her husband looks a bit puzzled.

“Well, if there was a date, it probably would be when I first got back from travelling.”

Sakura blushes.

“Really?”

“Aa.”

“That early?”

Sasuke nods his head.

“But that’s not what we’re celebrating.”

She puts her hands on her waist and tilts her form again.

“Then what are we celebrating?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Gomen Sasuke-kun, but I don’t.”

He pulls away and turns beet red. He shakes his head shyly and scratches his right cheek with the tip of his index finger. Then he regards her form with an air of cuteness that Sakura rarely sees on him.

“It’s the day I came back with you and Sarada.”

She stares at him, still a bit confused.

He clears his throat.

“The day after we beat Shin Uchiha.”

Her eyes clear with understanding.

And then her heart beats unbelievably fast. Her brain conjuring up an old memory and mixing it with this new, amazingly adorable one.

She pulls him by the collar of his shirt and smashes her lips to his, passionately conveying all she is feeling.

Because it isn’t fair.

How often she falls a little bit more in love with her husband everyday.

________________________

Later on that night.

“Ah! I’m so full! Thank you for the dinner, Anata!”

She opens the door connected to their room, steam coming out after and blinks at the darkness that greets her.

“Sasuke-kun?”

Her hands explore the wall, reaching for the switch.

“Wait. Don’t turn the light on yet.”

“Huh?”

“Just, a few seconds.”

Sakura hears the rustle of sheets.

“Okay.”

Their room is filled with brightness. The moment her eyes fall on her spouse’s form, all Uchiha Sakura can feel is unbearable warmth.

Because,

There was her husband, laying on his side facing her. Naked. An elbow propped on their comforter while his hand supported his head. Naked. His splendid glory out for her to see. Naked. With his dark eyes piercing into her soul, tugging it. Naked. And.

A daffodil held between his lips.

Naked.

She blinks.

“So, this…”

She gestures to his seductive pose.

“…is Naruto’s idea isn’t it?”

Sasuke stiffens and turns completely pink.

“Perhaps.“

But he holds his position.

"It’s cute.”

“You better not be referring to my…”

“Oh, we both know 'cute’ isn’t the right word for it Anata.”

He smirks.

“Come here.”

“I don’t know…Do you remember that night a year ago?”

“Yeah.“

"It was so hard…trying to hide my screams.”

“Sakura.”

“You had been craving me for so long. Kami, it had been years since we last made love that time.”

He meets her eyes again, and there is something there, something so strong that she couldn’t help but feel it tug at her soul again.

“Come to bed.”

She throws the towel off her and pads toward her sexy husband, briefly noting the glass of three daffodils on their night stand.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

______________________

A.N.: I’m so busy studying for exams but had to take a short break. This little idea came out when I was chilling and imagined a scenario between Sakura and Ino starting with the line “You can’t be serious.”

R&R

#sasusaku #ss #sasusakusara #sasusakufluff #sasusakufic #sasusakufanfic

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coffeeshoppewriter · 4 years

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Young!Sirius Black x Reader: Drunken Confessions

https://www.wattpad.com/894101128-harry-potter-characters-x-reader-imagines-young

Author's Note/Summary: You oversee cleaning up after a quidditch party and find a very drunk Sirius who confesses some deep feelings he has for you. (Tried my best to keep reader gender neutral!)

—

The common room was extremely quiet compared to the last few hours it had undergone. Gryffindor had won against Slytherin in the afternoon quidditch match and "of course we had to celebrate like it was our last day on earth!" James' words. Not mine.

In fact, I was currently regretting the whole thing. It was fun, sure, but The Marauders, specifically James Potter, somehow convinced me again to 'help' clean up afterwards. Let's just say, every time I have ever agreed to help The Marauders do any type of chore, I am always the only one who is decently productive. They do try their best, especially Remus, but I still expected them all to be up in the dormitories by now: Remus and Peter passed out in their beds, James following Lily like a puppy to her room, and Sirius sleeping with a random girl that he will most definitely tell me about tomorrow. It is what I get for being best mates with the 'Hogwarts Resident Playboy' (Even though I believe he was the one who gave himself that title). Anyways, this was the same, old routine every time The Marauders held a party and that was the exact reason why I was surprised to find long, black hair draped over the back of one of the common room's couches.

—

"Sirius?" I ask.

No response. I slowly walk around to the front of the couch to see him zoned out and looking at the dying fire.

"Sirius," I repeat, louder this time.

I wave my hand in front of his face to try and get his attention. He slowly blinks a few times, getting rid of the daze that had consumed his stare. He then turns his head to look at me and lazily grins, or at least attempts to do something resembling his iconic smirk.

"Ah, halloo love," he responds, slurring his words, "Welcome to my couch," He exclaims pridefully, emphasizing the last syllables of each word he spoke.

He pats the seat next to him and I take it, looking him over head to toe. I notice just how disheveled he looks, not to mention how he absolutely reeks of alcohol.

"You okay?" I inquire hesitantly referring to his drunken state.

Sirius drinking was not uncommon, but the last time I saw him this drunk was after he left 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Mhm," He murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes that time and looking back towards the fireplace.

"Yeah... sure. I will pretend I believe you, but that still doesn't explain why you're down here. I assume its not to help pick up after the party," I quip.

He scoffs at the idea and just shakes his head, keeping his mouth shut.

"I am surprised to see you here at all, honestly," I mutter.

"And why might that be, love?"

"Well... because I never see you at parties. You're always... preoccupied. Especially after them," I answer, trying to hide the slight pain in my tone.

I am not sure if the pain was from jealousy or the protectiveness I had over him. Well, maybe I was sure, but I would never admit to which one it was.

"Right. I just didn't feel like it," He shrugs.

"Who are you and what have you done with Sirius?"

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," He said monotonously, clearly not appreciating my antics.

He picks up a cup I had not yet noticed, throws his head back, and takes a big sip all in one swift motion. I assumed it was firewhisky and quickly took it away from him before he could chug the whole thing.

"I think you have already had enough drinks for the both of us tonight," I reproach, setting the cup down on the coffee table in front of us.

He makes some type of incoherent whining sound in protest and then looks over at me. Based on his facial expression alone, he seemed like he wanted to tell me something, but he quickly closes his mouth just as fast as he had opened it. He shakes his head slightly as if having an internal debate with himself.

"What is it...?" I ask suspiciously.

"I, uh, forgot," he tries to reply, failing horribly at lying due to how drunk he was.

"Sirius."

"Okay! Okay! No need to yell about it!" He exclaims while I roll my eyes.

"I did no- mph!" I began to protest, only to be cut off by Sirius forcefully pushing his index finger to my mouth

"Shhh. Sirius is talking," He interrupts, referring to himself in the third person. "Anyways, as I was saying before you rudely interjected. You know how you did not have the best childhood?"

I was taken aback by his abrupt question, but I was not completely surprised as he continues to slur his words together.

"No, I completely forgot. Please enlighten me," I state with a sarcastic tone that I could not repress after removing his finger from my lips.

"Oh, well, when you were little-"

"Sirius. That was sarcasm," I inform him bluntly.

"Oh, right... right. Well anyways, I think that is why I am not having sex right now," he told me definitively.

"My bad childhood is why you are not shagging?" I question incredulously.

To say I had no idea what he was trying to express was an understatement.

"What?! No! MY bad childhood is why I am not... Merlin (Y/N)," He groans frustratingly.

"Okay, to be fair, you aren’t giving me much to work with here!" I protest, "I still don't understand though. What does the wretched Black family have to do with your love life?"

He laughs humorlessly, "A love life, eh? My rendezvouses with all these girls are now considered a love life? Pretty pitiful if you ask me," He whispers the last part, no longer hiding the pain that was in his eyes. I could have sworn I saw tears threatening to fall.

"Hey, hey. I'm here. You're okay," I reassure him, acting upon instinct by grabbing his hands quickly.

He squeezes my hands tightly and hesitantly follows up his previous statement, "I guess what I am trying to say is... I think I am only hurting myself more by trying to make up for the lack of love I received as a kid with... meaningless shags."

I did not know what to say. In all our years of friendship, I had never seen Sirius Black so self-aware. It wasn't like him to regret his actions, especially when it came to girls. I put my arm around his shoulders and motion for him to lay his head on me.

With his head laying on my shoulder and mine resting on top of his, I run my fingers through his soft curls. Something he has only let me do since we were kids. He hums as I did this, making me smile slightly as I feel his whole body relax. He grabs my clenched fist with his hand, loosening my tight grip. I didn't realize I had begun digging my fingernails into my palms, but I knew it must have been from the enraging thought about how mistreated Sirius was as a kid.

"You can say you told me so now, by the way," he says quietly after some moments of silence.

He was referring to the countless arguments we had about the ways he treated women and how it was going to end up a disaster.

"I'm not going to do that. At least not right now," I reply, shaking my head.

"I think I drank too much," he mumbles into the crook of my neck.

"I know you drank too much," I retort.

"I'm kind of surprised you aren't lecturing me right now."

"Please, I only lecture you about getting hammered when I know you'll actually remember it in the morning," I chuckle, even though we both know it's the truth, "Besides, you know it's only because I care about you. You're hurting right now and need me. That will always be my priority."

"I know, that is why I am in love with you," he utters without any hesitation.

"Co- come again?" I ask, once again taken aback from what the boy next to me said.

No matter how drunk he may have been, it was undeniable that this conversation was escalating very quickly; My rapid heart rate was enough evidence of that. I watch as he slowly registers what he just admitted.

"Oops, didn't mean that to come out," he laughs.

He leans over and kisses my forehead, causing me to turn more scarlet than Lily Evans' hair. The simple act of affection was not abnormal for us, but him professing his love? You did not hear that every day. I dismiss the shock I had of what he said, refusing to get my hopes up as I remember just how drunk he was. Would I end up regretting my dismissal of such a proclamation? Probably. However, I was not going to take advantage of the drunken boy. Even if he was saying he felt the same way. Even if he was saying the exact words I had waited to hear for so long.

"Come on, Sirius, lets get you upstairs," I tell him, standing up from the couch, and tugging on his arm.

He did not budge.

"Hold on, wait a second. I let down all of my guards and tell you I am in love with you, something I have never told anyone, might I add, and your response is handing me off to Remus and Peter!?" He exclaims, his anger rising along with the volume of his voice.

"Sirius you are drunker than James got after Lily rejected his grand proposal during the Hogsmeade trip our third year!" I said, defending my actions and trying to calm him down simultaneously with humor.

"Well, I guess that is just how Potters and Blacks react to the girl they love not feeling the same way." Sirius spats, "If you want to reject me, then just say it. Don't be a coward, you are not like all of those bloody Slytherins."

He attempts to stand up to meet me at eye level, but drunkenly stumbles and ends up landing back on the couch with a hard thud.

"Ow... Merlin" he groans.

"That’s what you get for cruelly stereotyping an entire house," I remark under my breath, hating when he and the rest of the boys harassed and judged any Slytherin they encountered. "And I never said I didn't feel the same way," I reveal, seeing his eyes light up with hope, "It is just late and neither one of us are in a proper state for this type of discussion."

"But-," he starts.

"No buts. How about this... if you still want to talk to me about this tomorrow after your inevitable hangover passes, then we can chat, okay?"

"You are just hoping I don't remember in the morning."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Either way, we both know you aren't going to be able to get me up those stairs in one piece," he mutters, clearly exhausted from his night of partying.

"I guess we better get you comfortable then."

"I think you mean get us comfortable," he laughs as he grabs me by my waist, pulls me on top of him, and immediately lays back down.

"Sirius!" I shriek.

I end up lying right next to him on the couch with my head on his chest.

"You are unbelievable," I sigh, adjusting myself to get more comfortable.

"You love it," he retorts with a matter of fact tone.

"I am practically on top of you, how is this comfortable?!" I question, ignoring his comment.

"Because you laying on top of me is something I will always enjoy," he winks, then closing his eyes with a smug smirk as he got comfortable on the common room couch that was way too small for the both of us.

I roll my eyes at his cheesiness but soon close mine as well.

Thank Merlin for the darkened common room, I thought as I felt myself blush even more due to my proximity to Sirius.

"Goodnight, (Y/N). I do love you," he says in a hushed voice.

"Goodnight, Sirius..." I whisper back, hesitating before allowing myself to fall into a deep sleep thanks to the consistent and calm beating of my best friend's heart.

—

"Psst... love. Wake up," I hear, slowly opening my eyes and feeling a comforting hand gently shake my shoulder.

"Shush, pillow!" I sleepily place my hand over Sirius' mouth, hitting him harder than I would have if I were fully conscious.

He let out a chuckle, "Should I be offended that you just abused my gorgeous face or concerned that your subconscious thinks it is talking to a pillow."

"Shut up," I say, coming to my senses, "What time is it anyway?" I question groggily, a yawn following soon after.

I lift my head from Sirius' chest, rub my eyes, and look around the empty common room, eventually meeting his gaze. Even though it felt like the night passed far too quickly, I felt more rested than I had in a while.

"Just after breakfast, I assume. Remus just brought us back food," He said smiling down at me, rubbing my back lightly up and down.

I suddenly became extremely aware of how I was engulfed in Sirius' embrace. My arms were wrapped around him and our legs were proudly tangled together. I couldn't help but become invigorated by our embrace, but then realization washes over my features. Knowing how gossip travels like wildfire around the castle, I was sure that everyone now knew of my feelings for the boy due to our compromising position.

"Wait... after breakfast? But that means that almost all of Gryffindor has walked past us in the past hour!" I speak with a worried voice that came out more like a whine, burying my head back into his chest.

"Godric, I did not know that being seen with me was that bad. I feel like that is something you mention to someone before becoming their best mate," Sirius teases.

"No! Just well. I- you know. You and I- I guess-," I stutter out, my voice muffled by his white t-shirt.

"Okay, okay. Before you start overthinking everything, have some toast. Food always makes you less anxious," he says with a smile, gesturing towards the plate on the table that had all of my favorite breakfast foods.

I glance at him with slightly widened eyes, not knowing when he made note of my anxiety habits.

"We have literally been attached by the hip since our first year. It's normal I notice things like that," he replies nonchalantly in response to my shocked expression, somehow reading my mind.

He hands me the plate and I made a mental note to thank Remus later, grateful for the kind acts he always does for me.

"Why did the guys not just wake us up?" I ask in the middle of devouring my food, regaining some of my composure.

"James said, and I quote, 'we looked too cute to disturb' and refused to let anyone be too loud as they left through the portrait hole. He thought we both confessed last night and did not want to ruin the moment... as if he has never done that before," Sirius replies, amused and making sure to mumble the last bit as if an offended James Potter were to appear at any moment.

"Confessed?"

"Oh (Y/N), my poor dear (Y/N), you did not really think I would forget, did you?" He asks.

My eyes widen slightly, recalling what he had told me just hours prior.

"You- you must be hungover," I state, with a noticeably shaky voice, exposing how nervous I am as I glance over his seemingly normal and content state.

I was desperate to try and call out his possible bluff as he glances over at the table in front of us. I follow his gaze and see a completely empty hangover potion with Sirius's name on it. My thoughts start going wild.

"I- I do not understand," I stutter.

"I am done with trying to run away from heartbreak, (Y/N). I don't want to be the 'one-night-stand guy' anymore. Also... this morning, James may have let it slip that you have been talking about falling for me for a while," Sirius replies, trying to mask his fear of rejection with humor.

"I'm going to hex James," I mumble instinctively, trying to ignore my hands as they began to clam up.

"(Y/N)," he says, causing me to focus my attention on him once more, "I am absolutely in love with you and not just for your beautiful appearance, but every little detail that I have gotten to learn about you over the years. You have always been by my side and I really don't want to lose you, but I cannot keep pretending the girls I snog are you. I cannot keep pretending that I want us to just be best mates. I am obviously not particularly good at this love stuff, but I want to figure out how to do it with you by my side"

I closely examine the look in his eyes, ensuring that what he was saying was genuine. I could see the anxiety under his confident facade, telling me this wasn't just a prank The Marauders came up with or some strategy to get me into his bed. No, for the first time ever, I saw Sirius Black confirm that he was indeed in love with someone and unless his pumpkin juice was spiked, he was entirely sober and that 'someone' was me.

"I am in love with you, (Y/N)," he reiterates, his confidence faltering slightly due to my silence.

"I- uh wow. Thank you?" I blurt out, not wanting to keep him waiting but also not knowing how to respond to such a monologue.

"Did you just thank me for falling in love with you?" He smirks.

After a quick nod of my head, he brushes the hair out my face and tucks it behind my ear. His hand lingers on my cheek, making sure I know that it was not going to go anywhere, anytime soon.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks as my eyes finally met his.

I eagerly nod my head once more.

"Love, are you really too shocked to say anything?"

For the third time in the past minute, I nod a silent 'yes' in response to Sirius' question. I could see the amusement in his eyes as he probably felt the distinct heat radiating off my cheeks. I was somehow becoming more nervous. My gaze drifts down to his lips as he sat next to me. I wanted to- No, I needed to finally kiss the man I had been in love with for so long.

"Come here, you dork," He laughs as his other hand grabs the back of my neck and I am brought into my first of many kisses with Sirius Black.

"Your dork?" I ask millimeters away from his lips after pulling away from the passionate kiss.

"My dork," He confirms.

Repeatedly, our lips met again with a hunger that had been built over years of 'friendly' flirting and jealousy of those who got to kiss each other's lips first. I smile into the kiss with the (now tamed) Hogwarts Resident Playboy reciprocating my emotions. That was the last first kiss I ever had, and it was perfect.

"What are you thinking about?" my new spouse asked me, amused at my faint smile as I recalled those 24 hours.

"Just that morning when we finally got together," I replied with a pleasant hum.

Sirius grinned widely and began rubbing my back, much like he did that morning. His hands glided over the white, silky material of my wedding dress as he kissed my temple. Both of our attentions turned back to James, who was failing miserably at giving a put together best man speech. I could not help but let out a small, stifling laugh as he dropped his note cards, earning a glare from the best man himself. I gave an apologetic smile to James, the man that convinced me to clean up after that party all those years ago and can I just say, thank Merlin he did.

#sirius black #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #fluff #Harry Potter #harry potter writing #harry potter imagine #sirius black one shot #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine

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hollygopossumlovesj2 · 7 years

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Come Back Down, Part 14

Title: Come Back Down

Characters: Jensen x Reader, mention of Danneel and twins (I needed a villan, don’t send me hate.)

Warnings: NC-17; Danneel is reflected badly, the schmoopiest smut to ever schmoop is in this chapter. If you already feel nauseated, don’t read this garbage. Mentions of alcohol use. Drunken sex is kind of highlighted in a good way here. Its irresponsible and not a way to do things in real life unless you trust the person you’re with whole heartedly.

This gif is care of Google and whoever created it. Not mine.

Summary: Jensen spends some time away from Y/N, and finds out something that shes been keeping from him. He deals in the best way he can. Emotionally charged smut ensues.

Also, shout out to my twinsie, @tas898 for reading through this and not telling me to delete my blog and stop writing forever. See, that was kind of a normal response, right?

Come Back Down Master List

The room was spinning and no amount of closing my eyes was helping one damn bit. I’d just gotten back to Y/N’s home maybe two hours ago. She was out meeting with someone about photographing an actual event. Which wasn’t what she normally did, but I guess you couldn’t go too far with the way her knee was still giving her trouble.

Of course, I couldn't just meet her out in public like a normal person because of what Danneel had done. I didn't need to just hand over more power to her and her ‘set of lawyers’ that I was no doubt paying for.

When I’d talked on the phone with Y/N earlier, I could tell just how happy she was to get out of the house. To start returning to her normal everyday life. However, I found myself selfishly pining for the days when we were closed up here. When it felt like it was our own little impenetrable bubble. That was until Danneel had shown up and popped that bubble with a damn axe.

If only she’d just stopped there, with the axe of demolition that she’d been swinging every day since. It had only been a couple of weeks since that ill-fated day, but damn if she hadn’t already caused some damage.

Danneel, against what she had previously said she would do, announced the pregnancy on Instagram. It was done with optimum damning in mind, complete with an old picture of us when we’d been happy. Back when I didn’t know better and had been completely snowed.

Some smart fans had already pointed out how old the photograph was. Citing the length of my beard for reference. It was a little disturbing, but slightly comforting to have someone realize that the picture was at least representing something that didn’t exist anymore.

There was nothing I could do about it right now without looking like a complete asshole. So, just like everything else that was building up inside me, I let it go.

Danneel had called me practically every day since she’d dropped the bomb. She never stopped to apologize for manipulating me six ways from Sunday. Mostly to fill me in on what the doctor’s said at her appointments.

We were having twins. A boy and a girl. The conversations were full of facts and need to know information. I tried to keep them as short as possible and had hung up a few times when she'd tried to say ‘I love you.’ She made it so damn hard to believe.

I was torn between wanting to be there for these first moments of my children’s lives, but unable to stand the idea of being in the same room as their mother. Which, when I thought about that any further, I swallowed more of Y/N’s liquor cabinet.

How was I going to be able to stomach going back ‘home’, where my stuff wasn't any longer, to play happy family. Not to mention, I don't know when she decided to turn the tide, but that she had openly manipulated me with intent to cause me extreme harm. There was no way that I could see it as a mother protecting her children. The woman I had married wouldn't have behaved like that.

It wasn't that long ago that Y/N had slapped me in the face with her ‘truths’ of letting people take advantage of me. Luckily, she had the grace to not shout ‘I told you so.’

That wasn’t the only thing going on. Like that wasn’t enough to send someone running to the looney bin begging for padded walls and black silence?

Mike, of all people, had called me two days after I’d left for New York for the CW Upfronts. I can’t even begin to describe the amount of absolute panic that had taken hold of me. I’d just known that something had happened to Y/N while I wasn’t there.

It turns out that it wasn’t new, what Mike had felt compelled to divulge. I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that it was Mike who was filling me in, but I knew that Y/N was trying to spare me.

I now knew what Y/N and Mike had been talking about those several weeks ago. So long ago that I’d even put it out of my mind. I had Y/N’s love and Mike, even though he was still irritating as hell, wasn’t competition.

It wasn’t surprising to me to realize how easily I trusted Y/N after I’d just had the rug pulled out from under me by someone I’d given everything of myself to. I’d never lost faith in Y/N and she’d never disappointed.

Even though I now knew the details that she was keeping from me, I still wasn’t mad. I was scared. Terrified even of what could’ve happened and what could possibly still happen.

Which was why I was doing the mature thing and drinking my feelings. I was feeling reckless, emboldened by the amber liquid I kept consuming. I’d been idly listening to a classic rock station on Y/N’s iPod until a completely ironic song came on. I’m sure my smile was crooked, a laugh getting stuck on the emotion clogging up my throat. Feelings of failure and irony were flooding me from all sides.

But, what does one do when they are feeling on the edge of some cliff of life?

The heavy bass guitar had my foot tapping on the floor as I lounged back on Y/N’s neatly made bed. The sun was starting to set, making the shadows creep into the room, but I was mostly oblivious as I belted the words that I’d sang so many times. But never with this much irony.

“I’ve been run down; I’ve been lied to. I don’t know why I let that mean woman make me a fool. Took all my money. Wrecked my new car. Now she’s with one of my good time buddies, drinking in some cross town bar.

Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel! Like I’ve been tied to the whipping post. Tied to the whipping post. Tied to the whipping post. Oh lord I feel like I’m dyin’.”

When Y/N arrived home, I was still mumbling the words, my lips feeling too big for my face with how drunk I’d let myself become. It was funny really. This whole thing was so fucking hilarious!

“There's m’sweetheart!” I greeted her cheerfully from where I was still laying across her bed. Not in the normal way, of course, but sideways because that was just so much more awesome. “C’me sing w’ me!” I tried to sit up, which was so not cool. I felt even more dizzy and my belly sloshed, full of liquor.

She stood, leaning on the doorway with a look of shock on her face for longer than I would’ve liked. I didn’t like that she was so far away, with such a look on her face.

So, I did what any other respectable drunk man would do, I made grabby hands at her since I was stuck by some invisible force to this bed. It was the least she could do, after all.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before she finally crossed the gigantic sea of carpet and laid down next to me. I immediately glommed onto her, throwing my arm and leg over her so she wouldn’t be tempted to run away. I always just wanted her right here. Nothing else mattered sometimes.

I heard her muffled laugh against my chest before she wormed her way to the surface. “Well hello, happy drunk.” I couldn’t place the look on her face. She was obviously going for amused, but there was something darker there that my inebriated brain just couldn’t process.

“Hey!” I smiled back, I mean, I think I did. My lips were kind of numb feeling now. “Where have you been?” I felt like a damn happy puppy, just inches from licking her face because I was so damn relieved to see her.

“Uh, met with a hopeful client who wants me ironically to take pictures at their bouncing baby boy’s first birthday party. That’ll be fun.” She snuggled in closer, finally returning the hold. “I went to eat with one of my friends from the horse riding club that I told you about? Jason?”

The obviously male name bounced around in my alcohol addled brain for a little longer than it should have. However, I must’ve made the appropriate noise because she continued to speak in a steady tone. Almost too steady.

“He was a little concerned for me because there’s a rumor circulating in those rags that are at the front of the checkout isle that you’re having an affair. With someone who looks suspiciously like me? The pictures are really old, of course. I think they're from when you visited two summers ago.”

I heard every word, and somewhere inside I felt the right reaction but I don’t think it ever made it to my face. I should’ve been outraged that there were photos of Y/N in some gossip magazine. I knew I should be jumping on the phone immediately to find out who had sold me out. But, really, I was just not feeling that worried.

“I’m not worried about it, but I figured it was something you’d want to know.” She answered as if she’d gotten an actual answer from me.

“Like I should’ve known about your accident?” It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. I knew I hadn’t wanted to accuse once I’d finally gotten over the shock of it all. I understood why she’d kept it from me. Her default mode was to spare me as much as she could. But she should’ve told me.

“What about my accident? Why do you say it like that?” Even totally drunk off my ass I could now see the deception, hear that little vibration in her words.

Even in my current state, the pain and fear filtered through, making it impossible to control my face. I couldn’t stop the stupid moisture that flooded my eyes. I blamed it on the fact that I’d stretched the limits of my emotions so much on Supernatural that they were out of control some times. I felt like that a lot actually, but it was even worse when I couldn’t control my mouth. Much less my facial expressions. “It wasn’t an accident. Why didn’t you tell me…”

She studied me for what I’m sure was only moments that felt like hours, finally biting her lip and closing her eyes in defeat. “Mike.”

“You could’ve died; do you realize that? Someone out there wanted to hurt you.” I felt like I was going to choke on my words. The way that my mouth was trying to speak them was too fast for the breath in my lungs. “Someone- It's all my fault. This shouldn't’ve-.”

“Jen, c’mon, it’s okay. It’s just a theory.” The smile that was obviously aimed at taking the gravity away from my words was absurd. I still let her pull me closer like I was a child so that I could bury my face in her neck like that would bring safety. “There’s no proof…”

“No. No, don’t say it like that. Like… m’stupid.” I tried my best to get control over my face and emotions and by the look of her watery expression I was failing. Unable to sit up all the way, I turned to look at her awkwardly. “There were other skid marks!”

“There’s no proof. I can't even remember what happened or if there was another car, Jay!”

“What about your barn being vandalized last week?”

Her rosy complexion turned pale instantly and she rolled away from me, “Goddamnit, Michael.”

I reached for her immediately, clumsily curling myself to fit behind her, my arms holding her tightly. Even with her so close to me I couldn't push out of my mind how afraid I was to lose her. How close I had come to doing just that and I hadn't even known the whole truth. That after further investigation, authorities thought there had been another car involved. Which was strange on the usually quiet stretch of road she had been on.

I hid my face in the curtain of her sweet smelling hair and breathed it in like it alone would help to calm the panic racing through my bones. “I'm not mad, please don't shut me out.”

It was irritating how my words sounded clumsy as my chin wobbled and warm moisture leaked down my face unbidden. I felt raw, cracked right open because I was so damn scared. So many things had threatened to take her away from me over the years, but by some miracle I could feel her warmth held right in my arms. I could feel her shuddering breaths as I knew she too was crying.

“I'm so sorry.” I still felt dizzy, but the conversation had successfully killed any type of euphoric buzz I'd gained from the alcohol, leaving me with only a deep instinctual need. “Please, Y/N. I can't lose you.” I knew it wasn't exactly healthy, but most days I felt like I was barely hanging on.

“God, it's not your fault, Jay.” Her whisper was wet but sincere as she pushed back into my embrace. Her hands covered mine as one held tightly around her waist. The other pressed tightly against her chest where her selfless heart beat heavy against my palm.

The ache in my chest burned heavy as my tear wet lips kissed at the exposed skin of her neck. This was different than anything I'd ever felt before. It was desperation that dissolved any logical thought. The need for the affirmation provided by feeling her warm skin against mine.

She turned her head so that her lips could meet mine and I knew she felt the low hum of desire that was slowly taking me apart and driving me crazy. “I'm so sorry, Jay.” Her voice was quiet but easily audible in the silence of the darkening room as she whispered against my lips. “I didn't want you to worry.”

I pushed in closer, my tongue demanding entrance and exploring every cavern that I'd missed while I was away. My body was full of tension, my cock taking notice when she rolled her hips. “Ah, fuck.” The slight pressure made my hips stutter and my words come out as an embarrassing whine. My already half hard cock filled with more blood as my desperation for her grew.

There was a flurry of motion as we both pulled our clothes off in a way that didn't pull us too far apart. We stayed on our sides and when we were finally naked, the press of her warm skin almost took me apart.

I was the reason her whole life had been turned upside down. Someone had tried to get rid of her to hurt me. Someone, not something had caused her damn car to go careening into a ravine where she was left to die.

I wasn't completely in control anymore, my entire body vibrating with equal parts need and desperation. A sheen of sweat had lined both of our bodies, slicking the way as we rocked together and devoured each other’s mouth.

A violent shiver wracked my entire body when she wrapped a hand around my now throbbingly hard cock. I was leaking so heavily just from the friction of rubbing against her ass when she stroked me a few times. “Oh fuck-!” She had all of the power and I let her take control because I wanted her so damn much I felt weak with it. “Baby, please…”

“Yeah, Jay.” Her breath was sweet as it brushed across my lips, her voice giving away how wrecked she was too as she guided me to her entrance.

She dragged the tip through her wet folds as I twitched helplessly in her grip. I was so wound up, the fingers of one hand digging hard into her hip and I wasn't even inside her yet. I nibbled and sucked at the salty skin of her neck to keep from pleading, to stifle the moans of frustration clogging up my throat as I had a hand on one of her breasts.

She was the perfect handful, her nipple immediately standing to attention against my palm. She moaned, pushing forward into my hand and undulating back against me.

The want that was burning inside wasn't just sparked by some lust filled fantasy. It was sharp need. The overwhelming feelings of love and the need to protect and claim were almost painful because I was so close. She was right here in my arms and she was all I ever wanted.

When I finally slid inside her, the connection was a momentary relief. “Oh fuck, you feel so good. So good, Y/N.” She rolled further onto her side, letting my body blanket hers and slide even deeper, making us both moan.

I don't know how she knew that I needed to be as close as possible. Or if she even knew that it would drive me wild to be able to cage her in. The position wasn't one that I would've thought of, but it was perfect. I could feel her warm and wanting beneath me, pushing back against me in an effort to make me move.

I slid my hand from her hip to tease her clit with light circles with my middle finger. She moaned into her pillow, her free hand sliding down my flank to grip my ass, trying to pull me in deeper.

There was sweat beading at my hair line and tracking down my temple from holding back. The way she was gripping me so tightly made the drag out feel so good and the sharp thrust in near agony. I couldn't help the low moans leaving my throat as I set up a steady rhythm.

Her pleas to go harder, to please go faster were taking me apart more swiftly than I would've liked our first time to be. But I couldn't stop it, this feeling building up inside of me. The deep connection I was feeling wasn't something I'd felt in a very long time. It made everything feel new and sharp in its focus.

She was pushing back, meeting me thrust for thrust as I gave a little more pressure to my two fingers working her clit in tandem. I could feel her whole body starting to tense, the bite of her nails as she gripped my ass harder.

She was moaning my name desperately over and over as my other hand plucked a nipple. I felt like I was so in sync with her, like my hands were playing a guitar I'd had for years. The noises she was making, the panting of her breath against her pillow a complicated melody I was pulling out of her. My own groans of pleasure a complementary baseline to our song.

When she came she pressed herself back hard, clenching tightly around my dick and dragging me with her. She dragged a hoarse cry out of me, and I held her even tighter as I fell apart.

Her free hand came up to grip the hair at the back of my head as her lips awkwardly connected with mine and I moaned helplessly into her mouth. I rocked into her until the sensitivity was too painful, just relishing the feel of being inside her.

When I finally slipped out of her and rolled onto my back, I was shaking violently from head to toe. The intensity had nearly been too much. The sheen of sweat was starting to cool and I was already missing the proximity of her body against mine until she rolled over and laid her head on my chest.

My arms immediately pulled her closer, partly terrified of how I was feeling and how much of myself I was willingly giving away. She had the power to crush me into so many pieces that I'd never be whole again.

I knew I'd be paying for my choices in the morning. When my eyes slipped shut as she kissed my chest where my heart was beating a painful rhythm and held me tighter, I knew it was well worth the agony.

Tagging: @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyxx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @mysteriouslyme82, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @wheresthekillswitch, @melissaj616, @uniquewerewolfsuit, @mandymoiselle1970, @glendagiggles, @pansexualmeteorite, @tas898

Sorry this took so long! Of course I would feel motivated to update something that didn’t have a due date. Let me know what you think!

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #come back down #jensen ackles fluff #drunk sex ensues #jensen ackles series #jensen ackles drabble #jensen ackles one shot

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