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notnctu · 4 years

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sugar | s.j ❀

━ listen to: sugar by brockhampton

❀ johnny suh x fem!reader ❀ genre - smut, angst, fluff? ❀ details - fwb!au, kinda unrequited love? who knows lol, sweet love makin ❀ word count - 2k ❀ synopsis - he’s always a call away, ready to love you when you think no one else will. and this will be the one time you ask him to spend the night because johnny suh is the only sweetener you need in your bitterness.

❀ a/n: hello its author doie❀! its based off of the song sugar which is one of my favs ever so i hope u enjoy this smut, rlly this was just me avoiding explicit words lol ps i have never laughed harder in my life when @legendnct (ily hannah) asked me if i was J O R N Y when i told her i was writing this at 4am

The honey dripping, rush of candy goodness, and sugar high of a man --- Johnny Suh. He’s like walking on sunshine, no other cares in the world can harm him, and with a bright happiness that promises anything worth fighting for.

He stands six feet tall of sunflowers that turn up to the clear blue skies and soak up the positive energy needed for growth. Johnny Suh, the man that has sugar addicts craving for a slice of his attention; Johnny Suh is the epitome of goodness and virtue.

And the puzzling, estranged question of why you are his subject of sweetness is beyond any galaxy and he’d never tell a soul his reason behind his many dazed gazes, or if they even had much meaning to them. Johnny Suh is the one boy that wears his heart on his sleeve, but holds your’s at his fingertips.

There have been many countless encounters of long and, some unfortunately short, nights of sleeping with bodies that only add to the list of people you’ve kissed. But to have consistency in that aspect? Quite hesitant, to say the least.

While you are able to tolerate a random one night stand with no necessary remembrance of the individual’s name, to give your vulnerability and consistent attention to one person is asking for too much. A flawed characteristic of yours is falling in love too easily.

The hookups are meaningless, quick fucks to fill the evening and rid the irritable desire of lust. The muscles involved exclude the heart because there is no opportunity to fall for someone if you are only going to part ways right afterwards.

Yet, the one remarkable night with Johnny turned into several nights which led into your current relationship with the glowing sun. The one thing you had wished to steer away from --- a friend with benefits.

There was no metaphorical gun to your head, you weren’t forced to sign a contract, there were no ridiculously restrictive rules. No boundaries to hold you back.

When there is no fencing around the edge of a cliff, is that grounds for people to free fall? Regardless, your lack of self control and demising loneliness had you jumping and falling into Johnny’s comfort. The golden boy is someone hard to come by, and you’re not foolish enough to turn down this once in a lifetime chance to be intimately acquainted.

But as you continued to see him, there was an unconscious decision to stop your other random flings. It felt like you already had someone to fulfill the ache, someone to spend your nights with. If you needed him, he’d be there. So, unknowingly by choice, you made yourself exclusive to him, even though Johnny did not decide to do the same.

That shouldn’t bother you, right? But it does. The worst part is that it’s no one’s fault but your own. Johnny’s harmless actions affect you because your feelings allow them to. As much as you ignore the fact you two are nothing more than friends with benefits, the annoying drumming of your foolish heart reminds you of your denial.

While you’ve always had a bitter palette, the dash of sweetener never hurt anyone. He never hurts anyone, with his best efforts. And the intent should have been made clear, that your nightly hookups are an unhealthy coping mechanism. Too much sugar has your glucose levels derailing and seeking out the one person that lights up your endorphins.

The love for Johnny stems from his warmhearted character. His bubbly, goodwill nature that has him overextending himself for people who take him for granted. An extroverted, head-turning personality that you can’t despise and look away, instead are easily attracted to.

Johnny is kind, he’s thoughtful, yet entirely complex as a human being with a fair share of cloudy days. He is simply someone you want to get to know because he makes the atmosphere a safe space and he reads like an open hardback book.

Everyone has a small crush on him, it would be a complete tyranny of your feelings to deny it. Some infatuations are bigger than others and you’ll shamefully admit that you fit under this group of individuals.

On another lonely night, you wonder if he’d be at your will and call, if he would drop the world to come make you feel better. One moment, you are staring at his contact name and imaging the deep voice answering with his signature greeting. The next, you’re actually hearing his voice on the other end of the receiver and panic settles as it’s too late to cancel the call.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” The nickname sends a crown of hearts swirling around your temples. However, he sounds rushed, like he had been in the middle of a strenuous activity.

A nervousness has stammered words falling from your lips, and you’re too incoherent for even your own mind to understand. Johnny chuckles lovingly, and the slight rustling that distorts the background has you imagining that the phone is pressed between his cheek and shoulder. “Collect your thoughts, babe. I’m ready whenever you are.”

A heavy notable sigh erupts into Johnny’s ear, but he doesn’t pull away from the device. He’s all ears, attentive and patiently waiting for you to speak, despite having company on his bed.

“I need you. Can you come over?” If only pride wasn’t so hard to swallow, the question would have flowed much smoother. As if your heart grew hands, it chokes your throat from the inside and you’re preparing yourself for the rejection.

Truthfully, he isn’t obligated to come and there have been rare nights where he declines your offer. But your hope holds onto the slipping strands and the tension of your nerves have fists forming and eyes squeeze shut.

Johnny takes a fast peek at the girl already in his sheets, mindlessly and effortlessly scrolling through her social media. There is a hint of sadness in your voice that he can’t let go and while that’s usually not entirely uncommon, he can tell it took a lot for you to call tonight. So, he finds himself pulling up his sweats and a clean shirt over his head.

“Be there before you know it.” And the clench in your throat relaxes, along with the other parts that had your nails digging moon crescents into your palm and wrinkles forming at your tight creases.

And with a sweet goodbye, he hangs up the call and politely offers to take the girl home as he makes his way over to your place. And you’re dosing yourself in puffs of fruity scents and cleaning up the runny mascara around your under eyes.

With no words exchanged, Johnny knows every way to heal you and dawn a warmth that coats your darkest corners. All you have to do is open the door and let him in. His strength has you lifted from the ground, lips hungry to devour your softness.

A few fumble steps, he reaches your room at ease and gently lays you on your neatly made sheets. Johnny is consistent, no missed beats when it comes to loving you, and without a fail, he always takes a moment to himself to step back and admire your beauty. And your priceless shyness is also an added delight to the scene.

Each article of clothing is discarded and left at different areas of your small room, kisses lining your worst parts to you, but the best parts to him. When you can’t love parts of yourself, Johnny loves them for you and makes you whole.

“Were you in the middle of something?” It did not become aware to you of the possibility that you had interrupted something else, or someone else. And even if Johnny did choose to see you over spending time with them, you have the decent courtesy to make sure he is okay with his decision.

“Nothing important.” You’ll never be able to read him or notice any lies he tells. His smile is enough reassurance, and your question is quickly forgotten when his fingers dive into your wet flower. He uses his thumb to soothe circles around your growing bud, making your whole lower half blossom with trembling ecstasy.

His lips leave soft reminders to love your thighs, your legs, to not overlook their importance: they carry your graciousness into new ventures. Then, he pushes them wide open as he bends your left knee and your right dangles over his sturdy shoulder. The tight grip on your hip is bound to leave marks the next morning, along with the dark love bites he leaves across your canvas.

But his thoughts are focused on the meal ahead, your sugary juices coat the plush of his tongue. He remembers exactly how you like it, where melodic sounds hit the silence in gasps or groans. He suckles, he licks, he kisses your bead in a speed that has his brown locks tangled in between your fingers.

He drinks up more than your wetness, but also the pure image of your fucked out expression and the twists of your reacting body. He wants to surpass your limits, max you out until there isn’t a hint of melancholy in your tone anymore. To remember, to remind, to recall your happiness through heightened pleasure.

At the announcement of your high, he enters your spasming hole with rubber already on and groans at your walls squeezing around him, which halts him in place. However, the dragged movement of his length hits your sweet spot, your orgasm prolongs into a rapturous euphoria and you’re no longer in control of your body.

Johnny’s toned arms hold you close to him. The chemistry in your gazes has your heart pounding faster than his hips. As ruthless as each thrust is and each push moves you an inch upward on the bed, Johnny’s eyes are still kind and loving.

His fluttering kisses are delicate and nurturing. The marks resemble a healing touch that will settle you enough for the next day. For the night, he rids any angst that corrupts your mood by loving you when you think no one else will.

Together, your bodies fall into one another with a bite of elation as he finishes into the protection and your walls hug around him for the last time tonight. Even when your bodies disconnect, the feeling of fullness lingers and you wish to keep this for as long as you can. No more emptiness, not right now.

Perhaps it's the daze of your orgasm, but your hand reaches for his wrist to stop him from making his exit so soon. Selfishly, carelessly, honestly, this will be the one time you ask for him to spend the night. You can’t stand seeing him go, not at this instant. You refuse to spend one more night alone when your heart longs for him to be by your side when you fall asleep.

While the big heart of his beats speechlessly at your request, he lays down to draw you into his toned chest and pampers your forehead with honeyed pecks. Like many times before, no words need to be exchanged for him to know the remedy to your somber.

Possibly, the scene with Johnny caressing your chin and tracing your smile lines is all too perfect for your imperfect reality. And him whispering and wishing a happier narrative for you is more than what you had asked for. Nonetheless, he’s very good at it, mentally noting the fact that he’s probably done the same to other hookups or broken friends.

While you can get used to this form of aftercare, the guards you put up tell you that this is a one time thing. So, you’ll take and indulge all of Johnny’s affection and false love for the next few hours you had left of the night.

Nevertheless, even sweetness can be an overpowering flavor when consumed in tremendous amounts. And you wonder when you’d grow sick of his candied sugar or if you’d just forfeit your health to keep indulging more into your addiction. A sickly saccharine question of your own will be the pit of your downfall: do you love me?

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solangelover · 4 years

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Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better

Solangelo Week 2020 - god swap / body swap @solangeloweek

Read on AO3 or FF.Net

A/N: (Ignore how late this fic is) I recently realized that I love the tag “crack treated seriously” and then I was like, wait is that what I write?? Oh well XD

“Ugh, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Oh gods, what are we going to do??”

Will and Nico were behind the Hades cabin, but not for the reasons they’d like to be.

Currently, Will was looking at Nico and Nico was looking at Will, but they were also staring at themselves. Because they were in each other’s bodies. Because why not.

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose (Will’s nose?), sighing, “This is ridiculous.”

Will was a little more panicky than his boyfriend. “Oh my gods, how and why is this happening? We can’t be stuck like this! Can we be stuck like this? Oh my gods, what if we’re stuck like this???”

The boys had woken up from a nap together (a literal time of sleeping together) in the early afternoon, only to find that they weren’t quite themselves. They also found a note on the nightstand that said, “Don’t tell, or it’ll take longer to wear off!” signed with a simple red heart. The situation was pretty straight forward, but that didn’t make it any easier to handle.

“Solace, calm down. We’ll be fine. This is either a prank from the Aphrodite kids or Aphrodite herself. I don’t think any children of Aphrodite have ever had precise enough control of their power to extend the time of their curses, though I’ve also never heard of any body or mind swaps from them either…” Nico tapped his chin in thought.

“So you think this is directly from a goddess??” Will flailed his arms for emphasis. He had not been still since they woke up switched.

Nico held up his hands placatingly. “Will, I said to calm—”

“When has that ever made anyone calm??”

Nico’s eyes flicked to the ground behind Will, noticing some movement. He immediately recognized the shadows reacting to Will’s panic, swirling around his feet and slowly pulling upward like a barrier. Huh, so that’s what that looks like, Nico thought, finally seeing what other people saw. He could admit that it was slightly terrifying.

“Okay! Okay, Will, just, breathe with me. Remember, like you taught me?” Nico drew in a deep breath, emphasizing the movement with his hands. He exhaled loudly. “In 4, hold 3, out, like, 5. Right?”

“What, no, do you even listen to me? It’s in 4, hold 7, out 8. Like this,” and Will proceeded to do several slow breaths. Nico was grinning even as he copied Will. He also realized how different he looks when he’s not frowning while doing the exercise. He should probably pay attention to his facial expressions more.

After a few more breaths, Nico ventured, “Better?”

Will blinked a few times before letting out a chuckle. “Oh, I see what you did there. Sneaky Death Boy.” He smiled at Nico, which, again, was a very different sight to Nico. Not that he didn’t smile often, but for some reason, Will made his smile look brighter.

Instead of saying this, Nico replied with, “Well, actually I think you’re the Death Boy now, Sunshine.”

Will face palmed while Nico laughed. It was weird to hear Will’s laugh ringing in his own ears, knowing that Nico himself was the one laughing. Switching bodies was a real out-of-body experience.

Nico jolted and then groaned to himself. “Will, please tell me you don’t think in puns.”

Will immediately straightened up and asked desperately, “What was the pun? Please tell me, I haven’t thought of a single one this whole time.”

Nico sighed. “Just how this is a real out-of-body experience.”

Will burst into laughter immediately. “Oh, that’s a good one!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Yeah, puns just pop into my head. I don’t know if it’s a gift from Apollo or what, but I love it and already miss it.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “I hate you. Or me. I hate this body and brain. It’s stupid.”

Will hummed. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Will, I swear to the gods, stop taking flirting tips from Cecil and Lou Ellen. They make no sense coming from you. I didn’t even see you yesterday!” Nico wrinkled his nose in disgust as he watched his boyfriend waggle his eyebrows suggestively with his body. “Also, don’t make me say or do dumb things. It’s wrong.”

Will’s face lit up, which really made Nico look his age instead of like the 80-something year old he truly was, and he proceeded spin around and flail his arms. Nico knew this to be Will’s version of dancing.

Will abruptly stopped and pouted at Nico. “No fair. I can literally feel your body being graceful even when I’m controlling the movements. I can’t make you dance badly if I tried!”

“Don’t test that theory,” Nico chuckled despite himself, glad to see that Will had calmed down and was actually having fun in this scenario. He’d hate to ruin the good mood, but, “How long do you think this will last?”

Will sobered up quickly, folding his arms in thought. “Hard to say. Like you said, we’ve never heard of this kind of prank being pulled before. So, if it really is from the goddess of love… then we just have to not make her mad so she lifts the curse, or at least, doesn’t extend it.” His eyebrows furrowed quizzically. “Why did she curse us in the first place?”

“I bet she was just bored,” Nico shrugged. “Anyway, her note also said that we can’t tell anyone, otherwise we’ll be stuck like this for longer. So…” he trailed off, unsure of where that left them.

“Basically, we have to be each other for however long, without telling anyone directly what’s happening.” Will swallowed.

The boys let that sink in. And then simultaneously groaned.

“I was supposed to teach a sword lesson in a few hours,” Nico grumbled, imagining just how much could go wrong with Will handling a sword. Granted, he’d be in Nico’s body, but still.

“And I have a shift at the infirmary through dinnertime,” Will ran a hand through his hair, distracted momentarily by the silky black locks he combed through instead of his normal wiry dirty blonde hair. At least Nico had helped in the infirmary enough to know what Will did and where things were. But he did not have the medical training and experience Will had. What might happen if a camper got seriously hurt?

They sat in silence for a bit as they thought this over. Could they pull it off?

“…”

“This is bad.”

“This is doable,” they said at the same time. Nico looked up in concern, thinking his boyfriend was overestimating his sword skills, while Will looked mildly offended as he thought Nico was doubting his own knowledge of the infirmary.

“Neeks! You can totally take a shift at the infirmary. My siblings will be there for anything major,” Will stated with his hands on his hips. He had to look up slightly since Nico was a few inches shorter than Will, which was definitely a new experience for Will.

“Okay,” Nico looked doubtful, but continued. “But I don’t think you can run a sword lesson. No offense,” he tacked on with an apologetic smile.

Will hummed in agreement. “Yeah, that’s probably true. We can cancel it, though, right? Or ask someone to take it over?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t want to cause suspicion or upset the love goddess for any reason,” Nico frowned. “… I think we might just have to… do this.”

They stared at each other for a moment more.

“Oh gods,” Will buried his face in his hands.

“Merda,” Nico glared at the sky, the bright blue like Aphrodite herself was mocking him. She probably was.

---

*At the arena*

“Okay, guys! Um, today we’re going to shake things up and have some fuuuuun!” Nico was absolutely going to kill Will for making him sound like an idiot, but he didn’t know what else to do. Six kids between eight to ten years old gazed up at him with varying levels of excitement and confusion. Will distractedly realized how much he’s sweating (though more from nerves than physical exhaustion) and understood why Nico did his usual training shirtless. But Will was highly unsure about being so close to his shirtless boyfriend’s body, regardless of who’s brain was controlling his movements. So, the shirt stayed.

“What are we doing that’s so great, Mr. Nico?” An eight-year-old Ares girl looked a little too excited about sword-fighting class for Will’s comfort.

“Um,” Will rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he spoke. He was reaching for any way to circumvent dangerously pointy weapons when an idea struck him. “Oh!” He smiled at the kids, who looked quite off-put by the expression. “Today, we’re going to discuss basic medical knowledge to know when you’re on the battlefield!”

The groans he received put a damper on what he thought was a very practical lesson that he’s immensely proud he came up with.

“But that’s what infirmary class is for! Mr. Will taught us!”

“Yeah, I wanna fight with swords!”

“Ah ah ah!” Will interrupted their grumblings before it got out of hand. “Mr. Will teaches what the medics do once you can leave a fight and be treated properly. This will be quick fixes while you’re still fighting. It’s important that you can quickly assess wounds and determine your next course of ac—”

“Ugh, you sound like Mr. Will!”

“Yeah, you never talk this much, Mr. Nico.”

“Maybe he’s not the real Mr. Nico.”

These kids were getting dangerously close to the truth, and Will almost wanted to tell them so they’d stop complaining. But no, couldn’t do that. Hm, how do I make them interested while sounding like Nico…

Will lit up when he finally realized what to do. Really, he should be better at this, he has so many little siblings. But he and Nico didn’t exactly behave in the same way. Nico didn’t like coddling kids in any way, especially not in his class. That’s probably why they loved him so much.

“Okay, okay,” Will said loudly, cutting off the students’ whispering as he sat down in front of them. “How about I tell you a story?”

Immediately, all the kids cheered and sat down as close to him as they could, stars shining in their eyes.

“Haven’t you fought werewolves?”

“Do you see ghosts?”

“You fought with Percy Jackson! Tell us about him!”

“What kind of powers do you have?”

“Oh, tell us about defeating the Titans!”

“Are zombies, like, super gross?”

Will laughed at how excited they all were. He almost forgot that Nico was a famous war hero instead of his dorky boyfriend. “Okay, listen closely. You may learn a thing or two from my heroic tales!” He puffed out his chest dramatically, drawing adorable giggles from everyone. He then launched into a story about one of Nico’s many battles, throwing in how he used his medical knowledge to patch himself up and continue fighting. Needless to say, everyone paid attention when Will brought out some bandage rolls for them to practice with.

---

*At the infirmary*

“Will, what in Hades are you doing?”

Nico jumped at Kayla’s voice sounding behind him. His head knocked into a shelf, spilling supplies on the floor. He was not hiding in the supply closet.

“Um,” he began eloquently. “Inventorying?”

Kayla rolled her eyes. “Bro, you did that yesterday. And we don’t have that many people coming in here, so I highly doubt we’re low on anything.” So maybe she was just exasperated with her brother and didn’t suspect anything weird was going on.

“Well, you know me,” was a phrase that Will never said and yet it’s all Nico could think of. He shrugged apologetically at Will’s sister.

“Whatever, come on, Cecil just came in with some burns on his arms. I’d say it was from the lava wall, but he probably exploded something in his face.” She led the way out of the supply closet and toward the front of the infirmary. Where Cecil, Will’s best friend, was waiting and would surely notice something off about Will.

“What are you going to do?” he asked Kayla.

She eyed him with some suspicion. “… What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, uh,” Nico was confused. “Um, nothing? Whatever you normally do?”

“… Huh.” (Will had definitely given her a task to do that morning.)

She was about to respond when Nico blurted out, “You can end early, if you want.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. That was not a common thing for the head medic to say, for sure.

“I mean,” Nico floundered for any sort of reasoning. “You’ve been working hard recently, and I just thought you might like a little extra free time.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And you’re taking the cabin to dinner tonight since I’m working, which is hard enough.”

At that, Kayla laughed and seemed to relax. “Yeah, no kidding. You want me gone? I’m gone, no problem.” Nico sighed with relief. Then he realized that if anyone came in majorly injured, he’d have no help. He thought about taking it back, but she was already out the door.

With another sigh, Nico headed toward the bed Cecil was currently lounging on, not concerned in the slightest about the mild burns on his forearms. He picked up his head as Nico approached.

“‘Sup, Will!”

Nico shook his head, feeling Will’s blond wisps tickle his face as he did so, and gave his friend an exasperated smile like he’d seen Will do a million times over. “Here again, Markowitz?”

Cecil threw his head back and laughed. “Markowitz? I thought Mr. Doom-and-Gloom was the only one who used last names like the old-timer he is?”

“Uh,” Nico fumbled. “Yeah, I was just… testing it out?”

“Okay, Doctor Solace,” Cecil rolled his eyes. “I just need the magic bandages and I’ll be on my way.”

Right, healing magic. Something Will should be able to do. But Nico doesn’t know if he can make his powers work properly. “Right, I’ll just… get some bandages.”

Cecil didn’t seem to notice or care about the healer’s apparent hesitation, simply leaning back on his bed. “Sure thing. So, how’s life, my friend?”

Nico scoffed, “Don’t we see each other every day? Multiple times?”

“That doesn’t mean I know how you’re doing. Is it so wrong I want to hear from my best friend, my buddy, my pal?” Cecil was so dramatic sometimes.

Nico just hummed in response as he came back with some bandages and burn ointment. Thank the gods he had helped out in the infirmary many times in the past. Will taught him the basics at least, and he’d taken care of minor injuries like this before. Hopefully, that was enough, and Cecil didn’t ask for any actual hymns.

“Soooo,” Cecil drawled. “How’s the boyfriend?”

Nico choked on air.

“Oh, come on, Will,” Cecil rolled his eyes. “You should be used to me asking by now. You know I’m nosy!”

“I, um,” Nico didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Cecil continued. “Remember when you used to talk my ear off about Nico? I can’t say I miss those days, but it’s so much harder when I have to pry for information.”

Nico was suddenly much more interested in this conversation. “I didn’t used to talk that much… did I?”

“Oh,” Cecil sat up straight, jostling his arm that Nico was trying to wrap. “Don’t even give me that. You know you did. All I heard was Nico’s so cute and he’s so strong and did you know he used to play Mythomagic? That’s adorable!” He mocked Will’s voice and practically swooned at the end. Even while blushing furiously, Nico had to hold in his laughter. He’s not surprised that Will said those things, but hearing Cecil complain about it made it even funnier.

“I did not,” Nico said indignantly like he’d heard Will do so many times. He wasn’t a good liar.

“Yes, you totally did! Must I recount the many laments of Nico’s beauty and grace?”

Nico really hoped his smile didn’t come off as mischievously as he felt. “Oh, please do.”

---

Will came by the infirmary with a plate of food toward the end of Nico’s shift. The place was empty except for Nico sweeping the floor. Will had to pause in the doorway for a second, his mind still confused when he saw himself doing the sweeping. Is that what I usually look like? But, no, probably not. Because Nico was scowling hard at the floor as he worked, which was an odd look to see on the son of Apollo’s face.

“Knock knock!” Will called out, getting his boyfriend’s attention. Nico blinked a few times at Will, probably jarred in the same way Will was upon seeing himself.

Then he scowled again. “Don’t say that in my body—I look dumb.”

Will gasped in mock offense, then twirled around with his plate of food. “I think I make you look good, Sunshine.” He winked at Nico for good measure, who in turn groaned and dropped the broom where he was.

The boys settled down at Will’s desk, Nico taking Will’s usual seat in case anyone came in. They didn’t want any questions, no matter how innocent.

“So, do you think this body swap business is almost done?” Will asked as they started eating.

Nico could only shrug. “Hopefully. A day is the average length of a curse around here, but who knows?”

Will hummed in agreement. After a few more moments of silence, he asked, “How was the infirmary today? Everything went okay?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah, only Cecil came in with some burns.” He then smirked at his boyfriend. “He also told me some stories.”

“Oh no,” Will muttered as he buried his face in his hands. “About what?” He was afraid to know the answer.

“You know, just about you… and how you used to gush over me all the time.” Nico was fully grinning now. Will didn’t know he could look so evil.

“Ugh, whyyyyy,” he groaned loudly.

“I have so much blackmail material now.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into another brief silence before Nico piped up again. “So, did you kill anyone in my class?”

“Psh, I’ll have you know, I am an excellent teacher,” Will puffed up.

Nico raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, but your sword skills aren’t exactly up to par.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we didn’t use swords today.” Nico’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before he could say anything, Will leapt out of his chair and struck what he probably thought was a heroic pose. “I regaled your students with tales of your bravery,” he trumpeted in a deep, dramatic voice. “While also interjecting some medical advice and emphasizing the importance of field medical knowledge.”

A beat of silence, and then, “Please don’t tell me you said it like that.”

“Just like that,” Will replied, a cheeky grin on his face.

Now it was Nico’s turn to groan, cheeks flooding red with embarrassment. “Will! I have a reputation!”

“Which I have elevated, you’re welcome.” He bowed as he returned to his seat.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

#solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #solangelo fanfic #my fanfic #my fic #fic #fanfic #will solace #nico di angelo #pjo #hoo #toa #my writing #that's all I'm doing for solangelo week 2020 #body swap #solangelo body swap #solangelo week 2020 #solangeloweek2020 #my post

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harryandmolly · 4 years

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fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *7* - final

A/N: thanks for hanging out, guys. always a pleasure 💜

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, butter, adulting

wc: 5.6k

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Lilly takes shallow breaths, all her tight core will allow as she carefully raises her legs back up over her head. The pressure at the crown is almost unbearable -- she’s probably still not totally strong enough to support all her weight in her core and arms like this in a tripod headstand, but she’s never been able to successfully raise her legs off the floor. So she can ignore the pesky brain pulsing. For a few seconds.

Lilly huffs and lowers her legs slowly, spread as wide as she can get them, until her feet hit the floor, taking some of the weight off her head. She unfurls to sit, blinks quickly and grins, catching a glimpse of her bright eyes and flushed cheeks in the reflection of the open glass door. Lilly straightens her back and admires herself, strong and stable, the result of a lot of hard fucking work.

She completes her practice as directed by her perky online instructor and lies in supported fish pose a little longer than usual. She rolls her hips, noticing the way it affects each notch of vertebrae in her back.

Her phone buzzes beside her mat. Her nose twitches as she fights a smile. She glances at it, though she doesn’t need to to know who it is.

Shawn: you coming?

Lilly closes her eyes and types back by muscle memory.

Lilly: shhhhh I’m zen

She rests her phone on her stomach and enjoys the way the night breeze sifts through the room.

The phone makes an angrier but muffled sound on her skin. She checks it, expecting a whining plea or a series of emojis. Instead her jaw drops and she chokes on a breath and pushes herself to sit.

Lilly knows this house as well as her own now. She traces her fingers lovingly along the hallway walls as she winds her way down the stairs and follows the music. It’s Harry Styles, which explains a lot.

The sliding doors to the pool are unlatched but shut to keep out the dreaded mosquitos. It’s past dusk now, the sky will go from cobalt to midnight soon. The pool lights make the water glow a smooth, clean turquoise. It’s interrupted by the boy in the shallow end with his arms hanging on the side, wearing a smirk that barely contains a goofy grin.

Lilly toes carefully over the gravel, hissing as it bites at her feet. The song changes to “Watermelon Sugar,” which incidentally is very appropriate, given the contents of his last text. He notices it too and that smirk gets even dopier.

Lilly shakes her head and glides to the edge of the pool, curling her opalescent painted toes over the edge. She crosses her arms and waves her phone.

“Is this a tease or an actual invitation?”

Shawn lifts a shoulder coyly. He draws a hand into the water and wiggles his fingers through it, looking casual. “Both, I guess. I got you out here, didn’t I?”

Lilly laughs and nods, glancing around. He already grabbed towels for them both when he came out here an hour ago to do laps, part of his regular routine now.

She hears movement in the water and looks down to see him wading toward her. He blinks innocently through wet, dark lashes and places a gentle kiss to each of her big toes, then rests his cheek on her feet.

“Your sushi’s inside on the counter,” he murmurs.

Lilly nods. “I’ll get it later.”

While his eyes are down, Lilly lifts her ribbed crop tank over her head and tosses it on a nearby chair. He lifts his head in time to watch her bare nipples harden in the breeze. His eyes bulge.

“Uh oh, I’m in trouble now,” he teases, kicking off the wall to float on his back as he watches her undress. She wriggles out of her leggings and panties while keeping her eyes on the hills and valleys of his torso.

As she rounds the corner of the pool to take the stairs, Shawn straightens up, sniffing and pushing his hands back through his hair. He opens his arms to her. She walks right in, tucking her arms and legs around him. His content sigh is so heavy the water ripples around them.

His hands wander her back and tangle in the ends of her hair, which looks redder and silkier in the water. Their heads rest side by side like they each need the other to hold them up. Lilly turns her face into his ear, giving his cartilage a lick and greedily sniffling the chlorine in his hair.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the dirtiest text you’ve ever sent me.”

She feels him chuckle and holds him even tighter. He scoops his hands down around her ass and starts to wade deeper into the water.

“You inspire me,” Shawn whispers, swaying with her toward the edge, where he can pin her up against the tile wall. She hisses upon contact with the cool stone and he takes the opportunity to steal a kiss.

It’s languid, exploring. She’s pretty sure he knows better than to try to fuck her in the pool. That’s only hot in movies. She thinks maybe he just missed her.

“How’d it go today?” she hums.

“Good. Mostly. There are still a few pieces that need to come together for the first two tracks and I’m still not quite getting what I want for track eight, but it was productive.”

Despite their circumstances, Lilly and Shawn have been pseudo-functional adults lately. Once the tent (as they’ve taken to calling the makeshift recording booth) went up, Shawn buckled down to focus on recording and working with producers and the other musicians tracking instruments. Lilly has finally tossed herself full time into writing, breaking for yoga and snacks and to visit him, if she’s super quiet, which she’s not, so she always gets politely kicked out after a take or two.

“How ‘bout you?”

Lilly pecks at the corner of his mouth and nods. “Also good. I almost totally rewrote that scene from yesterday but honestly I feel a lot better about it. It has some life in it now.”

“Good,” Shawn purrs, aiming his lips down at her shoulder. She smiles and tilts her nose into his hair again. Greedy, greedy.

“And… I finally did it.”

Shawn lifts his head and watches her like her face will give him a clue. In a matter of seconds, he lights up.

“Shut the fuck up. The whole way?”

Lilly’s cheeks scrunch with the effort of her smile. “The whole way. Probably killed a bunch of brain cells, but I did it.”

“Lill, that’s nuts! That’s so awesome!” he cries, squeezing her tighter, “Shit, I wanted to film it! I was gonna put it on Insta and tag you as #fitspo!”

Lilly snorts and drops her forehead to rest against his. “What a fun way to announce us to the world.”

“That I’m having really hot yoga sex with my really hot, stretchy girlfriend? I love that for me.”

Lilly cackles, dropping her head back against the stone. Shawn plods kisses up her throat.

“Will you show me later?” he asks, speaking into her wet skin.

“Not tonight, you’re going to be very busy, remember?”

Shawn goes quiet and still for a moment, then jolts with a laugh. “Uh huh, right. So busy. All night long kinda busy.”

Lilly can’t hide her squirm. Shawn gathers her in off the wall so she’s plastered against him, their noses brushing.

“That’s the best kind of busy.”

“Don’t headbutt me, don’t headbutt me, don’t headbutt me…”

Lilly’s quite sure he can’t hear her, even though he’s lying on top of her. He refused to get out of bed to get the phone charging cord, so he rolled over onto Lilly, his head on her chest under the sheets, as his hand flails toward the ground.

Lilly’s face scrunches up as he grunts and wriggles.

“Don’t headbutt me, don’t--”

“Huh?”

Shawn lifts his head straight into Lilly’s chin, even as she tries at the last second to tilt it away. His enormous head smacks into the base of her jaw, making her clench down on her tongue. She wails.

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry!”

The cord is forgotten. Shawn pushes himself up over her and cups her jaw, nudging his lips over the bridge of her nose. He pulls back after a few seconds to inspect her.

Lilly swats at him. “Fuck. God, you’re like Megamind only… less blue. I think my tongue is bleeding.”

She sticks her tongue out and lifts her eyebrows. “Ih ih ee-ing?”

Shawn looks closer. “Nope.” He cradles her face in both hands and kisses her soundly, sliding his tongue against hers, pressing a warm sigh out of her sleepy morning body.

“There, all better,” he determines, folding himself down beside her.

“That’s as close to vampirism as I ever hope to get with you,” Lilly grumbles, reaching for her phone. She allows his apology kisses as she scrolls through Twitter and brushes her toes against his calf.

Her shoulders drop. She exhales and puts the phone down. The sheet comes up over her head. Shawn follows curiously.

“What?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Lover Fest is cancelled.”

Shawn makes a murmur of acknowledgement and tucks his arm around her, pulling the covers higher over both of them. The morning light is diffused through the clean white sheet.

“You kinda knew it would be, though,” he points out, sounding dejected for her.

Lilly’s face crumples into a pout. “I mean, yeah, but I just think it sucks that the universe has chosen to keep me from Taylor. My spiritual big sister. My celestial homegirl. Fate keeps us apart and its cruelty is weighing on me.”

Lilly feels safe enough to get melodramatic in front of Shawn for several reasons, not the least of which is that he, too, can pitch an impressive fit when he wants to. He also chooses not to judge her for complaining about a cancelled concert when millions of people around the world are sick and dying, of which she’s well aware. The guilt hits her secondarily, a privilege in and of itself.

“I’m so gross. I have no right to be upset about this right now.”

Shawn lifts some coppery strands out of her face and tucks them behind her ear. “You’re allowed to care about both.”

Lilly remains grouchy and unconvinced.

“Plus, the universe can’t keep you from Taylor forever, since we’re friends.”

Lilly keeps her eyes down and sucks at her front teeth. Shawn nudges her.

“What?”

Lilly’s expression doesn’t change, save for her eyebrows lifting. Her eyes remain unfocused on her legs. Shawn noses at her temple. Her eyes shut.

“Lillian, what?”

Lilly squirms and lifts the sheet over their heads, letting the world back in. She slides out of his arms and out of the bed, crossing to the chair for her cozy shorts and a big shirt.

“... nothing. It’s nothing.”

She knows she’s not getting away with it, not even close. She doesn’t want to look at him to see just how much she’s not pulling this off.

“Baby, come on.”

Lilly takes a long moment to blink and turns to face him. He’s shirtless and flushed in their rumpled sheets. She tilts her head and sighs, drifting back to him. She gets a knee up on the bed and slides her fingers into his curls. They seem to hug around them like her hand belongs there. He’s staring up at her like a woodland creature.

“Nothing. We should stop fucking and go call our moms before they realize that we’re total heathens.”

Shawn swallows uneasily but seems ready to drop it, for now. He takes her wrist to his lips and chuckles.

“My mum already knows.”

“About you, maybe, not about me.”

Shawn smirks and releases her, watching Lilly trail off in search of a cozy phone spot.

“Tell your mom happy mother’s day from me,” he calls.

Lilly looks back at him as she pads down the hall. “And tell yours from me.”

Lilly watches, entranced, as each pat of butter melts seamlessly into the silky pot of mashed potatoes. She’s not thinking, she’s not measuring, just feeling. Butter. Butter. More butter. She adds a whole stick before she realizes what she’s doing. Her gaze darts over her shoulder. Shawn is facing away from her at the other countertop, muttering to himself as he pulls out ingredients for Yorkshire puddings. She mashes her lips together and turns back, whisking hard to incorporate all her sins.

Cooking has become nearly as meditative as yoga recently. After spending their first few weeks together abusing their bodies in different ways, cooking feels like healing now. The grill took them a few attempts to master, and they side-stepped some potentially life threatening disasters to do it, but now they char slabs of eggplant and zucchini and ears of corn wrapped in tinfoil. They roast potatoes in the oven with fresh herbs and olive oil. Cooking brings them together at the end of the day and gives them a way to take care of each other and themselves.

Mother’s Day presented the perfect opportunity to expand their repertoires and distract themselves from missing their families. The Sunday roast was Lilly’s idea -- whole roast chicken with thyme butter, creamy mashed potatoes, roasted root veggies and Yorkshire puddings with gravy. Mother’s Day Sunday roast is a Mendes family tradition, one Shawn hasn’t been around for in a few years. He had hoped to be home for this one. Lilly decides to bring some home to him.

His arm is hard and warm, wriggling between the stove and her waist as he winds it around her. His other hand presents her with a glass of white. She accepts the kiss on the side of her neck and pretends to stir to look busy.

“Oh, hi,” she murmurs into the wide-bowled glass.

“Oh, hi,” he chuckles, giving her a squeeze, “I saw the butter.”

Lilly huffs. “Goddamnit.” She can’t shake her stupid smile though. He was watching her when she wasn’t watching him.

“Gonna kill us both,” he purrs into her skin, like he doesn’t mind one bit.

“My plan all along.”

Shawn hums in response and backs off, to Lilly’s chagrin.

“Batter’s ready, chef.”

Lilly turns the range down low to keep the potatoes warm. She turns and waves him over, gloving her hand with an oven mitt to get the hot muffin tin from the pre-heated oven. She holds it as Shawn pours batter into each cup.

“The trick my mom taught me is not to open the oven door once they’re in there,” Shawn reports with a nod, watching as Lilly closes the door and sets a timer. Lilly glances at him suspiciously.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, kid, who do you think you’re talking to?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “An American.”

Lilly’s eyes bulge and her jaw drops. She swats him across the chest with her mitt, but lets him cradle her up against him anyway.

“You take that back!” she squeaks.

“I know, I’m sorry, I know you hate being reminded.”

Lilly and Shawn sit on the floor and watch the little popovers rise. They don’t open the oven door even once until the timer goes off.

Lilly puts on John Mayer again over the house speakers. They’re eating in the actual dining room today to be fancy, figuring their setting should match their food.

“He’s been soothing my achy soul lately,” Lilly sighs, dropping into her seat, immediately crossing her legs so her foot brushes up against him. Shawn nods absently but his eyes narrow a little at his potatoes. Lilly’s grin takes up half her face.

“You’re jealous!”

Shawn completes the eye roll his face was begging him for. He finishes chewing and sits back to glare at her. “Of course I’m jealous. Why is my music not enough for your achy soul? Why do you need Mayer?”

The teasing lilt in Shawn’s voice just makes Lilly laugh harder. “You love him even more than I do.”

“I do,” he sighs, “Maybe we could FaceTime with him soon and he can soothe you directly.”

Lilly feels herself going magenta. Shawn doesn’t toss around his celebrity weight, or even work his friend connections very often, but when he does, he does it with purpose. Lilly attempts to stay cool. Ish.

“I would not say no to that,” she attempts lightly, but her face-splitting smile gives her away. Shawn grins knowingly and bobs his head.

“I’ll text him. Maybe I can talk to Taylor, too, get you your own personal Lover Fest.”

Lilly’s smile falters a little. Her gaze drifts to her plate. She shoves a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. Shawn notices a shift.

“What?” His mouth is full.

Lilly swallows and lifts a shoulder casually. “I just didn’t figure you were really in a place to be asking Taylor for favors anymore.”

The song changes to a track Lilly doesn’t know. The air seems to crackle. Shawn sits forward as Lilly sits back. She manages to lift her eyes from her crispy chicken skin.

“What do you mean?”

Regret fills Lilly’s gut faster than the food. She takes a long sip of wine.

“I mean after what happened last year.”

He didn’t really need her to clarify, she knows. She also knows he doesn’t require further detail.

He comes up on his elbows, his brow furrowing. “I can probably guess what you think happened, but it’s more complicated than that.”

Lilly exhales and drops her fork, crossing her arms. Shawn looks alarmed.

“I have no doubt you can guess what I think, because you know me pretty well. And you probably also know I think it’s bullshit.”

Shawn’s eyes harden. “Lilly, you don’t know everything. You weren’t there. I don’t owe you an explanation for this, you weren’t involved.”

Lilly’s lips tighten at the corners, the kiss of death. Shawn’s shoulders tighten further, pulling up toward his ears.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think you don’t. Maybe that’s exactly what’s wrong,” Lilly jabs.

Shawn looks baffled. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the one who’s always telling me I don’t owe everyone everything. But now suddenly I owe people every detail? It had nothing to do with me.”

“You thinking it had nothing to do with you is a huge fucking problem, Shawn! It is a privilege! No one has threatened everything you’ve built. Why would they? You’re a white man. And you sat down and shut up when she needed you.”

The muscle in Shawn’s jaw twitches. “You don’t know shit about what I did, you weren’t fucking there. Stop pretending like you know everything. It’s fucking complicated, okay? Jesus, Lilly.”

Lilly deflates and folds her hands, pressing her forehead into them. “Let’s not do this. Let’s just not fucking do this, this was supposed to be nice. Can we not? I don’t want to fight.”

She looks up at him, pleading.

Shawn doesn’t hesitate. “I want to fight.”

Lilly blinks. “What?”

He nods urgently. “I do. I want to fight. Let’s fight, let’s figure it out and get through it. Let’s fucking fight, Lill, because it’s so much better than being fucking silent.”

Lilly swallows. Her stomach lurches. Shawn does not waver.

“Fine. Tell me, then. Tell me what you did. You texted her?”

Shawn scoffs. “I didn’t just fucking text her, I called her. We talked for like an hour. And if she were here, she’d tell you that and she’d say we’re totally fine, we’re good. Because we are.”

Lilly pushes a hand into her hair and feels the tears in her eyes. “No you’re not. You’re not fine. You showed up and did the bare minimum, Shawn, you’re not fucking fine.”

His eyes get huge. “What the fuck, Lilly? You don’t even know her!”

“I don’t have to!” she cries, throwing her arms up, “I don’t have to know her personally to know how many texts and calls she got from guys like you who felt bad but wanted to stay out of the way, stay in their lane, stay out of trouble. When you look at the ratio of women who spoke up compared to men, it’s fucking sad, Shawn. And honestly, I did not expect you to land on the wrong side of that, I really didn’t. But that was just the start.”

He narrows his eyes. “The start of what?”

“You shut down. You just… shut down. You got the girl and then fucked off. You have to know that’s what it looked like to everyone.”

“I fucked off because literally everyone was telling me to. Lilly, I swear to god, if you saw the kind of stuff people were saying to me, about me, about her…”

Lilly feels a chill down her spine. She’s desperate to crawl away from this.

“Shawn--”

“Everyone hated me. Everyone hated us. What was I supposed to do?”

Lilly chews on her lip and mutters, “Maybe not post that gross make out video, for one thing.”

He inhales so sharply Lilly looks up at him. His nostrils are flared. Did he get taller in the last two minutes?

“It was a fucking joke, Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, well, you were the only two who thought it was funny.”

Shawn takes a breath and scrubs his hands over his face, then back into his hair, holding it back as he stares down at his food.

“I know the video was stupid. It wasn’t supposed to make people so mad.”

Lilly shifts in her seat uncomfortably. She takes his olive branch and returns with one of her own.

“Listen, I’m not gonna sit here and defend your entire fandom. I know better. I know a lot of the shit you guys took was unfair. But the distance came from both sides, Shawn. You alienated them, they alienated you right back. It doesn’t matter who shot first. That distance is still there.”

Shawn doesn’t argue her point. He draws a crispy corner of Yorkshire pudding through his gravy and pops it in his mouth. “I really thought the Foundation would turn it around, but it only made it worse.”

Lilly winces. “But you get why, right?”

Shawn clicks his tongue. “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“It’s hollow, Shawn. It didn’t feel like you. Your heart wasn’t in it. It was like someone put your name on it and said ‘okay, guys, tell us what you want this to be.’ I mean, what is it? What do you want it to be?”

Shawn looks hurt. Lilly wonders if she should’ve pulled back a little, then thinks about what he said earlier.

I want to fight.

Lilly realizes maybe she wants to fight too. If fighting means fighting for this, for them, Lilly will get her gloves on and go to work. She steels herself.

“The whole point was to give a voice to my fans, to be the way they can make a difference. Have them act through me. That’s what I liked about it!”

Lilly shuts her eyes. “But it wasn’t your idea.”

She knew that already without him having to say it. The circumstances made that clear.

“Andrew pitched it, but I approved it,” Shawn snaps.

“Then do something with it!” Lilly cries, “Show some ownership! Show everyone you care what it means, what it does. You’ve always been so good at that. It’s one of the reasons people love you so much. Why people were hurt when you disappeared. Suddenly you were either nowhere, or you were with her. People missed you. I fucking know I did.”

Shawn’s shoulders begin to sink. The tense feeling clenching around Lilly’s ribcage loosens. Shawn reaches a hand out, face up on the table. Lilly slips hers into his and watches his thumb rub her skin.

“I didn’t know you were still paying attention,” he whispers.

Lilly lets the past several months drift over her face. “I tried not to.”

What’s left of their food is cold. Mayer’s voice feels loud in the absence of their yelling. They gaze at each other, looking and feeling haunted. Shawn is first to break the silence.

“I don’t want it to be like this. I… I don’t think I want to tell everyone everything all the time, but I don’t want it like this either. I can’t be afraid to talk to my fans.”

Lilly nods. “There’s a middle ground. You can find it.”

Shawn studies the veins in the translucent skin of her wrist. “Will you help me?”

Lilly smirks. “When you want me to, sure. But you don’t need me for that, Shawn.”

He’s silent for a long time. Lilly watches the tears gather in his eyes as they soften.

“But I do need you. I fuckin’ need you, Lill, you know that right?”

Lilly nods eagerly. “I know.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied. “No, I mean, of course I need you, but I want you. I want you so bad, all the time, every day. In every way I can have you. You make everything in my life better. And I swear to god, if you let me, I’ll make sure I can do the same for you.”

Lilly squeezes his hand. Her heart swims up into her throat and pushes out the words she hasn’t said in almost a year. “I love you.”

Shawn illuminates from the inside out. His cheeks go a vivid pink. He squeezes her hand right back and pulls it up to his lips. “I love you too, Lilly.”

Lilly cups his cheek. Her smile is small and quiet, but it’s not fragile.

The song changes. The opening notes are so distinctive, they have Shawn and Lilly smiling knowingly in under three seconds.

“See?” Lilly squawks, “John just gets me.”

Shawn rolls his eyes and pushes his chair back, holding his hand out to her. “Whatever. John may ‘get you,’ but I have you. C’mere.”

Lilly gasps, eyes sparkling. She looks to his face, then his outstretched hand, then back at his face. She’s vibrating in her seat.

“No!”

“Yes!” Shawn laughs. Lilly springs out of her chair and takes his offer before he can reel it back in. He holds their clasped hands to his chest and grins as she takes her place between his bare feet. They bob along awkwardly beside the table, cast in powder blue dusk from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Fucking finally, it’s like, why even bother putting John Mayer on if no one’s gonna ask you to dance?” Lilly crows, looking smug.

Shawn pecks the tip of her nose and pulls her closer. She rests her cheek on his chest.

“Now we see everything that’s going wrong

With the world and those who lead it

We just feel like we don’t have the means

To rise above and beat it…”

Shawn sings along and Lilly doesn’t even pretend like that wasn’t exactly what she wanted. She stares up at him, delighted by his total willingness to satisfy even the little whims she doesn’t say out loud. They don’t notice when the song changes. Lilly magnanimously decides not to step on Shawn’s foot when he says that her body, too, is a wonderland.

But she does prove it to him again later that night.

Epilogue

July 28th, 2020

Lilly squints up at the sky. It’s so blue that her retinas ache, but she finds what she needs.

“Look! Look, a cloud. Not safe to fly. You should stay. Come on, chop chop, bags down. You’re staying.”

Shawn drops his backpack into the trunk of the town car. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviators, but Lilly doesn’t need to see them to know his smile doesn’t quite reach them.

“I’m going to remind you again this was your idea,” he sighs.

Lilly scrunches her face up in protest but it doesn’t push away the tears building in her eyes like she hoped.

He’s right. It’s been almost a month since they had the first conversation about it. It wasn’t nearly as scary when it was hypothetical. It started with an innocent comment, Lilly joking about Shawn not having anything to write about if they’re together and happy all the time.

“You need some angst. How are you ever gonna miss me enough to write about me if we’re standing on top of each other all day every day?”

Shawn brushed it off, but it took hold in both their minds. It was another full week before they had a real conversation about it. Lilly cried and Shawn stared in horror, then held her.

“We cannot become real again in a vacuum. I love you, I love this, but it’s not real life. I want you for real. I need this to be real,” Lilly pleaded.

Negotiations ran in circles for a while. Maybe they just needed a change of scenery, Shawn suggested. They could take a little safe vacation somewhere, rent a place in Malibu or Big Sur. Distance wasn’t the answer. It couldn’t be.

But distance is their reality when the world is not on fire. Lilly does not work in an industry that permits her to follow Shawn around on tour or promo. Even if she did, they agree that arrangement could get emotionally fraught pretty fast. Lilly argues they have to get good at the distance again, since that was one of the factors that broke them up to begin with. Shawn insists that if they’re lucky enough to be together and safe during this time of crisis, there’s no reason to give it up.

Back and forth, round and around and around again. There was no compromise to be made. They were either together or apart.

Shawn tearfully agrees one night. Lilly is immediately horrified.

“No. No, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t go. Shawn, don’t go. Don’t let me bully you into this. This is a terrible fucking plan. Why would you leave? Everything is good!” she sobs.

Shawn wipes his eyes and tucks her into his chest so she can cry without him staring at her.

“You were right, Lill. If we’re ever going to be more than this, we have to start. We have to get better at it.”

“But this is already so good! Shawn, if you leave now, we have no way of knowing when we’ll see each other again. Things are already getting worse. What if you can’t get back?”

Shawn’s jaw clenches. It’s the one thing they haven’t said out loud. This distance could be more permanent than they intend for it to be if the pandemic continues to worsen in the U.S. There’s a possibility that if he leaves now, they won’t see each other again in 2020.

“We’re gonna figure that out,” he insists, wiping his hard calloused thumbs beneath her eyes, “If I have to marry you to make you a Canadian citizen and get you the fuck out of here, I will.”

Lilly’s heart skips a beat even as her eyes narrow. “What a romantic you are.”

Shawn chuckles, but it’s a dull, wet sound through his own tears. He arranges his pre-flight COVID test and buys a ticket home to Toronto the next day.

Without Shawn, and with her roommates calming down and staying virus free, there’s no reason to stay in this big house by herself. They take down the recording tent and send the equipment back. They carefully pry Command hooks off the ceiling, erasing the evidence. They latch up the doors on the balcony for good. Lilly’s car is packed; she’ll head back to Burbank right after Shawn leaves.

The summer breeze ruffles his curls, which she cut again recently so he doesn’t look like a sad sheepdog when he goes home to his mum, after the allotted two weeks of quarantining at his place in Toronto. He reaches for her, and her throat immediately burns, like it was holding off until he touched her again.

“I have terrible ideas. Don’t ever listen to me again,” Lilly half sobs. Shawn folds himself around her. She clings to him, digging her fingernails into the seams of his denim shirt. She feels his shaky exhale and feels ten times worse.

“What did I do?” she hiccups, “Why did I do this?”

Shawn lays his cheek on top of her head and sniffs before he speaks. “Because you want us to be real. Because you know it’s going to be different this time.”

Lilly breathes out slowly. Shawn loosens his grip and shifts to take her face in his hands. His cheeks are patchy pink, his eyes are a little bloodshot. He presses kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and her lips. They kiss until they’re dizzy.

Shawn lets go, maybe because he knows she won’t. He reaches for the door of the car to anchor himself.

“You know how much I love you, right?” Lilly rasps.

Shawn nods. “I know. You know how much I love you, right?”

Lilly’s face crumples. She can’t speak. She nods.

Shawn smiles. “Then we’re gonna be okay.”

Lilly covers her nose and mouth as he climbs into the back of the town car. She stands there until it’s beyond the gates of the driveway and out of sight.

Lilly turns and looks up at the house. It’s not the first time she’s considered the mysterious magic of the place. In its age and grandness, Lilly knows hers is not the only gift it’s given. Theirs are not the only secrets it holds. She’s resigned to never knowing the rest, content with taking what it offered and hoping they left it with some of their own magic, too, for whomever needs it next.

----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @siennarossi @lostinshawnsmemory @umbreakablesoul @sleepybesson @shawnsheaven @poseshawn @shaawnie @shawn-youth @graysonmendes

#shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes drabble #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes blurb

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

All was Golden in the Sky (2/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—-

Rating: Mature Tag List: @kmomof4 ; @shireness-says ; @profdanglaisstuff ; @captainsjedi ; @ultraluckycatnd ; @thejollyroger-writer ; @winterbaby89 ; @melsbels ; @tiganasummertree ; @jennjenn615 (If you’d like to be tagged or not tagged or tell me your thoughts about library chairs, let me know.) AN: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO LOVELY ABOUT THIS STORY. I am genuinely so excited about what’s to come and we’ve got some banter and Chinese food and Ruby and KISSING. THERE’S KISSING IN THIS CHAPTER. Another huge shoutout to @resident-of-storybrooke for her art @distant-rose for her chapter banners @bmbbcs4evr for being the best and @cssns for hosting this event.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

—-

They don’t find much. It’s incredibly frustrating.

And what they do find isn’t in English and only leads to more dead ends and Emma wonders if she’ll end up in the papers if she starts pulling her hair out. The next few days pass in a blur of lingering worries and latent anxiety, slightly musty books and a very nice librarian with brown hair and an easy smile and she’s still got no idea how to save magic or defeat some sort of mythical evil.

Ruby’s spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out how to translate the latest book they’ve requested. It’s not in English.

“This is the worst thing we’ve ever done,” Ruby announces, slumped into one of the chairs at the table they’ve commandeered as their own. Emma is starting to consider the chairs some kind of New York Public Library torture device.

She’s definitely got a bruise on her back.

“Is it?”

Ruby nods seriously, and the bags under her eyes have bags. “Bar none. Including that one time you and Mary Margaret tried to sneak me out before the full moon so she could talk to that one group of rabbits.”

“That was not my idea at all,” Emma argues, memories flitting through her mind and Mary Margaret had been certain that Ruby’s heightened wolf senses would help. It was absurd. The rabbits were terrified. Ruby was hungry. And Granny had threatened to tie them up by their shoestrings in the basement of the diner as soon as she figured out what was going on.

“Semantics,” Ruby mumbles. She huffs out a breath of air, frustration obvious in the sound and someone wearing very expensive headphones actually has the gall to shush them. Emma widens her eyes. “God, this city is the worst,” Ruby continues, voice rising. It’s on purpose.

Emma knows.

She understands.

She’s going to have find ice for back.

“What if we call it a night?” she suggests. “We’re not going to figure anything else out and you’re going to go attack that guy sooner rather than later.” “I resent the suggestion.” “Rubes.”

Ruby sticks her tongue out. “He’s just being a dick for the sake of being a dick. Those headphones are definitely noise-cancelling. It’s ridiculous.” “Chinese or pizza?” “You’re changing the subject on purpose.” “Yes,” Emma nods, slamming shut the book in front of her. The dust it emits makes her cough. “And I really can’t sit in this chair anymore.”

“Ah, well, I guess that’s fair. Alright. And pizza, obviously.”

They order pizza. And eat the whole thing. Plus garlic knots, Ruby making several pointed jokes about vampires that fall a little flat, but Emma’s exhausted and they don’t find anything the next day either. Or the day after that.

And the sun is just starting to go down when Emma jogs up the stairs towards her door, keys clattering in her hand and several different emotions that, mostly, boil down to just pissed off lingering at the base of her spine. There’s someone standing in front of her door.

“C’mon,” Emma groans, and she does not have the energy to fight the Dark One right now. Or his minions. Animated or otherwise. “Are you kidding me?” she yells, a sudden tension in the air that she refuses to take responsibility for. Mostly because it only serves to make it blatantly obvious that the person standing in front of her door is not intrinsically evil.

He turns slowly, like he’s a little worried about the reception he’ll get otherwise, a hand in his hair and one side of his mouth tugged up and--

“Hey,” Killian says. “Sorry, uh...hold off on the curses, ok? This isn’t an attack.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Was that not a funny joke?” “No.” “Ah,” he nods, lips quirking back down. He hasn’t moved his hand. “Right, right. Well, ok--that’s thrown a wrench in my plan, honestly.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Did you have a plan?” “Like. Half a one. Possibly three quarters.” “To?” “Talk to you? I saw you this afternoon.”

She cannot possibly get her eyebrows to go any higher up her forehead. She tries anyway. “You know you’re really not selling this whole no-stalker thing.”

“Yeah, I realize that,” Killian laughs, hand falling back to his side when he takes a step towards her. Emma doesn’t flinch. “I don’t usually work that far uptown, but Belle asked me to cover her shift and she’s been telling me about this woman coming in for the last few days asking about myths and legends and--” “--Hold on, hold on,” Emma interrupts sharply. Her hands are resting on his chest. She doesn’t remember deciding to do that. “Belle the very nice librarian? Is talking about me? To you?” “She’ll like that title quite a bit actually.” “Killian!”

Emma has to stop staring at his mouth. It’s doing weird things to her...soul. And the voice in the vision or whatever she’d had a few days before was oddly familiar. Killian swallows, tongue flashing between his lips and he moves his hand excruciatingly slow, fingers curling around her wrist like they belong there.

“Belle and I have worked at the library for years,” he explains. “Known each other since the dawn of time and all that cliché shit. She’s my friend. And Scarlet’s fiancée.” “No shit.”

He barks out a laugh and for one, incredibly crazy, sleep-deprived second Emma is certain he’s going to kiss her. Right there in the hallway.

She has to glance down to make sure she hasn’t burst into flames.

She hasn’t.

And Killian doesn’t kiss her.

Damn.

“I promise I’m telling you the complete and honest truth, Swan,” Killian grins. “But, uh...Belle’s been fascinated by whatever it is you’re working on. Said it was the project of the century or something. Only, well, she and Scarlet had to do some wedding venue thing today--” “--Wow, you’re really getting into the romance of it, huh?” His eyebrows are more impressive than hers. “I hate the uptown D. It always smells like garbage on that train.” “We’ve been walking.” “God, that would take forever.” Emma hums, tugging lightly on the shirt her one hand is still resting on “Tell the rest of your story. So, you were stalking me again?” “Not intentionally.”

“Points for effort I suppose,” she mutters, hopeful she’ll get another smile for her joke. She does. “And you didn’t want to...you know, say something when you saw me?”

“You looked rather caught up in thought, love. It’d be rude to interrupt someone so studious.” “Sure it would. So...what is this, then? You letting me know that you were staring longingly across--what’s the name of that one room?”

“The Rose Main Reading Room.” “Naturally.” Killian scoffs, ducking his gaze and digging the toe of his shoe into the horrendous carpet of their apartment building’s hallway. “I just...well, like I said, Belle mentioned that you’d been in there. Obviously she didn’t know I knew you, but--what?” The face thing. It’s got to stop.

“Do you?” Emma challenges, and it’s too much, an overstep and movement away from flirting, but her magic is soaring and she’s having a difficult time staying cognizant. Her fingers grip Killian’s shirt tighter. “Know me?” He blinks. “I’d like to.”

And that’s enough. It shouldn’t be. But it is. It’s enough and then some, a promise and a guarantee and Killian’s soft exhale is warm on Emma’s cheek when he moves his head back up.

He can’t possibly feel her magic.

She knows it.

She wants to be wrong.

Desperately.

He didn’t actually object to her use of longing.

“Huh,” Emma says lamely. Killian smirks. “Belle’s been talking about the research? “She’s a giant nerd.”

Her smile moves across her face like it belongs there, any sense of nervous energy disappearing into a cloud of magic and...something else. The cloud is metaphorical. “It sounds a little bit like you’re the giant nerd and you just don’t want to give yourself up.”

“I’m not disputing the possible idea that I may be passably curious in whatever you’re doing in the classics section and why some of the books that you’ve been requesting are not in English.”

“Shouldn’t there be, like, some kind of librarian-patron confidentiality agreement?” “Not as such, no.” Emma clicks her tongue. This is flirting. “Ok, so. Belle’s a great, big giant gossip and she tells you...what? That I’m researching something, some of which is in a language I absolutely cannot understand and--” “--I can.”

“I’m sorry, what?” “She mentioned one of the books you requested two days ago was a myth about the Olympian crystal and as far as I know the only version the Library has of that is very much in Greek.” “And you can read Greek?” Killian nods, all smug and certain and it’s not a bad look either. “Jeez,” Emma groans. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why are you looking at scripts about the Olympian crystal, Swan?” “No explanation about the Greek thing, huh?” “I was in the Navy. It was an elective.” “Honestly?” He eyes her meaningfully, a look that probably shouldn’t send a spark of heat down her spine, but Emma’s lost control of the entire situation and even the idea of the Olympian crystal freaks her out. “You’re really not going to let this go? Why were you lurking outside my door? And don’t tell me it’s about the Greeks. It’s--I know, that’s not it.”

She really, truly does not mean for it to be an accusation. She doesn't. It just comes out that way. And she’s positive she’s right.

Killian sighs.

“I wanted to apologize,” he mutters. “For...well, upsetting your friend and even letting myself into your apartment and--”

“--I invited you in.” “Yeah, but that doesn’t…” He cuts himself off, a tick in his jaw when he clenches it. “What’s going on, Emma?” They both tense slightly at the use of her name – the first time that’s happened and it’s only their second conversation. Emma resists the urge to shake her arms at her side, flush with energy and magic and missing something. Something big.

“The Olympian crystal is supposed to be incredibly dangerous,” Killian continues. “Destroy someone’s entire existence. It’s not…” “Real?” “I didn’t say that.” “And what are you saying? Exactly?” Killian tilts his head, looking almost defeated. That’s a not-so-great look. “When I woke up the other morning your friend said that you couldn’t let people in. Why? Because it has to do with the Olympian crystal?”

“Oh my God,” Emma hisses, yanking her hand back to her side. She elbows herself in the ribs. “Who the hell do you think you are? And can you pick a goddamn lane? One second you’re apologizing and flirting and doing that stupid eyebrow thing and--” “--Stupid eyebrow thing?” “Shut up! I..” She exhales, hard enough that she ruffles the ends of her hair. Killian doesn’t move. “I can’t tell you what is going on, because it’s--well, frankly it’s way too much for you to deal with and you’re some guy from the hallway. You’re not...you don’t know anything about me. Nothing. And this would...you’d run.”

Killian takes a step back.

He looks like she’s slapped him.

“Try me,” he challenges, a sneer to his lips that makes Emma’s blood and magic boil in equal measure.

“No.” “Swan.” “No.” Killian clicks his tongue, the blue in his gaze getting sharper when he crowds back into Emma’s space. The hand that lands on her hip is heavy, warmth seeping through the thin material of her shirt and the light at the other end of the hall flickers again. “Try me,” he repeats. “You can even say it in Greek if you’d like.” “I can't speak Greek.” “Then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, love.”

She considers her options. Option one is punching him squarely in the jaw. It’s appealing, honestly, but she can’t remember if she’s supposed to keep her thumb insider her fist or out and that kind of nullifies the whole thing. Option two is cursing him. Also appealing, but just as irresponsible, even if the magic roaring in her ears is any indication of what she’d be able to do.

Option three is..terrifying.

And, naturally, the one she picks.

“I’m a witch.”

The pinch that suddenly appears between Killian’s eyebrows will very likely linger there for the rest of his life. “Wait. What?” “I told you, you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” “You’re putting words in my mouth, Swan. I never said that. I’m just...trying to process. Like. A real witch? Do you have a broom?” “That’s rude.” “That’s a legitimate question!” “No, it’s not. I don’t need a broom.” “Naturally.” She rolls her eyes at the forced casualness of his voice. “Ok, so why would a witch need a powerful soul destroyer from the Gods?”

“Sit down. This might take a couple minutes.”

Emma tells him. The whole goddamn story. Prophecy and evil beings and she’s not sure she can actually destroy someone’s essence like that, but she’s not sure she has another choice and she can’t figure out why the Dark One hasn’t made a move yet.

And Killian, to his credit, doesn’t interrupt. He listens and nods and that pinch is still there, but Emma figures that’s more than fair and her mouth is dry by the time she finishes. It really is an incredibly uncomfortable wall to lean against.

“Huh,” Killian says when Emma finishes, twisting her mouth at the rather lackluster response.

“You don’t believe me.” “I need you to stop making such sweeping assumptions about me, love. It’s disappointing.” “I don’t know you.” “And yet you told me about this.” “You were waiting outside my door to apologize for being invited inside.” He hums, fingers finding the back of his hair again and it’s a nervous habit. Emma’s starting to catalogue those. Maybe she’s also a librarian. “That’s true,” he admits. “But, uh...just to make sure I’ve got it all right here. You, the prophesied Savior of magic, left your magical hometown when the evil guy--” “--The Dark One.” “Right, right, when he showed up. And now you’re going to use the Olympian crystal to destroy him from existence.” “God, it sounds like shit when you say it like that.” “I’m afraid it’s not a particularly positive experience, Swan. The heroes of the stories didn’t use it very often. And how do you figure the crystal will help you restore magic? Keeping in mind that you do, in fact, still have to find it. If it’s real.”

He catches her hand when she tries to swat at him again.

“You’re no help at all.” “I’m pointing out facts. To go along with your fact-based story. You really can’t do any magic?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, not an agreement nor a disagreement because she feels like she could teleport to the moon. Or the sun. They’re on some kind of light-based theme. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on the hum in the back of her head, a quiet push of energy and power and it should be easier than this.

It’s always been easier than this.

Her magic has always been instinctual, like walking back into a dream or falling into a memory. Now it feels like it’s buried deep within her, as if using it will take all her energy and she gasps at the taste of blood in her mouth.

She’d been biting her lip.

“Swan,” Killian mutters, thumb brushing over the curve of her jaw. “C’mon, look at me love. It’s fine, you don’t have to prove anything.” “Holy shit, are we honestly doing this again?”

Emma’s head slams into the wall when she snaps up, Ruby all but snarling a few feet away. Killian sits up straighter. “I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced,” he says, standing up and offering Ruby his hand. She glares at it. “Killian Jones. I live next door.” “And want to keep flirting with Emma.” “Yes, that’s true.”

Ruby clearly isn’t ready for that particular brand of honesty. Neither is Emma. Her heart grows and shrinks and grows again, hammering against her chest in double time. “Em,” Ruby calls, bypassing Killian’s outstretched hand to kick at Emma’s outstretched legs. “Are you going insane? Honestly, tell me because I feel like I deserve to know at this point.”

Emma opens her mouth – her own pointed and vaguely sarcastic remark sitting on the tip of her tongue, but her eyes move to Ruby’s hands and the longer-than-usual nails at the end of her fingers. “Rubes,” she nods. “Look.” “Fucking a…” “Yeah, that’s something isn’t it? When is the next--” “--Tomorrow, actually.”

“Does someone want to explain what is going on?” Killian snaps, and Emma’s going to concuss herself if she keeps slamming her head into the wall.

“Oh, uh, Ruby’s a werewolf,” she says. He can’t quite school his face on that one. It makes her smile. That feels wrong.

“Em, are you fucking kidding me?” Ruby yells. She’s jumping again, bouncing up and down while Killian stares at Emma and the whole thing has dissolved into chaos rather quickly.

“Should we worried about some kind of hallway transformation?” he asks.

Emma’s head hurts. She’s not sure if that’s from the repeated hitting or the eye rolling or how small that type had been, although it may just be a perfect storm of all of that, and Killian’s lips quirk up when she looks at him. “That’s what the amulet is for,” she explains, nodding at the the stone clutched in Ruby’s hand. “So she can control it and--” “--Like wolfsbane potion?” “I need you to stop comparing everything to Harry Potter, it’s not like that.” Ruby makes another strangled noise, disbelief in her gaze when she realizes what that means. Emma holds her hands up. “He can read Greek.”

Ruby stops making noise. At least any that are immediately threatening. “Yeah?” “Yeah. And, I...well, I trust him.”

In the grand scheme of everything, that’s definitely not the most surprising thing that has happened in the last few weeks, but it somewhere in the top five, at least, and Ruby’s mouth falling open is slightly offensive.

“That so?” Emma’s eyes dart towards Killian. He nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I do, and I know Regina said we have to be focused on this and I am. I am all in on operation: save everyone, but I can’t read Greek and his roommate is marrying that librarian.” “Belle?” “Why do you know her name?” “Why don’t you? We’ve talked to her, like, sixty-two times.”

“She brings up a fair point, Swan,” Killian murmurs, moving back towards her and every instinct in Emma’s body, magical or otherwise, screams out to let her head loll to the side. So she can rest it against his leg.

She doesn’t. So she’s at least got that going for her.

Ruby nods approvingly. “Exactly. You know, maybe you’re not the absolute worst. You can stick around, sailor.”

Killian’s hand falls on Emma’s shoulder, gripping her like he’s trying to stay afloat and they all need to stop making water puns. “What?” Ruby asks. “That was funny.” “Not the only one making bad jokes,” Emma mumbles, tilting her head up. As soon as she fixes her magic and gets rid of the Dark One and there are no more imminent threats to most of society, she’s going to break down this wall.

With her hands.

“That turned out to be a far more accurate joke than I was anticipating,” Killian chuckles. “Alright, so this leaves us...where, exactly? Because we still don’t know if the crystal is even a real thing.”

“Oh my God, did you tell him everything?” Ruby screeches, Emma nodding before she finishes the question. She huffs, but it doesn’t sound entirely like exasperation, more like acceptance and Emma will have to thank her for that eventually. “Ok, well--it is kind of weird that your roommate is marrying Belle. And you were just...out here when Em was coming back from her Twinkie quest.” “Zebra Cakes.” “It’s also weird that you remembered that.” “She bought a lot.” “And am still sitting right here,” Emma points out, but Ruby barely acknowledges her. She’s staring at Killian instead, a penetrating gaze that looks a little predatory and a little defensive and the déjà vu has got to stop.

“Wait say you, sailor?” Ruby asks. “You going to help? And not fuck this up for us?” “I don’t have any magic,” Killian says. “I’m not sure how I could possibly fuck it up for you.” Ruby hums noncommittally and the anxiety lingering in the pit of Emma’s stomach moves to wrap around several other internal organs. It’s the worst. “Alright,” Ruby mutters. “Well, I’m still not big on this whole fate thing, but there was a prophecy involved--did she tell you about that too?” Killian nods. “Figures,” she continues, “ok, you’re in, I guess. You better translate the hell out of the Greek.” Killian salutes. They order Chinese food. And he hands Emma the last fortune cookie without asking if she wants it. She totally wants it.

“Thanks,” she says, letting her fingers brush across his and the spark that snaps there is obvious and visible and Emma is positive it has to be a trick of her eyes. It isn’t. She’s really bad at lying, even to herself. “It’s getting kind of late.” Ruby fell asleep twenty minutes earlier, curled into the corner of the living room with more blankets than one person should be allowed to use.

“Yeah,” Killian breathes. He doesn’t move. He’s still staring at her fingers like Emma is going to combust. “What time tomorrow?” “It’s your job, not mine.” “Are you actually in law enforcement?” She laughs. “Yeah, actually. Even the magic folk need laws.” “And you’re the…” “Sheriff of Storybrooke.” Killian lets out a low whistle, thumb moving back and forth across the back of her wrist. “I’ll admit I’m a little intimidated by that kind of power.” “I’m not the mayor.” “There’s a mayor?” “It’s a real town,” she grins, and she’s not sure how they’ve gotten even closer. Her forehead is half an inch away from his, close enough she’s positive she can feel the heat radiating off him. “There’s just some caveats.” “Of the magical variety. Sheriff though, that sounds like an authority.” “Where are you going with this?” Killian shrugs – and there’s no explanation for how easy this is, like they’ve been having these kinds of conversations for their entire life. “If I tell you I have absolutely no idea, but I’m incredibly curious is that going to make you try and hit me again?” “That’s very dramatic. It’s not really hitting it’s--” “--Playful flirting?” His eyebrows defy modern science, twisting and jumping in time with Emma’s ridiculous pulse and she’s going to kiss him. Or he’s going to kiss her. It genuinely does not matter. So, naturally, it gets fucked up.

“Can you guys be quiet for two seconds?” Ruby whines, burrowing further into her den of blankets. Emma sighs, embarrassment mingling with disappointment and neither of those emotions make sense for a grown woman who fate claims will save anyone, but she suddenly feels like a teenager caught making out with her boyfriend and they didn’t even get that far.

“Ten?” Killian asks. “I’ll bring caffeine.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I know a place. I’ll be the one on the other side of the door, ok? Try not to curse me when you open it.”

He’s as good as his word the next morning, although he is a few minutes late, kicking lightly at the bottom of her door and the smile he flashes Emma as soon as she opens it is equal parts stupid, charming and stupid again. Just for good measure.

“Sorry I’m late. Too much stuff to hold, couldn’t knock,” Killian explains, answering a question Emma apparently didn’t need to ask since he appears to be some kind of mind reader. And she doesn’t actually make any noise, which is probably good, but she hadn’t really noticed before and now she’s kind of staring and there’s only one hand.

He’s only got one hand.

He nods towards one of the cups, lips shifting again when her fingers brush his and she’s half a second away from calling him out on how absolutely, goddamn charming he is when-- “There’s cinnamon in this.”

Killian blinks. “Yes.” “Why?” “What?” “Why?” Emma repeats, the word scratching its way out of her throat. It feels like an impossibly large question and an even bigger answer, his eyebrows flying into his hairline. “How did you know that?” “Do you need the coffee to make sense, Swan? You’re speaking in tongues.”

Emma sighs, kicking her foot forward until he gets the message and the cup is going to burn her hand. That probably isn’t a sign either. She’s a disaster. Honestly, prophecy can suck it. “How did you know about the cinnamon thing?” she presses, enunciating every syllable for emphasis.

Killian laughs.

It’s kind of offensive. It’s way too early for quasi-strangers that she inexplicably trusts with her deepest secrets to be laughing at her coffee habits.

And yet…

“Are you suggesting that you’re the only person who puts cinnamon powder in their coffee?” Killian asks. “That’s awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?” “Do you?” He stops laughing. Emma grins triumphantly. “That’s not an answer you know,” she continues, bumping her shoulder against his and she’d barely noticed that they were still moving. They’re already at the bottom of the stairs, the sounds of the city making their way towards Emma’s ears. It’s getting more and more difficult to breathe.

“No.” She almost doesn’t hear him at first – there’s a siren and people and then another siren because someone’s always seemingly getting arrested in Manhattan – but it’s a very slim almost and Emma’s head nearly flies off her neck when she snaps her gaze towards Killian. He doesn’t blink when she looks at him, staring straight ahead with a certainty that’s kind of jarring and kind of comforting and the absolute, visual embodiment of an answer.

He knew she put cinnamon in her coffee.

Weird. And not. Very not.

“Good guess, I suppose,” he mutters, but those words sound like a lie and taste bitter in the air around Emma and her magic needs to chill the fuck out.

She hums, taking a sip of coffee. It’s good. Sweet. It wasn’t a guess. “Right, right. Well, more points to you or whatever. So you want to go find some crystal that can wreck people?”

Any hint of tension around them evaporates as soon as Emma’s tongue presses into the corner of her mouth, a look that makes Killian’s expression shift slightly, eyes going just a bit darker and brows pulling low and the fluttering in her stomach is oddly pleasant.

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, love.” “Incorrect. I think you think I’m hysterical and you want to help. You said so.”

That’s not flirting anymore. That’s serious – deathly, even, or however the Olympian crystal works. Emma’s still not really sure what the difference between a person’s life and their existence is and she’s only a little confused by the inclusion of souls in that, but she can’t think about any of those things when Killian’s eyes do something again.

She takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, I do,” he agrees softly, rocking forward like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her. It’s a dangerous line of thought. “Car or train?” “What?” “Car? Or train? I was serious about the uptown D though, it’s the worst train in the world.” “Seems kind of dramatic, right?” Killian shakes his head. “No, worst train. Bar none. I don’t think they’ve even gotten any of the new ones on there. The map’s not digitized or anything and I live in fear of what exists on those seats. Probably the plague or something.” “Jeez.” “Car.” “Why did you ask then?” “I was being polite,” he says, flashing a smirk over his shoulder when he pulls open the door and Emma can’t roll her eyes when she’s being impossibly charmed by the whole thing.

“Ah, so a gentleman, huh?” “Always.” Emma scoffs, but she knows he’s telling the truth – at least when it comes to her and neither one of them say anything about how close their legs are in the back seat of the cab he hails. He refuses to let her pay – “It’s absurd, you know I have a shit ton of money.” “How is that legal, Swan?” “I mean...it’s not really.” “Poor example of the law, love.” – tugging on her hand to weave through the crowd of people who seem to always be assembled in front of the library.

“Wait, wait, what are you doing?” Killian hums in confusion, Emma yanking on the hand that’s never actually let go of hers because they’re not going to the room with the torture chairs. “What are you doing?” Emma asks again. “Don’t we have to go that way?”

She jerks her head back towards an ostentatious staircase with ridiculous banisters and what may actually be marble steps and the the tips of Killian’s ears go red. He squeezes one eye shut. “Uh, no,” he says, voice clipped and Emma can’t help the way her lips curl up.

“No? I think you’ve got a plan again.” “Part.” “You ever think you’ll come up with a full plan?” He clicks his tongue, but Emma’s close to actually giggling at this point and she barely notices any of the tourists anymore. “I think that I have,” he twists, pulling out a set of keys from his back pocket with the fingers that are currently twisted up with Emma’s, “the ability to provide the lady a very quiet room with, at least, one kind of chair that is not a patented torture device.” “You’re sure you not magic?” Emma quips, ignoring what those words do to her heart beat. She wishes the words would just be words. Maybe not in a library. “You seem awfully good at reading my mind.” “Those chairs are the worst. No give at them at all.” “Yeah, well, they’re wood or something.” “Wood,” Killian confirms, the hint of a laugh on the edge of his voice. Emma’s fairly certain she doesn’t imagine his head dropping closer to hers. It makes that one piece of hair drift dangerously close to his left eyebrow. “And old. We love old here, but they’re not exactly conducive to prolonged research. So,” he jangles the keys in front of Emma’s noise, “you’ve already stolen from CitiBank, what do you think about some casual breaking and entering?” Emma giggles. It’s ridiculous. And her magic flares to life again, the ends of her hair ruffling with the force of it until she’s a little worried she’s also inadvertently levitating. She’s not. That’s good.

Less good is the look on Killian’s face – slightly stunned and a little awed and he can’t feel that. That is impossible. People can’t feel other people’s magic. Unless…

No. No. Absolutely not.

“Swan?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, pushing the magic back into the corners of her brains and her right heel. Like it’ll ground her that way. “Let’s break some laws.”

The whole thing is actually ridiculously easy. They get the scripts from the main desk, Killian grinning at a few more workers and making quiet requests that sound a bit more like demands and Emma probably shouldn’t be impressed by the whole thing.

“You’re like...captain of the library,” she says, half a step behind him as he directs them down a hallway behind a different door. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re very loud.” “I’m curious. Not all of us are mind readers.” “That seems incorrect,” Killian objects, and he has to let go of her hand to get the keys while still holding everything else. Emma is not disappointed by that. Obviously. “Shouldn’t magic work that way?” Emma makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat. “No, no, you’re making sweeping judgments again. Magic’s very...particular, I guess. And personal. It settles into you and...I’m not very good at explaining it.” “I’m in no rush.”

The lock clicks, and Emma only just notices that this door has the words barred from the public emblazoned on the slightly foggy glass. She mumbles several pointed opinions under her breath and every single one makes Killian laugh.

So, points, or whatever.

And it is quieter, fewer footsteps and soft lights and the chair behind the far-too-large desk in the corner has padding.

“Oh shit, that looks comfortable,” Emma mutters before she can stop herself. Killian’s hand tightens when he laughs, head thrown back with ease and a distinct lack of any concern regarding the end of the world or the questionably late appearance of the Dark One.

“That was the point, love. C’mon, sit. Explain the particulars of magic to me.”

Emma does as instructed – only because her back is starting to ache again and she does her best not to audibly groan at how absurdly comfortable the chair is. Killian smirks. “You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” she points out, swinging her feet onto the edge of the desk. If only because she’s fairly certain it will make the smirk more powerful. She’s not disappointed.

“I love watching a plan come together, that’s why.”

“Yuh huh. And avoiding my questions, it seems.” “I think we may be running at the same pace on that one, actually.” “How’d you end up at the library?” Emma asks, doing her best not to make it sound like an accusation. Or an interrogation. “Doesn’t seem…”

Killian’s eyebrows jump. She’s given the smirk too much power. “Doesn’t seem like what?” “I mean...ok, well, you brought it up. You said that some guy wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever been called. So, like...what’s the worst?” “You’re very curious aren’t you?” “I just like to know who I’m talking to.” “Is that a law enforcement thing?” Killian counters, and they’re going in circles. Ruby’s going to be very annoyed if they don’t translate anything. “Or just a magic thing? A need for even more power?” His voice turns hard as he continues talking, an edge that wasn’t there when his fingers were laced through hers and Emma’s getting whiplash from it. “Wow,” she breathes. “That’s kind of a dick move.” Killian sighs, body sagging like he’s holding the world’s heaviest weight. “Yeah, it absolutely is. I--um, well it’s not a good story.” “I told you that I’m the prophesized Savior of magic yesterday and then couldn’t actually prove that I’m capable of doing magic. That’s not the best story either.” He doesn’t object, but Emma knows he wants to, is undeniably convinced that the story she’s about to hear is completely and utterly depressing and she’s only a little disappointed to be proved right. “I wasn’t lying about the Navy,” Killian starts, moving around the desk until he’s perched on the edge and neither one of them point out that his hand lands on her shin. “Enlisted as soon as I could, followed my brother and--” “--What’s your brother’s name?” “It was Liam.” “Oh.” HIs smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He squeezes his hand. “Right,” Killian says, hissing in a breath of air through his teeth. “We were--poor’s not really the right word. It was...bad. But I was young and didn’t realize at first and then Liam enlisted and it was a little better, until it wasn’t and--”

He cuts himself off, face turning pained and Emma doesn’t think. She moves, feet landing on the floor with a thud and her arm moves of its own volition, like there are magnets there or, more likely, magic and Killian presses his cheek against her palm as soon as her skin touches stubble.

Like they’ve done this before.

His fingers are cold when they wrap around her wrist.

“Anyway,” he continues brusquely, “Liam was dead and I was...drowning. God, that’s not even clever.” Emma chuckles, finally letting her forehead rest against his and she’s moved between his legs at some point, an arm around her waist that doesn’t feel strange at all. “It’s almost true though. I did not--” “--Cope?” He nods, eyes flitting down to the plastic at the end of his arm and Emma’s barely noticed it. Really. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “I ran. Which, as you’d probably guess, is generally frowned on by the Navy and most of the armed services. Those in charge don’t really appreciate when you refuse to be held accountable for your actions. I’m not--I’d rather not be told what to do anymore.” “That’s understandable.” Killian jerks back like he’s been shocked, eyes wide and impossibly blue and Emma knows he can hear the magic singing in her veins. “It is,” she adds. “I--well, I get it, I mean. That’s...I’ve never really had something like that, but I...well, I said magic is personal right?” He nods, gaze turning piercing the longer he stares at her. “It is. And my magic has always been instinct. No thinking, just surges of power. But it’s also only ever been mine. Sometimes, when there’s a deep connection between people, they can feel it. David and Mary Margaret are constantly aware of where the other person is.” “That doesn’t sound like it would be enjoyable at all times, love,” Killian reasons. HIs thumb is doing that thing again.

“Eh, it’s more just...knowing that the other person can feel it. Does that make sense?” Another nod. Maybe the mind reading thing is paying off. “Because that means there’s that connection. That...I have no idea how I got to Storybrooke.” Killian blinks. “I don’t understand.” “Neither do I, honestly. I know I’ve been there for years, remember things with Ruby and Mary Margaret and even Regina, but I don’t...the specifics of it don’t make much sense.” “And you don’t…” “You need to finish your sentences,” Emma mutters, curling her fingers around the front of his jacket. “But, uh, no. Not that I’m aware of.” “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

She scrunches her nose. “I’ve got a very strong hunch. And, no, I have no idea about parents or seemingly any family and it’s…well, lonely is depressing, isn’t it?” “A little.” “You’re no help at all,” Emma says, and she can’t move her hands. He’s still holding onto her, nearly every inch of him pressed up against every inch of her. It leaves her breathless and a little overheated and-- “You still didn’t tell me how you became captain of the library? What were you in the Navy, by the way? Like...an officer? Was there a uniform?” “It’s the Navy, love, of course there was a uniform.” She’s going to self combust.

“Not an answer.” “I think you’re thinking about me in uniform.” “Presumptuous.” The smirk has taken on a life of its own – aided by ridiculous eyebrows and a color Emma is certain she’s never seen before, particularly when his eyes flicker towards the lip she’s biting again. “Lieutenant,” Killian mutters, and if Emma was concerned about souls before it’s nothing to what she feels now, as if she’s being twisted and yanked and gravity appears to have disappeared entirely. “I was a lieutenant when I left.” She nods dumbly, trying to get her brain to stay on this plane of existence, a challenge she didn’t entirely expect after having just one cup of coffee that morning.

“I ended up in New York by chance,” Killian continues. “Bounced around a few other cities and thought about staying in Boston for a little while because, well, there’s water there, but...I started stacking books for minimum wage her and then just--”

“--Became captain of the library,” Emma finishes. Her throat is shrinking. That may just be her lungs.

“You’re giving me far too much credit, Swan. I just like knowing things.” “Because you’re a nerd.” He grins – and it would be so easy to kiss him, a quick head tilt and a push of her fingers in his hair, the grip on his jacket tightening slightly with the force of how much she wants to do just that, but Emma’s still teetering on the edge of something that may honestly be insanity and she...has to save the goddamn world.

“Wait until we translate things and then come back with the pointed insults.” Emma nods, a rushing in her ears and she’s glad for the desk so she doesn't fall over. And Killian’s arm. “Swan,” he says lightly, fingers ghosting over her spine, “what are you thinking, love?” “Nothing.” “You’re a rather terrible liar. Everything you’re thinking, straight on your face and--”

She’s going to scream. He won’t finish his sentences and her magic will not do what she wants and the world genuinely cannot wait any longer. “Let’s translate and then I’ll, um...I’ll buy you coffee once we know if I can wreck the Dark One, ok?” The smirk is a genuine smile. It’s worse. Better. Emma clearly needs to read more.

“Of course,” Killian says, moving her back into the chair and her back appreciates that. “Give me a couple minutes, ok?”

It doesn’t even take a few minutes. Emma’s a little annoyed by that and just...everything, because the, approximately, two seconds it takes for Killian’s eyes to scan the research in front of them leads to one very obvious and world-ending realization--

“It’s broken.” Emma waves both her hands in the air, jumping out of the chair in the process. “What is?” “The Olympian crystal,” Killian answers, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s broken. By Zeus himself, if I’m reading this right.” “And we’re sure you’re doing that?” “Swan.” “I know, I know,” she sighs, and that one cup of coffee was not nearly enough. “So what--why was Zeus an ass about this?” “Well, you’ll find that, more often than not, that was just his normal state of being, but, according to this particular legend, Hades had used the crystal to destroy Kronos.” “Am I supposed to know who that is?” Killian smiles, moving back into her space and it takes some finangling to get into the chair with her perched on his leg. Strangers. Neighbors. Obviously not that. The light in the corner of the room flickers. “He was a Titan,” Killian explains. “Father of several gods, including Zeus and Hades and, if you don’t want to interrupt me again, was also kind of a dick.” “Seems to be a trend.” “It’s par for the course when it comes to mythology, I’m afraid.” Emma scoffs, letting her head loll onto his shoulder. “Anyway, what I just read claims that Kronos had chosen Zeus to be king of Olympus and Hades didn’t particularly like it. So. He tried to use the crystal to destroy Zeus. Only it didn’t work and Zeus was well...Zeus.” “Meaning?” “Meaning he destroyed the crystal so Hades couldn’t destroy him. Self defense.” “He’s a god,” Emma argues. “That’s bullshit. So there’s no crystal? Nothing? Not even pieces I could find somewhere?”

Killian shakes his head. “It’s in the Underworld.” “Oh, well, yeah, naturally. Fucking hell.” “So, uh...it seems in order to get the shards of the crystal from Hades, you’d...you know, have to actually die.” “I understand how the Underworld works,” Emma snaps, more ridiculous eyebrow movement and lip quirks and she’s going to fall on the floor. It’s the most absurd sentence in a conversation about Greek gods. “God, don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “I don’t know. Like...I can only say mind reader so many times before it starts to get redundant.”

Killian chuckles, nosing at the curve of her shoulders and Emma’s fingers are going to actually spark if she doesn’t get them in his hair sometime soon. “God forbid we start getting redundant. So, what now, Swan?” That’s not the question she expects.

“What?” “Well, it seems to me the Underworld option is a bit out of the realm of possibility--” “--And possibly not even true.” She’s starting to resent the tongue click a little bit, leaning back when Killian does it again. His eyes are wide. And she hadn’t been that off about the finger sparking thing.

Emma mumbles a few curses under her breath, including some rather scathing opinions about every Greek god she can think of, but the light in her hand doesn’t disappear and the bulb on the other side of the room shatters loudly.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, every letter shaking its way out of her. “What the hell, what the hell, what the hell?”

She tries to jump again, is determined to pace out the energy she can feel shooting up and down her spine and every single one of her limbs, but the arm around her waist is too tight and the look on his face makes Emma freeze. “Hey, hey, relax,” Killian says, but there’s a worry to his voice that makes Emma’s lungs pinch again. “It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re ok, just breathe.”

She doesn’t follow instructions. Maybe they’re both bad at that.

“Emma, c’mon, look at me, love. It’s fine. That wasn’t you.”

There’s a sudden surplus of oxygen in her lungs – a complete turnaround that’s jarring and terrifying and the look on Killian’s face is dangerously close to pleading. Because it doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t know that.

“Right at me,” he whispers, fingers moving across her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there or something as equally impossible as him knowing what magic was her magic. It certainly wasn’t the light bulb thing. “Count in three and exhale five.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Emma mumbles. Her head falls forward again, colliding with his collarbone and the skin under her his warm.

She needs to stop making so many sun puns in her head.

“Everything about this has been ridiculous.” “God, it’s really frustrating when you’re right.”

He laughs again, easier than it’s been all day and the crinkles around his eyes are distracting. “You’re not counting, love.” “And you’re endearment obsessed.”

Killian hums, fingers cupping her elbow because Emma’s never actually let go of his jacket and it takes approximately one deep breath, the word cyan flashing across her brain and the magic in the air turning electric for everything to feel as if it’s, finally, settled.

“You alright?” Killian asks lightly, and Emma licks her lips before she answers. She’s got absolutely-no-fucking idea.

“Where’d you learn the breathing thing?” “Honestly?” “No point in beating around metaphorical bushes, right?” She can see his jaw tense, lips pressed together until they’re barely more than a line and that’s kind of...awful. “Right,” he sighs. “I, uh...have no idea. Just felt like the right thing to say.” “Ah.” “Yeah. Well--that’s magic, huh?” “Something like that,” Emma says, anxious energy curling in the pit of her stomach. He’s still staring at her like he’s surprised she’s there. She’s kind of surprised he hasn’t run. Or she hasn’t run. God, they’re a mess. “Thanks for the help. With the uh...breathing thing.” Emma is going to curse his tongue. It darts between his lips and clicks in reproach because they both know they were half a second away from something and he knew what to say and none of this makes sense. They’ve got to get out of that rom – the walls feel like they’re closing in, air turning heavy and a little muggy, but there’s still an arm wrapped around her middle, skin tingling and pulse racing and--

“My pleasure.” Emma scoffs because none of this is fun and he can’t possibly keep staring at her like that. It’s unnatural. It’s-- “Ah, fuck it,” Emma mutters, and the rest is only slightly irrational. All things considered. She yanks on the front of his jacket, pulling him forward when he lets out a soft grunt of surprise and that’s the only sound she registers until her brain realizes she’s the one making the sounds, a groan and something that might actually be a moan because Killian is impossibly good at kissing her.

Emma’s fingers fly into his hair, carding through strands and scratching lightly at the back of his head. She still doesn’t let go of the jacket. His teeth nip at her lower lip, nose pressed against her cheek and she can feel him inhale, like he’s trying to breathe her in.

She honestly wouldn’t object.

They only pull apart so they can fall back together, a steady rhythm of lips and tongue and slightly heaving shoulders. She can feel his fingers curl around the back of her head, holding her there with a desperation that should probably be far more terrifying than it is. Instead, it’s almost comforting, like he wants her there or needs her there and Emma’s magic rushes through every inch of her, a burst of power and flare of belief and they’re both going to knock this goddamn chair over.

They rock back and forth, trying to occupy the same space and it’s as if someone’s hit some kind of switch. Or moved them to the next level. Of making out. And possibly getting this jacket out of the way.

Killian’s fingers brush over skin, working a sound out of Emma that she refuses to be held accountable for, particularly when she can feel his smile against her mouth.

“That’s stupid,” Emma grumbles, drawing a laugh out of him and the sound feels like it works its way into the very middle of her, settling between the spaces in her ribs and dousing out that nervous, anxious feeling lingering in her stomach.

“You can’t say things like that, Swan, you’ll give a man a complex.” “Yuh huh, you seem to be really lacking confidence.” “Maybe I’m just particularly inspired.” “What a line.”

He leans back, lips far too red and gaze drifting a little bit towards wrecked in a way that makes Emma wonder if they do, in fact, have to leave this room. “That’s not what it is,” Killian says, another promise she hopes she’s not imagining. “I, um...I think I could--” And just like that, the whatever is gone completely and the darkness on the edge of Emma’s vision starts to creep back in and the ringing phone in her pocket is impossibly loud.

“--Don’t,” she warns. “Don’t say things you can’t actually mean.” “Swan…” She shakes her head quickly, standing up and all but slamming the phone against her ear. “What?”

The scream she hears makes Emma’s knees buckle, a piercing sound that’s nothing short of absolutely terrified. “Emma,” Ruby cries, other voices in the background and a few grunts of pain from a person she can’t distinguish. “Minions. Now. Here. Now!”

The line goes dead, but that may be because Emma’s dropped her goddamn phone and she needs to stop doing that.

“Swan--” Killian snaps his jaw shut as soon as he sees whatever look has landed on her face and she barely gets her hang onto me out before she’s lacing her fingers through his and squeezing her eyes closed.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #all was golden in the sky #that stupid witch fic #sorry for the posting delay guys being an adult is the worst

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feed-the-birdss · 5 years

Text

Take Me Away

Thank you so much to @blitheringmcgonagall and @jilystar04 who tagged me in the Motivation Monday yesterday. It really helped me to finish this. Also, a thanks to @petals-to-fish and @flippin-fins who are another two big motivators of mine!!

Author’s Note: I’ve been on a bit of a hiatus due to a mixture of travelling, birthday festivities and health reasons. However, I’ve had this idea for a while now, and I really wanted to share it before I leave for my next big trip. I hope you all enjoy, and it’s loosely based on the song “Cowboy Take Me Away” by the Dixie Chicks.

Read it on Fanfic

The flat was quiet—too quiet. There were pieces of parchment scattered all over the floor accompanied with the occasional ink blot. Opened and half-empty containers were strewn across the countertops and tabletops of the kitchen with labels like “Aconite”, “Ginger”, “Frog Brain”, “Dragon’s Blood” and “Boomslang”. On the stove was a large pewter cauldron with purple steam billowing out of it. And on the window ledge, with an empty wine glass on the floor next to her sat Lily Evans. Her knees were tucked in close to her chest, with an elbow resting on one knee, and her head in her hand.

Her dark and puffy green eyes were wearily following the movements of the grey clouds in the sky searching for even the smallest sign of sunshine. It’s been so cold and rainy lately, thanks to the dementors, that she’s forgotten what the sun looked like. Even it if it were sunny outside, she doubts she would be enjoying it. She’s either in the flat working on potions for the Order, under James’ invisibility cloak running after and spying on likely Death Eaters, or so focused on duelling a Death Eater and escaping death that her surroundings are not even noticeable to her.

Lily misses the earth. When she was little, she was always playing outside. Her mother and sister would often berate her for her constantly dirty dresses. Yet, little Lily would frolic bare-footed in the green grass and dirt without a care in the world. Now she’s lucky if she has the time to take a simple stroll through a park with shoes on.

Severus and she used to lie under the large Elm tree by her house and make the falling leaves magically race each other to the ground. Lily once begged her mother to let her and Severus camp out there for the night, but Rose Evans wouldn’t even hear of it. She never trusted that “Snape boy”, and while Lily always believed that was Petunia’s influence, her mother’s concerns ended up being spot-on in that regard.

However, camping was sounding pretty great to Lily right about now. She could finally take the chance to just touch the earth and feel it in her hands without worrying about the Death Eater throwing killing curses at her every second. She could frolic among the wild and unruly plants like she used to when she was a little girl. The corners of her lips started to quirk up at the thought.

Right at that moment, the unmistakable sound of someone apparating outside the door met Lily’s ears which was proceeded by her and James’ secret knock. Lily went up to the door and asked through it, “Who is Luke Skywalker’s father?”

“Darth Vader,” asserted James.

Lily undid the lock and opened the door to find James pointing his wand at her with a teasing smirk on his face. He never could take this security measure seriously. “Who was your best shag?” he asked confidently.

“Sirius, obviously,” Lily responded with a smirk that echoed the one that quickly vanished from his face at her response.

“Not funny Evans,” he pouted.

“Well you know what Dumbledore said last meeting, the Death Eaters have Sev—uhh—well, their own Potions Master, and we should be prepared for the possibility that they’re making Polyjuice Potion,” she sighed, turned around and headed to the kitchen to check on her potion.

James was going to continue whinging about her cruel joke, but once she brought up her ex-best friend’s current activities, he thought better of it and followed her into the kitchen. “Fine, I’ll ask a better question. When was our best shag?” He asked with the smirk back on his face as he walked up to Lily, whose head was bent over the cauldron, and put his arms around her waist.

Lily rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile that was creeping up on her face, “You’re such a prat,” she said as she turned around in his arms, put her arms up to his neck, and reached her face to kiss his. James greedily returned the kiss, pulling her even closer against him and lifting up her shirt a little so that his hands were touching the soft skin of her waist. Lily’s hands moved from the nape of his neck into his messy black hair as she sucked on his bottom lip.

Just as James’ hands were about travel South in order to pick her up and carry her to their bed, a gentle tapping noise interrupted them. Both of them turned their heads toward the noise to see Sirius’ owl, Owl, at the window with a slip of parchment attached to its claw. Lily detached from James, and as she walked over to the window she said, “And our best shag was that time a few months ago on Remus’ bed.”

“Too right, it was,” James smiled and sighed, “And yet, Remus couldn’t find it in him to be happy for us.”

“Well love, to be fair, I mean, you still give Sirius shit for shagging uh…whats-her-name, on your bed in sixth year.”

“Yeah, well, this was me and you, a couple Remus loves and knows dearly. Sirius fucked a stranger he hasn’t spoken to since. There’s a difference.”

Lily rolled her eyes, an occurrence that happens quite a lot whenever she’s around James, as she opened the window and untied the scroll from the Owl’s leg.

James—me and Remus are going to Hog’s Head for drinks with a few other members tonight, are you and Lily in? (Peter’s a no-show…again…bloody rat)

Lily quickly read the note and handed it over to James with a sigh. She loved everyone in the order dearly, she honestly didn’t know what she would do without them in this mess of a war, but she needed something different right now. Going to the Hog’s Head for drinks was the only fun thing order members could do together without drawing attention to themselves and blowing their cover; so they do it quite often.

“Do you want to go Lils?” asked James.

Just as Lily was about to, begrudgingly, say yes, she remembered something, and her eyes glimmered with excitement as she looked at James, “James, I’m going to go camping,” she stated.

“Okay….so…uh…wait, is that a ‘no’ to the drinks then?” baffled James with furrowed brows.

“Yes.”

“So…’yes’ to the drinks?” he puzzled again.

Lily rolled her eyes, “For someone who got seven NEWTs, you’re awfully dense sometimes. It’s a ‘no’ to the drinks, because tonight, we’re packing up and getting ready to go camping tomorrow morning.”

James’ brows were still furrowed in confusion, and his mouth kept opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. To Lily’s relief, he finally uttered something, “Can you just repeat that please, and maybe offer me some, like, well, much-needed context?”

“Uh..right, that’s probably a good idea. So, again, no to drinks because we are going to camping tomorrow morning. Why are we going camping—well, because I need this James. I need this.” James’ look softened at the desperation in her voice, “I have been going mad lately. I feel like my whole world has just become running into battles, hiding from Death Eaters and potions. I want to experience the earth again.”

“You want to experience the earth again?” James asked with a teasing smirk.

“Fuck yes. Make fun of it all you want. I know it sounds cheesy, but I know you know what I mean James Potter. Like…don’t you miss the earth? We’re in bloody London all the damned time. I mean…you haven’t gone out with Remus and the boys for a full moon in months. You can’t not tell me you’re not going a little mad here,” Lily ranted. “I want to just walk through a forest, where there’s no building in site, only trees and grass, and leaves. I want it to just be me for miles and miles.”

“What about me?”

Lily smiled and put her arms around his waist, “I guess I want you there too. Merlin knows I don’t really want to experience this earth again without your smile there with it,” she assured pressing a light kiss to his lips.

“What about the cold?”

“The stars will be our blanket,” teased Lily

“Uh…what?”

“James, are you a wizard or not? We can handle the actual camping parts of this magically.”

“Right,” nodded James in agreement. Yet something in the stiffness of his body, and the slight furrow left in his brows told Lily he was still hesitant. Come to think of it, James has been acting kind of shady like this for the past few weeks.

“Do you not want to?”

“No, it’s not that at all. I think I need this just as much as you,” he assured, “it’s just that, I mean, well we had those special dinner plans for tomorrow night.”

“We can cook ourselves a nice dinner tomorrow night love.”

James sighed, and nodded slowly, “That’s true I guess.”

“Don’t you want to go flying love? I want to ride your broom. I haven’t done it in so long.”

James smirked, “I want you to ride my broom too Evans.”

Lily ignored the obvious innuendo in his statement, and said “Great, let’s get packing then.”

“Um, right okay, I’ll go cancel those reservations and the…uh some other stuff, and I’ll let Dumbledore and the order know we’re going to take the next few days off.”

The next night, after a day of frolicking in the grass, walking and not running, and flying in a clear blue sky without a building in sight, Lily was snuggled within the comfort of James’ arms under a blanket of stars. The sound of their laughter played in harmony with the chirping crickets and the rustling of the leaves as the wind breezed through them. She and James always manage to have fun together, but this was different. They could have fun without worrying for right now. Even after their day on his broom, she hasn’t felt this free since she found out she was a witch, and she’s never felt closer to James than she had on this day.

After bickering and laughing about whether or not the dog star was named as such because it’s twinkle was kind of shaped like a dog, Lily turned her head towards his and asked, “So are you finally ready to tell me why you’ve been acting shady the past few weeks?”

James chuckled and sighed happily, “You know what…yeah, I actually am.” He turned his head to meet her eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” smiled Lily moving her head in for a kiss, but James used the arm she was lying on to lift a very confused Lily up on to her feet instead.

Once they stood face to face, stars still twinkling above them, surrounded by only trees, grass, flowers and wildlife, James’ hands lightly against Lily’s waist, did James say, “I originally wanted to do this after that dinner we were supposed to have tonight at this fancy muggle restaurant in London, where after I was going to take you to Hog’s Head with all of our friends waiting there.” Lily was starting to see where this was going, and her eyes widened. “Once we got there, Sirius was going to start playing that muggle love song you love so much by that Elvin guy on that mini guitar thing I begged him to learn how to play,” her widened eyes softened with her chuckle and started to glisten with tears, “then I was going to get down on one knee,” James got down on one knee, “pull out my grandmother’s ring,” James pulled out his grandmother’s ring, “and say this: ‘This war is the worst thing that has ever happened to the wizarding world, and yet, you still manage to keep me smiling. Do me the honor of making me smile for the rest of my life, and let me do the same for you. Lily Evans, will you marry me?’”

Just as Lily was about to respond, James snapped the box shut, got up and said with a smirk, “It’s too bad you wanted to go camping instead.”

Lily’s mouth opened in shock, “James!” she exasperated punching him in the arm.

James laughed, “I’m kidding Lils! Only kidding! This place is a way better spot for a proposal…how’d you put it again? Blanket of stars? Now that’s just pure poetry. So this is really the best possible place for you to agree to put up with my shit forever,” he teased, “so what do you say Evans?” he asked opening the ring box once again, “Will you continue to put up with my shit for all eternity?”

Lily rolled her eyes, “Sounds good to me,” she said with a smile as she jumped into his arms and proceeded to kiss him.

#jily #jily canon #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #jily fic #james x lily #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #jily fandom #camping #surprise #dixie chicks #cowboy take me away #feeding birds

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lady-olive-oil · 5 years

Text

Work Out: Chapter 4

A/N: After a well deserved mental break, I was finally able to get this done. It’s bit shorter than i had hoped [by like 200 words] but hey it’s good. And you get to see the protective side of Flo. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged, spots are always available! Without further ado, here we go!

Word Count: 3.8k [woooo!]

Warnings: Sexual themes [Wrap it before you tap it! Being on the pill still doesn’t prevent pregnancies. ALWAYS USE PROTECTION]

Romanian Translations [loosely from google translate]:

uimitor. Ai fost uimitor {amazing. You were amazing}

Lil Nasties Tag Squad: @maddiestundentwritergaines || @designerwriterchic || @themyscxiras || @chaneajoyyy || @jojolu || @dc41896 || @titty-teetee || @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove || @ljstraightnochaser || @mimigemrose || @crushed-pink-petals || @fumbling-fanfics || @madamslayyy || @amelatonin @screamingdrago || @honeychicana

5 am. Who in the hell gets up at 5 freakin am to work out? Hell, I’m a trainer and I don’t even get up at that hour. Mostly 9 am, be at the gym at like 10:30, but not no 5.

This man is trying to kill me, especially after that kiss last night. I couldn’t get it out of my head. His lips were so soft and mesmerizing. The way he held my body close to his, being cautious so that he wouldn’t try to break me. It made me feel so secure, for the first time in years. My hands didn’t know what else to do but to hold his face in my hands and just rub my thumbs against his cheek.

It was like we were meant to be together. We fit like a puzzle and it was amazing.

Groaning gently, sitting up a bit to take in the scenery of the room, I noticed to my left that the bed was empty and cold. I was about to call out his name till I saw a light. Adjusting my eyes to the warm sun that started to creep up and over the clouds, I heard the shower running.

Curiosity got the best of me. Slipping out of his bed; slyly moving towards the door, I slipped inside and leaned against the counter. Just admiring his physique through the clear glass, which I’m thankful that it wasn’t frosted. Thinking about how the water cascades on his muscles, the curve of his ass was glorious.

Debating on joining him, contemplating my next move as I slipped off the large red shirt, I could only think about how hot it would be to shower with him. A Romanian god, that is.

“Are you going to join me draga? Or are you just going to stare at me?” His deep baritone took me out of my space. Locking eyes with him for the first time since last night, I slowly shimmied out of my Victoria Secret sports bra. The matching boy shorts trailed after in a pile, I moved towards the glass and slid the door open.

The look he gave me was glorifying. His strong hands latched onto my hips, pulling me closer to his body. Moving them along my back, mkay admiring me in his presence.

“He’s a fool.” That’s all he could say before kissing me once more. His tongue fought for dominance with mine, I challenged him by tugging on his bottom plump lip with my teeth. Once the kiss broke, I began dragging my nails along his back, he laced his fingers in my braids and tugged a bit. Causing my neck to be exposed, he latched his lips onto it and just went to town.

“Florian…” I groaned out gently, as I felt his tongue lick a protruding vein in my neck. The act alone caused my knees to buckle, my whole being was covered in a euphoric ambiance.

The sound of his name escaping my lips stirred him on even more, lifting me up by my thighs to wrap around his waist. Resting my head against him, our breathes mingling as one, he smirked gently.

“Do we really have to to do this now, Flo?”

“I mean, you’re already up here, and you look so good enough to eat.” He placed heat searing kisses on my breasts, trailing them back up to my neck. Earning another shiver from me, as he moved his hips back and forth against mine.

Without missing a beat, giving him consent, he slid his very impressive dick into my hot wanting pussy. The action alone, caused my breath to hitch at the sudden girth of him.

Never in my days of living on this god forsaken planet, have I ever had a man of his stature make my body hum in delight. He must’ve caught on because, he attempted to sooth me by kissing me.

“God damn, you’re thicker than I thought.”

“You’re tighter than I imagined, draga.”

Once I fully adjusted to his size, my head stayed connected to his. Looking deep into his green hazel eyes, I saw the determination of a great man and skillful lover all in one.

“Well I will say this- holy shit.” He cut me off by moving his thumb against my throbbing clit, at a rapid pace. My nails clawed at his shoulders, gasping sharply.

“What was that, draga?” His voice was hot and heavy in my ear, as I squeezed around him tightly. Tightening my legs around his back to attempt to have him closer. Thank god for being on the pill.

“I-I was trying to say that, Jake has nothing on you~” Whispering against his full reddened lips, he let out a gentle moan as if he was called to shore by a siren. Entranced by the sound and movement.

“I know he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he had.” He held the back of my head, pulled me into a heated kiss.

The way he moved his hips against mine, made everything else seem obsolete. It was as if the lovers of my past didn’t matter, ceased to exist.

The kiss grew more dominate; his movements were sharper and harder, our heartbeats were synced. My nails scratching down his back this time, rewarding myself with a gasp from him this time.

“Is papa bear getting close? Cause I feel it.” I nibbled on his ear a little, and he held my hips tighter. Slamming into me against the cold wall. The water shifted to cold but we didn’t care. I let out a pleasant squeal, rolling my hips into his.

“I should be asking you that, mama bear.” He chuckled lowly with me, and made his lower half roll into me like a snake. The next thing I know, my tongue was grazing his neck and I placed a hickey right below his ear and it drove him crazy. His grip on my hips once again, tightened.

“I’m so close princess, I can feel you shaking in my arms. Just let it go.” Once he licked the outer shell of my ear, I let my release take over.

The dam broke, making my whole being going limp but my legs were locked. His release soon followed, kissing me to clam is both down. Sliding out from me, he let me down gently, still having me close to his slick body.

“That was-”

“uimitor. Ai fost uimitor.” I mumbled softly, with a gentle smile on my face. He kissed my head without a care in the world.

“The water got cold. But luckily there’s another shower head that runs off of a another heater. What do you say, to actually getting clean to go work out?” Handing me a loofah, he moved out the way so I could get ready first.

“Deal.”

-15 Min later-

“How do you like your eggs?” Looking through the hotel menu for breakfast food, I also slid on my Lion King themed tank top.

“Scrambled, with cheese. And a side of you.” He wrapped his strong arms around me from behind, feeling his muscular torso on my back again. Giggling like a schoolgirl.

“That was corny, but cute. You’ve been hanging around Michael a lot, I can tell.” Placing a kiss upon his flustered red cheeks, I went on ahead and placed the room service order.

“Yes I do. He’s a good friend he only wants what best for you.”

“I know he does. Because Jake keeps texting him about me.”

The room went dead silent. Only noise that could be heard was the sound of our breathing, and the music from the radio. The look on his face was enraged and full of frustration.

“Florian. I need you to calm down for me, please?” Gently rubbing his muscular back to keep him centered, I noticed that he eased up a bit and allowed me to kiss the middle of his back.

“Come on. We can chill before breakfast gets here.” Sliding off my leggings, only leaving my black and white body suit on, I crawled back into the hotel bed and waited for him.

“Gege, look up.” He muttered a little, getting my full undivided attention, he snapped a picture of me. Feeling the heat creep up my face, I hid in the pillow.

“Florian! Ok it’s only fair that I take a pic of you for my Instagram. What time is your session again?”

Having him go towards the balcony to get a good morning shot, he had his blue denim shirt open. His hat was on backwards; his grey sweatpants were low and he had mug coffee in hand. Must’ve made himself some with the room machine.

“Not till 10:30. We’ve got about an hour or so left.” Smiling for me with his pearly whites, I got the perfect shot I needed.

“Got it. What shall we do for the next hour or so?” Sauntering back into the room, I was pulled back by a set of strong hands. I yelped a bit mad turned around in his arms.

“I can think of a few things.” Kissing me harder again, he laid me down on the bed and made up for the extra time. I sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

-1 Hour and 45 min later-

“We doing quads today? Cause the more I stretch, the better I’ll be for my BlackLight Run tonight.” I was curious mostly because he was doing upper body and I needed to work on my legs anyway

You see there’s this thing called a BlackLight Run that I do every year in nearby states and cities. The atmosphere is live and filled with so many good vibes. I’m just glad that dance practice was cancelled, in order for me to go.

Working on my legs a bit on the leg press, I couldn’t help but stare at my new found friend. He has an ass of a god. Perfectly sculpted in marble; the curves in the right angles, sweat falling into the right crevices and just looking all kinds of good.

“Damn boy, you look good enough to eat.” I had no shame, I don’t think anyone would.

“Who me? Nah baby girl, it’s you who looks good enough to eat. Besides, It was I who ate you out how many times?” Oh he was being slick with it. The way he presented himself was dominating but caring at the same time. That delicious smirk he gave me was enough to make me cum, right then and there.

The heat in my cheeks returned, and traveled down my body, causing me to shiver.

Watching him head towards the mats to do push ups, he signaled me to come over. On instinct I sat with my legs crossed on his back, watching him in the mirror going up and down as I helped him count.

“Listen, we need a proper night to make love. Fucking is fun and all, but I need to be wined and dined a bit. I know you can do that for me?” Biting my lip a bit, he growled at me in a playful manner, causing a laugh to erupt from my full lips. He stopped mid way, I slid off, and he stood proud to catch his breath.

“I can definitely do that for you prinţesă. I’d do anything for you and you know that. 2nd date night should be somewhere fun.” Kissing my head, he made me feel complete all over again. Is there anything this man couldn’t do to get me to not fall for him? Picking me up again, he nuzzled his nose with mine.

“Goofball. Listen, I was thinking maybe you should teach me how to box?”

“Oh? Why the sudden interest?”

Setting me down back to earth, he made his way to the basketball courts.

“Well, I know how Mandy has been getting on my last nerves?” I followed behind keeping the conversation at bay.

“Yeah I do, along with Jake too. If there’s anything I can do to help let me know ok?” The look he gave me was full of sincerity and hope.

“I will.”

The vibration of my phone broke my concentration with his eyes. Turns out, it was the notifications popping up from Instagram.

“Looks like we got some admirers on our matching posts, and a few toads.” Scoffing at the response in my comments, I knew a few people would rain on our parade. Majority were ecstatic even.

“Let me guess, Jake and Mandy? Figures, can’t let two people enjoy one another in peace.” He bounced the ball around the court a bit, making a few baskets.

“Lord and lady of the toads themselves. I can’t wait for this divorce to go through.” I sighed deeply, watching Florian run back and forth.

“You and me both. I can’t wait to have you fully to myself, more than I do now.” He gave my ass a good smack, that echoed around the room. I groaned and squealed at the same time and caught him laughing at me. Rubbing my now sore cheeks, I stretched again.

“Technically it’ll be our 3rd date, I’m counting this as date number 2.” Snatching the ball from him, he looked like a deer in headlights.

“How about date number 4? I’m going with you to the run tonight, so it’s number 3 Don’t need you running in the dark with some randoms.” He did have a point. I would get cat called at the races I do every year, and it would be a nice change of pace for me to have him there.

“Deal.” Crossing the ball between my legs, doing a few lay ups, I saw him give me a look. Not just any look, the look of domination. The look a lion preys on a gazelle, before they pounce.

“Wanna play or just stare at me like you’re hungry, Mufasa?” I challenged him a bit. The fire in his eyes burned bright within the green and hazel.

“Bring it on Sarabi. We playing Horse by the way. If I win, you have to spend the night again. You’re great at cuddling.” He smiled at me with pure determination and triumph. He exuded so much strength and charisma, that any woman would love to bring him home.

“Ok, ok. If I win, you have to cook me a traditional Romanian dish at my house. I haven’t even had a proper house warming yet, and I think a good old fashioned dinner will do. I’ll even help you.” I offered with so much gusto that he too was surprised by my interest.

“Deal. Bring it on.” He tried to lunge for the ball, I moved backwards and went for my shot.

“Nuh uh pretty boy.” Shooting the basket, making it in, i imitated the crowd cheering.

“You got lucky. Now it’s my turn.” Grabbing the ball, he bounded it against the linoleum court, eyeing me up and down. I lunged this time around and missed, he made a basket.

“Cheater. Now it’s on.”

The game went on for about an hour and a half. It was tied up for a bit, we both had up until the letter ‘s’ in horse. Only thing left to do was shoot at the same time, with a different color ball for me.

“Ready?” I bounced the ball and looked at him curiously. With a nod from him, we both got into place.

“As I’ll ever be Draga. And go!” We both shot our baskets and watched carefully as mike made it into the hoop first.

“Yes! I win! Oh shit I win! I beat the great Florian Munteanu at basketball.” I ran a lap around the gym, with so much excitement.

The act alone caused Florian to chuckle his infamous laugh, and catch me in another bear hug.

“Yeah, yeah. Ok, a deal's a deal. We get to cook a traditional Romanian dinner together. At your house, next week.” He set me down and kissed my forehead sweetly.

“Deal. Now let’s get ready for this race tonight.”

-3.5 miles later-

Covered from head to toe in neon glow powered; surrounded by glow lights and neon paint, the vibe just felt right and I loved it all. Over the last few years, I would try to get Jake to run with me. He would tell me it was childish and pointless.

It broke my heart that he wouldn’t do anything I enjoyed, I would always do the things he wanted. With the divorce coming up, it was my freedom parade. It was my chance to be happy again and I deserve every minute of it. Getting that medal, was worth it along with the photos we took. Of course he signed a few autographs but not too many, he wanted to get back to me.

Doing this with Florian meant the world to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to join me on this journey. Seeing him in a BlackLight Run shirt, eight he sleeves cut off and just looking all kinds of good in his paint. He offered to hold me on his shoulders but I didn’t want to be annoying for everyone else at the party.

Making it back to the car, thankfully we had towels inside, I noticed his demeanor shifted again.

“Flo? Is everything alright?” I was driving down the highway, back to his hotel, and I saw him on the phone.

“I’m not sure if you’d consider Michael saying he got a hold of Jake, alright prinţesă.” His nostrils flared, his chest heaved in vexation. I could tell what he was planning on doing.

“How about you go meet meet up with Mike and I’ll apologize to Sandro and Masias for holding you hostage all day.” Turning the car off, I looked towards him for confirmation.

“Are you sure? Because I just catch him tomorrow-”

“Baby boy, go handle your business. Baby girl can handle herself here and hold down the fort. Besides one more night with you is all I need, plus you can stay with me after you check out.” He looked so relieved to hear me say that I’d be ok by myself. Giving me a sweet kiss, he sauntered off into the night with determination in his step, driving off in my Range Rover.

“Mmm. That boy can walk!” Slipping into the room again, I wondered what he was going to do with Mike to handle Jake.

-Florian’s P.O.V-

“So let me get this straight; he asked you to meet him at his restaurant to talk. Knowing it would get back to Geneva.” I was already not in the mood for his fuckboy shit. It was late and I needed to get back to Geneva.

“Yeah. But I don’t think he thought it would get back to you. She did give me the green light to jack him up a bit, but said you get the first punch.” Michael messed with the toothpick in his mouth, watching the place clear out a little.

“Oh really? Well he’s gonna end up in the hospital if he talks shit.” I could feel the triumphant smile, spread across my face then disappear when I see the snake himself.

He sauntered towards us both, a shocked expression on his face appeared because he saw me. Good to know I got him scared.

“Well, well, well. Mike, I thought this was just gonna be us two for this discussion.” Jake scoffed at me.

I wish I could break his skull, but I’m pretty sure I can’t yet. No matter how hard I want to.

“Cut the shit Jake. You know damn well if anything is pertaining to Geneva, nowadays, you get us both. Now talk.” Nodding along side with Michael, I was leaning against the bar. Trying my very hardest to not punch the piece of shot human being in the face.

“Fine. Seeing as though my last encounter with my wife-”

“Ex wife.” We both interjected, with pride.

“Whatever. I asked her to give me more money for my alimony, cause Mandy and I have a baby.” He continued on and didn’t feel any remorse. I couldn’t believe it, this little shit got some nerve.

“You’re a bigger piece of shit than I thought. What kind of man would ask his ex wife, to pay, for raising his new not child? That he had with someone else?” I couldn’t take it anymore with his condescending ass mouth.

Mike himself looked just as shocked with my rebuttal. I guess you could say I hang around him a lot.

“Wait you asked her that? You’re a sorry piece of shit man. I should deck you right now, because last time I checked you blamed her for the loss of y’all baby.” Mike got in his face this time.

“If you don’t get out of my face, I’ll show you what I’m about.” Jake gave him a once over before before I pulled them apart.

The one who was more heated than ever, was me. I care so much for Geneva that I can’t stand to see this low life take over hers.

“I’m only gonna say this once, and I’m not gonna say it again.” This time it was me who got in his face.

“If I ever catch you around her again, I’ll make sure you end up in the hospital.” I growled through my teeth to make myself clear before heading out. Mike followed in tow, before I heard Jake open his mouth.

“Oh please. She has more class than that, to leave trade in a Lamborghini for what? A Hummer? Ha! Please.” Without even thinking, glancing at Mike for clearance, I grabbed Jake by his suit jacket and held him against the the glass wall. Lifting him up a bit off the ground.

“You chose to make me mad huh? Big mistake.” Setting him down, my right fist came in contact with his gut and his face.

Watching him crumple in feat a bit made my day. I kneeled in front of him and patted his face.

“Put some ice on that. Oh and I’m more of a Dodge Challenger, cause at least I’m more reliable and not rented for the time being.”

Heading out the restaurant, I high fives Mike and felt prideful that I was able to protect Geneva’s honor.

“You on for game night next week?” I asked curiously.

“No doubt. Geneva’s right?” With an arched brow Mike smiled at his phone, must’ve been from his girl.

“The very place. See you soon.” Making my way towards my car, I texted Geneva that I was on my way home. She’s gonna have a filled day with this.

#florian munteanu #florian munteanu fanfic #florian x geneva #work out #work out chapter 4 #genevieve shaw #geneva shaw #sevyn streeter

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rayadraws · 5 years

Note

Hello this is the shitty princess squad anon. AAASHSHDHHSHHDSHSJS THANK YOU SO MUCH AHSHDHAJSDDHSSH I LOVE YOU SJSHSUSHHSSHSSBAHAHSHSHSSH. Yeah Garou as Belle 'cause he is a monsterfucker is a work of galaxy brain. Nobody want to mess with that frying pan, nor its owner. And thank you so much for that Jasmine! Garou. You make him look good in her outfit.

Hehehe you’re VERY welcome and thank YOU for giving me lots of inspiration! In fact...

(2k, SG/GS, swearing otherwise no particular warnings)

”Y’alright?”

Genos looked up at the sky. Silently counted to ten.

He’d messed up - of course he had. Same as always.

”Heeey.”

The call was followed by a foot roughly prodding his side where he laid on his back, on the cracked asphalt. Monster was somewhere off to his left, very dead.

”I’m not carrying you home, get up.”

With a sigh, Genos finally pulled himself into a sitting position, looking down at his torn leg and his missing foot. It wasn’t a large injury in the grand scale of things - he’d certainly been through much worse, plenty of times - but the timing was exceptionally bad. If he’d lost an arm to that stupid sentient road sign he could have replaced it easily, he had several spare sets stuffed in his side of the closet, but a foot… he’d need Kuseno for that, and a visit to the lab would take hours, hours he didn’t have. Not today.

”Oi. People are starting to flock, now that that thing is dead,” Garou grumbled. Crowds of civilians were still… difficult for the former villain.

”Fine.”

Pushing himself to his remaining foot, Genos grabbed Garou by the shoulder for support, slowly limping back towards his and Sensei’s apartment.

”I’ll just have to cancel. That’s all there is to it.”

”Oh boo-hoo. I thought you didn’t even want to go, and now you’re doing the sad cyborg eyes at us?” Badd gave him a pointed look.

It was true - he initially hadn’t been especially pleased to receive the invitation from the HA. A donation drive in the form of a masquerade - as if most heroes weren’t already dressed in questionable outfits on a daily basis! Every S- and A-ranked hero had received an invitation, as well as the B- and C-ranks most beloved by the public. Saitama-sensei was not one of them. Not that it made a difference - each invitation included a ”plus one”, and after considering his options, Genos had naturally insisted that Sensei come with him. He could count it as date night, Genos had argued, one that included free food and entertainment. And as Saitama-sensei agreed to come, Genos found himself growing cautiously optimistic about the whole affair.

Badd, probably simply to be difficult, had invited Garou. The man was still viewed with great distrust by the HA and the public alike, but Genos supposed if he did manage to behave himself, being seen along high-ranked heroes might improve his reputation. And if he didn’t... well, it’d be amusing to watch the chaos go down.

Genos hadn’t been too concerned about the dressing up part. He’d planned on wearing his trusted bunny ears and tail paired with his suit, the one with the suspenders. What he really looked forward to was spending the evening with Saitama-sensei. Maybe they could even dance together…

Except now there’d be no dancing, or walking, or even standing up unaided.

”What’s the big deal? Just have your mans carry you around, I know you’d love that,” Garou snorted. Looking at him, Genos quietly wondered what he had planned to dress up as. Maybe he still had that faux wolf head stashed away somewhere…

”Yeah man, that’d be romantic as shit, right? It’d be just like Cinderella!”

”Cinderella lost her shoe, not her goddamn whole ass foot!” Garou countered, throwing a pillow in Badd’s general direction.

”Yeah, well, this is the cyborg version so there!”

Genos tuned out their bickering, looking down again at his torn leg. It had stopped sparking and it wasn’t painful, but it was damned inconvenient. He didn’t have anything to stick into it to make a temporary peg-leg, did he? Doctor Kuseno would certainly not approve of that kind of repair, but on the other hand, he did often tell Genos to try to get out more and do more fun things... He wasn’t even sure if this would even qualify as fun, but the doctor did also say that he’d try to catch the drive on TV and see if he could spot Genos, and yes, Saitama-sensei too of course, and… well...

He looked up with a start, broken from his train of thought as the door slammed from the end of the room.

”What’s happening? Where is Badd going?”

”To pick up your dress, Cinderella.”

”What?”

”I told him you weren’t listening even if you were nodding!”

”This was not made with cyborgs in mind.”

”Yeah, well, I don’t think any costumes are. Just… don’t make any sudden movements and you’ll be fine.”

Genos wasn’t wrong - the dress clearly was not made for someone of his size, nor his long legs. The skirt ended just below his knees rather than his ankles, and it strained dangerously tight over his chest. He’d put on the most slender arms he had at home and the elbow-length gloves did fit, but only very barely.

”Look at me, and hold still,” Badd continued, hairbrush in hand.

Mildly confused, Genos twisted on the chair so that he looked straight at him, then froze as Badd brushed his hair for him. With deft fingers, he tied a large bow - matching his baby blue dress - into his hair. He seemed so at ease - as if he’d done it a million times before. It wasn’t a skill set Genos would have expected S-rank hero Metal Bat to possess, but-

”Oh. You do your little sister’s hair.”

”Yuh,” Badd muttered through the bobby pins in his mouth. He put a couple into Genos’ hair to keep the bow in place, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

”A beautiful princess,” Garou muttered from where he laid sprawled across the folded futons. ”Where’s your prince tho’?”

”Shut up,” Badd told him. “Go find a broom.”

”A broom?” Genos asked, carefully prodding the bow. He wasn’t accustomed to having something in his hair. Even though the bow weighed so little, he felt very aware of it.

”Don’t touch it!” Badd warned, then jutted his chin at Garou in a nod as thanks when he returned with the broom.

”Yeah, it’s your cane, Cinderella.”

”Oh.”

”Fits your character and all! We put thought into this!”

Carefully Genos took the broom into hand, standing up. It looked dumb. He looked dumb in an outfit so poorly fitting but… well, it’d have to do, he supposed.

The bag Badd had come back with didn’t look even half-empty yet and he leaned forward, trying to get a peek.

”What’s the rest?”

”Well, we decided we should all match n’ shit. That should rake in the donation money, right? They said we should divide ourselves into teams to fight over who gets the most donations, so we figured hey, team Princess!

Genos stared as Badd extracted two more dresses, one bright yellow and one in alternating pink and purple.

”Hell yeah! Time to be a monsterfucker princess!” Garou cried out happily.

”What’s your name supposed to be again?” Genos asked.

”Ra-pun-zel. Ugh, don’t you have a fancy computer brain to help you remember stuff?”

”No,” Genos huffed, feeling oddly vindicated as Garou thumped Badd on the back of his head and tsk-ed.

”Ow! Okay, so, I’m Rapunzel, Garou is Belle and you’re Cin- Deshiderella.

”Disciple-rella? Fine.”

”See, we’re all doing great.”

Genos was not accustomed to walking down the street in a dress, but despite limping along on one leg in a far too tight outfit, he seemed to be faring better than his companions.

”...the fuck you keep your balance in heels?!” Garou yelled as he once again near lost his balance on a bit of uneven asphalt.

”Just shut up and be grateful they had heels in your size!”

Their bickering continued the way it always did, sharp but well-meaning, until they finally reached their destination.

There was… a lot of people. And paparazzi. Of course.

Genos blinked as the cameras turned to the trio of princesses. Was he imagining things, or were they going off much more rapidly than when the previous group of heroes had passed through?

”Demon Cyborg! Metal Bat!”

”...the Hero Hunter..?”

”Such glamorous costumes!”

“You look precious! Absolutely precious!”

”Demon-sama, what happened to your foot?!”

”He’s Deshiderella now!” Badd yelled as he pulled the other two through the door.

Garou and Badd found Genos a chair that could actually hold his weight, mercifully placed him near one of the snack tables, then wandered off to do who knew what. Bother someone, probably.

Slowly chewing on a small sandwich, Genos contemplated how different the evening was turning out compared to how he’d originally planned it. He was supposed to have shown up looking his most dazzling, impressing Sensei not only with his looks but with the surroundings - the music, the people, the… everything. Who cared about donation drive competitions, that had never been what this was about, not for him anyway.

And now here he sat, in a too-short dress with a broom for a cane and no sensei at all. Where was he? Before they’d left, Badd had called Saitama as he was on his was back home, to tell him something - he wouldn’t tell Genos what. But he had promised him that Saitama would meet up with them at the party. But they’d already been here for 18, 19… almost 20 minutes now...

He was once more startled out of his thoughts as another chair was pulled up near his, together with a pleased ”Cyborg princess!”

”Fubuki.” He crossed his arms over his chest, fabric straining over armoured shoulders.

”You look wonderful. That shade of blue suits you. It is a little short, though.”

”We didn’t have time to shop around,” Genos replied, attempting to subtly pull the skirt down. He lifted his eyes to take in all the... sparkles. ”Your dress is very… shiny.”

”Mhm. Is the food any good?” As she asked, Fubuki had one of the little sandwiches float through the air to herself.

”It’s fine.”

”So, where’s your prince?”

”I… don’t know. I came with Metal Bat and Garou.”

”Ah, yes, last I heard they were bothering Amai Mask.”

Genos smiled faintly to himself.

”Which donation team is in the lead?”

”Ah,” Fubuki grinned at him. ”Well, ’Team Princess’ has made a strong impression it seems, but so has the little joint project Sweet Blizzard, despite not being as… coordinated as you three. It’s about evenly tied, right now, between the top A slash B ranked heroes and the three little nobles.”

”Four!” Badd happily corrected as he stepped up to them. His hair was a mess and he looked sweaty, but pleased. ”How’re doing?”

”Fine. Bored.”

”You won’t be for long,” Badd nodded towards the main entry, a ridiculously large set of double doors covered in (probably plastic) gold. There was still a steady stream of people dressed in all manners of costumes passing through, if gravitating towards sexy versions of Other Things. Genos wasn’t sure what he should be looking for, unless- oh.

As was often the case, it was the shiny bald head you noticed first. What was Saitama-sensei wearing… a crown? How did it stay on..?

The most powerful man in the world looked almost small as he carefully stepped into the grand room, easily lost in the crowd despite his brightly coloured outfit. Somehow, he’d managed to find clothes that broadly corresponded with his hero outfit - most of it was yellow, with white accents and if Genos wasn’t mistaken he’d attached his hero cape as well. The boots were different though, and the gloves, and there was a sash across his chest.

Despite the poofy shoulders and knees and loud colours, despite clearly not feeling at ease in this new outfit, Genos was certain he was looking at the most handsome prince in the world.

Prince Saitama.

He stood up, putting his hand on the armrest for support, ready to call out to Saitama-sensei when Badd pushed him back down into the chair.

”Let him come to you!” he growled, and Genos reluctantly obeyed.

It took him a moment, but then Sensei finally spotted Genos and his whole demeanour broke out into relief. He pushed himself through the crowd until he reached the waiting trio.

”Hi,” he waved.

”My lord,” Genos bowed his head from where he sat, noting how his prince blushed at the title.

”My… ’borg. Wanna dance?”

Genos pointed to his leg. ”I can-ah!”

As he spoke, he felt an invisible push, and suddenly he was standing, as if held up by a great pair of invisible hands. It was familiar, but it also wasn’t. How strange to think that different espers could have their own signature… feels. Fubuki was not Tatsumaki.

Gingerly, he took Prince Saitama’s outstretched hand into his own and walked oddly to the dance portion of the hall - he and Fubuki weren’t quite coordinated, so it was somewhat tricky to walk, but at least he could get around without the broom.

He felt Saitama’s other hand against his waist, enjoying the light squeeze he gave him. He looked even more wonderful, up this close.

”Er, Genos? I have no idea how to do this…” he muttered, beginning to sweat.

”Then, let me lead,” Genos smiled, adjusting their positions and hands accordingly. He leaned forward, whispering into the other man’s ear. ”Follow me, my prince.”

”I can’t believe we lost the donation drive challenge to, to them. To a cyborg on one leg, a ruffian and a villain. Not to even mention, Caped Baldy!” Amai Mask groaned, downing the rest of his drink. His cat ears had gone askew on his head, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix them. It was rare for him to be this chatty, especially with anyone in a class lower than himself, but that number of drinks would do that to you...

”Well,” Fubuki smiled back, taking a sip from her own. ”They did all coordinate their outfits, and they looked very cute… especially when the prince danced with his princess…”

”How did he even manage that, on one leg?!”

Fubuki smiled at him. ”I haven’t the faintest idea.”

#shitty teen squad #saigenos #genosai #deshiderella #ficlet #AHHH THIS WAS TUN TO WRITE #I'm imagining Garou-as-Belle just going wild running around in his dress

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2-fast-2-curious · 7 years

Text

Come Around

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You’re dating Peter Parker but thirsting for Spider-Man.

Warnings: The language in this is filthy, definitely NC-17, Peter and the reader are adults and apparently being an adult means that you gain like 3498 levels in dirty talking ability, there’s unprotected sex and thigh riding.

Words: 3026

Author’s Note: I have no idea what I should title this. I spent my 23rd birthday writing this because I have no life/friends. Also watched The Punisher while I was writing and wondering if Frank Castle and Peter Parker ever cross paths when out and about fighting crime in New York City. What I would give to see that interaction… Peter Parker was such a piece of sunshine in Homecoming while Frank Castle is all doom and gloom.

On the subway back to your shared apartment, you texted Peter asking him mundane questions like if he would be home for dinner and whether or not you should wait for him to get home before starting another episode of Bojack Horseman on Netflix. As much as you hated to admit it, you and Peter had settled into a routine and become a boring domesticated couple. It didn’t help that you two hardly saw each other with his sporadic Spider-Man work schedule. The only thing you liked about Peter being gone all the time was the fact that it allowed you to keep a secret of your own.

You sighed as you entered the apartment. There was something about being inside your home that alleviated all the fatigue from your body. You wondered where this energy had been when you were at work. You slumped into the couch and opened your laptop to check on your dirty little secret. It was a blog, a tumblr blog that posted suggestive imagines and visuals for the various superheroes in the universe. Captain America was the most popular with his muscular physique and golden locks. But occasionally they would even post a little something about a certain web-slinger you called your boyfriend, those were your favourites. You typed ‘Spider-Man’ into the search bar at the top of the blog and were happy to see there was a new post.

You bit your lip as your cheeks flushed. The thought had never even crossed your mind. When you first found out you were dating Spider-Man, you were wondering how long it would take until your life was in danger. But that day never came. You probably owed it all to Peter for working so hard at keeping his identity secret. You closed your eyes, imagining what it would be like. You would probably be panicked so the adrenaline would be running through your veins, making all your senses heightened. And when Spider-Man came to save you, he would look oh so good in his skin-tight suit that showed off his masculine form. He would take care of the bad guys who had taken you and help calm you down. You’d be overwhelmed with his generosity and kindheartedness that you couldn’t contain yourself and you’d pull his head to yours in a passionate kiss. And maybe things would get even more heated when you-

You heard the jiggling of keys enter your doorway. “Sweetheart, I’m home“. Peter leaned down and gave you a kiss on your temple as you came back to reality. You watched as he pulled out a large styrofoam container from his backpack. You smiled catching a glimpse of his suit, tucked safely inside his backpack. “I stopped a stick up at a Korean restaurant in Midtown, the owner gave me japchae to bring back.“ Peter said, completely unaware of the fantasy that he just ruined.

You smiled at your boyfriend, he seemed so pleased with himself. “I’m sure you were amazing, babe, you always are.” You grabbed a plate and helped yourself to the delicious tangle of sweet potato noodles

For the next couple of day, that scenario was all you could think about. And maybe, just maybe, you had gone on PornHub and searched for erotic videos based on your boyfriend’s alias.You had fallen in love with Peter Parker but now you were beginning to realize that you also had Spider-Man as well. You fell for Peter and his goofy smile and his unrelenting kindness. But Spider-Man took those qualities to a whole other level. He spent all day helping people, putting others above himself, sacrificing his life, and asking for nothing in return. You felt that Spider-Man deserved to be rewarded, something that was a little more personal than the heaps of praise recognition he got from the general public. You wanted to give him something that was shared between just the two of you and your mind was running wild with an endless list of ideas.You decided that this fantasy was too good not to share.

One day, you got off work early and to make the proper preparations for your fantasy real. You splurged on fancy lingerie and wore it underneath Peter’s favourite outfit of yours. A sweatshirt of his that was oversized and a pair of comfy drawstring pyjama bottoms. You finished doing your makeup just in time to see your boyfriend texting you that he would be back in fifteen minutes. You called your best friend who begrudgingly agreed to tie you up to a dining chair in the middle of your apartment. As your friend was working on getting the rope around your legs, you messaged Peter, telling him to come through the window. You told a little fib about your neighbour having a party with several loud, inebriated guests hanging out in your shared hallway.

Your friend finished tying your hands to the chair and swiftly left the apartment. The sound of your front door closing was perfectly timed with the sound of your living room window opening. Just as you predicted, Peter was in his full Spider-Man get-up with the mask obscuring his beautiful face from your view. Peter wondered why your apartment was so dimly lit and was about to take off his mask when you let out the loudest sound you could make with your mouth taped.

Peter’s head turned at record speed and the eyes of his mask widened when he saw your constricted form. “Y/N, what happened?!?!” He ripped the duct tape off your mouth and you winced, surprised how much it hurt, next time you would fashion a gag out of a bandana or something. “Spider-Man, I’m so glad you came!”

You could see Peter’s brow furrowing through his mask. “Of course, I would come, I texted you that I would be back-wait did you just call me Spider-Man?“ In all the years the two of you had spent together, you had called him Peter, even after he told you who he was and why he was always cancelling dates at the last minute despite being completely smitten with you.

You nodded. “Well, you are Spider-Man, right? Our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man? And you heard my cries for help and came here to save me.“ You fluttered your lengthy mascara-coated eyelashes for emphasis.

You knew Peter would catch on eventually. He was a smart guy and he was a superhero to boot, he knew how to pick up on context cues. “Why yes, yes I am. I’m Spider-Man and I’m here because I had a feeling there was a beautiful woman who needed my assistance. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened here?“

“Well Spider-Man, I had just come home from a bad date, slipped into my sweats when I walked into right into a break and enter happening right in my apartment.“ You smiled feeling Peter’s covered fingers running through your hair in a soothing manner. “Well the robbers tied me up, but it wasn’t long until you got here Spider-Man. Luckily they weren’t able to take anything important.“

“Aw sweetheart, I’m sorry this had to happen to you. I’m also sorry you had such a bad time on your date.“ You could tell that Spider-Man was the kind of hero who would actually listen to you complain about your non-existent love life, he was such a genuinely good person.

You sighed. “Yeah, that sucks. It’s been awhile since I’ve met a guy worth my time. I thought this one might be the one to break my dry spell.“ You looked up at Peter, strategically adjusting yourself against the restraints. Your movement caused the neckline of your/Peter’s sweatshirt to fall off of your shoulder, revealing a lace covered breast. “I even wore my best lingerie.“

Spider-Man’s eyes widened at the sight of the lace, stretched tight over your chest. He wanted to reach out and grope your chest like he would’ve normally. But one look at the red and blue material covering his hand reminded him that to you he was Spider-Man, not Peter Parker, and Spider-Man didn’t go around squeezing the breasts of women he just met.

You cleared your throat, even though Spider-Man had held back on touching you, apparently, it was totally okay to gawk at your chest like he was a teenager seeing a girl in the flesh for the first time… “Spider-Man, aren’t you going to untie me? I can’t possibly thank you properly when I’m restrained like this.”

“Oh right, sorry ma’am.“ Peter made quick work of the knots and soon you were able to move your limbs.

You got up from the chair and leaped into Peter’s arms. “Oh thank you, Spider-Man.“ You lifted up the bottom of his mask and uncovered his full pink lips. You kissed him, taking your time to test and see if kissing Spider-Man was different from kissing Peter.

Peter cupped his hands on your bottom supporting your weight. “You’re very welcome Miss.“

“If it’s okay, I’d like to do more than kiss you to thank you, Spider-Man.“ You gave him a demure smile as you took your sweatshirt off all the way. “Like I said, it’s been awhile since I’ve been well… properly fucked as to speak.“

“This reward you’re proposing sounds a bit selfish don’t you think?“ Peter ran his tongue down the side of your neck, planting soft kisses with his newly exposed mouth. “You’re going to get fucked and I’m going to make you come over and over again and what am I going to get?“

You bit your lip. “I have eyes you know… I see the way you’re looking at me. I bet you’re wondering what I look like underneath these pants, don’t you? Well, let me help out your imagination…” You hopped out of your arms and slowly shimmied your pyjamas down your hips. Bending over to give Peter the best possible view of your wet slit soaking through your panties. “See… Spider-Man, this can be beneficial for both of us.”

Peter ran a finger down the spine of your bent over form and a shiver soon followed suit. His hand continued it’s way down your bottom and gave your cheek a tight squeeze. You giggled as straightened your spine back to standing. “I like it when you touch me, especially since you still have your suit on.“ You guided Peter to take a seat on the chair you were previously bound to and straddled him. “It makes me wonder what that suit feels like against other parts of my body.“

To nobody’s surprise, Spider-Man had amazing thighs. They were thick and muscular. You had always admired Peter’s thighs and although you had thought about it a lot, the two of you had never done this before. Due to your lack of experience, your hip motions began timidly as you tested the waters of what felt right. Soon enough, you had built up a rhythm and throwing your head back in ecstasy. “Spider-Man, do you feel how wet I am? Am I soaking your thigh with my wetness.“

You continued to perform your impromptu lap dance, making his suit feel tighter by the minute. You smirked as you watched him awkwardly scratch the back of his head. It amused you how the more time you spent with Spider-Man, the more Peter Parker mannerisms snuck out. “My suit is made out of a water repellant material…“

You rolled your eyes, of course, it was, you bucked your hips and increased the pressure making Peter groan. “But I do feel how warm your pussy is, it feels so nice.”

“Even better“ Your eyes began to flutter as you felt that familiar warmth heating up your loins. “Spider-Man, I’m close…”

“Cum for me, babygirl, soak those panties for me.“ You clung to his broad shoulders as your entire body shook.

You let out an unsteady sigh. “That was amazing.“

“Yeah? I’ll bet that’s the first time you’ve cum on someone’s thigh before isn’t.“ You nodded, rubbing your cheek against the slippery material covering his chest. Peter knew this was a new experience for you.

“I want your hard cock inside of me. I want you to fuck me Spider-Man.“ Your hands found themselves where they usually went, to Peter’s crotch, but then you realized that there wasn’t a button and fly like pants. Even your research on PornHub hadn’t prepared you for this. “Um…Spider-Man, how does this work?”

“Well, the thing is that it’s a one-piece type of deal. So there’s no way I’m going to be able to have you bouncing on my cock while I’m still wearing it.“ You moved off of Peter as he got off the chair. You smiled when you saw that his right thigh had an extra gossamer sheen due to your actions earlier.

“Oh, okay. Can I take this off?“ you asked gently running your hand down his jawline.

“Yeah sure…“ Peter agreed and shed the tight material off of his torso while you pulled the mask off of his face.

Your mouth fell when you were met with your boyfriend’s brown eyes and sweaty curls. “You’re really handsome…“

Peter chuckled. “You’re not too bad yourself.“ He pulled you close to his body and you pulled away in shock not quite expecting to feel so much of your boyfriend’s skin against yours.

“Do you…do you not wear anything underneath this?” This was completely new information for you, and not just the damsel in distress you were playing.

Peter shrugged. “I don’t really need it. The suit has netting to keep everything in place.“

“That must be some powerful netting.“ You reach down and stroked Peter’s hard cock. “There’s a lot to keep in place.“

Without his Spider-Man get up, it seemed like Peter had reverted back to being your shy and affable boyfriend. His cheeks reddened at your bold comment. “Yeah?“

“Yeah.“ Peter managed to navigate the straps and lace that made up your lingerie well enough to get you out of it. You gave Peter a quick peck on the lips and led him over to the couch. You leaned over the top of it, planting your hands on the cushions, your feet dangling. “Ever since I got this sofa I’ve been thinking of this. You’re so strong, I bet this should be a cakewalk for you.“

“I’d love to fuck that wet cunt of yours when you’re bent over like this.“ Peter used to fingers to spread the wetness between your legs. It was the first time you had been touched all night. Feeling the pads of his fingers lightly brush against your clit made you moan. You felt so sensitive, any kind of stimulation Peter gave you felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

“Wow, you are throbbing, baby girl.“ He put slightly more pressure on your clit, making your eyes close in bliss. All of the sudden, it was all gone. You turned your head, ready to beg Peter to put his hands back on you, just in time to see him licking his fingers, savouring your taste. “You are just absolutely delectable.“

“I’m ready for your cock, I want you to feel you stretching me out.“ You were getting needy. You were getting impatient and started wiggling your bottom wrapping your legs around Peter’s hips, trying to get him closer to you.

“Okay, okay. My greedy girl, I’ll give you what you need.“ Peter lined himself up and used his hands to guide himself inside you. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet. You feel so good.“ He let out a groan, no matter how often the two of you did this, he was never totally mentally prepared for how euphoric you felt wrapped around him, squeezing his length.

You simply weren’t in the mood for Peter to take his sweet time. You put more of your weight into your hands and pushed your hips back, driving his cock deeper inside of you. Peter whimpered at the sight. “Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock. You really are desperate for me aren’t you sweetheart?”

Peter held your hips still, forcing you to stop your movement, waiting for his answer. “Yeah, I’m desperate for you, please.”

“Don’t worry, I got you babygirl.” Peter began exerting more effort into his thrusts, the sound of his hips hitting your ass filled the room. Peter lean over your bent form, his hands playing with your hard nipples. His extra weight on your back pushed you deeper into the couch, further embossing your body into the structure of the couch. It meant that every time Peter bucked his hips, it caused your clit to rub delightfully against the soft velvet material.

“Peter, I’m going to…” You ground your hips, trying to get more friction onto your clit. The fabric of your couch was now completely wet.

“That’s it, darling. Let it out.” Peter whispered encouragingly in your ear. You came for him, yelling Peter’s name as he increased the pace of his movements, your arms giving out and your body falling limp against the support of your couch. Peter release came moments after yours filling you with warmth.

Your boyfriend left your spent body momentarily to go into the kitchen. Upon his return he ran a wet, warm towel between your legs, cleaning up the bodily fluids that were dripping out of you. After he was done, he wrapped you up like a human burrito in the throw blanket that you kept on the couch, laying you down. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to fuck Spider-Man.“

You yawned snuggling into your boyfriend. “Really? Because I’m not. Everyone else in the world knows you as Spider-Man, but to me, you’re Peter Parker, my boyfriend, and that’s something no one else can say. I love you.“

Peter couldn’t resist himself. “I know.“

You shook your head at your boyfriend, trying to suppress the laugh that wanted to escape your lips. “Yeah, I love you, even if that subjects me to your random Star Wars references.“

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker #tom holland #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man x reader #spider-man imagine #spider-man smut #spider-man

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superpsykko-old · 6 years

Text

Sonic Super Fighters Character Highlight: Sonic The Hedgehog

So I’ve mentioned my idea for a Sonic fighting game before, but i wanted to talk about my ideas for the move list each character would have and their playstyle and stuff. This isn’t a real fan-game in development, its just something i would really like to see. strap in cuz this its a bit of a read.

Sonic is the first boy i’ll cover. Sonic should have a rushdown kind of playstyle. He gets all up in your face and does his damnest to not leave. he also should have a really strong combo game with normals and moves that allow him to constantly attack his opponent. He, of course, has fast ground movement and has several moves designed to close the distance between him and the enemy.

Sonic’s unique normal moves are:

Somersault (Forward +Hard Kick): Sonic’s somersault lifted directly from SA2. this is an overhead attack that moves sonic a bit forward and cancels into...

Skid Attack (Down+Hard Kick): a low hitting slide that trips opponents

Stomp (Down + Hard Kick): can only be performed in the air. Lifted from the Boost titles, Sonic will slam straight to the ground.

Sonic’s special moves are:

Spin Dash (Quarter-Circle Back+Kick): Sonic rolls into a ball and spins forward; hits low

Homing Attack (Quarter-Circle Forward+Punch): Sonic dashes directly on the enemy and bounces off. Can also be performed in the air.

Humming Top (Quarter-Circle Back+Kick): Can only be performed in the air. Sonic falls back down while doing a spinning kick.

Sonic Flare (Quarter-Circle Forwrad+Kick): Sonic handstands and throws his whole body into a kick that knocks the enemy away and bounces them against the wall.

Sonic’s Super Moves (the first 2 would require one super meter bar while the last requires 3)

Sonic Boom (Quarter-Circle Back+ Light and Heavy Kick): Sonic dashes forward shrouded in a blue aura. (think of like Cap. America’s Hyper Charging Star from MvC.)

Blue Tornado (Quarter-Circle Forward+ Light and Heavy Kick): Sonic spins fast enough to create a tunnel of wind around himself.

Super Sonic (Quarter-Circle Forward+ Light and Heavy Punch): using the seven chaos emeralds to transform, Super Sonic dashes forward at the speed of light. If the attack connects, he’ll attack the enemy with several light speed dashes.

And thats how i Think Sonic would play out in a fighting game. If you find this interesting let me know if you find this interesting. I’ve actually got a lot of the sonic cast’s move list planned out. just something i do in my free time for fun. I’d like to post more in the future if anybody would like to see

#Sonic the Hedgehog #fighting games #potential game idea #Property of Huguito #Sonic Super Fighters

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thejokersenigma · 6 years

Text

Joker x Reader - Request - Whiskey Courage - Part 2

Hi guys, I meant to get this out yesterday, but the editing took longer than I thought and I keep getting distracted by things.

I’m not particularly pleased with this piece of writing really, I think just because I’ve been making it up as I go along, and I don’t actually know where I was or am going with it! Let’s just say its not my best piece of work....

The request was for fluffy/smutty Joker.... I’ve never written smut, but I am willing to give it a go in the next part if people want me too.... Please let me know if that’s something you guys want!

Hope you like it anyway!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN!

Main MASTERLIST

Whiskey Courage MASTERLIST

You couldn’t say anything, still frozen in surprise at the Joker’s sudden appearance, and trying to work out from his sickly-sweet tone how much trouble you were in. Why was he even here? You thought you heard Frost talking about a local bank job tonight. Why wasn’t he there? Had it been cancelled for some reason? But then, where were the rest of his men?

The Joker had now placed the needle down and was swapping the record for another. He then replaced the needle back into the edge of the vinyl disc and a new song began to play. This one had a completely different tone from the previous swing jazz track. This was slower, deeper, blues-like music. It had a certain sexiness to it.

You dispelled that thought immediately, bringing your attention back to the Joker again. He was dressed the same as earlier – unsurprisingly - though his green hair looked slightly more unruly than usual, like he had been running his hands through it a lot.

“Couldn’t stay away, kitten?” He grinned, raising his eyebrows in question.

You tried to gather yourself together. “It’s – It’s my shift, sir.” You said stupidly, though making sure not to forget your formalities.

“Ah, yes… night time…” He recalled, nodding with a smirk. You didn’t say anything, just watched the Joker as he now moving slowly over to his desk, swinging his legs carelessly. “Tell me, kitten…” He purred in thought. “When does your shift finish?”

“Uh – seven, sir.” You answered.

He glanced over at you. ‘Seven’ he mouthed at you with wide eyes. “Phff,” He let out in a puff of air, “That’s tough, dolly.” He admitted, “And, when does your next shift start?” He asked, looking down at something on his desk, running a hand over it.

“Twelve.”

“Midday?” He asked, his eyes glancing up for confirmation.

You nodded. His eyes dropped again, and he shook his head slowly from side to side. You thought you heard him mutter something like ‘five hours’, but you couldn’t be sure from this distance.

The Joker suddenly straightened up again, forgetting whatever he had been studying, and now making his way to the sideboard behind you that held a variety of alcohols.

“Any days off, doll?” He asked, not looking at you, his focus on picking out one of the many bottles.

You had spun around to follow his movements across the room. “No, sir.” You mumbled.

He waved a hand at you, gesturing you over as he finally decided on a bottle, then reaching for one of the glasses.

You warily stepped towards him, ensuring you kept a distance between the two of you by pausing a few feet away. When you didn’t come any closer, the Joker glanced back at you in annoyance before closing the space, bottle in one hand, and grabbing for your wrist that still held the used glass you had picked up earlier. His cold touch made you flinch in surprise, but he didn’t seem to notice, lifting your arm up and pouring a generous serving of the amber liquid into the glass in your hand.

Without releasing you, the Joker reached back to the sideboard and poured the same into the other glass before placing the bottle down, picking up the glass and swapping it for the one in your hand. His fingers brushing yours felt oddly intimate and his touch on your wrist now felt scolding hot despite his cool skin.

“Have a seat, doll.” He ordered. Your eyes followed where he now gestured, bewildered as to what was going on and surprised to find he was pointing at his desk.

“Sir, I really think I ought to get back to –“ You started, glancing back to the Joker nervously, but the criminal just widened his eyes at you, daring you to decline the offer. You shut your mouth then, not questioning it any further and instead slowly moving towards the desk, expecting any moment for the Joker to lash out at you for misunderstanding his orders. But he remained silent, his eyes on your back as you approached the large wingback office chair, the blues-like music still playing from the record machine.

You glanced back at the Joker one last time - only just stopping yourself from flinching when you noticed he was only a couple of foot away, having not realised he had even been following you – before you gingerly perched on the edge of the seat.

The Joker arched an eyebrow at you and you got the message, shuffling deeper into the chair until you were pressed upright against the backrest.

You were glad that the Joker seemed to find you amusing rather than irritating and watched anxiously as he now moved in front of you, pushing himself agilely onto the desk and crossing his legs like a child.

“Cheers, kitten.” He toasted, leaning down to clink the glass you held numbly in your hands before he then proceeded to toss back the whole thing.

You hesitated - still completely bewildered by what was going on and not sure what you were expected to do – but then the Joker caught your eye and you took a cautious sip from the drink.

He laughed at the face you made as the strong alcohol stung your throat. “Oh, come on, doll, you’re Irish - surely you can do better than that?” He grinned, his eyes alive and dazzling.

You let a scowl flicker across your face, but you knew the Joker was unlikely to let it go, so, against your better judgement, you tilted your head back and swallowed the rest of the glass. You coughed slightly at the repeated burn in your throat and felt the warmth settle in your stomach.

The Joker grinned at your obedience, then reached back and you realised he had brought the bottle with him, soon refilling his glass, then going to do the same to yours.

“Oh – uh - no thank you.” You said quickly, moving the glass away from him, hugging it in towards your body. “Sir.” You added, remembering yourself. “I shouldn’t.” You shouldn’t even have had the first one, but you were kind of glad you had – the warmth of the alcohol having renewed your energy somewhat - if only for a moment.

“There are lots of things you shouldn’t do, kitten.” The Joker purred suggestively, not taking no for an answer and leaning down towards you with the bottle. “And by the look of ya, you need something to keep you on your feet.” You were suddenly aware of how he seemed to tower over from his position on the desk and you could feel your body reacting to his close proximity.

He was right though, already the numbing effect of the drink was wearing off and you wanted nothing more than to relax back into the chair and close your eyes.

“I should actually be getting back to work.” You said quickly, avoiding the bottle again and hastily leaning forward to put the glass on the desk before you got up - not factoring in that this would bring your face dangerously close to the Joker who was already leaning in to you. You felt your hair brush against his cheek and you immediately reeled back, releasing the glass - luckily having been close enough to the desk for it to land safely.

“Excuse me.” You mumbled, your face bright red and now moving to flee from the chair.

Suddenly the Joker’s feet were on either side of you on the chair, creating a barrier with his legs so you were trapped, the only way to escape now was to awkwardly duck under them.

“No apology necessary, kitten.” He grinned down at you. “But what’s the rush?”

You had frozen at his sudden movement to stop you and your eyes now flashed up to his, seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eye, then dropped back to your lap again. “I – uh – have my job to complete, sir.” You stuttered out.

“Not tonight, dolly.” He tutted at you, shaking his head. “You’re taking a night off - on the condition you spend it with me.” He added, and you felt yourself stiffen, your cheeks burning red.

“No. Sir, I can’t – I –“ You stuttered, searching for a coherent thought in your panicky mind.

“I’m not forcing you to sleep with me, doll.” He said, having seen where your mind had immediately gone. “Just entertain me.” He with a shrug as if it was simple.

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand.” You mumbled, glancing up at him, confused what he was asking.

He leant back, running a hand through his hair, a few strands falling over his face as they escaped through his fingers. “Drop the sir, kitten, it’s like nail on chalk in my head.” He growled, his face contorting into a painful grimace. You nodded numbly, not sure what else to do. The Joker then reached for the bottle of whiskey again, pouring another serving into your glass sat by his thigh, then pouring the same into his once again. “And you can have another drink.” He said insisted, handing your glass back to you.

You took it warily, staring down into the contents. What was happening right now? Were you actually taking the night off – with the Joker?

“Doll.” You snapped your head up once more. “Relax.” The Joker growled, and, despite the roughness in his voice, the request was almost gently.

You swallowed apprehensively, then tossed back the drink again. The Joker grinned at your action, copying it with his own drink.

You felt the buzz of yet another shot of strong whiskey burn through your system, your whole body feeling almost lighter now. The Joker continued to ply you with drinks, some of which you sipped at, others which you threw back.

The conversation between the two of you started off stunted and awkward, but as the drinks continued you found yourself slowly relaxing more and opening up, your answers becoming more detailed as the Joker continued to ask you questions about your life - apparently this was what he meant by you ‘entertaining him’.

You had now long forgotten about your job, long stopped worrying if you were somehow being paid to sit and chat with the criminal, long stopped caring that your accent was plain and clear and your attitude barely curbed, your mind was happily burying these worries under a carefree alcoholic cloud. You felt more relaxed than you had in a long time.

Up to that point, it had mainly been the Joker asking you questions, but now you decided to turn the table.

“Can I ask why you here?” You said, making the most of a pause in his questioning. Your head had begun to feel rather heavy and you rested it on the wing of the chair, eyeing the Joker curiously.

“Now that is a very long story, doll.” He grinned, purposely misunderstanding you.

“No, nah, no.” You slurred, shaking your head heavily, making the world fall out of focus for a moment. “Why are you sat here – with me?” You asked, waving a hand at where he sat, now cross legged again, on the desk.

The Joker seemed amused at the extend of your drunkenness, clearly pleased that his attempt to relax you was working. He doubted you would remember much of this in the morning. “Well, kitten.” The Joker purred gently, sounding as though he was trying to explain something to a four-year-old, “it’s quite simple really,” He hummed, leaning down closer to you. “You told me you worked nights and I wanted to see you again.”

You felt your eyes widen. “You wanted to see me?” You repeated, unconsciously leaning in towards him, your foggy mind not able to comprehend his words.

“Erhmm.” He nodded, his eyes never leaving you, his face now incredibly close.

“Stop it!” You cried with a giggle, reeling backwards and throwing your arm out to either push at him – though he was now too far away – or to shield yourself from him.

“Stop what, kitten?” He grinned devilishly, enjoying the sound of your laughter.

“Stop staring at me like that!”

“Like what?” He pressed teasingly.

“Like – like-“ You stuttered for words.

“’Like, like’” He mimicked you, leaning even closer, “Like what, doll?” He breathed, his eyes melting from their icy shade into pools of a deeper blue. You hadn’t realised you had leaned forward again until his felt the light tickle of his breath fanning across your face making you shiver despite its warmth.

Like you want me, you wanted to say, your lips parting in anticipation, but, even in your drunk mind, something held you back from saying it.

The Joker watched you, his face inches from yours, waiting for an answer, the wicked gleam in his eye telling you he already knew what you were thinking. He suddenly pulled away, sitting back upright once again and somehow leaving you feeling oddly empty and alone, despite how close you still sat.

You followed suit, sitting back again, leaning your head once more on the side of the chair and studying the Joker with a frown.

Did he want you?

Possibly - you had heard from numerous other girls how’d he occasional take a fancy to one of them for a night.

Was that what this was?

Was he trying to make you drunk to make you more agreeable? Did he realise he didn’t need to do that? - That you couldn’t seem to help yourself fantasising about him, drunk or not?

But you’d never let it happen. No. Even if you wanted to - you couldn’t. Sex meant more to you than just pleasure. You didn’t – couldn’t - do one-night stands - especially with your boss - and you certainly didn’t want to be just one in a long line of girls.

You were sobering up pretty quickly now at these thoughts and - with it - your exhaustion was hitting you hard. Even now you could feel the heaviness of your eyelids weighing on you, the warm glow of the room’s lighting not helping.

“I think I ought to be heading home.” You muttered, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you and pushing yourself to your feet. You had spent the night with him, surely you could leave? You hesitated for a second once you were up, allowing your head to settle before you stepped forward. You headed for the door in a determinedly straight line, though with every step there seemed to be a lag between the thought from your mind and the movement of your muscles.

Suddenly a cold hand wrapped around your forearm, the resistance yanking you backwards and pulling you off your already shaky balance, causing you to stumble and then fall rather ungracefully over the desk and half land in the Joker’s lap.

The Joker grinned down at you, the realisation of your position was slow to enter your fogged brain, but, when it did, you hastily attempted to push yourself back upright again. The Joker, however, had at some point moved his arms to wrap around your torso, now pinning you to his chest and making it impossible for you to put any space between the two of you.

You squirmed weakly in his grip, cursing your slow, intoxicated mind and trying to fight the effects of the alcohol, but the Joker’s hold only tightened.

“Don’t hurt yourself, doll.” He hummed, and you fell limp, knowing it was hopeless cause. “Do you see how easy it was for me to do that, kitten?” He questioned gently, and you felt like a small, vulnerable child in his arms. He waited for a response and you gave a tiny nod, the back of your head rubbing against his chest. “You see then, why I am hesitant to let you wander home alone at 3am?” You nodded again. “Good.” He praised. “Now, I’m going to let you go.” He muttered, “And you are going to sit back down.” He ordered, a slight growl to his words that warned you against disobeying.

You swallowed nervously and nodded once more. The Joker’s grip on you slacken, but he didn’t remove his arms from around you, forcing you to make the move and pull away from him.

You did as you were told and sat back down on the desk chair again.

“Now, you have two options, doll. We can stay here and keep talking, or we can go to bed.” The Joker offered you, his eyes keen on you for any flicker of your thought process.

The latter option of ‘bed’ sounded the best and most obvious decision, but the ‘we’ part of it made you falter. It both thrilled and scared you.

No. That wasn’t an option.

“Talk.” You mumbled, trying to fight your fatigue.

The Joker eyed you suspiciously, blatantly aware of how exhausted you clearly were. “Fine.” He said, calling your bluff, “Have another drink.” He poured you yet another glass and handed it back to you. You barely registered taking the glass, mechanically sipping at it and startled when you found it was in fact water. You took a larger gulp and the Joker continued his earlier tirade of question.

You were less open now, partly from your sobered mind, but partly because you were just too tired to answer with more than a few words.

When it got to the stage that you were closing your eyes between responses to stave off the ache in your lids, the Joker had finally had enough. “You’re to bed, doll.” He stated matter-of-factly.

Your eyes barely even flickered at this, and you weren’t even sure you were completely conscious - you could have been dreaming this for all you knew.

“I’ll get my stuff.” You mumbled and - in your mind - you were getting to your feet, but instead you remained slumped in the chair, making a pathetic attempt to push yourself upright.

“I’d say not so fast, doll, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere in a hurry.” The Joker grinned teasingly, watching you with crossed arms and making no attempt to stop you.

You mumbled something incoherent to this and the next thing you knew you were in the Joker’s arms, and then being light jolted as you were set on a soft mattress.

The sudden comprehension of what was going on shot you awake.

“No.” You cried out like you had awoken from a bad dream, flailing your limbs wildly as you tried to scramble out of the bed. Strong hands gripped your wrists pinning them down by your head and, when you then tried to kick out with your legs, you felt a heavy weight on your thighs stopping them too.

“No, no, no...” You whimpered, scrunching your eyes closed, helpless under the weight of the Joker who was restraining you against the mattress.

“Shh, Kitten.” The Joker soothed down at you, probably thinking you were having a bad dream. You bit your lip to shut yourself up, but your limbs were so tense they were shaking, and your heart still beat erratically. “Open your eyes.” You heard him say above you. “Doll.” He growled impatiently when you didn’t obey.

You reluctantly did as he said, finding the Jokers face hovering above yours his arms either side of your face, holding your arms down.

“Now,” He rumbled, “are you going to be still?”

You shook your head, knowing he’d read the lie in any other answer.

You saw his jaw tense in annoyance. “And why not?”

You swallowed. “I- I can’t sleep with you.” You croaked out.

He raised his eyebrows at this. “Didn’t we already go through this, doll.” He snapped touchily, though his face seemed to soften when he saw the distress in your eyes.

He let out a sharp sigh. “I’m not gonna touch you, kitten.” He promised. You glanced at where he held you arms on either side of your head. “Anymore.” He amended with a twist of his lips, humour dancing in his eyes.

You almost had to bite back a smirk.

Could you trust him though?

The Joker seemed to trust you – his grip around your arms vanishing and his weight leaving your body. You pushed yourself upright, noticing the Joker now stood to your left, his back to you.

“I’d – um - still rather not sleep here, sir – uh – J.” You corrected, remembering your previous conversation.

“Why?” He asked, not moving. "Doll.” He growled again in warning when you took too long to respond.

“I - I don’t trust your men.” You confessed. “Th- they make passes at us girls normally - I don’t want to be caught in such a vulnerable state.”

“I’ll lock the door.” He growled darkly, though you could tell the tone wasn’t aimed at you this time.

“You think I don’t know that nearly every one of your men has the ability to pick a lock?” You muttered moodily.

The Joker finally turned to you then and you wondered if you’d pushed the line with your snarky remark. “It is my own room, doll.” He told you coolly. “They would not dare.” You stiffened at this sentence that seemed to hold so much power.

“I can’t kick you out of your own room.” You objected insistently.

“Stop, doll.” He growled tiredly. “You will stay here, and you will sleep.” He ordered. “I have other things I need to attend to, doll,” He growled, already walking toward the door. “The door will be locked. You had better be here when I return.”

You didn’t lie back down until you heard the click of the locking mechanism, then you saw no other choice then to close your eyes and try to sleep.

tags: @sheldonsherlocktony @jemjem-chan @white-chocolate-mocha-fan

#joker #joker fan fiction #joker x reader #joker x reader fan fiction #fan fiction request #request #whiskey courage #whiskey courage part 2 #thejokersenigma #thejokersenigma fan fiction #thejokersenigma fan fiction request

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dassala · 6 years

Photo

In Focus

Rated M - Chapter 3/? (Ch. 1, Ch. 2)

Emma Swan’s CEO fiance Graham Humbert has hired a wedding photographer to capture every aspect of the wedding planning process. Killian Jones usually hates these stuck-up, spoiled rich brides he captures on film, but Emma is different.

Disclaimer: This fic contains elements that may be squicky or disturbing to some of the CS audience. I want you to know that both Emma and Killian have sexual relationships with other characters in this fic. They also both get very drunk at different times throughout the story. So if you have an aversion to alcohol abuse (especially as a crutch), and you can’t stand the idea of Emma and Killian being with other people, this may not be the story for you. However, that said, you should know that I never write CS fic without a happy ending. :) So if you can stick it out, I promise satisfaction.

Psst. @awkwardnessandbaseball is an incredible beta! <3 Thank you, babe!

Read it on AO3

Three months into the planning process and Emma Swan was already completely wiped out. She felt overloaded with orders and deliveries and do-it-yourself wedding favors. At this point, she deeply regretted not hiring a wedding planner to do most of the work for her, but she’d considered it a personal challenge. Graham was generally busy with work, so why not throw herself into this particular project?

The week had been taxing, and Emma was not only tired from a combination of work and wedding planning; she was sick. She had wanted to spend some time getting crazy with Ruby to blow off a bit of steam, but the girls’ night out was canceled when Emma’s sniffles and sinus pressure got out of control.

Emma flipped through the offerings on Netflix, clicking past Action/Adventure and Drama, and cruising into the Romance section. On the rare night that Graham was able to sit still for two hours, they leaned toward a Jason Bourne-type flick. Tonight, he was out schmoozing with Japanese clients, and she was relegated to the sofa with a box of tissues and a steaming-hot mug of chicken soup.

As she tapped her way through the romance section, her phone dinged. Emma raised it and opened the video she had been sent.

Killian was singing his heart out on stage. Ruby had keenly placed a few heart-eyes emojis around him in the frame. With a laugh, Emma shook her head and replied with some text and a photo.

Looks like fun. And hearts? Are you telling me this is going past just screwing around? The photo she included was her best attempt at a slightly-less-than-miserable face.

Message from Ruby: He’s an 11 in bed, if you know what I mean. ;) But he seems like something’s holding him back from considering it a relationship. Might be your wedding, but not worried. I’m here to have a good time, and so is he. He’s just fucking gorgeous.

Emma was unable to disagree. She had noticed it the first time she met him. His deep blue eyes were quite alluring. If she hadn’t been an engaged woman...well, she would not have a wedding photographer, so that was just a silly thing to think. She groaned to think about him being good in bed. If he could please Ruby, he could please anyone. And if she was being honest with herself, she hadn’t been properly pleased in months. The spark had gone out of her love life with Graham. In the past, the fire was hot and it burned quite often. But now there was...nothing. And she was committing herself to a lifetime of nothing.

Enjoy! She sent back to her friend before tossing the phone on the table and cuddling down into the pillows on the sofa.

Registry day. Emma was armed with a scanner-gun-thingy and a list of items she wanted from the high-end boutique. Graham was at her side, thumbing texts into his phone and half-heartedly paying attention to her ramblings about china patterns.

“I think the blue on that one clashes with our carpet. I mean, the pattern itself is nice, but the color is all wrong. Why don’t we do like...all white, or something?” Emma turned over a bone china serving platter and examined its size.

“You’re right,” Graham muttered. He tapped a few more words into the phone as Emma went silent and stared across the section. The photographer had just arrived. Killian was hurrying past a stack of over-priced bathroom towels. He smiled at Emma. She felt her stomach do a little flip and swallowed hard, pushing the feelings away.

“Hey, there he is,” Emma grinned.

“Seriously, I’m never taking an Uber again in this city. All Yellow Cabs for me,” Killian chuckled. “Sorry, guys.”

“No, it’s fine. We haven’t really done much,” Graham muttered. He looked up from his phone and finally tucked it into his pocket. “And yeah, I do Yellow. Uber seems...difficult in the city.”

“Indeed,” Killian pulled his camera strap around his neck and lifted it. “Scan away.”

Graham reached for the scanner, taking it out of Emma’s hands. She blinked and watched as he slid around the display, scanning six barcodes without stopping to ask for her opinion.

“Uh,” Emma jumped into his path and held up her hands, “Easy cowboy. Remember, there’s like...stuff we actually need and stuff we don’t. Like those.”

She pointed to a set of fancy, battery-operated, chrome plated salt and pepper shakers that her fiance had just scanned. Graham pursed his lips and looked back at his fiancee.

“What do you mean? I like those.”

“They’re stupid,” Emma sighed. “We have salt and pepper shakers already. They’re very nice.”

“Yeah,” Graham wrinkled his nose, “but I mean the whole point of getting married is so people buy you stuff, right? So why not register for newer, cooler ones?”

Emma’s gaze narrowed and Graham physically stepped backward. “Okay, so not the whole point, but...why not?”

“We don’t need them,” she reiterated, placing her hands on her hips. Killian stood by silently, glancing around the store as if he wasn’t hearing them disagreeing again. “And maybe try asking my opinion before you just...scan everything?”

“Emma,” Graham laughed, “they’re gifts. Just let me scan. Okay? We’ll take back what we don’t want or need. But I want the salt and pepper shakers.”

“Fine. Then I’m getting the all-white China,” Emma conceded, sighing.

Graham halted and cocked his head to the side. “We have dishes. We don’t really need more dishes. They’re good dishes. My Mum sent them from Ireland. Remember? The one broke and we had to get it replaced and it took bloody ages…”

“Let me get this straight, if we have a perfectly good set of something we shouldn’t replace it, unless you want it?” Emma’s eyebrow cocked. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Killian grimace, trying to hide it behind his camera.

“Don’t start,” Graham grumbled and pushed past her. “Just scan things, okay?”

Emma found the scanner shoved back into her hand. Graham meandered away, pulling out his phone once more. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and tried desperately to control her temper, feeling it rising up her body.

“I think they’re stupid, too,” Killian finally chimed in, “for what it’s worth.”

“The plates?”

“Nah, the salt and pepper shakers,” he smirked and snapped a photo of the set. “I’ll file them with ‘ugly things’.”

Emma laughed, shaking her head. He had a way of being able to erase her tension. She nodded and moved to the china set she had been eyeing. With a particular flourish to her movements, she scanned the item, then winked at the photographer. Snap. Brilliant.

Another few weeks passed, and Killian spent his time between his place, Ruby’s place, and working a few one-off shoots for publications or private customers. His next appointment for the Humbert wedding was at Graham and Emma’s apartment, where invitations were to be addressed. Graham had assured him it would be just a few photos, and then he could leave, as there was bound to be nothing too exciting about writing addresses.

Finishing off a coffee, Killian knocked firmly on the door to Graham’s apartment. When the door opened, the last thing he expected was exactly what he got.

Emma answered, a glass of wine in one hand. She was in sweats and a baggy t-shirt, and she looked irritated.

“Hey,” she sighed, shifting her weight, “I’m thinking maybe we should do this another time. Graham got called out on a meeting...and...we had kind of a fight about it. I’m not in the best…”

“I can focus on your hands, if you like? And...listen?” Killian shrugged, offering a friendly smile. “Not as your photographer, but...as an open ear? A friend? Or I can bugger off, either way.”

Considering it, Emma gave a nod and stepped back to allow him into the apartment. She closed the door behind him and shuffled to the coffee table, where piles upon piles of laser-cut gold lace invitations were waiting for her.

“I took calligraphy classes to learn this stuff,” Emma said with a bemused laugh. She shook her head, “I mean, I’ve always got time, right?”

Taking a seat across from her, Killian moved the chair slightly closer and put his camera bag aside. “They’re beautiful.”

She nodded and took in a shaky breath. “They never end. The meetings and the calls...It’s like I’m this person with all of these friends and this loving fiance, and...I’m lonely.”

Killian folded his hands and licked his lips before taking a deep breath, himself. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Yep,” Emma nodded, finishing off her glass of wine before standing, “talking about it is why my mascara is running and I’m day-drinking. Want some?” She wiggled the empty glass in his direction.

“Not on the clock, thanks,” he adjusted the focus on one of his cameras, snapping off a few photos of the invites themselves.

“I’m your boss. You’re allowed to have a drink if I say so,” Emma insisted. “Or are you a beer kinda guy? Because I’ve got some of that, too.”

With a soft chuckle, Killian nodded. “I’ll have a beer then, thanks.”

Emma returned a few moments later and placed a cold bottle on the table in front of him. Her glass was very full of a deep red wine. She wiggled her fingers before picking up a pen from the table. “So how are things with Ruby?”

Killian stammered slightly and cleared his throat. “I don’t...I don’t think talking about Ruby and I is going to help…”

“I mean, I know most of it,” she laughed bitterly and shook her head, “you guys are fucking like bunnies.”

He paused with his beer halfway to his lips and swallowed hard, then took a swig from the bottle. Clearly, Emma had been drinking for a while. She was right, though. Ruby had an appetite, and she could make him forget about Milah for a few hours at a time. She served a purpose.

“C-can you maybe shift to the left a little?” He put the bottle down and picked up his camera, snapping off a couple of shots of her writing.

“She brags about you,” Emma continued. She glanced up at him. For the first time, he noticed how red and watery her eyes were. She was hurting, and it was bad.

“Emma,” he sighed, putting the camera down. “Stop.”

She paused, then dropped the pen. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. “I’m losing it.”

He knew better. He knew he shouldn’t be involved in their personal problems. But there was no way this wedding would be a success if Emma fell to pieces. He pulled the camera from around his neck and moved closer to her. “Come here,” he whispered.

Emma leaned sideways. She fell against his chest. Killian wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. Right now, she needed a hug, and he was the only person who could offer that to her. “Will it help if I tell you a story?”

With a sniffle, Emma shrugged. So he began.

“Once upon a time, a young lad from England came to the United States to find himself,” he said with a soft smile, “and when he came here, he met a beautiful woman named Milah.”

Emma turned her head to look up at him slightly, her brows furrowed. Apparently, she had not expected to hear about an ex.

“He married Milah. She was fun and exciting and she had all of the joy he knew he needed in life. They moved onto a boat and made a home for themselves. The lad started taking photos of people, and they made a nice life. Milah loved his photos. She also loved his music. They were passionate and crazy and young and stupid but they did it all together,” he said, his voice steady.

Emma relaxed a bit in his arms.

“One day, Milah came home from work. Her body language was...it was all wrong. The lad wondered if maybe he’d done something wrong, as you know, lads do,” he smirked slightly. “But she told him she’d met someone else. And she wanted a divorce.”

This time, Emma sat up and pulled out of his embrace. She gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his.

“So the lad gave her the divorce, and she married...someone else. And now he takes photos of other people when they get married,” he shrugged. “But she still haunts him. Every day.”

“Killian,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I had no idea. How can...how can you take photos of weddings when your own marriage fell apart?”

He chuckled. “It didn’t fall apart. It abruptly exploded. Because there were apparently things we didn’t say to each other.”

She reached up and rubbed at her cheek, pushing away tears. “So the moral of the story is...I need to talk to him or I’m going to lose it all.”

Killian thought for a moment. He licked his lips and drew in a deep breath. “Yes. You need to be clear about what you want, and what you don’t. For us, I wanted kids. Milah did not. She wanted success and she wanted money. A struggling photographer and musician who lives on a boat is hardly a suitable husband for that kind of woman.”

Emma was pensive. She reached over and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Killian paused, then wrapped his arms around her in return. “I think you guys will be okay,” he said, his voice calm. “You’ve been together a long time, and you can work it out. I know it.”

“Thank you,” Emma breathed. She pulled back and smiled. “Ruby’s lucky to have a guy like you.”

He chuckled. “Nah, Graham is the lucky one.”

The lock to the front door beeped and opened. Graham, looking disheveled and a little put out, stepped inside. He paused as he saw Killian.

“Oh shit, I forgot all about the invitation photos,” he muttered, scrubbing his face with his hand.

“No worries, mate,” Killian stuffed his camera into his bag and stood. He gestured to the spot next to Emma. “I got a few shots. I think, um, I think I’m all set.”

Graham offered his hand and forced a smile. Killian shook it firmly. “Thank you, then. We’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Aye, sounds good,” Killian turned back to Emma and raised an eyebrow. “Have a good night then, Miss Swan.”

He stepped out of the apartment door and closed it behind him. Emma was officially closer to him than Ruby had been in the past few weeks. Ruby was a romp in the sheets. Emma...Emma made his heart flutter and his stomach twist. But she wasn’t his. She couldn’t be his. And he would never do anything to pull her away from Graham. Not ever.

“You’ve got yourself in a right state,” Liam Jones smirked and shoved another pint across the bar top. Killian exchanged the full glass with his empty and nodded.

“After Milah, I’d never...ever think about a woman who was married to someone else. But...what if...I think they’re not right for each other?” He drew in a deep breath. “Do I say something?”

“Do you want to get paid?” Liam raised an eyebrow and wiped his hands on a towel. He threw the cloth over his shoulder and leaned forward. The Sailor’s Inn, the bar he owned and operated near the Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge, was dead this time of night.

“Of course,” Killian sighed. “But is it the right thing to do? Get paid and bugger off and leave her to a lifetime of disappointment and misery?”

Liam shook his head, “Remember, you’re only seeing a snippet of their lives together, and it happens to be a pretty busy and stressful time. There has to be a reason she agreed to marry him.”

“They’ve been together for eight years,” Killian muttered into his glass before taking a swig.

Gesturing with wide open hands, Liam shrugged. “Again, gotta be a reason.”

Killian nodded in agreement.

“Tell me about this Ruby girl,” Liam stood and moved to pour himself a beer. He flipped the switch beneath the counter which turned off the neon ‘Open’ sign near the door.

The younger brother Jones pursed his lips. “She’s hot. Insatiable. But...again, not...what I’m looking for. I think I’m gonna put an end to it. Just hope she’s not crazy enough to fuck up the wedding.”

“Want to kick her my number?”

Killian leaned his head to the side and gave Liam a look of annoyance. “You want my seconds? Sure. I thought you were seeing that girl from Jersey City.”

“Nah,” Liam shook his head, “didn’t work out. Besides, you know I’m more into blondes.”

“Then Ruby is not for you,” Killian smirked. “There is a really beautiful blonde bridesmaid, though. Elsa. No ring.”

“Yeah?” The older man grinned and laughed. “Probably not a chance. These are rich girls, eh?”

After Killian’s divorce, Liam had left his home in England and joined his younger brother in the States. Liam was undoubtedly more successful, but he was more of a working-class type of man than most girls wanted. At 35, Liam had all but given up on finding ‘The One’.

“I don’t know, mate. I think I need a change of scenery after I’m done with this gig. Fancy a trip to Boston?” Killian finished off his pint.

“I, uh, I don’t think that’s such a good plan,” Liam spoke slowly. He was obviously searching for a decent explanation, outside of the truth.

Killian’s gaze narrowed. “Why?”

With a heavy sigh, Liam turned to the back of the bar. He grabbed a tabloid and tossed it to land in front of his brother.

The front page of the supermarket rag was plastered with photos of some Kardashian or another. Killian’s brow raised. Liam flipped open to the middle of the magazine, where a blazing red headline and an accompanying photo made his gut clench.

Billionaire Robert Gold Separates from Wife New Ex Milah Jets to Boston

The photo was of Milah, caked in thick makeup, holding her hand up to fight off the oppressive flashes of the paparazzi. She and her husband Robert were not necessarily of the socialite kind, but Milah knew what she was doing when she left Killian. She had married a man of political and social influence for his money. And now, it seemed, they had separated. Killian wondered exactly why.

“I probably shouldn’t have shown you,” Liam said calmly, taking a sip from his beer. “But I didn’t want you to run into her.”

“No, it’s fine,” Killian reassured him. He pushed the magazine away and shook his head. “She’s his problem now, not mine.”

“Atta lad,” Liam poured his brother another pint and an accompanying shot of bourbon. “Let’s get pissed and forget about the women for the night, eh?”

He believed the proper nautical term for his condition was ‘Three Sheets to the Wind’. Roger walked alongside him as Killian meandered down the road to the docks, singing loudly to himself. His companion had a strange sense about him, wherein he usually walked on the water’s edge as if to keep Killian from stumbling into the sea.

Killian pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed through his contacts. He paused on the docks. Roger whined and nudged him with his nose. The dog couldn’t possibly be warning him against drunk texting, could he? Nah, he was probably hungry.

Did he apologize?

He clicked send. Only then did he notice that it was 3am.

“Oops,” he muttered, continuing down the docks toward his rinky-dink houseboat.

His phone pinged. Blinking, he paused again and looked at it.

Message from Emma Swan: Yes. I think you helped a lot. We really talked for the first time in a long time. He even avoided answering a call in the middle of our discussion. You might have saved this marriage. Thank you.

Drawing in a deep breath, he paused and leaned against a light pole. Fantastic. He was the ‘troubled couple whisperer’. The phone pinged again.

Message from Emma Swan: Tell Ruby I said hi.

He frowned and thumbed a message back to her.

No Ruby here. Just me and Roger.

No response, so he tucked his phone into his pants and wandered back onto his boat, the ‘Jewel’. Once on board, he kicked off his shoes and fed Roger before collapsing onto the bed. He was going to be so hungover in the morning. It also would be a miracle if the spinning sensations stopped anytime soon. He tried the trick of placing one foot flat on the floor. No dice.

His phone pinged.

Message from Emma Swan: Oops. Um, I guess you’re not exclusive then. She said she had a date.

Killian laughed and shook his head. Not surprising.

I had a date with my brother. And Roger. We drank a lot.

I mean Rog didn’t. But I did. Hence the timing of these texts.

Sorry.

Message from Emma Swan: No worries. I like hearing from you. I think we’ll be good friends, after the wedding’s over.

Friends. He wasn’t sure he could handle being friends with Emma Swan...Emma Humbert. With her sexy smile and incredible ass and the way she had access to incredible finery but loved the simple things in life. Not if she belonged to another man. He wouldn’t tempt fate like that. He would NOT be Robert Gold.

Message from Emma Swan: Anyway. Goodnight.

“Goodnight,” he muttered aloud.

Emma felt Graham’s bare chest press against her back. She placed her phone down on the nightstand and sunk back against him. He muttered groggily.

“Who you talkin’ to?”

Emma shook her head. “Wedding plans.”

“At three o’clock in the mornin’?” He placed a kiss between her shoulders. “Relax. It can wait. C’mere.”

She turned to face him and gave him a kiss. It felt...hollow. There was nothing there. No longer did she have a spark when it came to Graham. Even when they did make love that night, it was more...out of obligation than desire. Something was off. Maybe it was the wedding. Maybe it was his constant need to do and be the best, despite what she actually needed. Or maybe…

She drew in a breath. “Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

But he already was. She received a soft snore in reply.

#cs fic #mc cs au fic #captain swan #In Focus #chapter 3 #not a great one #but here you are #womp womp #pls reblog if you like it

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