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welllpthisishappening · 3 years ago

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Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #hook heel #this is also apparently my 50th work on ao3 #which is just patently nuts #so if you guys have been clicking and reading all these words know that i am a little in love with you

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the-final-sif · 4 years ago

Note

I was thinking about different way the league could try to kidnap Katsuki and thought what if they just adopted him. Like got the paperwork filled it out (using an alias) and just battled the Bakugous for custody. Yeah, they're villians, but the paperwork checks out, and they can provide all necessary essentials, and maybe the Bakugous aren't the best parents.

This idea is extremely funny to me, and so I tried to think of a way it could work out that even kinda makes sense. After talking about it in the discord, I think I figured it out. (Set after USJ & sports festival, but pre-any kidnapping stuff)

We’re going to assume Bad Parents!Bakugous, with the situation being bad enough Katsuki is removed from their custody. The plan was for Aizawa / UA to take custody of him after that.

Only, there’s 1 tiny flaw in that plan. Katsuki’s quirk.

See, Katsuki’s quirk is considered a ‘dangerous’ quirk. 99% of the time this doesn’t matter, but there’s an old law regarding child custody that comes into play with dangerous quirks.

The law basically says that if a child has a ‘dangerous’ quirk, and their removed from their birth family’s custody, other relatives MUST be contacted to see if they are willing + capable of taking custody of the child. Even distant relatives.

Furthermore, if a relative wants the child (and passes a few other criteria), then they are all but guaranteed custody, even if there’s other circumstances that would usually prevent it. If the relative has a similar quirk to the child, that boosts their chances even further / offers extra protections.

The law was created during an earlier period of quirks, when ‘dangerous’ quirks were extremely hard to handle, and usually only family members with similar quirks could do it. It’s not a great law, but nobody’s gotten around to removing it since it doesn’t come into play often.

But of course, Katsuki isn’t so lucky. He has three relatives that have to be contacted and decline custody of him before Aizawa can claim it. He’s never met any of these people, has never had much contact with any extended family, but now he has to wait for them to say no before he can move on with this bullshit.

Two are easy enough, both are great uncles or something similar and live in assisted living facilities. Neither have the interest / capacity for Katsuki.

And then there’s Katsuki’s distant cousin on his dad’s side.

Honestly, it’s such bullshit. The guy went missing ages ago. His whole family was confirmed dead, but apparently the guy himself wasn’t, and since he’s still considered alive, they have to at least try to contact him.

A newspaper ad goes up for “Tenko Shimura”, there’s a 15 day waiting period while the ad runs, and then they should finally be free to move on.

Except, holy shit, turns out the guy isn’t actually dead.

He saw the newspaper ad, and actually calls in out of curiosity.

Katsuki is taken off guard and relieved, because the guy will say no, and then they can finish this, right?

Right?

Only, the guy doesn’t say no.

He doesn’t say yes either, but he asks to be put in contact with Katsuki so he can discuss it.

Katsuki is so done with all of this, but he agrees to talk to the guy hoping to convince him it’s fine for Aizawa / UA to take custody.

Tenko & Katsuki talk on the phone for an hour, and by the end of their first conversation, Tenko isn’t convinced it’s fine and now Katsuki isn’t either.

Because, fuck, the guy actually sounded nice. And nothing he said was wrong either. Tenko was worried about the sports festival (and Katsuki has to admit, hearing an adult express concern for him & tell him what happened to him was bad for the very first time took a weight off his shoulders he hadn’t known he was carrying), he was worried about how UA had handled him so far, and he was worried what would happen if Katsuki didn’t have any outside figures to turn to in the future.

Several long phone calls later, including one between Aizawa & Tenko, and it’s been decided. While Katsuki will be staying at UA and living primarily in the dorms set up for international students (since Tenko lives quite a ways away), custody of him will be going to Tenko.

Aizawa isn’t exactly happy about it, but that law gives Tenko the first claim, and he has to admit that Tenko raises quite a few good points. After having spoken to him at length, Aizawa feels like he has Katsuki’s best interests in mind too.

Paperwork goes through, things are set in motion, and in the meantime, Katsuki keeps calling / texting with Tenko, slowly growing closer to his cousin. Turns out the two have a lot in common.

Tenko also have family issues and was adopted, which is why he appeared to go “missing”. In reality he’s just been living under a different name. His quirk is apparently related to his hands and also considered ‘dangerous’ although he doesn’t like to discuss it, and he and Katsuki are both very blunt people, meaning they get along great.

Finally, everything is said and done, and Katsuki is going to go on a weekend trip up to where Tenko lives to meet him in person for the very first time. He’s given a train station and told he’ll be met there, and he’s honestly kinda excited for it.

Throughout the court case, Aizawa was the only one from UA allowed to have access to all the records / be in contact with Tenko. He couldn’t even discuss things with anyone else.

Now it’s all over though, he’s in the staff room and only half engaged in the current planning session. Mostly focused on his phone / checking in with Katsuki.

Mic teases him about being worried, and Aizawa just mumbles that he’s still kinda unsure of this ‘Shimura’ guy.

All-Might, who is also at this meeting, does a spit take.

It takes several seconds for him to regain himself.

He’s sure he must’ve just misheard though.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I just got confused about something for a moment. What did you say the name of Katsuki's new parent was again?"

“The guy’s legal name is Tenko Shimura, although he apparently stopped going by that awhile ago, which was why he came up as missing. He responded to a newspaper ad though and was able to verify his identity."

All-Might.exe has stopped working.

It has to be a coincidence. There's no way.

"Tenko... Shimura? His name, uh, well I used to know someone by that name. How old was he again? And why was he chosen?"

Aizawa is a little confused, but still not concerned, he just assumes All-Might happened to know the guy.

"He's 20, which is young to be taking on a kid, but he's properly prepared for. It was the quirk-relation law that set it in stone. Shimura is a distant cousin and has similar quirk to Katsuki, the specifics were a little hazy, but a dangerous hand-related quirk. Why?"

All-Might needs several seconds before he can speak.

“Tenko Shimura is Tomura Shigaraki.”

“... What?”

“Tenko Shimura, that was Tomura Shigaraki’s birth name. That’s- That’s him. There’s nobody else that could be.”

“WHAT?!”

Yeah, so they try to get in contact with Katsuki but it’s too late, Kurogiri already ‘picked him up’ and his phone is not working in the underground area he’s in.

Anyways, so Tomura introduces himself, and Katsuki spends awhile trying to fight him but not really getting anywhere until Tomura is finally able to convince him to let Tomura explain himself.

Katsuki is Upset, but also wants Answers.

Tomura reveals that he never lied, he was Tenko Shimura, and everything he told Katsuki was true. Truths were certainly omitted, but he never lied. And he has no bad intentions towards Katsuki.

He saw the newspaper ad, and having seen what happened at the sports festival, felt compelled to step in. He promises he just wants to be a good guardian.

And Katsuki does not want to believe that. He doesn’t.

Except, at the end of their scheduled time, Tomura just,,,, lets him go. No demands that Katsuki can’t tell anyone what happened, no threats, nothing.

Kurogiri just teleports him back out to some place near UA and bids him goodnight, very pleased to see Tomura taking this seriously & that he now has a grandchild.

Katsuki shows back up at UA, after 12 hours of them searching for him frantically, and he’s just as confused as they are.

Obviously, they try to remove custody from Tomura after that.

Problem: They can’t.

Between the bullshit law from before, and the fact Tomura has never actually been caught / arrested / charged with a crime, they legally cannot remove Katsuki from Tomura’s custody.

He would have to fail as a guardian for Katsuki in order for them to remove him. Until then, he’s got custody.

This is just something they’re going to have to live with.

Katsuki Is So Done.

When he goes into class on Monday, a very excited Kirishima greets him.

"So dude? How did visiting your cousin go? What was he like?"

"You know that guy who attacked us at USJ? The guy with the creepy hands who almost killed Aizawa?"

“... Uh, yeah?”

“Turns out that’s my cousin.”

"Oh my god! What the hell dude! Are you okay???"

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Welcome to the Katsuki Shimura AU, where Katsuki’s life is weird and Parent-Teacher conferences get fucking awkward.

#katsuki bakugou #tomura shigaraki #shouta aizawa #dadzawa #bnha crack #mha crack #kurogiri #bnha #mha #Katsuki Shimura AU #sif speaks #my headcanons #sif answers #Anonymous

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sunfleurry · 4 years ago

Text

II. 360˚

Click here for part 1

Disclaimer: I write stories and use Harry Styles as a face claim. In no way shape or form does my writing reflect how I perceive the actual Harry to be. These are my characters, the face is just a bonus!

Eden was unable to contain her laughter as she watched Yaz try to lift the barbell. The personal trainer wanted to test out a new pre-workout supplement that promised the ability to easily lift more than her personal record. Eden cackled as Yaz’s overly determined face started turning red, her arms straining against the bar that was not moving despite the girl putting her all into deadlifting it.

“Oi! Stop that before you pull something!” Eden heard before she saw Luca marching over, a look of amusement on his face.

Yaz immediately stopped, chest heaving as she stood straight and turned towards him. “I was just testing something out,” she sassed. “For science.”

The corner of Luca’s mouth twitched into a small smile as he shook his head in amusement. “Was it the shit Harry gave you?”

As if the mention of his name summoned him, Harry was already making his way towards them, close enough to hear Luca’s response. “I paid seventy for that stuff.”

Eden scoffed. “You got ripped off.”

Harry looked and narrowed his eyes playfully. She bit her lip as her smile grew, always feeling annoyingly giddy whenever he looked at her. Eden had been working out with Yaz for a week at the new gym. She didn’t think she would ever admit that she loved weightlifting yet, she loved the feeling of empowerment it gave her and she could already spot newbie gains along her figure. Yaz reassured her that over time and with an increase in the weight she was lifting, she would start noticing even more progress.

“She’s right,” panted Yaz, still catching her breath.

“Come on,” Luca chuckled, putting an arm around her. “Let’s get you some water.”

Eden watched as her trainer and the receptionist walked away, leaving her and Harry alone.

She not only became friends with Yaz, but she got to know Luca and Harry even more after discovering they were best friends. Before her sessions with Yaz, she would stay at the front and talk to Luca, and sometimes Harry would join them on his breaks. They were childhood friends who grew even closer when Luca’s parents decided to go back to their home country, leaving the then eighteen year old to look for a new roommate who subsequently became Harry.

Movement caught her eye and she looked over to find Harry crouched and unloading the bar Yaz had been using. Not wanting to feel useless, she bent over and started pulling the plates off from the other end, the two of them working in silence.

Harry finished his side and watched as she struggled to remove the last one—the heaviest one. He waited for her to ask for help, but she never did. He looked on in amusement as she struggled to remove it, arms tugging at the plate that would not budge. Finally, he said, “Need help?”

Eden sighed, arms sagging in defeat. “Yeah,” she grumbled.

Harry chuckled and she took a step back as he took her place and easily slid the plate off the bar. Eden would be lying if she said her eyes didn’t linger on the way his biceps strained against the t-shirt as he heaved the weight and racked it without breaking a sweat.

“You’ve been training with Yaz for a week,” he smiled. “Don’t beat yourself up too much. You’ll be able to do that within a month, trust me,” he winked.

Eden raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you didn’t need the help of that seventy dollar supplement to lift it.”

Harry’s jaw comically dropped. “Take that back.”

Crossing her arms, Eden smirked, refusing to entertain his request.

He took a step forward, close enough that she had to crane her neck to keep eye contact. “Take that back,” he repeated.

Eden forced her face to stay neutral, not wanting to give away the effect his proximity had on her body.

“Did I bruise your gym bro ego?”

Harry’s head fell back, exposing his throat as he laughed, amusement written all over his face when he looked at her again. “So thats how it is, huh.”

She grinned and took a step away from him. “Not sure what you mean.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get changed,” she said. “I’m going home.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he followed her. “I’m clocking out, let me walk you.”

Eden reigned in her smile. “Meet me outside in five?”

Harry offered her that smirk that had her swooning anytime it was directed at her. “Deal.”

...

Eden hugged Yaz goodbye with a promise to see her the next day and high fived Luca on her way out of the gym. She really loved her new friends. They had a lot in common and talking to Yaz felt like talking to a friend she’d known her entire life.

They’d even planned to go on a shopping trip the next week. Eden let her love for fashion slip and Yaz didn’t hesitate to ask for help in choosing a dress for her cousin’s wedding. Of course, Eden happily agreed. She looked forward to growing her friendship with her personal trainer.

Upon exiting the gym, she was hit with an unexpected chill and zipped up her coat to protect herself from the winter cold. She spotted Harry waiting to the side and smiled when he waved her over as she slipped on her mittens. Shouldering her bag, they started walking down the road towards her neighbourhood.

“Let me hold your bag.”

“No.”

“Eden…”

“Harry…”

“I can’t let you walk around with that mammoth.”

“I’m more than capable of—”

“I know you are,” he stressed. “But let me be a gentleman.”

Eden’s eyes narrowed at him but they softened upon seeing the look on his face.

“Please?”

She sighed and handed him her bag, doing her best to hide how her body relaxed from being relieved of the weight. If Harry’s smirk was anything to go by as he looped the strap up his arm, she knew he caught it.

“You didn’t drive?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I also live in student housing.”

She peered at him in shock. “You go to uni?”

“Why is that so surprising?” He smiled.

“It’s not,” she said quickly. “I just thought you worked at the gym full time.”

He shook his head, waving in thanks to a driver who let them cross the street. “That’s just to pay for tuition, I’m in my fourth year of computer science.”

“Wow.”

He chuckled. “Surprised I’m smart?”

Her eyes widened, redness blooming along her cheeks. “No, I...”

“I’m joking, Eden,” he laughed.

Her heart leaped in her chest when he rested a hand on her lower back, gesturing for her to walk in front of him as they passed a couple walking their dog.

Clearing her throat, she paused to let him catch up to her before she started walking again. “So, why personal training?”

He didn’t answer for a few seconds and when she looked at him, he had a contemplative look on his face.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to...”

Harry nudged her shoulder with his, throwing her a smile. “I’m just trying to figure out how to say this but, well, I was pretty insecure about the way I looked when my flatmate stole my girlfriend and—”

She gasped, “Luca?!”

“No!” Harry laughed. “There was three of us at the time, but then the asshole moved out.”

“Oh…” Her shock deflated. “Well, that would have been awkward.”

He threw her a pained look, nodding his head slowly.

“What happened?”

“That’s it really. She said he’s better looking, ghosted me, never talked to me again.”

“What a bitch!”

“He said they’d been hooking up throughout our relationship.”

“What a dick!”

Harry barked out a laugh, amused at her obvious dislike to the faceless strangers she just found out about. “Like many eighteen year olds, I got insecure. Started asking myself what he had that I didn’t. So, I started working out and…”

“Revenge body,” Eden nodded.

He chuckled. “Sure, you can say that. And like all cliches, she saw me a couple years later with my…” He lifted his arms up to flex his biceps, and although they were covered by his thick coat sleeves, Eden had an idea of what they looked like at that moment.

She rolled her eyes and playfully shoved his shoulders. They both laughed at his ridiculousness. “Please. Don’t tell me you took her back.”

He scoffed. “You think so low of me? I politely told her to go fuck herself.”

It was Eden’s turn to chuckle. “Poor girl. Actually, no, she deserved it. She never deserved you.” They stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green.

When Harry didn’t say anything, Eden looked at him and was taken aback by his eyes already on her, studying her face. She lifted a mitten-covered hand to the corner of her mouth, suddenly insecure. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He cracked a smile. “No,” he said. “I’m just happy I met you.”

She bit her lip, unable to tear her eyes away. “I'm happy I met you too.” She couldn’t breathe as his smile widened at her words, then the traffic light beeped, indicating it was their turn to cross the street.

After a minute, she said, “So you decided to get certified and help others with their revenge bodies?”

“I just fell in love with training and I thought, why not make money while doing something I love?”

“And here I was thinking you were trying to be Khloe Kardashian.”

Harry shook his head in amusement. “Still working on my arse,” he said, making her laugh.

They walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way until Eden stopped in front of an old student house with a beat up Honda in the drive way. “This is me,” she said, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Thank you for tagging along. This was… nice.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, nice.”

“Okay well, I’m just going to…” She pointed to the front door behind her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked, holding her bag out for her to take.

“Ye—”

She stepped forward to grab her things and slipped on the icy concrete, bracing herself with a yelp for impact with the ground. With eyes shut, she felt warmth envelop her as strong arms wrapped around her form, saving her from the embarrassing fall.

Wide eyes met wide eyes as they looked at each other, and she chuckled, breathless. “I didn’t see that.”

Harry breathed a laugh, but didn’t let her go. Her heart raced when she saw the look in his eyes, and it was then that she took in the proximity of their faces. Even under all the layers, she could have sworn she felt the heat of his body against hers. When his head moved, just a fraction, it was enough for her to notice.

She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to feel his mouth on hers. She waited, and when he was close enough to feel his breath on her lips, alarm bells went off in her head and her mind suddenly went into overdrive. Her eyes shot open, and she put a hand on his chest as a silent request for him to stop. What was she thinking?

Harry cleared his throat and slowly let her go, backing away and giving her the space he knew she was asking for.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, eyes intently trying to make out what she was feeling by the look on her face.

She panicked. “No, Harry, I…” Eden didn’t know what to say or how to fix whatever had happened. She didn’t want to upset him and—

Harry braced his hands on her shoulders, stopping her imminent panic. “Hey,” he smiled. “It’s okay. Nothing to feel bad about.”

She exhaled loudly, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. She grabbed her bag from the ground and took a step away from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asked quickly, repeating his earlier question.

“Bye, Eden” he smiled again, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

She felt her shoulders deflate as he tapped her arm once and started walking away. That night, she didn’t get the best sleep.

***

Hello! Let me know what you think <3

Part 3

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fics #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #harry styles oneshot #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine

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mrsgreenworld · 3 years ago

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Son Yaz Episode 23

"İmkansız" ("The Impossible") aka It's Worth It

It's strange but after the last episode I've been thinking a lot about Arrow. Sure I'm a big Arrow and Olicity fan. Hell, they're the reason I got a Tumblr account. When the show ended, it was tough. Because it had been a part of my life for several years and it resonated with me deeply and it had given me a sense of community and belonging. So I feared I would never feel it again. But then Sen Çal Kapımı kinda attacked me, pulled me in and it was so great - feeling this passionate about something again. And despite SCK having turned into a mess and huge disappointment, I'll always appreciate those early days and keep them in my heart. After all, it brought me to you @lolo-deli and @djemsostylist. This alone is something I'm very grateful for. But my disappointment with SCK left me wondering yet again: would I ever find something worth watching and shipping and obsessing over? I got my answer when, after having seen all the amazing gifs by @aslibekroglu, I finally gave in and started watching Son Yaz. And it's completely taken over my life ever since. Not in a way SCK had back in the day. By similar to the way I felt when I was watching Arrow. I know it may seem kinda crazy because Son Yaz and Arrow are two completely different shows. Like, two shows cannot be any further apart, almost to the point of polar opposites. But I've realized that, if we look past the genre, language, the storytelling and all other differences, there's something very similar in the heart and core of both these shows. I looked at Akgün in the last episode and holy shit how much he reminded me of Oliver Queen. And I'll gladly explain why. Let's get down to it.

Akgün

So how the hell did I end up comparing Akgün Gökalp Taşkın and Oliver Queen? It's very simple really (at least it is in my mind 🙈😆) and I'm surprised I haven't made this connection before. Because both Akgün and Oliver are essentially the same type of character - a tortured hero, tainted by darkness and burdened with past sins but ultimately a very good person with a pure heart, bright light inside and infinite capacity to love. Both of them don't hesitate to make sacrifices for those they love, they can be borderline suicidal when it comes to protecting their loved ones. Sure Oliver had a mission and wanted to make a difference by helping people and protecting the whole city. Akgün doesn't have these ambitions. But then again Son Yaz isn't a superhero type of show. But if we remove the "super" part and focus on just the men, we'll see that what they both crave is actually very simple - love and family. I also think that Akgün reminds me of Oliver more now because in season 1, despite his difficult childhood and the loss of his mother, there still was some innocence left in him, he wasn't truly touched by the darkness. It changed when he shot his brother and helped Selim beat up to death and then buried a man, possibly still alive. Taking someone's life robs a person of innocence. Same thing happened to Oliver. However, he's way more acquainted with darkness, given how he dropped bodies left and right at the beginning of his vigilante career. It's clear that Akgün and Oliver had very different journeys but it's impossible for me to ignore the core similarities.

Another thing Akgün and Oliver have in common is their desire to not just protect their loved ones from the dangers and evil of this world, but also from themselves, their own darkness. They deem themselves unworthy of the women they love. Akgün even straight out confessed it to Yağmur in the moment of panic. That's the reason he left - he didn't want to taint her with his darkness. But then again, he's never truly left her or given up on her. He's given up on himself. He's doomed himself to loneliness.

I must say that episode 23 in general made me love Akgün even more. We saw not only his devotion and fierce love for Yağmur but his love and loyalty to Soner. Their brotp is one of the best things on this show and I sure hope they won't destroy it.

The Rocket Team (yes, the name is now canon!!!!) reunion gave me all the feels. Seeing these three grown men turn into teary eyed mess just melted my heart.

Throughout the whole episode we saw Akgün trying to be there for everyone. He didn't want to argue with and go against Selim but he also didn't want to betray Soner. The scene where Akgün met with Selim and told him that Soner and Naz had gotten married, made me so proud of him. He was the reasonable one in that moment. That's a first 🙈😆 At the end of the scene Akgün also managed to make me laugh. Really laugh. I didn't think I would be laughing any time soon this season but his wild gestures, his frustration with Selim and his "just listen to me for once" - all of that was funny to watch.

Just like I said, Akgün was supportive and tried being there for everyone, that's why he was immediately on board with the wedding. Soner had to only ask and it's like the three years of not having seen each other were erased in that moment. Akgün didn't try to talk Soner out of it, didn't ask any questions. He did remind Soner of the consequences but it was very cautious, filled with love and concern, without overstepping and disrespecting Soner's choice.

Then there was Yağmur... Akgün and Soner going to search for her and then the moment when Akgün found Yağmur in that storage room - that was for sure the highlight of the episode for me. First we saw Akgün and Soner working together as a well-oiled machine. Perfect partners in crime 😎 And after they split, the moment when Akgün stopped for a second and just smelled Yağmur... Damn. Such a parallel to Yağmur smelling him in episode 22. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, what they've been through, how much they've changed, doesn't matter if there's anger and pain and so much unsaid between them - they still just feel each other. Their connection is there, strong as ever. And Alperen totally knocked it out of the park, showing Akgün's panic and raw fear the moment he found Yağmur. He'd never seen her like that and it shook him to the core. I swear he looked ready to cut his chest open, take out his heart or, I don't know, lungs and give to Yağmur, just to make it stop, just to make her okay again 😭😭😭

When Naz tried to tell Akgün about Yağmur and what she had been through, Akgün didn't want to hear it. Because he couldn't bear it. But in the end he was forced to witness Yağmur's breakdown. The first one of many others to come. And when they come, he won't be able to stay away any longer.

Yağmur

Yağmur's journey this season is all about healing and acceptance. She has to live through those 5 stages of grief. Just like Meredith Grey once said: "There are five stages of grief. They look different on all of us. But there are always five". And I already said in my episode 22 review that Yağmur locked herself in denial. Naz in her conversation with Akgün confirmed it. But ever since Akgün showed up in the restaurant, it's like the floodgates of Yağmur's grief have been open. She started spiralling, diving head first into anger. All her anger was directed at Akgün. And even though Yağmur came to visit Akgün in prison to say that she was no longer angry with him, her biting words, the "I don't love you anymore" and the following panick attack - all of that only proves that she's still just as angry with him as she was, simply because she's still very much in love with him.

I think Yağmur's bargaining stage of grief revealed itself with Naz, when Yağmur went to the hotel to bring Naz home. In Yağmur's head there is this idea that she has to protect Naz, she's convinced that she can save her cousin from suffering Canan's fate. But Naz refused to go with Yağmur, therefore making Yağmur feel helpless and maybe even abandoned. Already in this fragile and vulnerable state, Yağmur completely lost it after having heard gunshots. She finally started accepting that something's wrong. And it's so important that, when she finally said the words "I don't recognize myself anymore", Akgün was the one she said those words to. It's like she had been waiting for him all this time. Naz told Akgün that Yağmur needed someone to tell her what had happened to her. Akgün's that someone. Only with Akgün back in her life, Yağmur will finally accept her mother's death and then start moving on.

Selim

I don't have much to say about Selim in episode 23 other than a string of curses 🤬🤬🤬.

I've never loved this character and barely even liked him. Canan made him bearable and with her gone... Well, we've got what we saw in the last episode. I wonder how he was never kicked out of his job. Not only was he completely unhinged but also absolutely stupid and unprofessional during that mission with Sare. Then him forcing Akgün to choose between himself and Soner. And of course him storming into Yağmur and Emel's house, yelling and demanding to see Naz. Mister, it's not your place to demand anything, let alone act all righteous and question Emel as a mother. I swear, I wanted to rip his tongue out 😠😡😤

That's pretty much all I have to say about Selim in the last episode. Well, I've got more to say but I don't see it moving forward without me spitting profanities and turning violent.

A few honourable mentions:

🖤 Naz and her attempt to talk to Akgün about Yağmur.

🖤 Sare was kinda funny and she deserved a cookie for putting up with Selim. Glad they didn't make her stupid and she figured out that she was being followed.

🖤 Cihan trying to help Yağmur with her panick attack was very sweet. It was a nice first meeting. Although him being her secret admirer is kinda creepy and makes zero sense for now. I really hope they're going to show how it all started. Speaking of Cihan. I'm kinda conflicted about him. On the one hand, he's sweet and gentle with Yağmur, pretty hot when he was speaking German but also cunning and cold-blooded when he tipped off the Mertoğlu about Soner's whereabouts. And in episode 24 he's going to team up with Akgün to avenge Soner?🤔 Damn, the guy's making my head spin.

And that's pretty much it. Görüşürüz!

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thevividgreenmoss · 4 years ago

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My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

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brokutosan · 4 years ago

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Title. Burnt Out, Part Two

Pairing. Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary. In which he’s intoxicated and opens up about things he never got the chance to. Part two of Burnt Out, Suna Rintaro’s point of view.

Warnings. Excessive intake of alcohol, cursing, and manga spoilers.

Suna Rintaro started dating his long-term girlfriend L/N Y/N in highschool. She was the type who kept to herself and had a small, yet golden, circle of friends. She got along well with his volleyball team because she had a great personality, and she went along with teasing their friend Miya Atsumu.

He met her when he was in preschool and he made her cry because he accidentally took her chuupet. His mom made him apologize and they bonded over a whole pack his mom bought for them to share. A few years later, he realized he liked her in his last year of middle school, when he got upset over losing his last competition with the team and she was there to cheer him up with a pack of chuupet.

He admits he’s not one for romantic gestures, but his feelings for her were always sincere. Growing up, Suna lacked the energy nor the personality to make much friends, so he was always relieved knowing she was there. They grew up together, and that’s something Suna would never replace. He associates his childhood with her and their love for chuupets.

Throughout their relationship he tried his best to show he appreciated her. Though what he liked best about her was that he didn’t need to try. He always assumed she knew and she understood his actions. After joining a pro team he got a bit busier, but he assumed she would understand.

“Quit assuming Y/N-chan’s gonna stick around for your shit. Sure, she’s always been the best of us for understanding your...detachment to everyone else, but she ain’t a saint. Get ‘yer shit together or she might just finally up and leave.” Atsumu once told him, but Suna tries not to dwell in anything the piss haired dumbass tells him. But what he said was true.

Which is why Suna decided to gamble. He told his teammates and the twins that if he won the next three consecutive games and the team placed top three in the league, he’d finally propose. Osamu told him not to gamble with life, his teammates told him not to blame them if they lose, and Atsumu rejoiced and called him brilliant. Suna’s not sure how he feels about their response, but he’s willing to risk it. Because it’s for her.

After the third win Suna went with his team to celebrate, mostly because he was in a good mood and because he was nervous yet excited at the same time. But then she called.

What if she found the ring he loosely hid in his sock drawer? What if she thinks it’s for someone else? Oh god, what if she thinks he’s cheating on her? What if-

“Actually-” “By the way-”

He lets her go first because he cares like that. But suddenly he wishes he didn’t.

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore.” Oh. With that one sentence all the pride and joy brimming up his body is flushed down by sorrow and dread. Color drains from his face and he feels like he’d stopped breathing. Suddenly all those “what-ifs” didn’t sound so bad anymore.

“I’ll pack my bags while you’re at work tomorrow.” Suna ends the call there because he’s scared she might hear his life crashing down through the phone. Still a bit shocked, Suna lets his body slide down the dingy alleyway. No tears fall because he’s not an emotional person like that, but the turmoil in his head makes him itch for a distraction.

He hears the loud cheers of his teammates inside the bar and finds the perfect solution.

“Rintaro-kun, get ahold of yourself!” Komori Motoya whisper-yells at his intoxicated teammate. Said intoxicated teammate is currently stumbling over his own two feet as he tries to walk in a straight line with one arm slung over Komori’s shoulders.

Komori mumbles a few strings of curses as he drags the man to the elevator. “Why did you even drink this much?” He asks no one in particular, mainly because the man in question was too busy laughing at his own reflection in the elevator mirror.

Komori remembers that MSBY has an away game, which probably means they’re all together in a hotel or probably running late with practice, and decides to call Sakusa for help. Much needed help, as he hears another groan from Suna. If he pukes - no, he won’t even think about it. Shaking his head, Komori pulls out his phone and dials a number. It rings four times, before his cousin’s cranky voice mumbles out, “Hello?”

“Sakusa! Is Miya still around?” Komori urgently grunts out, simultaneously hoisting up his teammate who’s currently being dragged down by gravity and alcohol. “What could you possibly need from that moron?” He can imagine the scowl on his cousin’s face, but he decides to focus on more important matters.

Like the idiot now hanging loosely on his shoulders. Suna’s a bit taller, so Komori has to drag his feet through the floor with one arm and keep his phone pressed to his ear with one hand. “Tell him it’s about Rintaro-kun.” There’s rustling and the sound of the phone being handed off to someone else, and then Atsumu’s croaking out a, “What-,” obvious that he was awoken from his sleep.

Komori’s not in the right state of mind to feel any remorse, so he gets to the point. “Miya, do you know Rintaro-kun’s girlfriend’s number?”

“Why?” Atsumu grumbles, still half asleep. The sound of a boisterous laughter through the phone snaps him awake, though, as he recognizes the familiar sound. “Holy shit!” He shoots up, sheets strewn on the floor. Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a crime.

“Komori, listen - whatever he does, make sure you get it on camera!” (Komori hears Sakusa mumble, “You’re a shitty person,” and Atsumu bark back with a, “Shut ‘yer trap, Omi-kun!”) Choosing to ignore his idiocy, Komori urges on, “Do you know her number or not?”

“I mean yeah, but if ‘Taro’s that drunk then I’m pretty there’s problems with Y/N-chan.” Komori feels a vein pop, both because Suna’s weight is really starting to push down on his shoulders, and because Atsumu’s proving himself to be pretty useless in this situation.

“I don’t care anymore! Can you just text me her number so I can drop this idiot off?” Komori huffs. Atsumu hums and hangs up, seconds later texting him Y/N’s number. He hands Sakusa (who’s now unsurprisingly wearing gloves) back his phone and plops back down to his comfy hotel room bed, remembering to check on his friend the next morning.

Komori finally makes it to the address sent to him by Suna’s girlfriend after about thirty minutes of dragging the said man through crowds and avoiding the judgemental looks from people passing by.

He wastes no time in pressing the doorbell before he’s met face to face with the girlfriend-in-question. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she looks about as bad as Suna does, though a lot more sober. Miya was right. He thinks to himself. Relationship problems, huh?

“Ah, thank you for bringing him home safely, Komori-san!” She bows. Her voice is strangled and hoarsed, but the politeness is still there. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, I can take him from here.” Y/N holds out her arms, and perhaps because of how heartbroken she looks, Komori gently shakes his head.

“I can set him down on the couch. He’s not exactly lightweight, you see.” She simply nods, not having enough energy to go back and forth over the matter. “Thank you so much.” She says with another bow. Once Suna’s bodyweight is off his shoulders and he can feel his full body again, Komori waves his hand to show that it was no big deal.

He silently hopes he’s not overstepping, before mumbling on his way out, “I hope you two work it out.” She responds with a weak smile and another bow before locking the door behind him.

Finally alone again, Y/N steps towards her now-ex boyfriend, and decides to help him feel more comfortable by removing his shoes. Suna complies by grumbling something that can’t be understood, so Y/N continues with cleaning him up.

“Sit up real quick, ‘Taro.” She whispers. Suna obeys and sits up with his eyes still closed. His movement releases a whiff of beer and his usual cologne. Y/N has to hold her breath because of the pungent scent, but she continues to care for him with gentle hands.

Suna opens his eyes and though everything is still blurry, he could easily recognize her anywhere. He grabs hold of one of wrist that was busy yanking off his coat from his body and pulls her closer to him. She slightly falls down on where he’s seated on the couch, but she catches herself before she could completely crash down on him.

“Hi.” Suna mumbles into her neck.

“Hey. Let’s get you into some more comfortable clothes, ‘Taro.” Y/N tries to pry herself off him, but his hold on her tightens and now she finds herself engulfed into his chest with two strong arms wrapping around her frame. “Don’t wanna. Just wanna stay here.”

“Okay.” Y/N decides there’s point arguing with an intoxicated man and allows herself to melt into his hold.

But then she remembers their conversation from earlier, and her cruel decision of breaking it off without an explanation. Guilt overwhelms her and soon she attempts to pry herself off again, and this time she’s successful. Suna whines.

“Come back.” His voice is an unfamiliar pitch higher and he’s making grabby motions at her with his arms. “Try to sober up a little first, okay?” Y/N calms him down before heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

It only took ten seconds for Suna to follow suit, albeit still drunk and wobbly, but he is able to hold himself up until he grabs hold of her from behind, her warmth heating up his frozen body once again. “Don’t leave me.” Y/N’s not sure if he means now, or in general. Does he even remember their phone call?

Nontheless, he isn’t in his right mind, and Y/N doesn’t want to say anything that might cause him to react wildly. “Okay, let’s sit down though, yeah?” Suna nods, and his hair tickles the back of her neck. They awkwardly shuffle through the kitchen back to the couch, where Suna continues to snuggle into her chest. Y/N finds herself combing her hand through his tangled hair, somehow finding comfort in this rare display of affection.

They stay like that for a couple minutes, Y/N sitting awkwardly down on the couch and Suna’s overgrown body slumped over hers as he clings onto her waist for dear life. Y/N decides not to beat around the bush and tries to clear the elephant in the room.

“Did this happen because of what I said?” It’s a stupid question, and Y/N knows the answer to it, but she doesn’t know why she needs to hear it coming from him. Suna only nods, not once breaking away from his hold on her.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Y/N offers. Maybe, if he’s being this uncharacteristically clingy right now, then he’d be more comfortable with opening up.

“Don’t leave me.” Suna mumbles again, this time Y/N can feel the desperation in his voice.

“I won’t. Not right now, at least. But we need to talk about it.” Y/N’s hand is still combing through his dark locks, and for a second she thinks he fell asleep because of it, but he speaks up again.

“If I ignore it will you take back what you said?” Suna tries to bargain. Y/N lets herself laugh, though it comes out choked because of how dry her throat was from crying. The sound however, makes Suna lift his head up from its place on her chest, his chin resting just above her breasts as he stares straight into her eyes.

“I’m being serious right now.” Everything about him is delirious, but his eyes scream that she should listen to what he’s about to say.

“I don’t know what changed, but I’m sorry if it’s because of something I did.” Y/N can easily tell that he’s just starting to sober up, but not enough for him to totally pull away or stop talking yet. “It was because of something Atsumu said,” She finds herself confessing. Perhaps she hasn’t totally sobered up from the bottle of wine she finished a few hours ago.

“That bastard.”

“- back in highschool.” Suna shows no remose towards what he said. Highschool school or now, Atsumu is still Atsumu, and he said what he said.

“When you guys fought over who’s fault it was when you lost a game, he told me I was dating a rock.” Suna tilts his head in confusion (and Y/N tries not to make it too obvious that she’s getting ticklish every time he moves). “A rock?” He grumbles with a scowl on his face. (He totally looks like an angry puppy right now, but Y/N decides that this isn’t the right time to gush over it).

“And then I got a wedding invitation from Mika and Daishou-kun. I drank a little too much too, so my thoughts just spiraled down negatively.” Y/N sighs as she relives the emotional turmoil she went through that evening. “I let my emotions and something Atsumu said years ago get the best of me, and I really hurt you. I’m sorry, ‘Taro.” Y/N doesn’t notice the tears streaming down her face as she cups his face in her hands. Suna leans into her touch and hums.

“I think I can understand what Atsumu said, though.” Suna mumbles out. He gets up from his comfortable spot, and Y/N feels herself missing his warmth right away.

And then he heads into the bedroom, much more sober now, and Y/N stares at him him out of curiosity. He comes back out within seconds with something in his hand and sets it down on the coffee table as he sits back down next to her. Y/N gasps.

“I told myself that I was gonna do this after winning three consecutive games. I think I was gonna do it even if we didn’t, though.” Y/N switches her gaze between her lover and the velvet box that contained a ring.

The ring itself was simple, yet elegant. There’s a single big diamond sitting in the middle of a silver band, and its beauty makes up for its simplicity. The ring is true to Suna’s character, though she suspects some of his friends had a say in picking the ring (there’s no way Suna would have been able to decide on it himself).

“This wasn’t how I planned for it to go down, but I feel like if I don’t do it now, I might not get another chance.” There’s a certain sincerity in his eyes and desperation in his voice that makes Y/N’s heart ache, both out of happiness and guilt for what she did earlier that night.

“I know I’m not gonna be the best husband - hell, I wasn’t even close to being the best boyfriend - but what I do know for sure is that there’s no one else I’d want to be with other than you.” Suna grabs the box from the table and gets down on one knee in front of the couch, where she’s still seated with tears streaming down her face.

“I promise I’ll try my best to open up more. I won’t let you get bothered by something that idiot said in highschool again, and I’ll make sure you’ll never have to question my love again.” Suna finishes with a smile, “So, Y/N, will you marry me?”

Y/N doesn’t trust her voice so she chooses to nod vigorously instead, launching herself into his welcoming arms. He falls back from the impact but his hold on her is still tight. Everything is in place again, and the figurative fire between them sparks again. If they tried hard enough, even a burnt out match can still be relit.

“Wanna mess around and pretend we broke up because of what Atsumu said?”

A/N. Also another re-uplod. Thank you for reading! You can tell I was pushing my ‘komori is team mom’ agenda bc I love my boy. Anyways, sorry if the ending got a bit cheesy but I don’t really know how to write it without making it cheesy - chuu

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #hq!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #hq imagines #hq scenarios #hq oneshot #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #suna rintarou #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro scenario #suna rintaro oneshot #suna rintaro x reader

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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

Text

In the Apple Fields.

Summary: You and Steve go on a double date with Bucky and his girlfriend, Ruth, to go apple picking in Saratoga.

Disclaimer: I know nothing about the 30’s/40’s so plz pardon the lack of detail in my writing and anything that is incorrect, I am trying to expand my writing field.

It was kind of hard for me to write this for whatever reason, so it didn’t go as exactly planned, I hope you still enjoy it though!

Warnings: none. besides my dumb-ass apple puns at the end (it was just so a-peeling) I’m done I swear.

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Part of my Fall Writing!

“Hey doll! Ya ready for today?”

You excitedly gripped the bright red telephone against your face, your cheeks heating up and a large grin on your lips. In the kitchen, your mother looked back from the stove, to see your childlike giddiness, a smile forming on her own face.

When you were three, your mother and father moved to Brooklyn from Philadelphia, a better job presenting itself to your family. As soon as you moved in, two little boys, a few years older, came up to greet you and your family, the three of you soon clicking. Days later, you came to know them as Bucky and Steve. Your parents were all very close, a tight knit circle soon forming.

And now 21 years later, you all were still just as close.

When Steve’s mother had passed, it was hard on everyone. Mrs. Rogers had the best personality, she was like a second mother to you.

When the news arrived that she had passed, Bucky had tried to get Steve to come over and live with them, the stubborn man refusing. Your undeniable love for him made you do just the same. Relentlessly, you’d bother him, bringing him muffins, taking him for lunch, yet not once did he ever budge.

It was scary to think of Steve ever being homeless or not having any food, for his mother worked hard to make sure that it didn’t happen.

Steve and Bucky were two years older than you, and at the age of five you started developing a crush on the little blonde. Sure, he might’ve been smaller than other boys, but you loved him regardless.

It always crushed you to see Steve getting rejected or teased for the way he looked. In your eyes, he was just as perfect as any other man. As you guys became older, and dating became more prominent, you made sure to be there for Steve. He already had a spot reserved in your heart, if only he knew then. Bucky would try and set Steve up with other girls, but the second they rejected him, the blonde would sit on the sidelines, moping, until you’d find him and spend the whole night with him.

Eventually, Bucky caught on and you even truthfully confessed your feelings, making the man pinky promise on not telling Steve.

Weeks passed until Bucky was finally over the two of you dancing around each other.

“C’mon punk! She’s totally into you!”

“You’ve lost your mind Buck.”

Steve just shook his head and solemnly picked at the french fry basket in front of him. You were out shopping with some old friends from high school, when Bucky knew that now was the time to prep Steve.

“Why would I lie about this? She told me! I even made a pinky promise on it.”

Now Steve was full on laughing not realizing Bucky was being dead serious. When his laughter stopped, he saw Bucky’s unamused expression.

“Wait, you’re being serious?”

“No shit, Sherlock. (y/n) loves you and you need to man up and ask her out, ya idiot.”

“Well, if you are being serious, how would I go about asking out (y/n)?”

“I’m glad you asked…”

And this is the part where Bucky pulls out a 20 slide presentation titled How To Ask Out A Woman.

That morning Bucky had stopped to invite you for lunch later with them, but you politely rejected, for you had a day planned out with some other friends. When you told Bucky he seemed almost ecstatic which honestly kinda confused you.

Later that day, you’d find out.

To be more specific, you’d be sitting on the couch, the doorbell ringing. Opening the door, you’d find a well dressed Steve, red roses in one hand, while the other anxiously swiped at his dangling hair. Soon after he’d hand you the roses, his meek voice would speak something along the lines of “Will you go on a date with me?”

(Sorry about the weird switch of verb tenses)

And of course you were over the moon! Happily, you rushed the man in and kissed him deeply, his cheeks turning crimson red causing you to giggle. The poor thing was so nervous, you were afraid he was gonna have an asthma attack from just asking you out.

Now here you were, a year later. Happy with Steve, enjoying every date.

“I’m so excited Steve!”

You could hear the man’s laughter over the phone, your smiling only growing bigger.

This was your first road trip in New York and you were delighted. Last week, you had even invested in some brown leather loafers for the trip, taking on many extra shifts at the library earned you those shoes and you’d treat them like gold from here on out.

“I couldn’t tell, pumpkin. Bucky and I are gonna go get the car from his cousin’s, then you and Ruth.”

His small sarcastic quip made you giggle some more as you bid him goodbye.

“Okay, I’ll see you then, darlin.”

“See you soon, angel!”

Oh! And that’s another thing.

Since Steve has been dating you, your parents, Bucky, even Bucky’s parents noticed he has a new found sense of confidence.

Hanging up the phone, you sighed in bliss, picturing the lovely moments to come. Unfortunately your daydream was interrupted as your mother moved from the kitchen, folding her apron on the chair beside you.

“You don’t want to be late, now do you, dear?”

With that your mother pulled you away and into the bathroom, grabbing a comb, a red bandana, and some hairspray to pin up your hair.

To match the hairstyle; navy overalls, a red and white striped shirt underneath, and you were soon prepared for the buggy and muddy fields of the apple orchard.

An hour later, Steve showed up at your doorstep, holding a hand out for your own. You hugged your parents goodbye and looped your arm in Steve’s.

The man planted a kiss on your cheek, his arm falling to wrap around your waist, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Hiya sugar! How are you?”

You both slowly walked in sync down the apartment stairs.

“I’m better now that you’re here, honey!”

Turning your head, you threw a small wink his way.

Steve, ever the gentleman, took your small duffel bag and threw it into the trunk of the convertible as you went to the driver’s seat.

Kissing Bucky’s cheek, the man then pulled you in for a hug, disregarding the door separating you two.

“Hey doll-face! Excited for the trip I see?”

You nodded your face and quickly went to the passengers seat.

Ruth sweetly smiled at you, getting out of the car and embracing you in a hug.

Out of all of Bucky’s girlfriends, Ruth was by far the sweetest one, the two of you quickly clicking.

“Hiiiii (y/n)!!”

“Hey Ruth!”

“You look absolutely adorable, girly!”

Looking down at your clothes you smiled and returned the compliment to Ruth, taking in her own outfit. A pair of high waisted denim trousers, a white puff sleeve blouse, black loafers, and her strawberry blonde hair tied in a low ponytail.

The two of you continued to make small conversation, awaiting Steve’s return, who then showed up not too long after.

Ruth pulled down the passenger seat, allowing you and Steve to crawl into the back. With the sun out, and a small breeze, it was the perfect time for the convertible’s top to be off, after all, it was a three hour drive to Saratoga.

The three hours passed quickly as you took in the scenery, Bucky making jokes, and you and Ruth singing along to the radio.

Just as you were fifteen minutes away from the orchard, Steve picked up your hand and kissed it, a way to get your attention. You had been so caught up in helping navigate, and just goofing around, that you hadn’t even noticed what Steve had been doing the whole time. Your head immediately turned towards him at the affectionate gesture, a smile spreading on your lips as Steve showed you his sketchbook.

On the page, a beautifully sketched woman matching your attire, leaning against the car door, her hair slightly blowing in the wind although it was in an updo as yours. Soon your eyes traveled up to the woman’s face, a bright beam plastered on her lips as she was mid laugh, soon your eyes met hers and you came to realize that it was you.

At the bottom Steve penned his name and a sweet note.

For you my love. -Steven Rogers

“Oh Stevie! It’s beautiful!

Carefully, you set aside the picture and flung your arms around his neck, leaving the man chuckling but soon holding you close.

“All right kids, simmer down, we’re here now.”

You pulled back from the hug and shot Bucky a glare in the rearview mirror, to which he stuck his tongue out at you.

As soon as Ruth stood up from her seat in the car, Steve scrambled to get out and around to your side, flinging open the driver door. You giggled at his chivalry and put your hand in his outstretched one.

The four of you walked through the gravel parking lot, careful not to get rocks in your loafers.

The woman at the gate politely greeted you all and handed each of you a burlap sack, explaining that the apples are priced by the pound.

You and Ruth soon interlocked arms and bounded off into the orchard, leaving Bucky and Steve behind who kindly waved you both off.

“I’m not gonna say I told you so, but… I told you so.”

Steve slapped Bucky’s arm that was wrapped on his shoulder.

“Oh shut up will ya, Buck?”

Bucky removed his hand in surrender before heading off to go find you and Ruth, Steve following suit.

Upon discovering you intermingled with the trees, Steve couldn't take his eyes off the sight in front of him. You and Ruth were happily picking the cortland apples for cider tonight, laughing about something you had just said, while playfully throwing apples to each other’s sacks.

In Steve’s mind, no picture could ever justify how beautiful and mesmerizing your smile was. He could just stare at you all day, a smile cemented onto his lips, and to say, that's exactly what happened.

The whole day as you all picked apples, and ran up and down the orchard, Steve was just grinned the entire time, adoring your every movement.

Later, many apples in the burlap sacks, Bucky and Ruth ahead, you looped your arms in Steve’s

You just smiled, taking in the picturesque sunset behind the trees of the orchard. Out of the blue, it hit you that you were in love with this man, and it was about time he knew.

“I love you, Stevie.”

You turned from the sunset to kiss his cheek, the man freezing up and you were about to apologize for overstepping when he opened his mouth for a deep breath.

“I love you too, (y/n).”

The two of you then smiled like lovesick idiots before sealing the deal with a kiss, Bucky’s whistle and cheers ruining the moment.

“I’m gonna kill you, Barnes.”

Bucky just shrugged, turning back to the produce stand. The man beside you let out a small laugh at the goofy banter before gaining a surge of confidence pulling you into a kiss once more. Your eyebrows raised in surprise, soon laying back down as you smiled into the kiss.

“C’mon guys, save it for the hotel!”

Pulling away, you picked up the sack of apples, going to the scale. Steve then offered to pay even after your relentless arguing about it.

The burlap sack over your shoulder, you and Steve quickly caught up with Ruth and Bucky who were already close to the car.

What better way to end a fun day with one of Steve’s terrible puns?

Ruth was locked into Bucky’s side, you doing the same with Steve, when the man beside you dug around in his pocket, an apple now in his hand.

Lifting the apple to his eye, the blonde spoke up.

“I’d say (y/n) is the apple of my eye!”

Cue the playful groans from you, giggles from Ruth and the “atta boy” from Bucky.

“Okay! Okay! Lemme just say that I’d like to apple-ogize for the pun…”

You couldn’t have picked a better boyfriend.

As they say, don’t judge an apple by its peel, and always look on the brighter cider of life.

I promise you will never see a pun from me again.

Taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild

the taglist is open! lemme know if you want to join!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #chris evans #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x reader #chris evans x reader #sylvie's fall writing

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lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

Text

Beach Tagger

A/N: Hi hi!! Switching up from my usual angst and writing a bit of fluff ☺️ I love reading whatever you all have to say––it brightens up my day! Let me know if you have any requests or just want to chat! I loooooveeee making new friends💗

I’m trying to build up my masterlist so please if you have anything you want to request, my inbox is wide open!!

(come request or chat if you’d like)

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 4.6K

“And I’m telling you,” you took your bike out of the garage and put the kick stand in place before turning around to face Shawn, “It’ll be less crowded on second street.”

Shawn took hold of the handlebars of your brother’s bike and rolled it out, “But you said that there weren’t any shops or restaurants down that end.”

Once Shawn was out of the garage, you walked over to the electric security pad that had control to open and close the doors. You dialed in the digits of your grandma and grandpa’s birthday and watched the pad light up green as the garage doors began coming down.

“Do you want to get noticed?”

Shawn stood quietly for a few moments. It was day three of your five day mini-vacation visiting your grandma at her beach house and Shawn had yet to be spotted. The two of you were granted privacy with the house being located on the back bay. During the days you could swim, kayak, and paddle board without anyone bothering the two of you––besides your cousins and family.

It was all very serene; lounging around the family bay house, with your boyfriend, that you had spent every summer at. You had given Shawn a tour on the first day of all the essential places you spent most of your time as a kid. You took him by the best pizza shop in town, best ice-cream parlor, the soccer field you had camp at when you were ten, the alley way you turned down when you broke your wrist, and where you had your first job selling popcorn on the boardwalk.

The beach town was something straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, a tiny quaint town where everyone knew each other’s business, but that didn’t stop the reality of Shawn’s persona. The first few days of the week were fine, you were able to take Shawn out to the boardwalk without anyone noticing him with his sunglasses and hat, but now it was the weekend. And the weekend meant that everyone from the mainland and bordering states would make the two hour drive down to the beach for a little getaway.

The beach town would be crawling with girls who would no doubt spend every minute of their weekend hunting for Shawn.

Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, “I guess you’re right.”

You didn’t like the dejected tone of his voice. So you left you bike and walked over to him. He was toying with the gear shift on the bike when you placed your hand on top of his, “If we get hungry we can bike down––or even walk––it’s not that far, promise.”

A small smile made its way onto his face as he flipped his hand over to squeeze your hand, “Sounds good.”

“Good,” you smiled as you removed your hand and went back to your bike. You kicked the kick stand up and lifted yourself up on the bike, “It’s like a 3 mile ride––“ Shawn’s jaw dropped, “––It’s all on flat ground!” You defended the mileage and gave him a once over, “And besides, you’re in shape, you can handle it.”

Shawn smirked as he slightly lowered his black sunglasses, “Checking me out, y/n?”

Even though Shawn was your boyfriend, you still blushed profusely, “I––Well, yeah. Yeah, I was.”

Shawn laughed and swung his leg over to the other side of the bike, “Good.” He then lifted himself up and peddled out of your cobblestone driveway and down the street, “Lead the way!”

You rolled your eyes and started peddling fast to catch up to Shawn. It was a little harder for you to speed up than him because you had a cruiser while he had your brother’s mountain bike. And while it was flat land you would be biking on, it was hot out.

Conversation was kept to a minimum biking down the main road, but when you led Shawn down the bike road, you were able to ride side by side and not worry about speeding cars. The bike road was the street over from the main shopping district of the town, so you were able to hear the chatting of people instead of the ocean waves.

Even though you and Shawn were riding in tandem, the conversation was still nonexistent. Shawn would occasionally ask you about certain areas you two had passed and if they had any significance in your childhood. Most of the time you always had a story for a place.

You had soon made it down to second street and just had to ride up the street in order to get to the beach. Waiting at traffic lights annoyed you, so you and Shawn would play “what are the odds” whenever you were stuck at a red light.

Shawn lost a round right when you pulled up to the boardwalk path that led to the beach. He was supposed to drink out of the spicket that beachgoers used to rinse off their sandy shoes.

“Please don’t,” you pleaded with him as you chained both of your bikes to the railing, “I don’t want Andrew calling me up asking me how you got dysentery on your vacation with me.”

Shawn shrugged and placed the two beach chairs on the sidewalk as he hovered over the spicket with a scrunched up nose, “When you lose odds, you lose odds, and if there’s nothing I stand by more it’s the rules to that game.”

You snorted, “That makes me feel confident tin our relationship.”

Shawn whipped his head up with a smile, “Odds are a way of life.”

With a roll of your eyes, you plucked your backpack out of the wicker basket attached to your bike and slung it over your shoulders, “C’mon, we’re wasting time and it’s a stupid game please don’t––Shawn! That is disgusting!”

He was only hunched over for less than a second before he turned the water off and wiped the water on his mouth off with the back of his hand, “That was pure salt water.”

“No shit,” you walked up to him and smacked him in the middle of his chest, “We’re next to the beach.”

With no response to his stupidity, Shawn took hold of your hand as he bent down to grab the handles of the beach chairs you would be using. The two of you walked up the sandy boardwalk ramp and you were prepared to see a beach tagger sitting in a chair at the bottom fo the ramp.

You were expecting to see a beach tagger that you knew. One of your friends who lives in the beach town year round had worked the second street beach location for the past year and a half. But he wasn’t sitting in the navy blue chair designated for beach taggers. There was a teenage girl who looked to be sixteen.

Immediately your hands began to sweat and Shawn looked down at you curiously. You chalked it up to being hot from the bike ride and just needing to get in the water. He seemed to believe it.

It felt like walking to the beach tagger took ages, but in reality it was a ten second walk down the ramp. She was reading a book and didn’t pay attention to you two at all, “Do you need to buy a day tag?”

You shook your head, “Uh––No. We have season passes––here,” you brought up the strings of your back pack where you had two beach tags pinned.

The girl dog eared her book and looked up at you before looking at the passes, “You’re good to––“ her abrupt stop to her sentence made you wince. You knew she looked up again at you. And you knew that she looked up at your boyfriend, not expecting to see Shawn Mendes, “…Go.” She cautiously finished up her sentence.

“Cool, right, yeah––Thanks.” You took off down the dunes and dragged Shawn along.

“What are you––Slow down,” Shawn whined as he kicked up some sand. You slowed down a bit, but as you did, you turned your head over your shoulder and saw the teenage beach tagger not engrossed in her book like she had been before. She was rapidly typing on her phone.

You knew she was telling someone she saw Shawn when she turned her head and made eye contact with you. Her smile was giddy, and you couldn’t blame her. Working as a beach tagger was literally sitting and do nothing for hours. It was boring. And now she had just seen Shawn, a musical performer that you assumed she liked, and it had probably made her entire summer.

“She noticed you,” You muttered under your breath as you and Shawn found a good place to set up your chairs.

Shawn unfolded a chair and pushed it into the sand,“Hm?”

“The beach tagger,” you nudged your head over in the direction you had just come from as you unbuttoned your shorts and flung the t-shirt over your head. You took the sun tan lotion out of your backpack, “She noticed you and she’s telling people she saw you.”

Shawn rolled his eyes as he got the second chair in place and took the sun tan lotion from you, “So what?”

“So,” you stressed as Shawn began rubbing the lotion in on your back, “People will find out that you’re here and mob you.” Your eyes involuntarily closed as you felt Shawn’s hands work deep on your shoulder blades, “We did so well the past few days.”

Shawn laughed as he brought his hands on your shoulders, lifting your bikini straps so he could get sun tan lotion under them, “We were cooped up in your house for three days.”

“We still went out and did stuff!” You exclaimed as Shawn glided his arms down your arms to wipe away any excess sun tan lotion. Your breath grew shallower as he slid his hands slowly down to your hands and played with your fingers. He intertwined your hands and pulled your back into his chest.

Shawn then crossed your tangled arms over your stomach as he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder, “I don’t care,” he kissed your cheek, “I like being in public with you.”

His breath was hot as he hung over your ear for a split second before untangling one of his hands and trailing it up the front of your stomach, “Although…If she hadn’t seen us maybe we could’ve been a bit more…” he let his sentence trail off and your eyes widened when you felt Shawn’s fingertips lightly graze under your bikini top.

“I think your mother would absolutely cut your head off if she saw any pictures like that in any publication.”

Shawn let out an overdramatic sigh as he removed his fingers the under part of your top piece and hooked his arm around your waist, “I know,” he squeezed you tight, “Such a shame.”

You laughed and untangled yourself from him. You picked up the sunscreen and squirted some lotion into your hand, “Now, if there’s one thing Andrew will call me up about, it’ll be because of how burnt you got.”

With no response, because Shawn knew you were right on that one, he turned around and bent his knees so you could lather up his back. You took longer than necessary, wanting to spend more than necessary feeling every crevice of his back. By the time you had applied three coats to him and told him almost done for the seventh time, you knew it was time to stop.

The next few minutes the two of you applied sunscreen to your face, arms, legs, and Shawn insisted he get your stomach. Can’t ever be too prepared for the sun, he said, you could always miss a spot.

And you never denied having Shawn’s hands roam your body.

It was just after twelve, with the sun being at its hottest point during the day, and all you wanted to do was jump in the ocean. The smell of the salt water and squawk of the seagulls mocked you for not being allowed in.

“You have to let it soak in,” Shawn berated you, “You grew up on the water, don’t you know that?”

“I do,” you grumbled as you leaned back into your chair, “I just feel really sticky from the sun tan lotion.”

Shawn muttered something about you being needy and you kicked sand his way. After a few more moments of sitting down, Shawn stood up and held his hands out for you to take, “Up.”

You didn’t question his simple command and reached your hands out to grasp onto him. When your hands connected you couldn’t ignore the jolt of electricity that still zipped through your veins like the first time you had ever touched him.

He dropped one of your hands, but kept the other hand held tight in his. Just like you had told him, there was barley anyone on the second street beach. It was more residential up this way of the town and all of the weekenders went to the main strip of the boardwalk to have easy access to food, bathrooms, and mini golf.

You meandered down toward the ocean and walked up to where the ocean waves just met the shore line. The two of you just stood there, watching the tide bring in little broken shells and then take them back out to the ocean. After a few moments, Shawn squeezed your hand and the two fo you began walking along the shallow part of the water.

“Thought we had to wait to get wet,” You chuckled as the waves barely covered your feet for ten seconds.

Shawn kicked some water, “Needed to cool off, plus, I think our feet are fine.”

You hummed in response, not knowing what else to say.

Conversation was never pressured in your relationship. The two of you prided yourselves on enjoying each others company more than anything else. But there was something off with this offbeat silence of ocean waves.

“Talk to me,” You nudged his shoulder with yours and looked up at him. He looked down at you with a fond smile, “Something’s up.”

Shawn nudged your shoulder back and chuckled, “I’m fine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Did you really just pull the I’m fine card with me?” Your tone was light hearted, but when Shawn’s unnerving silence carried on, you changed your tone to one more of concern, “Are you nervous for tour?”

“Will you miss me at all?”

Shawn didn’t miss a beat with his response. It was as if he had the question echoing around his head all day and was just waiting for the right time to bring it up. The point of the mini-vacation was to spend as much time with Shawn before he jetted off to Europe to embark on a summer tour. He had already completed his rehearsals so right after this weekend was done, he would be flying to New York City to meet up with Andrew and the rest of his crew, and then flying over to Amsterdam.

You had met Shawn through a mutual friend at university when he happened to show up at one of the house parties. And since then, the two of you were constantly together; whether it be on FaceTime, phone calls, texting–literally anything. Right from the start Shawn had expressed interest in you and wanted to skip the whole friends first phase.

He was impatient, but it was a decision that you agreed with. His personality was infectious and his laugh was addicting. You didn’t want to waste any time pretending like you weren’t interested in him.

That was October and it was now the first week of June. The only time you experienced Shawn on tour was for his Jingle Bell tour run in December. And while he was just in the United States, it was still complicated to keep up with his schedule and tour demands. It was early on in your relationship that you had to learn to adapt to his lifestyle. He thought it made him undesirable, but it made you appreciate being in his presence and seeing his smile a million times more.

But a European tour was different. This was day after day for months on end with an intense time zone difference. It was going to be difficult, you didn’t lie to yourself about that, but you were confident enough in your relationship that it wouldn’t change anything.

So when Shawn instantly asked you––will you miss me at all––at all––In the least confident voice you had ever heard come from his mouth, you felt your heart get carried away with the tide.

“I––Of course I’ll miss you,” you spoke in a strained voice, not liking whenever this topic was brought up, “I––I’ll miss you everyday, Shawn, but you’re going to have so much fun.” You squeezed his hand.

He sighed and ran a hand through his curls. One of them bouncing back in place, “I know…I know…I just––I don’t know.”

“Hey,” you stopped walking. It took Shawn a few seconds before he was pulled back since he was continuing walking down the beach and you came to a standstill. You squeezed his hand and spoke softly, “We have a plan, we’ve talked about this.”

Shawn kept his eyes trained out toward the ocean’s horizon, a far off look in his eyes; pain.

“I know––I don’t even know why I said that––Just, forget it. It’s not important.” He went to start walking, but again, he was pulled back by your hands still being connected and you standing still, “Y/n…”

You tugged on his hand again until he stood next to you. Both of you were now looking out into the unknown ocean, “It’ll be hard,” you gulped and Shawn responded with a monotone yeah, “But we can do it. It’ll be hard, but we’ve done some distance before, this is just a bit…longer,” you realized that what you were saying wasn’t really helping the situation.

You sighed, “I’ll always pick up your calls.”

“What if you’re at your internship?” He fired back.

“Then I might not answer it,” you answered honestly, “But––I’ll say I have take a bathroom break and then I’m all yours for fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” It was the first time Shawn broke concentration with the ocean and stared at you with wide eyes, “That’s a fucking long bathroom break.”

You shrugged and offered him a soft closed lipped smile, “I’ll just say it was a terrible shit.”

Shawn tilted his head back in laughter. His eyes were shut tight and his mouth let out a laugh so pleasing that you wished to be the only one to hear it for the rest of time, “They’ll never let you go to the bathroom again––Or––Or they’ll have you clean it up.”

Again, you shrugged and smiled up at him, “Worth it if I get to talk to you.”

“Even if I have to hang up like thirty seconds later?” Shawn’s voice returned to its anxious state, “Even if you call back like right after I call and I don’t pick up––“

“It’s all worth it,” you leaned into his side and brought a hand around his waist. He slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, “Even if I get your voicemail.”

“I’ll miss you,” Shawn spoke lowly. The raw tone of passion and honesty that he held in his voice sent chills down your spine that made you want to wrap yourself in a blanket in the middle of summer, “I’ve––I don’t think I’ve missed anymore more than you before and I haven’t even left yet.”

You never felt a smile overtake your face just like the one you had plastered on your face right now, “Good,” you were sure your smile was blinding the sun, “Because I love you too much for you not to miss–––“

You cut yourself off faster than the thought left your lips. I love you too much. You had been in a relationship for around eight months––close to a year––and the two of you knew that you loved each other, but it’s just never been spoke out loud before. Shawn knew your reservations with that word and respected it. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in love, or had a bad history with an ex-partner, but it was the commitment that the word brought out. It was commitment that this relationship had potential to be something more than just boyfriend and girlfriend.

Love was the closet thing that the world had to magic; it seemed too dangerous to throw around something so magnificent in power.

Your mouth went dry, “I––Well, you––You’re gonna be gone for so long and I––You better not miss Brian more than me or we’ll have a serious issue––But like, I get he’s your best friend, but I’m your girlfriend––Eh––Hold on, that sounded really possessive and weird because like––I like Brian and I like your friends––Your whole world shouldn’t revolve around me––“

“I love you, too.”

“Because if it revolved around me, then we wouldn’t have a healthy relationship and––What?”

Shawn tilted his head and shifted your body so that you were in front of him, eyes locked, “I love you.”

“You––What?” It was the second time Shawn spoke those words to you, but you still couldn’t process the information.

“I love–––“

Your eyes closed as your heart opened up, waiting for Shawn to kiss you after telling you he loved you again. His lips softly touched yours before he was interrupted from finishing the sentence you wanted to hear from him and only him for the rest of your life.

“Are––Are you Shawn Mendes?”

It was a bit of an awkward situation. Shawn had his hands on your waist and your hands were flat against his muscular chest. His lips were still hovering yours and he let out an annoyed sigh as he continued rubbing his thumb softly over your hip.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and plastered on a smile that you knew was a bit forced.

“Hey, yeah––I’m Shawn,” He introduced himself as he still kept an arm thrown over your shoulder, “And what are your names?”

The three teenage girls all looked at each other silently screaming about how they couldn’t believe they had run into Shawn Mendes in their tiny beach town. You always enjoyed being present when fans met Shawn. You loved how they looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky, but you were pretty sure you looked at him the same way too.

Shawn conversed with the fans for a few minutes, asking their recommendations for places to go in town, where their favorite mini golf was, and telling them all what he had done the past few days in town. Of course they brought up the dreaded topic of tour and you felt Shawn tense up as he sputtered out his media trained response; it’s my favorite part of the job, I can’t wait to get back out and see everyone again. While that statement was true, you knew that he was more apprehensive about this tour and what leaving you behind meant.

You took their pictures individually with Shawn and then a group picture of the four of them. One of them asked for a picture with you, which you politely declined.

“It was really nice meeting you girls,” Shawn flashed his signature smile, “But could you hold off on posting those for a few days? I’m really trying to stay low key and relax before tour.”

They all nodded their head vigorously––Of course, Shawn–––We wouldn’t want to invade your privacy, Shawn––We’re just so thankful you took time to talk to us, Shawn––We totally get that you want to spend time with Y/n, Shawn.

Their last statement made you smile.

The girls walked off holding onto each other’s wrist whispering––Did that really just happen?! Shawn Mendes?! Here?!––and you grinned up at Shawn who was already beaming down at you.

“You just made their day.”

“Ah,” Shawn tsked, “You just made my day.”

You rolled your eyes and shrugged his arm off your shoulder and began to walk away in embarrassment. Of course you were going to talk about what had slipped through your lips just moments ago, you wanted to talk about it, but you didn’t want any teasing from Shawn.

“Hey,” Shawn whined as he managed to grab your hand before you were too far away. He pulled you back into him and resumed the position you found yourselves in before the polite fans not-so-politely interrupted your moment.

His hands felt soothing on your roasting hot skin, “I love you.”

His nose brushed yours softly as you let your eyes flutter close and let out a content sigh, “I love you, too.”

And just like that, you felt as if everything aligned perfectly in the world. Everything in your world felt complete. The sun shinned with a new meaning, the salt water air smelled sweeter, and the thumping of your heart beat with a new purpose.

You loved Shawn Mendes.

His lips touched yours lightly, no more than they did just before the girls interrupted, admittedly, you expected more of a kiss for saying I love you for the first time to each other.

“Remember; you told me you loved me five seconds ago,” Shawn rushed out in a whisper.

You opened your eyes, “Wha––“ but before you could register anything, you felt Shawn grab your waist as he hoisted you over his shoulder. You felt his shoulder collide with your stomach and your vision of his face was replaced with his swim trunks. You weren’t that upset about that part.

But as soon as stereotypical thoughts of your partner’s butt came into mind, you felt the cold ocean water hit the back of your calves. You managed to lean up slightly and hook your legs around Shawn’s torso. His musical laugh rang through your ears once more as he adjusted his hands to grip the bottom of your thighs that clung to him for dear life.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him as you nuzzled your face into his neck and shrieked, “Shawn! Don’t you––“

Before you could finish your sentence, Shawn let both of you be consumed by the salty ocean water. The temperature of the water didn’t feel remotely as bad as it had before now that your whole body had been in the water, but it was still not a pleasant surprise.

Once Shawn lifted both of you up for air, you smacked his shoulder, “Why did you do that?!”

Shawn shrugged, “I don’t know,” he offered you a guilty smile, “But you love me, so it’s alright.”

You opened your mouth, but couldn’t find anything to rebuttal that statement. You loved the way his eyes glistened under the sun. You loved the way his wet hair stuck to the sides of his face. You loved the way he listened to the nonessential details of your life. You loved the way Shawn put his best work forth in music, family, life, and with you.

So, yeah, you couldn’t be mad at him. You weren’t mad at him.

You loved him quite a lot.

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ftcoye · 4 years ago

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For 2k/200, I think the Naruto fandom deserves more Karin/Hinata, and you're one of the few that ever writes content for them. I keep going feral over the sheer potential they'd make as a power couple. Like, Karin would definitely help Hinata find a way to eradicate the Caged Bird Seal. And chakra chains plus lion fist/gentle fist? Deadly.

[Ao3 Link.]

“Do you think you can do it?” Hinata asks. Her voice is hushed – barely a breath, even though the two of them are alone in Karin’s apartment. There’s enough seals plastered everywhere to keep out even Naruto, if Karin so wished it, but it doesn’t change the tension that hangs in the air, the frightening details that lay between them on the table.

Karin presses her lips together. “Maybe,” she says. Medical seals are her specialty – everything to do with biology. She picked up a lot, some reluctant some not, from Orochimaru. This, ironically enough, does fall under that category. Despite what it’s used for, it is a medical seal. It affects the wearer’s biology, is hooked up directly to their neural pathways and possibly their chakra ones as well, and that means it’s something that Karin can maybe, maybe deal with.

She looks up from the papers and meets Hinata’s eyes square on. “It won’t be pleasant,” she warns. “I’ll need a test subject, and it might be painful.”

Hinata hesitates. “Would it… would it be deadly?”

Karin scoffs at that, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose. “What do you take me for, some amateur? Painful, sure, but never deadly. I’m no Orochimaru.”

Hinata pales. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean-“

“I know,” Karin interrupts, not wanting to hear whatever apology she’s stuttering out. Mostly because it’ll take forever. “I didn’t take it like that. But don’t worry, seriously, whoever plays test subject won’t be in that kind of harm.” She’s not a monster, geeze.

After a moment, Hinata nods. “I think… Neji-nii will be okay helping,” she says quietly.

Good. Perfect. “Can you activate the seals?” she asks.

Hinata looks startled. “What?”

“Can you activate the seals?” Karin gestures at the rough sketch on the table before them, and Hinata somehow looks even more nervous.

“Um, I can…” she says, which is great.

“Perfect,” says Karin, and Hinata stares at her like she’s insane. Except like, polite about it? It’s weird. “I’ll need your help, too. I need to see how it works.”

Hinata stares at Karin for a long moment. “That’s… what you mean by painful,” she whispers.

Karin nods. “Among other things. You still in?”

She waits, only semi-patient, while Hinata seems to mull it over. “If… if Neji-nii agrees,” she says, not quite meeting Karin’s eyes. “Then I’ll help.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

---

Neji agrees.

---

“Explain it… again, please,” Hinata says, almost begging Karin. Despite the weariness she feels in her bones, she can see the terror on the other girl’s face, and she sighs.

“Neji’s got a diagnosis seal on him,” Karin says – and indeed, the longsuffering boy has a paper seal stuck to his cheek. “I want you to activate the Caged Bird Seal, just for a little, so I can get a proper look at how it’s affecting him and where it has its hooks in.”

Hinata nods, very slowly. “You can do that with the seal?”

Karin waves a hand. “And I can sense his chakra fluctuations. It’s fine, trust me.”

“Neji-nii?” she asks softly.

He meets her eyes. “Hinata,” he says, simply. “I’d rather just have it be done.”

Karin can’t exactly blame him – she’s not sure how painful it is, or even if Neji has had to endure it before, but it’s apparently bad enough to terrify Hinata and make her shake, and make Neji tense and ready. But that solidifies it for Hinata, because they both agreed and they’ll have to do it no matter what, so she might as well do it. There’s no use prolonging it.

She nods, and opens her mouth.

Neji screams. It’s horrifying. That kind of scream would be horrifying from literally anyone, but somehow it’s even worse than it would be because it’s coming from Neji.

He screams, tears springing to his eyes as he clutches his head and falls to his knees and it’s over with in less than a minute, maybe 30 seconds of it at most but Karin thinks she’s going to hear that ringing in her ears for the rest of her life, see the way his chakra ripples every time she closes her eyes.

Hinata runs to her cousin, pressing hands to his shoulders as she calls his name, frantic with worry, and Karin tries to pull herself together.

She’s seen awful things. Experienced awful things. Hell, she’s done awful things to many of the strays that Orochimaru brought home, things she doesn’t want to remember she’s done because they’ll make her stomach turn.

But she’s never quite heard anyone scream like that.

Karin refuses to show weakness, breathing in and out and then dropping to her knees as well. She pulls the seal paper off of his face, rolls up her sleeve and shoves her arm in his face. “Bite,” she orders, and shaking, he does.

---

Fortunately, the data is enough.

Karin can see where the seal has sunk its claws in – can tell what neural pathways its hooked in, see how it destroys them.

(It would take maybe ten minutes of the seal, and you could completely destroy someone’s mind. It’s a really good thing she’s never met Hinata’s father because she’s very positive she would just start swinging on sight.)

Unfortunately, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to take the seal off. It’s sunk deep enough in, burned its way into Neji’s mind, and attempting to remove it could cause major damage. That’s the case with most seals like this, so she can’t exactly say she’s surprised.

What she can do, however, is negate it. Slap another seal on top to stop any possible damage. Even if it’s activated, make it so it does absolutely nothing – that’s doable. That’s something Karin is sure she can do.

The issue here, though, is test subjects.

Karin can’t test this on people. Not that she has… qualms about it, honestly, because she’s done a lot of shit throughout the years, but she can’t exactly go testing this on random Hyuugas and possible cause them to go accidentally braindead or something like that.

One, she’s like, extremely positive that’s illegal here in Konoha. Two, it will definitely attract a ton of attention and the Hyuuga head will find out what they’re doing and put a massive stop to it, probably by rendering Neji braindead. Three, it’ll make Hinata sad as all hell and that’s something definitely to be avoided.

So Karin reverse engineers the Caged Bird Seal until she can apply it on her own and key it into her own chakra signature and promptly tests it on animals.

Wild ones, of course – Konoha has a plethora of nin animals and summons so she always has to be careful whenever she catches one, but fortunately her chakra sensing comes into super huge handy. Nin animals and summons always feel different to her, so she makes sure she’s only getting wild ones. Squirrels and birds and other things, where she can apply the Caged Bird Seal and then apply her own work-in-progress seal as well as a diagnosis one, to test and check and see how everything’s going.

That’s where Hinata finds her, one day.

Or night, actually – it fell into darkness at some point, and Karin had been so absorbed in her notes and testing that she hadn’t even noticed. She’s muttering to herself, jotting down notes in her notebook, dead bird by her foot, when Hinata walks up.

“Karin?” she asks softly, and Karin’s so absorbed in her work she almost jumps. “Have you been here all day?”

It’s when Karin has to squint slightly at her to see her in the dying light that she realizes what time it is. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Hinata’s brow creases in concern. “You shouldn’t work yourself this hard,” she says softly. “When is the last time you had… had a good night’s sleep?”

Karin is fully aware she doesn’t look the best. She will admit it! It’s been awhile since she’s had a good night’s sleep, but how can she rest when there’s a massive group of people who could literally have their brains destroyed at any moment? God, that scream…

She has morals! Maybe not a lot, but she still has some!

“I need to get this done,” Karin tells Hinata frankly, because surely the other girl is on the same page and understands why this is so important to get done as soon as possible.

Hinata doesn’t waver. “Come on,” she says, and she holds out a hand. Karin stares at it blankly, and Hinata repeats herself. “Come on,” she says again. “We’re going to the bathhouse, and then you’re going home and sleeping.”

“But-“ Karin protests, even as she takes the hand and lets Hinata pull her up.

“No,” she says, firm. “My father won’t do anything different in a single day that he hasn’t done so many times over. If… If you don’t rest, you’ll make mistakes.”

The dead bird can attest to that. Karin grimaces, and caves. “Fine,” she says, and Hinata doesn’t let go of her hand.

---

“Do you trust me?” Karin asks.

Hinata doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she says.

When his cousin has replied, Neji gives a nod as well. “Yes,” he says. “If you are positive this will work, let us try.”

“Right,” Karin says, very carefully not letting her voice shake at all.

She paints her seal over Neji’s forehead – definitely doesn’t tattoo it, not yet and not when she’s not super accomplished in something like that. It’ll work, or it won’t, painted or not. If it does work, then she’s got it. She’s finished, she’s done, and they can figure out what to do from there. If it doesn’t work, then Neji’s going to be in pain very soon and it’s back to the drawing board and god, Karin does not want to hear him scream again.

His forehead looks strange – Karin’s black paint over the lines of his permanent seal, marking it and messing it, but Neji meets her eyes steadily. “If it works,” he says, “Then… we will be forever in your debt.”

He’s very serious. Karin snorts. “I don’t do debts,” she says. “Treat me to lunch or something.” With that, she glances at Hinata. “Ready,” she says. “Do it.”

Hinata breathes in and breathes out. Meets her cousin’s eyes, and she speaks.

Nothing happens.

There’s no screaming. No pain, no screaming, just the slightest chakra fluctuation at his forehead that Neji doesn’t even appear to feel. When nothing happens, Hinata speaks again.

“Nothing,” says Neji. “I don’t… feel anything,” he says, and his eyes are damp.

Hinata stares at him, and then her gaze drags over. Karin is fully aware she’s grinning like a lunatic (or like her cousin – actually, that’s basically the same thing, let’s be honest here), but can’t bring herself to care because holy shit she did it, she actually fucking did it-

And all of a sudden Hinata is kissing her.

It’s open-mouthed and desperate and overwhelming and it’s done way too quickly before Hinata is pulling back, cheeks dark and not meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have- I-“

Karin is gaping, she realizes, her mouth hanging open as she stares at the other girl. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize for that,” Karin says, and she grabs her for another kiss.

It’s so much and what she’s been craving for far longer than she’d ever admit to herself, and quite honestly Karin could suck her face for literally forever but Neji coughs after a little bit. “I’m still here,” he says, but he sounds amused, and Hinata pulls back with an embarrassed squeak.

Karin laughs a little. “Right,” she says, but she doesn’t apologize because that would be a big fat lie. “Rain check, Hinata? We’ve got a hell of a lot of Hyuuga to mark up.”

Hinata takes a deep breath, cherry pink, but manages a nod. “Rain check,” she says, soft but smiling, and yeah, okay, all three of them are grinning like lunatic cousins. “Let’s… do this.”

Hell yeah.

#hinata hyuuga #karin uzumaki #neji hyuuga #hinakarin #karinhina #naruto #mexicancat-girl #not sure this is QUITE what you were asking for but???

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tchallasbabymama · 4 years ago

Text

Potential Breakup Fic

Yes, this is inspired by the re-release of the classic “Potential Breakup Song” by legends Aly & AJ. Check out the rest of my Masterlist HERE. Enjoy!

Word count: 2223

CW: Niggas aint shit. Kiana sat on her couch and tried not to cry into her glass of merlot. She took off her heels and got up to unzip her dress and take off her bra since she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. She checked her phone again and was met with an empty screen. No notifications, no missed calls. She threw her phone down in anger, and was thankful when she noticed the screen didn’t crack.

“I can't believe this nigga.”

She looked at the clock and shook her head. It was 12:07am, and her 25th birthday was officially over without so much as a word from her boyfriend. Just last night he had told her to be ready by 7, and she hadn't heard from him since.

They had been together, on and off, for three years. They met their junior year at Howard, but didn’t hit it off right away. He was too slick for her liking, but over time he eventually weaseled his way into her heart. His smile lit up the whole room and his big brown eyes could seduce anyone just like that. And he did, constantly. T’Challa was a huge flirt, and it was cute when they were still single and just getting to know each other, but even now T’Challa turns his charm on for every pretty face he sees. Kiana had brought it up to him many times, letting him know how disrespected she felt. He would always say the same thing.

“But entle, I’m just being nice. You know I only have eyes for you.”

She did know that once, but that ended about a year and a half ago when she was casually scrolling through twitter on his phone and caught him cheating.

“T’Challa!”

“Yes, my love?”

“What the fuck is this?!”

“Why are you on my phone?!”

“Don't fucking raise your voice at me, I’m not in the wrong here. I saw a funny tweet and started scrolling when YOU got a text from some bitch named Jasmine talking bout ‘I miss you daddy’ and sending you pictures of her pussy. Care to explain?”

He reached for the phone and she pulled it away from him.

“Nah-uh, talk.”

He sighed in exasperation.

“If you give me the phone I can explain, sithan-”

“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me, answer the goddamn question. How long, T’Challa?!”

“Just once. Eh, one and a half maybe-”

He was interrupted by a throw pillow to the head.

“How the fuck do you halfway cheat nigga?!”

“She just gave me head the first ti-”

“That’s still cheating!”

“Will you lower your voice? You have neighbors.”

“Fuck! Them! Did you even use a condom?”

“Yes, Kiana I’m not-”

“Stupid? You’re not stupid?” Kiana laughed. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“My love, I-”

“Oh now I’m your love? Where the fuck was that energy when you were balls deep in this other bitch?!”

T’Challa stood there dumbstruck. He had never seen Kiana get this angry and didn’t know what to say. He knew he was wrong when he did it, but seeing the tears streaming down her face made him truly regret what he’d done. She had been so busy with school and work that she barely had time for him anymore. He had needs and just so happened to stumble upon someone more than willing to fulfil them.

He cursed himself for not locking his phone or at the very least, turning it over.

“How many, T’Challa...” Kiana sniffled.

“I told you, it was only twice-”

“How many women?!”

He froze, not knowing if he should mention Lisa since that was so much earlier in their relationship.

“Oh my god...oh my god...oh my- are you fucking serious?! I-I have to...I have to go get tested, I-”

“Kia-”

“What?!”

She looked at him with such fierceness that he shrunk under her gaze.

“I-I am sorry, I didn’t do it to hurt you, I was-”

He was stopped by a heavy-handed slap across his cheek that nearly knocked him over.

“Get the fuck out.” She said, barely above a whisper.

Six months later they ran into each other in the grocery store and decided to catch up over a cup of coffee. Kiana had healed and moved on, but T’Challa was still stuck on her. They had spent almost two good years together before he ruined what they had, and he just couldn’t let it go. He loved her, and he was determined to make it work this time.

Or so he really, truly thought before he met Marci...and Tanisha...

T’Challa knew he wasn’t a one-woman man, but he just couldn’t let Kiana go. His dalliances were never serious, just enough to scratch his constant itching. Sometimes they were a one-time thing, but others stuck around if they were good enough and knew how to be discreet. No matter what though, he always came back home to Kiana because despite his trash behavior, he really did love her in his own toxic way.

However, he didn’t love her enough to double check his calendar before leaving work on her birthday, or any day leading up to it. He had forgotten what day it was, and when he told Kiana to be ready at 7 he just meant for a regular date night.

It had been a long day at the Wakandan Embassy and Kiana’s Prince Charming needed a drink more than anything. He stopped at the first bar he came across that looked halfway decent. T’Challa walked up to the bar and caught the eye of the beautiful barkeep.

“Hiya, what can I do for you?”

T’Challa smiled his panty-dropping smile and she smiled back, revealing her perfect, white teeth. There was nothing he loved more than a pretty smile.

“Well, miss…”

“Tanisha,” she responded while using both arms to mix a shaker full of liquid courage and ice. His eyes avoided her chest, slyly watching in the periphery only.

“Well, Miss Tanisha, I had a horrible day at work and I am in need of a whiskey on the rocks. Preferably Jack, but truly anything will do.”

“We all have those days honey. Here’s a double on the house,” she said as she slid the drink to him across the bar top with a wink.

T’Challa licked his lips and lifted his glass to her before taking a sip of the warm amber liquid. He let out a sigh and his day seemed to melt away.

Tanisha kept coming back to check on him and they would chat when the crowd died down. T’Challa was on his third double when she came over with a plate of wings.

“You’re an angel.” He dug into the wings and made a complete mess on his shirt, so he went to the bathroom to try to wash the stain out. On his way back to the bar he noticed a very tall and sweaty man leaning over the bar trying to talk to Tanisha. From what he could see, she wasn’t feeling the conversation, but he kept approaching her anyway. When T’Challa returned to his seat she immediately gravitated towards him. This angered Mr. Tall and Sweaty, who drunkenly attempted to punch T’Challa in the face. T’Challa dodged the lazy punch and knocked him out cold with one hit. Security saw the whole thing go down, and removed Tall and Sweaty from the building once he came to.

“What you got planned for the night, handsome?”

“Nothing at all, why do you ask?”

“I get off at 9, wanna hang out?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, now here’s a water.”

“Thank you, angel.”

By 10pm he was already halfway inside her, and when his phone started vibrating he was too wrapped up in her to think anything of it. Without looking he quieted the annoying sound and turned the phone off so he could focus on the task at hand.

Two and a half hours later, T’Challa was creeping out of Tanisha’s bed right as Kiana was sliding into hers. She had washed off all her makeup, but she didn’t have the emotional energy to tie up her hair. Normally she would wear one of T’Challa’s t-shirts, but she was too angry with him so she slept in a cute nighty she never wore. She admired herself in the mirror for half a second before bursting into tears and pulling the covers up to her head. She tried to stop crying, but the tears kept coming and she eventually gave herself a headache. How could he miss her birthday?

Kiana got up and threw on her plush maroon robe before she padded to the bathroom to grab some Advil. On the way she noticed her phone getting multiple notifications, the first of which was from her best friend Bebe.

“Have u seen this?! Sis, I’m so sorry. When we slashing his tires? Just 3 tho, this nigga needs to pay $$$.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?”

Kiana clicked the link and saw that it was Bebe’s cousin Darrell’s Instagram Story. Apparently there was a fight at the bar where he was celebrating a coworker’s promotion and he had filmed it for all of Instagram to see. Kayla stared at her phone in shock. There was her aint-shit boyfriend at a goddamn bar on her fucking birthday. She watched him punch a guy in the face on her birthday. At a bar. Without her.

She thought the kicker came when she saw him turn around and flirt with the bartender, but the story after that just about killed her. There he was, leading her out the back door with his hand too far down on her lower back to be simply platonic. Even the caption read “Ooooh someone’s about to get some ‘thank you’ pussy. That damsel in distress pussy hit different!”

Kiana saw red and almost cracked her phone for a second time tonight.

She grabbed the remaining merlot and downed it before throwing the bottle at the picture of them on the fridge. She watched the glass shatter and cut their faces while the trace bit of deep red wine seeped down the picture like blood. She wanted to trash the whole place, but remembered she would have to clean it later. Kiana started to hyperventilate and felt like she needed to get some air when she heard the lock turn.

“Kiki, what are you doin- are you ok? What happened here?”

Kiana ignored him as she walked towards where she threw her phone, silently pulling up the story and handing it to him. She watched his face go from confused, to shocked, to fearful. No regret, though.

“Ki-”

“Give me your key.”

“Kiana, please let me-”

“The key. Now,” she said with her voice completely devoid of any emotion.

T’Challa assumed she would be angry and yell or throw things, but this quiet storm terrified him. To him, it felt like she didn’t even care anymore. He was right.

He slowly reached his hand out and she snatched the key ring, removing hers and tossing the rest back to him.

“I’ll have your stuff packed by the morning. It’ll be outside my door by 8am. If it’s still there when I get back from work it’s going in the trash.”

T’Challa couldn’t bear the coldness in her voice. Tears rolled down his face and his knees buckled.

“Kiana, please. I can explain, I didn-”

“I don't give a fuck what you did or didnt do. You know why?”

“W-why?”

“Because it was my birthday, T’Challa. MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY and YOU forgot it. Not only did you forget it, my gift was you fucking some other bitch and leaving me lonely yet again. So no, I don't care if you fucked her or not even though I know your sorry ass did. I know she’s probably not the only one because I saw how easily you slid on in there in that video. You were way too comfortable, so I don't even want to ask you how many because it doesnt fucking matter anymore. Now you can stick your dick in every fine ass Black girl you see without remorse, oh wait...you were already doing that. So fuck you, get out my apartment before I call my brothers.”

“Kiana…”

“5, 4, 3,...” Kiana counted as she dialed her eldest brother Trey’s number, ignoring T'Challa's pathetic excuses. “2, 1… Hey Trey, I’m sorry did I wake you up?...Yeah I have a situat- oh look at that, his bitch ass is leaving-”

“I am sorry, Kiana,” T’Challa said one last time before she slammed the door in his face. He could hear her on the other side of the door explaining the situation to her brother, and when she started to cry it finally hit him. Her wails broke his spirit and more tears fell from his eyes.

He knew Trey would be over soon to comfort his baby sister and he needed to get the hell out of dodge, so T’Challa left Kiana’s apartment and never came back. Not even for his things, which turned out to be the best thing for Kiana because she and her girls got to burn it all up in Trey’s backyard fire pit and finally release that toxic man from her life.

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #tchalla fic #tchalla x oc #angst #niggas aint shit #aly & aj #potential breakup song

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blackevermore · 3 years ago

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x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 4: Slight Nsfw }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3730

P.s: the nsfw is only in the beginning but it ends in stabbing like nothing graphic. Also would anyone like to be tagged when i update?

He doesn’t remember how he got here, or even where here was but it was familiar and felt like home. It was warm by the fire that lit up the room in feverish reds and oranges. He could feel his body gaining back its energy and his core being restored the longer the warmth surrounded him. In the comfortable bliss, he didn’t notice the pair of arms snaking across his torso until they were wrapped around his neck. His eyes shot open but he was quickly buried in the shallow of someone’s neck in a strong embrace. That’s when he felt the pressure of a body on top of his pushing down. He hadn’t registered the rocking motion against his hips until he heard the broken moan in his ear. Who? It was like a siren's call that made him clasp his hands on the body atop of him. He doesn’t remember how any of this started nor did he care to stop it. The pleasure he felt was intoxicating and drowned out all of his logical senses telling him to stop. He clung to her breathlessly as he felt his chest start to burn, he was now chasing this ghostly high throughout his entire body.

“Vlad…” The voice called his name in desperation, begging him to continue and singing for all those to hear. Her voice was all he ever wanted to hear, yet he had never heard her like this at all. What? Nails dug into his shoulders and down his back leaving trails of red tracks and intricate designs. It stung like lashes but it fueled him even more as he shifted to bite her neck. Her cry sounded more surprised than pleasurable which worried him for some reason. Before he could pull away to ask if she was alright she pulled him in again and slammed down at just the right angle to distract him once more.

“Fu-fiddlesticks,” He caught himself saying and pulled her down against him as close as possible. He hadn’t felt this in god knows how long and he refused to allow it to fade away. Once again her nails found his back and circled around his left shoulder blade. It tickled a bit and he chuckled into her, daring to take another bite of her lovely dark skin.

Vlad had very much given in to this fantasy of whoever he had with him. Surely, there was no harm in enjoying a fit of passion in comfortable privacy. The hands around his neck now played in his hair combing out soft tangles. But when their hand pulled back with a few loose strands he peeked and saw how dark they were. ‘My hair hasn't been that way since-’ his thoughts were cut short as he felt the jerking motion of his body as the hilt of a blade buried itself inside him. Then followed a burning, searing heat pooling and dripping down before pain came from just under his left shoulder.

Vlad shot up from the bed choking back a scream of utter pain as his back still felt attacked. He was sweating and panting as he stumbled to get out of the bed and head towards the adjacent bathroom. He made it to the mirror and looked himself over. He looked exhausted, his long silver hair was a mess as it hung into what was left of his ponytail and his eyes were lifeless. What left him speechless was a small patch of hair towards the right that had now turned jet black. He fumbled with the strands mesmerized and very confused. He hadn’t seen the darkness of his hair in almost 24 years, yet here it was. Vlad’s head began to hurt as everything that had happened flashed across his mind. He was nearly torn apart and crumbled down to nothing, Vlad knew what it was like to be badly beaten but never to the brink of existence. He gripped onto the sink to steady himself when he felt the sudden weakness in his legs.

He knew he passed out which meant Danny was the one to drag him all the way back home. Vlad felt embarrassed having to think about the young hero having to do so. After a moment of finding the strength to stand on his own again, Vlad pushed off the sink and headed towards the door of the room. He much preferred to be in the comforts of his own bedroom than the guest room. At this moment, Vlad cursed himself for being a rich bastard, the halls seemed to almost go on for miles. He had thought about trying to turn into Plasmius to hurry the journey along but he knew his powers were still in recovery. He was stuck in his normal human form until otherwise. When he finally made it to his room he heard talking coming a few doors down where Danielle’s room was. Who in the world was in his house? That’s when it hit him he was supposed to pick up Dani from Danny’s. Had Danny brought her home? Vlad slowly made his way towards the door and slowly pushed it open. Expecting Dani to be on her bed doing whatever she liked doing. Vlad found Danny instead looking out her window on the phone.

“Yeah no, Dani has to stay with me until all this is dealt with, not that she minds it. But Vlad still hasn’t woken up and it’s been three days and when he does I don’t think he’s going to be in the best of moods.” Three days? He had been unconscious for three days? Vlad swore it felt like a couple of hours from the time he fainted to now. He gripped his head when it started to pound again. Danny's ghost sense flew from his mouth and he turned around. “Hey, I gotta go, yeah he just woke up and the last thing I need is him dying on the floor. Talk to you later guys.” Danny hung up the phone and crossed his arms.

He gave Vlad a weak smile, “Welcome back to the land of the living, feel like shit?”

“Language,” was all Vlad could retort with before he pulled back out of the room and headed towards his. Danny followed but had never actually been in Vlad’s bedroom before. He felt like he was invading privacy but if this was where they were going to talk, fine by him. Danny should have known it would be a mini apartment but he wasn’t expecting the gothic-like interior. Sam would feel like the dark goddess she was in this room and it made him snicker. Vlad sat in an armchair in front of an unlit fireplace and slumped down to get more comfortable. Danny frowned, sympathetic to the situation, he had been there before, he took the chair next to Vlad and waited for the other to speak first.

“Where do we even begin?” Vlad grumbled before dragging a hand down his face.

“Maybe with what Clockwork told you,” Danny answered. Vlad only nodded and forced himself to sit up straight and take a more proper position before he told Danny everything. Danny really wanted to crack a joke, tell Vlad that’s what he gets for all the years going after his mom, mock him for breaking a heart he knew nothing about, however, Danny kept silent and only nodded along. Vlad took long pauses between his explanations and side rambles when he felt himself getting worked up. It was just a lot to take in.

“So… do’ya know which ancestor she might be linked to?” Danny could see it on Vlad’s face the man was just as clueless as he was back at the lake.

“No idea, like I told you my family stayed in Europe the whole time then settled in Russia. I'm a second generation American, there would be no point in my family owning a servant of African descent in the German empire then losing everything and going to Russia. None of this makes sense.” Vlad’s brows knitted together and he mumbled a few curses under his breath.

“Maybe there was an ancestor that came overseas during the Mayflower or whatever and they never went back. So like now you have this distant relative that your family never kept up with and they did something bad and BAM angry ghost.” Danny could admit he was a bit dramatic with his explanation, the hands in the air waving back and forth near the end was a bit much. But he had a point, a strong point, those that went overseas tended to be forgotten by the main family if the root of the tree stayed put. Vlad had many cousins he knew nothing about simply because they lived in other European countries. This didn’t feel like a distant cousin ancestor problem though, Vlad could feel that it was heavily tied to his main bloodline.

“I would agree with you, Daniel, but something tells me this is more within my family than some twice removed cousin.” Vlad looked up at the boy weakly. Danny huffed and nodded before propping his chin upon his hand. “I have access to my complete family records,” Vlad began again which made Danny perk up a bit. “I could try to trace back and see if anyone had travelled over during that time and had maybe gone back. I heavily doubt it but right now that’s all we have.”

“Better than nothing.” Danny tried to sound optimistic but he knew it failed. Vlad only nodded in agreement before staring off into the distance once again thinking. His thoughts were clouded between checking his family records but also the dream he had earlier. Danny felt the room become uncomfortably silent and knew it was time to leave Vlad alone.

As Danny got to his feet he scratched the back of his head and asked, “So do you need anything? I’ve kinda been babysitting you while you've been out, but don’t expect me to wear some butler outfit.” Vlad lightly chuckled and it made Danny feel a bit better.

“You can’t even tie a tie without throwing a fit, but anyways no I’m fine, you may go, Daniel.”

“M’kay. Let me know what you find.” Danny turned ghost and shot through the floor to get to Vlad’s portal so he could get back home. Vlad watched him leave then sighed before snapping his fingers for a ghost maid to appear.

“Yes, Master?”

“Something heavy, no ice.” Vlad gave his order and the maid was fading away to retrieve it. A drink, a drink was what he needed even if his body was still in recovery.

#📖Ghost Stories👻#vlad masters #danny phantom #my writing #self ship community #Secrets of The Lake #dp fanfic

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samgtt700 · 5 years ago

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The Will of Time

Chapter Three

Chapter One, Chapter Two

Kamilah x MC

Alice watched the party with a strange feeling in her stomach. Being with Kamilah’s loved ones was an unexpected surprise and she couldn’t tell them the truth without confusing or even putting her in danger. She turned away, making her way to the large balcony overlooking Alexandria. The moon lighting up the sky in a way she had never seen before. “I understand why you miss home.” Alice began to understand how Kamilah missed her home, the small things adding up. Missing her home, missing her wife, her Kamilah. She wanted to find a way home but was unsure if she could get home, not wanting to wait 2000 years for her.

“You disappear well.” Lysimachus walked over. Handing Alice a full cup of wine before stepping back to admire her, a coy smile on his face. “To our queen.”

Alice smirked. “To our queen.” Toasting to the queen in her life. Sipping a little before turning back to the view of Alexandria. “Do you miss your home when your not here?”

“Home isn’t a place. It’s what my father taught me.” Lysimachus smiled. “It’s your family. Who you wish to spend your life with.”

“Have you found your wife yet?”

“If you left it to the elders. I’d marry my sister.” Lysimachus chuckled.

Alice choked on her wine a little. “What?!”

“I have no intentions of following them.” Lysimachus smirked. “But I am grateful to know your feelings on the matter.”

Alice put down her wine. “I- I don’t think I would share very well.”

“Share?” Lysimachus raised an eyebrow. “Why the hell would we-“

“Not important right now.” Alice looked over his shoulder. Fireworks lighting up the night sky. “Wow.”

Lysimachus stepped up beside her. Seeing the smile spread across Alice’s face. As if she had never seen anything like this. “Have you never seen fireworks before?”

“Not in a sky so clear. Where I live. You can’t see the stars.” Alice admitted. “The world is different where I’m from.” She went to turn back when Lysimachus pressed his thumb underneath her chin.

“You intrigue me so much. And yet. you seem familiar.” Lysimachus couldn’t work it out. Alice was a puzzle, one he was eager to crack but every time he thought he had worked her out. She did something to throw him again. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

Alice smiled. But removed his hand politely. “You never will again.” She crossed her arms. Catching Kamilah by the door watching. “Kamilah.”

“Alice.” Kamilah walked out. Seeing Alice glance away from her, unsure why before turning her attention to her brother. “Octavian is pushing again. Cleopatra will call on the army.”

“I will go to war again.” Lysimachus knew. Alice working out quickly from the information she had that Lysimachus would die soon.

Alice asked. “Do you two need a minute?”

“I would appreciate it.” Kamilah smiled.

Alice stepping out, their voices speaking in a hushed but urgent tone, feeling Kamilah’s rising tension, something that was not often felt but Alice could always tell. She wasn’t able to do her normal tricks to relief her tension. Alice walked downstairs, hands crossed, tapping her fingertips to distract herself, rejoining the party. Finding the nearest wine jug and pouring a few rather quickly in succession, needing some liquid strength. Feeling the familiar human heartbeat she’d come to quickly recognise.

“You said you’ve been to one before?” Kamilah spoke up beside her. Her hand trailing up Alice’s arm, “I quite enjoy them when my cousin isn’t hosting.”

“Yes.” Alice hid her smile behind her wine. “Don’t worry too much about your cousin.” She grasped Kamilah’s hand, the touch so familiar yet wasn’t her Kamilah. She gently squeezed. “She won’t be well remembered.”

“Can you tell the future now?”

“I know enough about people.” Alice caught Kamilah’s side glance. “See something you like?”

“When I like something.” Kamilah put her hand on Alice’s hip, walking until Alice felt her back pressed up against a pillar. “I tend to make the first move.” She closed the distance between them. Alice closing her eyes. Kamilah smirking, her lips mere inches away, she could have easily kissed her but pulled away. “I did notice you politely rejected my brothers advances.”

“I’m not interested in Lysimachus. He’s not the one I chose to share my life with.” Alice held up her left hand. “I wear this as a sign of my commitment.”

“It’s beautiful. Seems like your wife has fine taste.” Kamilah said, her fingertips brushing over the wedding band, pushing her lips to Alice’s hand, feeling an electricity spark between them. A small chuckle leaving Alice. A small cough coming from behind them. Kamilah stepping back. Alice pushing away from the pillar.

Lysimachus joined them. “Has our dear cousin made her speech yet?”

“No. Wish she would. I’d finally be able to leave.”

“You haven’t changed at all.” Alice let slip.

“What?” Both the twins turned to her.

Alice catching something strange behind Kamilah. “Get down.” She shoved Kamilah aside. Taking the blast. Groaning as she hit the pillar behind her. “Agh.” She gritted her teeth, the taste of fresh blood lingering.

“Alice!” Lysimachus helped Alice to her feet. “What the hell was that?” His hands squeezing Alice, unsure what was happening as multiple fires broke out.

The sorcerer stood amidst the chaos, fire spreading from his fingertips. The palace burning hot. “You took my whole world Kamilah Sayeed! I will tear yours to the ground!”

Alice spotted Kamilah across the room holding her side, hidden behind a pillar, grimacing before sliding to the floor. “Lysimachus. I need your sword.”

“I need it more.” Lysimachus gripped the hilt. “It’s my sword. I can protect you.”

“Give me your sword or Kamilah will die!” Alice glared. Lysimachus swore Alice’s eyes turned red for a split second before reluctantly handing over his sword. “You need to get out of here.”

Alice moved closer to Kamilah, sticking to cover. Feeling the heat of the flames, it wouldn’t be long until the palace was burnt out.

“Kamilah! Face your death with honour!”

Kamilah glanced around the corner, going to step out when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. turning to see Alice. “Alice?”

“Stay quiet.” Alice pulled back to examine the wound, the smell of blood hitting her nose. Alice screwed her hands into fists, needing to feed. The urge beginning of overwhelm her.

“Alice. He wants me.”

“No.” Alice cupped her face. Her blood smearing Kamilah’s cheek. “Stay hidden. Let me handle him. For once. You have to let me fight. Alone.”

“Once?”

“I’ll explain everything later. I promise.” Alice picked up Lysimachus sword before stepping out. Catching the sorcerers attention.

“You.” He glared. “You should be dead.”

Alice flicked her hand, preparing for a fight. Not wanting to waste time. “Walk away. And I won’t harm you.” She could feel his blood pulsing through his veins, but it wasn’t human, he was something else. “Your not human.”

“No. I am not. I have Xenocrates to be thankful for. He trained me how to fight your kind after what Kamilah Sayeed did to my family.” His hands flared with fire. The flames drawing back to him, engulfing him.

Alice wasn’t sure if she was immune to fire, but she was about to find out.

“You married that witch! She never atoned, never paid for her crimes! She shouldn’t be revered!”

Alice charged and jumped the fire, slicing his chest before landing, rolling to her feet and turning to see the damage. His chest healing as he spoke a foreign language. “Shit.” She whispered.

“Was that your best shot?” He smirked, softly clapping. “The wife of Kamilah Sayeed relies on her heavily.”

Alice’s eyes flared red, her fangs descending. The sorcerer hurled fireballs towards Alice, waiting, watching as she dodged and used her powers to divert and block. He charged in, conjuring a blade of fire. Slamming into Alice with all his momentum. But she barely slid a step. “What?” He contorted, “impossible! No one can survive-”

Alice pushed him back, before slamming him with a physic blast. Hurling him through the burning wall into the street. She charged after him, raising her hand to shield herself from the fires spreading. Sighing aloud when she saw him retreating, holding his side. She wanted to go after him but heard a cry of pain, turning and seeing Lysimachus struggling on his knees. Alice sensing he had inhaled too much smoke. “Lysimachus!” She sprinted over, kneeling beside him. “Where’s Kamilah?”

“Inside. I tried to get to her- wait, stop Alice!” Lysimachus watched Alice sprint inside, the flames swallowing behind her, blocking the exit. “Alice! Fucking hell!”

Alice raised her arm, pushing her way through to Kamilah, slowing down her heartbeat, barely breathing to stop herself from inhaling the smoke. She spotted Kamilah, her body still on the floor. “Kamilah!” Alice sprinted over, quickly feeling her heartbeat, rapidly fading. “Come on.” She scooped her up with ease, searching for an exit. Trying to find something, anything for them to escape but flames consumed everything. Holding everything that was precious to her, not wanting any harm to come to her, her heart racing at the thought of losing her. Alice led Kamilah upstairs, searching for the balcony when she heard a murmur.

“Alice.” Kamilah barely spoke, her lips cracked.

Alice knelt, cupping Kamilah’s face within her hand. “Hey. I’m getting you out of here. I need you to hang in there. Everything is going to be okay, I promise.” she knew there only one option left, tapping into her physic powers and slamming a hole in the nearby wall, revealing a straight shot to outside. Alice charging through and landing in the Nile with a large splash.

Lysimachus saw Alice jump and land in the Nile. Struggling to fathom how anyone could survive the fall. He sprinted down to the water, watching as Alice calmly stepped out, Kamilah safe in her arms. “Kamilah!” He rushed to their side, Alice examining her wound before ripping some of her dress and wrapping it around.

“Do you have somewhere we can lie low?!” Alice asked, not wanting to stay in the open. Unsure where the sorcerer went. Gritting her teeth when she realised Lysimachus was shaken by how hurt his sister was. “Lysimachus!”

“What the hell was that?!” Lysimachus gripped Alice’s dress, “Why did he want my sister?”

“I don’t know...” Alice surveyed their surroundings, “Lysimachus. We need to get out of here. Lay somewhere low.”

“I know a place.” Lysimachus went to grab his sister when Alice stopped him. “She’s my sister!”

Alice stood, Kamilah’s head resting on her shoulder. She pressed the lightest of kisses to her forehead. Whispering. “You better make it. Or I’ll never forgive myself.”

Lysimachus grabbed his sister from Alice, leading them away from the palace to a small fishing boat. Alice pushing them out before jumping in, Lysimachus steering them down out of Alexandria and towards the swampland.

“Where are you taking us?” Alice asked. Her eyes on Kamilah, on her wound. Wanting, needing her to be okay. If she died here. Would she die in her future? Would she have to live an eternity without her.

“The swamplands. Should give us a few days to recover.” Lysimachus explained. His hands trembling, Alice feeling how erratic his heartbeat was. “And for you to tell me everything.”

——————————————————————————

Kamiah rubbed her temple. Unsure who he was or why he was after her. All she knew was that Alice was missing and had no answers to her whereabouts. Her only concern was getting Alice back at the moment. She had no idea where her attacker was, Lily combed through the footage of the attack and they were still at square one.

“I can’t find Alice anywhere in the world. She’s disappeared off the face of the planet. Her phone isn’t getting a signal.” Lily has tried everything to find her best friend. “I’m sorry Kamilah. I want to find her as much as you. It’s Alice.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Kamilah poured herself a glass of Japanese whiskey. “I don’t know why this person wants me. What I did to him.” She sighed, annoyed at herself off letting Alice get hurt. “I swear if he hurts her-”

“Yeah. I know. You’ll burn the whole world down for her.” Lily didn’t look up, mumbling more than speaking aloud.

Kamilah almost choked on her drink. “Wait! How do you know that?”

“Alice and me talk a lot. I figured it was your line to begin with. Alice didn’t seem like the type to burn the world down. Well, she didn’t until that day.” Lily remembered it vividly. “It’s been almost a decade and it still feels like yesterday sometimes.”

“Alice doesn’t like to talk about it.” Kamilah admitted, every year Alice struggled and Kamilah accepted it would take time for her to accept what happened, that she couldn’t change anything no matter how much she thought about what if. “I don’t think she ever will.”

“She lost her brother. We all did.”

Kamilah had lost a brother before but watching Jax sacrifice himself for Alice was something she never expected, vampires didn’t make a habit of sacrificing themselves for others, but Kamilah would forever be grateful because of the life she now shared with Alice. “We’re landing.” Kamilah felt the planes descent.

“So... who are we visiting in New Orleans?”

Kamilah finished her whiskey, putting the empty glass aside. “You’ll see soon enough.” Not enough time to reminisce, needing answers and hopefully New Orleans would provide them.

Lily bugged Kamilah all the way to the seemingly abandoned warehouse. “Seedy much?” Lily poked around before spotting some of the new equipment. “Oh wow. They have a cool setup. This bar is slick.”

“Lily. What- stop that. This is a construction site, you can’t just snoop.” Kamilah pinched the bridge of her nose, a deep sigh leaving her. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“You should be careful about poking your head in places. You never know what you might find.” Serafine stopped beside the duo. “To what to do I owe the pleasure mon amie?” Glancing more at Kamilah.

Kamilah huffed. “Alice was thrown through a portal. I hope you could help us.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

“No.” Kamilah felt a strange sensation when she answered. Buried memories trying to surface. She pushed them to the back of her mind. Focusing on the problem at hand.

Lily opened her laptop. Playing the footage for Serafine. “I’ve watched it but it’s straight out marvel portal shit. I ain’t got any answers.”

“It’s clear he’s well trained. He’s not an amateur.” Serafine quickly concluded. “Whoever your attacker is. He disappeared in his own portal.”

“Do you think you can see where he went?” Kamilah asked Lily. “Use the satellite to track the energy coming from his portal.” Kamilah massaging her head. Her head throbbing before a searing pain hit her side, pressing a hand there, feeling warm blood on her fingertips. Pulling back to see fresh blood, human blood. “Serafine.” She barely called out before collapsing in a pool of her own blood.

“Kamilah.” Serafine and Lily rushed to her side. “What the hell is going on?” Serafine felt Kamilah’s forehead. “She’s running a temperature. Something is happening.” Serafine’s saw blood soaking through Kamilah’s shirt, ripping it open and seeing the wound on her side forming. “Let’s get her back to my apartment. I’ll organise some blood on the way.” Serafine and Lily picked up Kamilah.

“Do you know what’s causing this?” Lily asked.

“No. But I hope finding Alice will give us answers.” Serafine made a phone call. “Hey. It’s Serafine. Can you meet me at my apartment. Bring Katherine. We might need her help.”

“Will do.” A male voice hung up.

Chapter Four

Tags: @mrskamilxh, @wildsayeed, @made-me-deep-blue, @thequeenofbaddecisions, @iam-the-fuckin-queen, @witchesplayatnight, @kamilahsqueen, @kamilahsayeed-owns-me, @kamilah-sayeed-let-me-love-you, @h-doodles, @playallthechoices, @kamilahforever, @kamilahsayeet2063, @kamilah-the-bloodqueen, @helpconfusedpersonhere, @scarlet-letter-a0114, @nydeiri. My tag list is playing up so if you don’t get tagged, let me know. Let me know if you want to be added!

Masterlist

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed x mc #bloodbound #bb lysimachus #bb mc #choices bloodbound #bloodbound kamilah #bloodbound kamilah sayeed #choices: bloodbound #lily spencer #mc x kamilah sayeed #bloodbound mc #mc x kamilah #choices fanfic #the will of time

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zambie-trashart · 4 years ago

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Zombizou: Rewritten Series

read whole series here

BACKGROUND INFO IMPORTANT!!!!!!

Takes place before Reverser but after Queen’s Battle. Nino and Alya have already been given their miraculous. Jon and Adrien are not together yet but Adrien knows who he is. I know the timing for the episode is screwed up but before I write heroes’ day I have to give Alya and Nino their miraculous.

Summary: Flashback to a simpler time where all heroes had to worry about was stopping the bad guy. Except this time the four heroes have some unexpected help.

.........................................

In Paris it’s important to know that anything you do will end up with an akuma sooner or later. Yelling, fighting, losing, having something taken away, everything ends up with an akuma. Negative emotions can be fought but it takes will and some serious control over your emotions. Marinette knows cause she’s done it before.

Jon and Marinette sat on the edge of her balcony preparing a gift for their teacher’s birthday. They were excited and feeling a sort of buzz in the air surrounding them.

“Are you ever going to give Nino and Alya back the miraculous?” Jon asked looking at his cousin who was still sewing.

“Maybe, if I need them, you and Robin were MIA those two times we had to fight akumas,” Marinette said putting down the purse looking and looking it over. “Done.”

“It’s nice, I went over to the fortress and got one of the crystals that my dad grows there, on Krypton this would mean gratitude,” Jon said holding up the small crystal that he had made into a necklace. “Also about Robin and I, we still have to make appearances in America so people think we don’t live here and that we aren’t going to help them anymore.” Jon looked at his cousin who’s shoulders dropped. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just thinking about how you’re only here for one year and then you’re going home again, this year has been amazing so far and I don’t really want it to ever end,” Marinette said and the cousins stared at the setting sun thinking about how much time they had left.

Everyone walked into class the next day holding gifts and after a confrontation with Chloe about how she never gets anyone gifts, Miss. Bustier opened up gifts one by one, she had placed Jon’s necklace around her neck almost crying at how the light hit it and made it sparkle thinking that Jon must have spent so much money on it. She got to Marinette’s gift and saw that it had been vandalized. She asked to speak to her in the hall.

“Miss. Bustier you know I didn’t do that, it must have been Chloe she was the only one who didn’t get you a gift,” Marinette spewed out. She wasn’t very proud of it but she was starting to get angry, she was so angry that she didn’t even notice the black butterfly coming toward her.

“No, get away from my student!” Miss. Bustier shouted throwing the purse at it and it attached itself to the lip balm that was in the purse.

“NO! You can fight it Miss. you can fight it don’t listen to him!” Marinette watched as her teacher transformed and ran back into the classroom.

“Marinette, what happened?” Jon asked looking at his shocked cousin.

“She was akumatized,” Marinette said running up to the back of the classroom standing next to Jon who watched as the door flung open and Miss. Bustier had become someone else.

“I am Zombizou and from now one everyone will hug and kiss and feel the love!” Alya and Nino ducked under their desks as lip shaped black things came for them. Alya remembered the time she saved her sisters and the power she felt. She wanted to be a hero and she wanted to prove herself to Ladybug.

Nino took his girlfriend’s hand and pulled her out of the room and to the roof of the school where everyone else was going. He thought of when he saved Alya from her older sister. He felt like he could do anything, he helped Ladybug for crying out loud. She may have named him Captain Turtle in the beginning but hey that was something that he didn’t care about at the time. He saw the way Alya looked at him and he wanted that feeling forever. He wanted to save more people and if saving his class was what he had to do to feel that feeling again, that’s what he would do.

Ladybug swung in with Chat right behind her. Jon had just run up with some kids from other classes. “We have to do something,” Jon said looking down at all of the zombified classmates.

“Yeah, Chat and I have to beat the villain, but we can’t leave you guys here,” Ladybug said looking around and finding a bus. “Chat, do you know how to drive?” Ladybug asked smirking.

“Maybe,” Chat said wearing the same look and Robin dropped behind him.

“Care to explain what’s going on right now?” Robin asked and the two heroes lost their balance for a second.

“We’re going to the Eiffel Tower, come on everyone down the zipline,” Ladybug said creating a way to the bus with her yoyo.

Someone of the bus had been kissed and the students started sacrificing themselves for the heroes until soon it was just Chloe, Alya, Nino and Jon left. Jon was exhausted, all of the students had kept asking why they needed to keep Chloe and why they couldn’t just give Zombizou what she wanted. They had started walking to the elevator and Parisians came running at them full speed. One of them almost got Robin but Alya dove out in front of him and got kissed instead. Nino stayed behind to sit with his girlfriend while she changed.

“Nino, are you sure you want to stay behind?” Ladybug asked. He had been so helpful last time he helped her out. Alya had been too but they didn’t have their powers now so she guessed that this was for the best and the remaining five stepped into the elevator and got out on the top floor.

“This is all my fault, if I had just gotten Miss. Bustier a gift like everyone else then I wouldn’t have felt jealous and ruined Marinette’s. I... I hurt people and that’s not right, I should be more like you Ladybug,” Chloe said looking up at her hero.

“Just try better next time Chloe, for now, we have to stop Zombizou.” Someone snuck up behind the fivesome while they were talking and kissed Jon who jumped at the feeling of lips on his cheek.

“Shit...” Jon said feeling a little twitchy as Robin kicked the person off the Eiffel Tower and onto the level below them. “Get inside and kick some ass LB,” Jon said standing on the edge of the Eiffel Tower prepared to jump off.

“What the hell Jon!” Chat yelled as he jumped and Chat jumped after him not wanting him to hurt himself. Chat loved Jon and Superboy so there was no way that he was going to let him die.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Ladybug’s miraculous would have brought me back,” Jon said starting to feel the change.

“Come on sugar, give me a smooch,” Chat said before Jon dived onto him.

Ladybug facepalmed at Chat’s stupidity. She used her lucky charm and got makeup remover. She saw Zombizou standing on the edge of the Eiffel Tower prepared to get the last three standing. They locked eyes and she saw a towel out of the corner of her eye and grabbed it, squirted some remover on, and flung her yoyo getting the lipstick off and when Zombizou went to put more on, she grabbed the lipstick and crushed it.

After everything was fixed and Chloe apologized to Miss. Bustier, everything seemed normal again.

Jon sat on Marinette’s balcony and his cousin joined him.

“When were you going to tell me?” Jon asked looking at his cousin asking a very vague question.

“About what?” Marinette asked nervously.

“About Chat liking me, everything gets fixed and then all of a sudden I open my eyes and I’m sitting on Chat who’s got his arms wrapped around me like a snake and he ain’t letting go but not only that, he’s got his tongue so far down my throat he could have been taking my tonsils out!” Jon yelled not angry but obviously freaking out.

“You’re an idiot,” Marinette said walking back down the ladder to her room.

“What? Come on Marinette! Tell me more!”

...........................................

JPS: @loveswifi @ash-amg @wannajointhecrabcult @mochegato @mochinek0 @toodaloo-kangaroo @thatonecroc @liquid-luck-00 @ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole @moonspiritwolf1

#jon x adrien #jon and marinette #jon and damian #jon kent #jon protection squad #marinette x damian #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #miraculous class #miraculous ladybug #miraculous rewrite

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harmonyindark245 · 5 years ago

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Secrets [7]

Summary: King's Archeron's kingdom is made up of secrets, which include both betrayal and treason. When the Prince of Velaris and his Inner Circle visit the kingdom, these secrets start revealing themselves. How will these affect the 3 Archeron Princesses, who themselves have a very deadly secret?

AN: All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Warnings: Slight Mature Language

Word Count - 2.1k

Early update!

Elriel shippers, hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

Elain was ready much before time. She was wearing a dress that would be considered scandalous if she were to go somewhere other than Rita’s. She had a long overcoat hiding most of the bodice, only her sandals visible underneath.

The previous two days had not gone differently. After breakfast, she would meet up with Rhys and they would talk about their likes and dislikes, their kingdom and various other random topics. After lunch, she crossed paths with Azriel as both of them had to train at that time.

Dinner would be a casual affair and after that she would spend most of the night dreaming of the man she had trained with. Seeing Azriel train shirtless from the past days, had only encouraged her fantasies.

She reached the main doorway only to find Azriel already prepared and waiting for others. She would not lie to herself and say that she was not glad that she would be able to get some time alone with him. As she moved closer to him, she cleared her throat, catching his attention.

He turned around and looked at her from up to down, eyeing her overcoat with much suspicion. “Why do I have a feeling that whatever you’re wearing underneath is bound to surprise me?”

Elain loved the way his hazel eyes had a glint of amusement in them. She imagined what they would look like after spending an entire night together, uncovering their secrets, one by one.

Elain gave him a sly smirk as she said, “Why don’t you ask your spies?”

Azriel’s expression faltered for a moment, before he regained his composure as he asked her, “I beg your pardon? I do not understand.”

“Well, you are the Spymaster. You obviously have spies to help you out, don’t you?” She said. Elain was feeling bolder than she usually was whenever she was around Azriel. There was something about him that made Elain a much better version of herself.

Then there was also the fact that his looks could literally kill.

Azriel nodded. “Rhys just said that we were to be ready by sunset. Would you mind telling where we are going?” He questioned her.

“We are going to one of the best places to go in our kingdom.” Elain said.

“A bit more information would help, you know.” Azriel said. She looked at him and smiled. He gave her a flustered look.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll know soon enough, I’m sure.” With that she ended their conversation and the others started coming their way.

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

Feyre was glad that they were all going to Rita’s. What better way to uncover one’s secret when one is drunk? Feyre figured she would easily get the Prince drunk and make him spill all of his intentions. Feyre knew she herself was in no state to drink again. At least not until a few years. She was shocked at Elain’s ability to remain calm after a night of heavy drinking.

She had spent the past two days with the General, Cassian. He had told her about his job and had also offered to train with her once she had expressed her interests in swordfighting. They had started training at 7 in the morning and she had to say, it was much better than training with Tamlin.

Feyre wore one of her better dresses. She intended to get to know most of the guests that had come to visit. Especially the two females whom she had no interaction with yet. Underneath her dress, she also hid two daggers on each thigh, just in case they were required.

There was a knock on her door when she had finished readying herself. She expected it to be either of her sisters or Cassian.

She did not expect, however, to come face to face with a blonde haired woman dressed completely in red. She recognised her as Morrigan, one of their guests.

“Hello!” She exclaimed. “My name is Morrigan, but call me Mor!” Feyre winced slightly as Mor’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

Feyre clutched her dress as she said, “Princess Feyre Archeron.”

Mor waved her hand. “Oh, I already know. Come on, let’s go. I thought it would be nice to come and meet you.” Before Feyre could say anything, she added, “And don’t worry, Rhys did not send me here.” She tangled her arm with Feyre’s as she said, “In all honesty, Rhys would bite off my head if he knew I was with you.”

“Why is that?” Feyre found herself asking.

Mor glanced towards her once and started moving forward, pulling Feyre along with her. “Well, that is something only he himself could tell you. Enough about my stupid cousin. Tell me about yourself. And where are we going? No one told me anything and it’s making me anxious.”

Feyre smiled to herself. She had not even known Mor for more than a minute and had already considered her a very nice person to be friends with. And she knew that she needed one of those.

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

Cassian knew he was taking a great risk by standing outside her chambers, waiting for her. He knew she would definitely castrate him once she saw him, but he found that he could not stay away from her. There was something about Princess Nesta. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The door in front of opened and she stood before him, in a long overcoat. She settled her gaze on him and scowled.

Oh how he loved that scowl.

Cassian smirked at her. “Let’s go Princess, your sisters are waiting for you.” He held his hand out for her. She didn’t accept it just like he expected.

“I was not aware that you were going to be here.” She said cautiously.

“Well, then whom did you think was going to be here? Certainly not someone more handsome than what you got.” He remarked.

She narrowed his eyes. “Actually, yes, I did. I had expected the spymaster to be here.” She simply said. Cassian couldn’t do anything about the small feeling of jealousy that piqued within him.

He pushed it all aside and said, “Well, Azriel had to go do some other important stuff and I thought I could come here instead of wasting my time.”

At that, Nesta turned towards him abruptly and glared at him. “Being here is the equivalent of wasting your time?”

Shit. “No, that’s not what I meant Princess.”

Nesta didn’t care to listen though. “Just keep quiet and let me go.”

After that Cassian stayed silent the entire way till the entrance where everyone was already there, waiting for them. Rhys sent him a confused look and Cassian only gave him a look that said, I screwed up big time.

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

Rhysand spent 15 minutes in the carriage wondering one thing, Where the hell were they going? He sat beside Feyre who had unknowingly sat very close to him. He did not mind it all, though. He did mind that the entire journey, she did not pay him any attention. She was talking to everyone else, even Amren, but not him.

When they finally reached their destination and got out of the carriage, Rhys found himself standing in front of a huge building from which lights were pouring out. It seemed more crowded than any normal place. As soon as he entered the building, he realised that Rita’s was a tavern. It was filled with a lot of men and very few women.

Someone handed all of them a glass filled with drinks. Feyre turned around and looked at him for the first time that evening. “Don’t worry. Drink up. You’ll be needing it.” She smiled at him and turned around. He emptied his glass in one gulp and realised it was vodka mixed with some sweet juice.

The three sisters moved ahead together and removed their coats, revealing a short dress, reaching their mid thighs, and stuck very closely to their body. From beside him, Az started choking on his drink and Mor laughed loudly. Cassian patted him on the back until he stopped choking and all of them looked at the sisters with wide eyes.

Feyre was wearing a dark blue shimmery dress. She looked marvelous.

The three of them walked up to the lady tending the bar and got three drinks for themselves. All three of them downed it in one gulp.

Mor and Amren moved ahead and joined them, leaving behind the three males, dumbstruck.

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

Az tried his best to not stare. He really did. But he could not help whenever his gaze involuntarily shifted towards Elain. She was wearing a dark pink dress, covered in glitters and it reached her mid thigh.

He was used to seeing females wear such dresses back in his kingdom but he had not expected to see Elain ever wearing something of such. In gowns, Elain looked pretty and beautiful, like a true princess, but at that moment, in that dress of hers and drinking down whiskey as if there was no tomorrow, she looked like a goddess. And Azriel would be damned if he said he didn’t want to spend every second of his life worshipping her.

He didn’t know where he was getting these thoughts from. He was on a mission and he shouldn't be getting distracted by one princess. Unfortunately, he couldn’t convey the same message to his mind.

She was sitting on a barstool, alone, nursing a drink. Her sisters were nowhere to be seen and he thought he should go sit with her, just in case she needed help.

He slid onto the seat beside her. Without turning towards him she said, “If you care for your life, I suggest you go away this instant.” Az wouldn’t have felt threatened if it weren't for the little needle she had placed right near his inner thigh.

He smiled and raised both his hands in surrender. “You have me defeated.”

Elain turned and looked at him, her eyes lighting up as soon as she saw him. “Azzie! I didn’t see you there!”

Az smiled at her. “You’re drunk.” He stated.

She shook her head. “Nah. Just a little bit tipsy.” She said as she pinched two of her fingers together. “So, what do you think of the dress?” She asked him.

Az looked down at her once again. “Uh… You look nice.” He said hesitantly.

She shook her head in dismay. “The truth, Azzie.” She leaned towards him and whispered conspicuously. “There’s no one here to listen to our words and watch our actions.”

Az found himself leaning towards her as well. “Actions, huh?” He whispered as well.

They were very close to each other. He could feel her hot breath. “We could do whatever we want and there will be no one stopping us.” She leaned in closer, her gaze focussed on his lips.

“You look incredibly sexy.” He said as he finally closed the distance between them and touched his lips to hers.

She instantly increased the pace. She grasped onto his forearm and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Azriel moved his hand from her shoulder, down to her back, caressing her long, soft hair. He moved his other hand to cup her face.

Everything around them ceased to exist. Az could barely taste alcohol on her lips. He knew from her bright eyes that she was completely in her senses.

She raised her hands and held onto his shoulders. They broke apart slightly, both panting heavily. She looked into his eyes and opened her mouth to speak when she was interrupted by the barmaid.

“Princess, you need to hide now.” She said urgently. Elain looked confused. She turned her gaze towards the entrance and widened her eyes in shock. She then grabbed Azriel and went in the opposite direction of the entrance.

Azriel glanced at the entrance, but couldn’t see much due to the crowd. All he could make out was a tall man with furious green eyes and golden hair.

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

The man with golden hair stood in front of King Archeron, handing him a goblet filled with wine.

“How was your journey, Captain?” The King asked as he took a sip of wine. The man did not reply, just sat in a chair in front of a fireplace. “Captain, I asked you something.”

He just said, “King.”

King Archeron looked at him with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

The Captain stretched his legs in front of him. “I am the King now.”

The King looked at him furiously. “What rubbish?!” Suddenly, the King felt unable to breathe. His throat felt parched and his mouth felt numb.

His vision started darkening and he collapsed onto the floor. He saw the Captain move towards him and look down at him with a sneer on his face.

“You will never succeed.” The King rasped.

The man just laughed wickedly. “Oh poor Archeron.” He moved towards the throne, gazing at the portrait of the King with his three daughters. The King closed his eyes as he lost the fight within him.

“I just did.”

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

An: It’ll probably have about 10 chapters, plus an epilogue.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Tag list: @devilorfling @sleepyyhead21 @b00kworm @s-atanism @eloeloeheheh @absolute-dissapointment @illyrianwitchling13

#feysand #elriel #nessian #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys x feyre #elain archeron #elain x azriel #azriel #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas

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