#kiss trees kick landlords | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butwhyduh · 4 years ago

Text

Fit to be Tied

Jason Todd x reader

Warning: Christmas? And the f word.

Christmas series 2

Jason didn’t pay much attention to holidays. Nope. That was for the living. He didn’t have much of need for it. But he did know that Christmas was quiet and New Years was busy for patrol. He guessed everyone ate Christmas dinner and and then got bored of playing nice. Or maybe that just wanted to start the new year with a big ass bang. Who knows?

Even when he was a kid, he didn’t celebrate the holidays. Too poor, mom too lost in drugs, and dad? Well fuck him. He was a piece of shit when he was around.

Jason kicked a beer can out of his way into the pile of trash on the sidewalk. They didn’t get the trash again this week it looked like. Daddy Bruce could play bat but couldn’t throw his money around enough to keep trash from piling on the street.

It was fine. He had more important things to do anyways. He had to buy a Christmas present. He didn’t care for the holidays but the sweet girl he had at home was a doll and fuck, if she didn’t deserve something. So Jason went down to the local pawn shop. Usually not a problem but it was 2 AM. Not exactly prime business hours.

So yes, Red Hood was breaking into a pawn shop to get a bracelet. He was leaving cash, $20 over the cost too. It was something you had seen earlier in the week and had admired. Gems of some kind shaped to look like a butterfly. You’d taken a minute longer to stare at it.

He left as quick as he came. And it wasn’t long until he was opening the window of your apartment dressed in street clothes. You were asleep. Jason had used the excuse of patrol to get out. But in the early morning hours of Christmas, he wanted to wake you.

“Princess,” he said gently. You moved a little before opening your eyes. You smiled up at him. Fuck, he didn’t deserve the way you looked at him. Your eyes looked so innocent and sweet. You never looked at him like he scared you.

“Jaybird, what’s going on?”

“I got you something for Christmas and it’s technically Christmas..” he said pulling out the box. You sat up, curious.

“It’s Christmas Eve. You got me something? I didn’t think we were- I didn’t get anything. I couldn’t-“ you said turning red. Money was too tight to consider it. The fact that the heat was still on this late in the month was a Christmas miracle.

“No no. It’s fine. Just being here is enough for me. I’ve never really celebrated Christmas anyways,” Jason said pushing the box in your hand. You held the box before kissing him.

You opened the box to see the bracelet you had been looking at the pawn shop. You smiled and stared at the pretty little butterfly. Jason watched you carefully for a reaction. He’d never admit it but he was more nervous now than fighting on the street.

“You saw me looking at it. I didn’t think you’d notice,” you murmured softly as you picked it up. Jason took it and wrapped it around your wrist. He clasped it on and you looked at it, moving your wrist in the light.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” you said quietly looking at it. You had a little grin on your face. Jason smiled. That’s the look he wanted. That little bit of happiness that you showed when you were really pleased. He intertwined his fingers in yours.

“Princess, you’re so cold,” Jason said with a frown. He could feel it colder outside but now that he was getting used to the temperature, it wasn’t warm as it should be.

“The heater was acting up again so I turned it down. The blankets are plenty warm,” you said and his heart all but broke. There was no way he was going to let you be cold all winter because the landlord wouldn’t fix things. He might pay this guy a visit. You sensed his anger.

“It’s okay, Jay. Come lay with me and get warm,” you said taking his hands. He let you pull him into bed. He kicked off his pants and shoes and laid on his side. You curled into him as a little spoon. His long big frame all but engulfed you. It always felt to protective. If he was holding you, he knew you were safe. Jason ran his fingers along your bracelet soft as his rough fingers could.

“You’re so good to me,” you said softly and his heart clenched again. Fuck, if you knew all the bad he did. His messed up past. He thought you would have run away when you first learned he was Red Hood but no, you had been kind.

“Naw, Princess you deserve more then this shitty place,” he said, and for the first time, he felt a little bad about giving all of his trust fund to the soup kitchen he would visit as a kid. A little would have been nice to get a better place for you. But he had been making a ton crushing the drug trade at the time and didn’t have a girl back home when he did it. He couldn’t be as reckless now.

You turned in his arms to look in his blue eyes. He has such an intense look on his face that you frowned. “Jaybird, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said pulling his face back to normal. “Just thinking. I wanna move you to a better place, a safer place than this,” he said running his thumb across your cheeks. You grasped his wrist and leaned into his touch. Jason would sometimes get like that. Thinking you deserved better. And you humored him even though you wouldn’t even know what to do with wealth.

“We’re moving. Soon. I’m promising now,” he said thinking about the painful conversation he was going to have with Bruce. His adoptive father he hadn’t even told you about. Bruce would do just about anything Jason asked. Probably the guilt of letting him die.

“But Jay, we’d miss the water that went from boiling to freezing at random. And I’m not sure if I can sleep without Mr and Mrs Jancowski having sex every Tuesday at 2 AM,” you said with a smile. He kissed you to shut you up. You were joking but each one felt like a little knife in his guilt. You pulled him over you and the thought of money troubles faded from your mind.

———————————————

Jason woke before you and watched you sleep. You laid on his chest with your hand in his hair and your soft breath on his throat. The bracelet was still on your wrist. You looked so peaceful, trusted him while you slept. Jason carefully grabbed his phone and texted Alfred. He’d also have to tell you about his adoptive family. His very famous adoptive family.

He threaded his fingers in your hand that was flung across his waist. You began to stir. Jason moved hair from your face and you blinked to see his pale blue eyes watching you.

“Morning, Princess,” he said with a rough morning voice. You smiled.

“Morning, Jaybird.”

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he started. “I want you to meet my family tonight.”

“Tonight? Your family? I thought your parents...” you trailed off.

“I was adopted. I never told you because I don’t have the best relationship with them. But I think it’s time for you to meet them. I’ve got to tell you something else,” he said and you could hear his heart beat quicker as you laid on him.

“My adoptive father is Bruce Wayne.”

Silence.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. And tonight I’m taking you to meet him. And my adoptive siblings.”

“You aren’t joking,” you said sitting up. Jason sat up too.

“I’m not. I’m kinda the... black sheep of the family. He adopted me when I was 12. I was trying to boost the wheels from the b- Bentley he was driving,” Jason corrected. It was one thing to tell you he was Red Hood. He couldn’t say Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“Wow. I- wow. Okay. That’s a lot to take in. Also on brand to be honest,” you said and he smiled and shrugged.

“Wait. What the fuck do you wear to the freaking Wayne manor for Christmas Eve?” You said a little panicky.

“Whatever you want. It’s just family,” he said with a sideways smile.

“Oh no. I can’t go to freaking Wayne Manor in a Kmart sweater,” you said quickly.

“You can wear,” he said hopping out of bed. He dug way in the back of his closet for a pretty red sweater that was slightly oversized. “This. Should fit fine. Pretty expensive too.”

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“I’ve had it for year and it definitely doesn’t fit now,” Jason said with a laugh. “Try it on.”

—————————————

The weather sucked. Freaking sleet that threatened everything it touched. You were grateful it wasn’t a night of Jason patrolling. This meant taking your car instead of Jason’s motorcycle. Your car was at least 15 years old and you called it Frankenstein because of all the repairs done over the years.

The radio skipped as Jason drove over a speed bump by Wayne Manor and you burst out laughing. Jason looked at you from the side.

“It’s not that funny,” he said. “What’s up?”

“My car is trash, I’m wearing your old sweater, and we’re late. If you weren’t the black sheep before, bringing me home, you will be now,” you said. He grabbed your hand and parked in front of a random house.

“I’ve been the black sheep since I was a kid and you aren’t going to change any thing for the worse. Trust me. In fact they’ll probably think you’re too good for me,” Jason said with a dry chuckle. “So don’t worry about anything. Except making room for pudding. I know it sounds weird,” he said starting to drive again. “But it’s the best part of Christmas.”

Wayne Manor was huge. You knew that. You’d even seen it on tv. But to see it in front of you was honestly terrifying, especially in the nasty weather. You almost hoped Jason was playing some weird elaborate joke and was going to drive on by but he knew the passcode to the gate. He drove in the covered drop off spot by the front door and parked. You both quickly ran in the building.

The front entry was breathtaking. A gigantic Christmas tree and a full staircase decked out in garland like a Hallmark movie. It was like a magazine. In fact, it was in the Christmas episode of Gotham Life the year before.

You gripped Jason’s hand tightly as you walked down the hall. Your shoes sounded unnaturally loud and you had the urge to quiet them like it was a library. Jason pulled you to the doorway of a dinning room full of people settling to eat. Jadon cleared his throat.

“Master Jason! You made it,” Alfred said excitedly. “I recieved your message but it’s been many years. Sit. Sit.”

“Glad you could come,” Jason’s brother Dick said with a grin. He looked at you in curious excitement. You looked down at some kind of mushroom soup placed in front of you. Everyone else was dressed so nicely and ate so perfectly. It was intimidating.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas,” Jason said shrugging. He gave Dick a look that said don’t ask. It didn’t take much for Dick to drop it because he seemed incredibly distracted. You spent most of the meal trying to keep up on conversations you clearly didn’t understand while trying food you’ve never seen before. You could barely remember everyone you were introduced to. One of Jason’s sister(s?) gave you a big hug along with everyone else when she arrived. You couldn’t tell anyone what was even said after the meal. Or so you thought.

Until right across from you, Dick proposes to his girlfriend. He stuttered around before finally asking. “Will you marry me? Oh god, I have a ring,” he said producing one. Everyone watched as she stared in the box.

“Will I marry you?” She asked faintly and you worried she’d say no. How terrible would it be??

“Please say something,” he pleaded and you could tell the man was practically in pain before she said yes. They kissed, the family applauded, and champagne was served.

Jason watched you from the corner of his eyes. How did you react to this? What did you think? You didn’t look jealous or anything. It made Jason think of marriage. He hadn’t before. He’d thought about moving into something more permanent but marriage. He’d never thought about marriage as his future, ever. Of course when you die at 16 and come back with a vengeance, love is low on the priority list.

“Jaybird, you there,” you asked slightly tapping his shoulder. He blinked and looked at you.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just in my head,” he said and you nodded. He’d do that sometimes.

“The party is moving to the parlor,” you said quietly in a proper rich Gothamite voice and Jason huffed before covering his smiling mouth with a nose rub. The rest of the group was moving ahead of you. Dick and his new fiancé were retiring for the night.

“I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?”

“I’m so sorry, dearest. I can’t understand you with a silver spoon in your mouth,” you laughed. Jason rolled his eyes before guiding your shoulders towards the door. You heard a soft laugh behind you and you turned to see Tim’s girlfriend smiling.

“Sorry to interrupt but I’ve got to use that on Tim,” she said grabbing her coat and walking out.

After making sure you were cool with hanging with Tim’s girlfriend and their adoptive sister Cass, Jason and Tim started a very competitive game of pool. You couldn’t help but look at things that cost more than you’ve ever even seen. The chess set Damian and his girlfriend were playing with probably cost more than your car.

But it was Christmas and you tried to push your insecurities aside. It was a fun evening. A glass of wine you kept sipping on helped as well.

After a while Bruce announced that the roads were too bad and that no one was leaving. Jason clenched his jaw for a second before looking at you and relaxing. He didn’t want to stay but he wasn’t risking your health in any way. Instead he focused on the game.

“So if I win,” Jason said a full hour later. By this time, Damian’s girlfriend had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Your eyes felt a little heavy as well. “I get the penthouse.”

“Sure Jay. That’s Bruce’s. But I’m willing to gamble it,” Tim said throwing his hands up at the ridiculousness.

“I accept terms,” Bruce said. Both boys looked at him surprised. “Whoever wins gets the penthouse.”

You turned quickly to watch the game. Okay, is that a normal thing for them? To bet property. The look on everyone’s face said that no it wasn’t normal.

Jason was excellent at pool. It was a common for you both to go down to the pool hall and play some games. Jason would occasionally make some money playing and he did often as a kid. It was also a way to waste time when your mom was throwing beers back like a fish, like Jason’s mother did. Tim didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t as good and looked almost like he was in pain occasionally. But maybe it wasn’t a real competition? Maybe Bruce was trying to give Jason something he’d always want to but didn’t know how. Jason easily won the game.

“So the penthouse is mine?” Jason asked. Bruce nodded and shrugged. Tim softly coughed in his hand. Your heart raced. They couldn’t be serious.

“If you’ll live in it,” Bruce said. Damian was carefully carrying his girlfriend upstairs.

“Deal,” Jason says quickly.

“Deal,” Bruce said looking quiet pleased. Was this his plan all along?

“I guess, deal?” Tim said confused. “Though you should owe me. You’re the one that got me shot.”

Your brain broke. He was shot? And it was Jason’s fault?

“What?! You got him shot?” Tim’s girlfriend asked loudly. Tim blanched.

“Not my fault.”

“Literally your fault,” Tim countered.

“What did you do?” You asked looking at him suspiciously. He offered you a sheepish smile.

“I might have said ‘what are you gonna do, shoot us?’ I meant me. Not Tim! He also has a bulletproof suit,” Jason said. Tim must be a vigilante too. You glared at Jason.

“That’s not in the report,” Bruce said with his eyes narrowing.

“Good night everybody. Merry Christmas,” Jason said pulling you from the room and up to his childhood room.

“You’re in so much trouble,” you said and he grinned.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow. How do you feel about a penthouse? Better than our current place hu?” Jason said pulling you close. You felt dizzy at the idea.

“Seriously? We can’t afford it,” you said trying to stay grounded. It was too good to be true. Things like that didn’t happen to people like you.

“I think I know a guy who can keep the lights on,” he joked and you gave him a serious look. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the idea of constant hot water. Lights never going off,” Jason said pushing you towards the bed. “No one can hear me make you scream.”

“Tempting. Very tempting,” you said and of fucking course it was. A safe beautiful clean penthouse over your trashy scary apartment wasn’t even a contest. Jason pushed you on the bed and hovered over you.

“What are you doing,” you asked flushed but still encouraging him. It was still his dad’s house and he was getting handsy.

“Trying to have sex with my girlfriend on my old bed like every guy ever has dreamed of,” Jason said. He nipped at your throat. You gasped.

“Got to be quiet, Princess,” he whispered and you pulled him down to kiss more.

————————————

The next morning you woke to an empty bed. You fixed your hair as best you could and threw on Jason’s sweatshirt before going downstairs. You caught a glimpse of the kitchen as Bruce slowly slid a set of keys Jason’s way before taking a long drink from his coffee. “I’m glad you made home for Christmas this year, Jason.” The penthouse.

“Morning,” Bruce said to you nodding before leaving the room. Jason was alone in the kitchen but you could hear others in the breakfast nook a door over.

“Keys,” Jason said showing you. “And no lecture.”

You gave him a hug and looked at the shiny metal keys. It would be a while before you could handle the idea of a freaking penthouse being yours. “But you should get something for Tim. You did get him shot.”

“Let him shoot me?”

“Jason, no.”

#fns #Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd #red hood #red hood x reader #Jason todd fluff #christmas series

1K notes · View notes

voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Text

More than Enough

For @tma-mspec-week Day Three: Polycule

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Sasha James/Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood

Rating: Teen

Summary:

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

Or: How One Became Four.

It starts with Sasha and Jon.

She’s fresh off six months in Artefact Storage, shell-shocked and stand-offish. Jon starts a few months later and they learn the ropes together. She warms up, divulges little tidbits of her time in the other department that Jon devours. He’s young, hungry for answers and Sasha’s already jaded by her few years in academia. This is just a transitional job, she assures him. It pays better than most research gigs and allows her to keep up a certain lifestyle.

“I’m looking at other places, putting out feelers,” she confides in him one day over coffee. It’s become their daily ritual, a mid-morning break where they can commiserate on the staid academics that ask too much of them and the fanciful statements that end up on their desk. “Whatever you do, don’t get stuck here.” She leans back in her chair, gives a cynical little smile. “Or maybe you should. It’ll be different for you, you’re a man.” He starts a protest but she cuts him off. “It’s an old boys club and you know it. Besides, I know all about your extra meetings with Bouchard. He’s never done that with anyone else. Who knows - in a few years you might be my boss!”

He scoffs at that. Jon feels like he’s treading water. He’s a great researcher, sure, but he hasn’t exactly made himself popular among the others. He’s quick to bite, dismissive, blunt. It’s why he and Sasha get along so well, tucked away in their own little world. Of course she would notice the attention from Elias; Jon’s flattered by it, even if he stammers his way through every interaction. Elias seems to find this amusing, but Jon wants to impress him.

Though not at the cost of his friendship with Sasha. “I always mention your work to him. I’m rubbish with technology, but you-” She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t, he’ll see right through that. Manipulation’s not your strong suit.” Jon stares down at his rapidly cooling drink, an embarrassed flush spreading across his features. But her hand reaches out to grasp his and a fond smile lights her features. “Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Jon likes Sasha. Their personalities occasionally clash, but never for too long. Jon’s quick to forgive and Sasha’s too fond to hold a grudge, though she’s loath to admit it. So when her roommate suddenly moves out and she’s left in a bind, it’s only natural for Jon to take her place. He’s been rent-poor, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty studio that’s still an hour’s commute. Sasha’s closer and her flat’s substantially nicer; she offers and he accepts, easy as that. It’s a practical move, and Jon has to admit his lonely little flat is starting to feel suffocating.

They fit together easily, like pieces of puzzle slotting in place. Sasha’s brutally efficient in her personal matters; bills and maintenance that Jon finds overwhelming and confounding she takes care of with ease. He’s heard her on the phone in that light, practiced tone of hers as she casually threatens the landlord for necessary repairs. Jon finds himself relaxing bit by bit, feeling comfortable in his own skin as she snarks at the dinner table over a dish he’s made. He used to cook for Georgie like this. Now he cooks for Sasha.

“You’re good at this,” she comments one night over chana masala. “Loads better than the frozen meals I’m used to.”

“It’s nice, having someone to cook for. Harder to do it for one.” He feels a bit uncomfortable with the admission, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is what it’s like, when you love someone.

He’s never said that to her, of course. He gets attached too easily but never knows quite how to show it. And it’s not his usual sort of love, he doesn’t want to date her. She’s more than a friend, and Jon’s never had many of those; he has no metric to measure this against. He thinks he could stay in this flat with her forever, so long as he could see her smile every morning and yawn every night.

On a Saturday morning she stumbles out of bed and makes her way over to the kitchen. “Morning,” she grumbles, as she reaches for the coffee pot and kisses his forehead. Jon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

On a Wednesday night Jon drinks too much.

“Sasha,” he slurs, her arm the only thing keeping him from falling off his stool. “I want you t’ know…”

She smiles indulgently, takes a sip of her drink. “Yes, dear?”

“I-I love you.” She pauses and Jon’s heart drops. “N-Not like that, but like friends. Good friends. Very good friends. But m-maybe not.” She’s still smiling, that’s got to be a good sign, right? “I-I just love you, okay?”

And then she laughs, puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “I love you too. Stay with me forever, okay?”

He takes her hand between his and promises, with all the solemnity a drunken man can muster, that he’ll stay with her forever and then some. The next morning, while they’re both nursing massive hangovers, Jon broaches the subject again.

“Did you mean it?” he asks tentatively, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What you said last night. Do- do you want me to stay forever?” She turns to look at him, bleary eyes suddenly alert.

“Yes.” There’s no tease in her words as she leans into his side, a warm weight on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.”

Jon stays.

______

Two years later, Tim joins the Institute.

He’s handsome; charming, but subdued. He’s been assigned a desk near theirs, invading the quiet little corner that had become their world. Tim greets them both with a smile and a perfunctory handshake before settling down at his desk and powering up his laptop. He doesn’t speak to them again.

Jon watches as he goes back and forth between circulation and his desk, building an impressive stack of books- The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi, The Congress of Clowns and Other Russian Circus Acts. Sasha told him he worked in publishing, Jon knows she got that information through her usual nefarious means. Perhaps he’s writing a book, Jon says. Sasha thinks otherwise.

“He’s one of those,” she says over sandwiches and tea. She invited Tim, but had been turned down with an apologetic smile.

“Hmm?”

“Like you.” She sets her drink down, eyes him with her steady gaze. “He’s got a reason.”

Mr. Spider doesn’t like it.

Jon shivers at the reminder. Sasha never brought it up after he initially confided in her one vulnerable night last year; she just held him through the shaking and the tears. He’s only told the story twice; once at eight, again at twenty five. It never got easier.

“No one believed me,” he whispered, tucking his face into her shoulder as his body itched from phantom legs skittering across skin. She squeezed him back.

“I do.”

They’re friendly enough to Tim, giving him his distance while still trying to be helpful. Jon points him in the direction of texts and scholars who might be useful, Sasha teaches him a few of her more invasive tricks that Jon refused to learn. Slowly, bit by bit, he opens up. Never shares his story, no- but he smiles, jokes around with them, accompanies them on their lunch breaks and eventually entices them to after work drinks.

He’s handsome when he smiles, Jon thinks to himself as Tim regales them with stories of dates gone wrong. Sasha catches his eye and winks. He wonders if she’ll tire of Jon now that Tim’s around. He’s everything Jon’s not; good-looking, confident, secure in his intelligence. Sasha laughs so freely around him. He could ground her where Jon cannot- they can be a chaotic force, the two of them. It’s why they keep to themselves.

But at the end of the night it’s Jon’s hand she takes, swinging it gently with hers. “Stay with me forever?”

He smiles. “Forever.”

They invite him over to their flat one night in spring, when the trees are blossoming and Jon’s allergies are acting up. He’s sniffling miserably on the couch, Tim sprawled next to him as Sasha pours some wine. Despite his misery, Jon’s content.

Tim nudges him with his foot. “So what’s your deal?” he asks in a wheedling tone, though his smirk betrays an almost imperceptible anxiety. It’s strange. “You and Sash. Dating, roomies…?”

It’s Sasha who answers, handing Jon a glass of wine and standing before Tim, tall and proud. “Jon’s my partner.” It’s matter of fact, and Jon can’t help the warmth that floods him. “We’re not dating. I’m not interested in that.” She hands him his glass with a smirk. “But if you want to romance Jon, feel free.”

Jon sputters as she laughs- he’s transparent, as usual. They’d talked about it briefly- Sasha’s fine with him dating other people, but Jon’s never felt the need to. Sasha’s enough. She still is, but he can’t deny the way his heart swoops whenever Tim aims that smile in his direction. Sasha likes him too, in her own way.

Tim’s still gaping at them and Jon can’t help but join in on the laughter, as embarrassed as he feels. “Is the great Timothy Stoker nervous?” Sasha says in between giggles. “Guess we know how to shut him up now.”

“L-Look, can you blame me?” Tim says, a smile growing on his face. “You two can be very intimidating, not to mention gorgeous-”

Jon kicks at his leg. “Don’t joke.”

“No, we are.” Sasha interrupts, daring him to disagree. She turns that deadly smile back on Tim, delighting in his falter. “So what’ll it be, Stoker?”

There’s silence, Jon can feel his heart racing. They’ve got this all wrong, Tim doesn’t want him, Tim’s going to leave, Tim doesn’t understand-

“Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

Jon blinks. “Uh, yes?”

“He likes Thai!” Sasha calls as she walks over to her bedroom, leaving the two of them on the couch, laughing nervously.

“So you’re bi, then?” Tim asks, scooting closer to Jon and throwing a blanket over their legs and an arm around his shoulder. It’s warm in all the right ways and Jon leans closer, the awkwardness dissipating at the touch of his hand.

“I prefer pan,” he replies. It’s the first term that felt right to him. Georgie used to make some stupid joke about a ‘gender buffet’ and him ‘having one of everything.’ It still makes him smile. “And- and you should know I’m also ace. So there’s some things I won’t be able to do for you.” He looks for disappointment in Tim’s eyes and finds none. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Tim smiles like he means the words and Jon feels light, almost dizzy. “Are kisses alright?”

He nods shyly, and Tim takes this as his cue to pepper him in obnoxiously loud smooches- one in his hair, another on his nose. Jon manages to bat him away after Tim almost gets him in the eye.

So Tim and Jon are dating. Tim takes him out to dinner, the movies, one memorable night of karaoke. Sasha joins in when she wants; they go to museums and lectures. One night she laces her fingers through Tim’s, smiling at his wide eyes.

“What?” she says innocently, doing the same with Jon. “I’ve got two hands.”

On Wednesday nights Tim goes to the gym. Jon sits at the table, passes Sasha a bowl of reheated spaghetti before settling down in his chair. He fidgets, not touching his fork.

“What is it?” Sasha asks, setting her own fork down. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“I-” he stutters, sighing as the words won’t come. Just tell her like you practiced. “I’m not trying to, well- hmm. I don’t want to insinuate anything-”

“You would never.”

“But, I’ve noticed- I’m not- Tim is very handsome.”

Sasha smiles indulgently. “Mhm. Go on.”

“And I’ve noticed. I don’t- if you wanted to-” Goddamnit. Pull yourself together. “I wouldn’t mind it, if you were to - that is, if you’d like to engage in-” He closes his eyes, purses his lips in frustration. “Please stop me.”

“Why Jon,” she replies, her voice coy and teasing. “Are you giving me your blessing?”

Jon sighs, his face warming as he opens one eye- she’s grinning, just as he expected. “...Yes?”

Six months later, Tim moves in.

_______

“Jon wants to bring a boy home!”

Jon smacks him in the arm and scowls. “Tim, don’t-”

“What, it’s true!” He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Jon wants to knock the smile off his face and maybe onto the floor, if he can get a good kick in. “I don’t blame you and in fact, I encourage it. Martin’s a catch-”

“Martin?” Sasha perks up. “Finally!”

“Not you too-”

“Jon, he’s a very sweet boy-”

“-good-looking, too!”

“And if you want to bring him over, please do.” She reaches across the table to give his hand an encouraging, if condescending, squeeze. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to go into that much detail just yet,” Jon cuts her off, ignoring Tim’s snicker. “It’s just...what if he thinks it's weird?”

“Weird can be good. And if he doesn’t agree, well - he’s not worth your time.”

If only it were that simple.

It’s been about three months since he first ran into Martin in the break room. He’d seen him around plenty of times, but despite his hulking form, the man can make himself very, very small. It wasn’t until he quite literally ran into him, causing him to drop his newly organized files, that Jon got a good look at his face.

It was a nice face. Soft, kind, with big blue eyes and curly red hair that fell across his forehead. He wanted to touch it, tuck it behind Martin’s ear and he almost did, despite the man’s rambling apologies and meek demeanor. He stood there, frozen, even as Martin handed back the file with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, I’m pretty clumsy. Are you alright?”

Jon was fine. He should probably say that.

“Y-Yes. I’m Jon.” Wow. Smooth.

“I know.” Martin put a hand behind his neck, nervously chuckling. “You’re quite known around these parts.” His eyes widened and his face turned red. A nice red. “N-Not in a bad way, of course! You’re- you’re just very smart and- and direct- and oh Lord, that’s not a compliment, is it-”

“Thank you for my file,” Jon replied robotically, his eyes trained somewhere over Martin’s shoulder and not on his very, very blue eyes. “I have to take my leave now.” Why are you talking like this?

Their next few encounters were similarly stunted and awkward. Martin made tea at ten every morning, coincidentally when Jon got his yogurt from the fridge. He started making Jon a cup as well; he wasn’t sure if Martin was particularly excellent at making tea, or if it just mattered that he was the one making it. Jon tried not to dwell on the sentimentality of it all.

He shouldn’t want another partner. He’s got Sasha, who he loves, and Tim, who he also loves, albeit in a different way. They should be enough for him. They are enough. But Martin makes him tea and asks him how his day is going and smiles at him and people don’t do that. He tells himself he just wants a friend, but he finds his mind wandering- Martin’s hand in his while they walk down the street, Jon nestled into his side on a movie night and Tim’s there too, because Martin is very comfy and handsome and warm. Sasha’s in her armchair reading a book because tonight they’re watching a romantic comedy and she hates those. Jon hates them too but Martin likes them, of course Martin likes them-

No. He’s getting distracted. And he’s standing in front of Martin like an idiot, saying nothing. This is going terribly. Why did he ever think this would not go terribly-

“Jon? Are you alright? You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“I’m not having a stroke,” Jon responds on auto-pilot. “I’m trying to think of a clever way to ask you out but you are very distracting.”

Shit. Martin stares at him, mouth open in shock. He’s got nice teeth. Very straight.

“Um- I-I thought you were with Tim?” Martin squeaks out. Oh God, I’ve scared him. Do I keep going? “Or- or Sasha, oh! I’m not accusing you of -”

“No, you’re correct,” Jon grinds out, willing himself to be calm. He doesn’t want Martin to think his frustration is aimed at him. “Sasha’s my partner and I’m dating Tim, and sometimes Sasha and Tim-” No! Abort! “-sorry. We’re together. But, um, I-I also like you, and I think Tim likes you but he hasn’t said- I’m sorry, this is going all wrong.” He looks down at the floor, clenching his jaw. “I understand if you say no.”

“I’m not saying no,” Martin’s voice is lower now and Jon feels a hope rise in his chest. He’s not? “So it’s, it’s like an open thing? You’re accepting applications?” Jon would laugh at the joke if he weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Not really? It’s, we aren’t dating around or anything, but I suppose it is open, in a way.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Open for you.”

Martin’s smiling like he can’t believe his luck, and it confuses Jon because who wouldn’t want him? Kind, handsome Martin who makes him tea and doesn’t laugh at his stupid jokes but rolls his eyes affectionately and tells his own in turn. Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever understand his humor but it makes him smile and that’s important. And now Martin’s taking his hand and he- oh fuck Martin’s taking his hand Martin’s got his hand and it’s warm, just like he knew it would be-

“I-I think I’d like that.” A squeeze. Jon dies but only a little. “Wow, this is sort of crazy for me, y’know? You’re all so, so intimidating and good-looking-”

“Yes, we are,” Jon agrees, squeezing his hand back. “But we’d like to buy you dinner, if you’re amenable.” Martin laughs and says yes, he’s very, very amenable. It feels right holding Martin’s hand. It feels right to see him with Tim and Sasha, smiling and joking. It feels right to lean into him at the end of the day, to nudge his side in the night and apologize in the morning.

Martin’s lease expires in seven months. They start looking for a new apartment after three.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032062

#tma #the magnus archives #tma mspec week #jonmartimsasha #archive polycule before there's an archive #jonsasha #jontim #jonmartin #timsasha #jonathan sims #tim stoker #sasha james #martin blackwood #jon is pan #tim is bi #sasha is aro

426 notes · View notes

redex-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Way Out Snip 1

I’ve got so many things in my google drive that I ended up dropping for one reason or another, so I figured what the hell? So have some little snips of things that I’ve mostly forgotten about by now but can’t bring myself to delete

In which Vincent is scared, but Leo is stubborn.

Something had changed.

Leo didn’t really think much of it at first. They had more important things to worry about--even after getting to safety, they had to be vigilant, make sure they weren’t leaving any trail behind. It was a never-ending job, one that exhausted both of them to the core.

Something changed inside of Vincent the night they escaped, though; he could tell that much. It was like a weight had been lifted off of him, which Leo supposed wasn’t that far off. Though he’d been furious at first--of course he had, how could he not be--when it became clear that they needed to rely on one another, the pain and anger and hurt needed to be pushed back. Everything he felt needed to be shoved out of his mind until they were safe, until a time where Leo could finally beat the shit out of Vincent.

That time never came. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he figured he always knew it wouldn’t--there had been something from the very beginning, something that planted itself between them from the first time they fought together and only grew bigger and more significant as time went on. And the first night they were able to actually stop to rest, ducking into an abandoned cabin somewhere in the thickest part of the woods, the time came. Leo looked at Vincent, where he was trying to coax a fire to life in the old fireplace to ward off the biting chill of the northern air. He stood up; Vincent looked over at him. He walked over, stood over Vincent; looked down at him for a few long moments.

Reached down and grabbed the front of his shirt. Pulled him up, easier with the way Vincent instinctively leaned into the movement.

Cupped the back of Vincent’s neck with his other hand as he pulled him into a kiss.

They didn’t fight that night; they didn’t fight the night after.

They didn’t fight until almost a month later, when they pulled their twice-discounted, near-wreck of a truck into a little town in Maine, and Vincent suggested they go their separate ways.

Leo stood up so fast that he smacked the back of his skull on the trunk, where he’d been grabbing their meagre possessions to take to the motel room they’d got. He cursed loudly, pressing his gloved hand to the back of his head, ignoring the pain as he looked at Vincent in shock.

“What?”

“It’s a small town,” Vincent said; he wasn’t looking at Leo. He kicked a chunk of slush with the toe of his boot as he continued.

“If anyone recognizes us--”

“If anyone recognizes us,” Leo shot back hotly, “then we’ll get the hell out of dodge. I’m not leaving you.”

Vincent winced, flinching away from the words.

Leo stalked over, the slushy dredges of snow making wet sounds as he closed the distance and took Vincent’s face in both of his hands; the threadbare knit of the gloves pressed into Vincent’s cheeks where his thumbs framed his face as he tilted Vincent’s head up to look him dead in the eye.

“I’m not leaving you,” he repeated firmly.

Vincent was a stubborn ass; had been from the day Leo had met him. He paced the floor of the motel room, listed every way things could go wrong if they both stayed, yelled a little bit. But, Leo was nothing if not a pain in the ass. He planted his feet firmly, listed counterpoints, yelled a little louder. It was exhausting; hours of back-and-forth that neither of them wanted.

It ended with Leo in Vincent’s arms that night, blankets pulled over both of them as they lay still in the heavy silence brought by the end of their argument. Leo’s cheeks were sticky with dried tears, and Vincent’s voice was rough from crying; but when Leo looked up from where his head had been pillowed on Vincent’s chest and looked him in the eye and whispered, “Don’t run,” Vincent took a shaky breath through his nose and kissed his forehead.

Vincent could be a man of few words, but by then Leo could read him better than any book.

One night in the motel turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into a week before Vincent came back one morning, carrying two breakfast bagels and an armful of newspapers. They spread them out on the floor and sat with their food and some permanent markers, circling any “Help Wanted” ads that might be a good fit. When Leo got up to throw away their trash, he glanced over Vincent’s shoulder to see him pouring over a pile of “For Rent” listings. He leaned in and tapped one of them with his finger, startling Vincent.

“That one,” he said casually, before grabbing Vincent’s empty food bag.

The ad was for an apartment in an area of town nearly hidden from the rest by rows of scraggly trees and rundown houses. It was the part of the town that most of the citizens would be happy to forget existed, including the people living there, populated by a few small stores and rental homes. The landlord was past the point of trying to upsell the place; she simply looked them up and down and stated, “If you can fix shit and keep to yourselves, your rent is part of your pay.”

They didn’t have much to move in, but Vincent still insisted that they keep the “important” stuff in their bags by the door, in case they ever needed to make a run for it. Leo only had to trip on the duffel bags a handful of times coming back with groceries before he convinced Vincent to at least put them under the bed.

[end]

#a way out fanfic #leo caruso/vincent moretti #vincent x leo #leo caruso #Vincent Moretti #fluff #a minuscule amount of angst #snips #a way out snip

24 notes · View notes

alcxmorgan · 4 years ago

Text

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑰'𝒎 𝑰𝒏 / 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 & 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢

No matter how long Alex was away from California she knew it would always be her home. Nothing gave her quite the same feeling as stepping out of LAX into the perfect socal air always did. It was where she grew up, where she honed in on her sport enough to decide she wanted to be serious about it and try to make it a profession. It was even where she played college soccer. Almost everything good in her life (besides Charlie, of course) stemmed from the LA area, there was too much to let go of, which is exactly why she still held onto her Manhattan Beach house despite barely ever having the time to enjoy it especially in the last few years with the World Cup and now the Olympics. She always considered renting it out but pretty much anyone would know that wasn’t the best idea. Thinking of herself as famous still never sat well with Alex but she was realistic enough to recognize that her name and face were well known enough that if someone found out it was her house things could definitely go awry. She had certain friends and family members bring up staying there but for some reason nothing ever felt right. Nothing until she found out Levi just moved to the city. That was a huge move to make and he’d been to that house with her before, something familiar would probably be nice and comforting amongst everything else that was overwhelming and new right? She had that haven to offer and wanted him to take it. Of course she knew he would fight her on it at first but at least over texts he agreed and that was good enough for her until she could take him there again to make sure it was something he really wanted and not just because she was pushing it on him. It just really was such a sin to waste such a gorgeous house and view.

Palm tree after palm tree lined the streets her uber driver navigated to get her from the airport to her parents’ house in Diamond Bar. They had been begging her for more Charlie time which was convenient since she didn’t want to have to bring her daughter along with her to see Levi again for the first time in what felt like forever even if it was only less than a couple years. It was still surreal that she was talking about him in present time again after his name, his voice, his face, all became things of her past, a past she thought for sure would more than likely stay there, not because she wanted it to but because she assumed that after everything that had happened there was no way of salvaging what they once had and if she was being honest she would always kick herself for ruining what never even really got the chance to start. Maybe this could be the beginning of making up for lost time? Maybe it wouldn’t actually be anything more than a friendly landlord and tenant situation. Alex didn’t have the slightest clue what any of this meant for them but her eagerness to find out had her shamelessly changing her flight to one a day earlier and now here she was back in the city of angels to see someone who had coincidentally never been anything but a complete angel to her.

“You don’t mind watching her, right? I feel like I could use a shower after the flight and then I want to run over to my place and see how everything is. I’m gonna meet up with a friend who might be staying there.” She told her parents as she bounced Charlie on her knee giving her cheek a kiss before passing her off to sit in Alex’s dad’s lap. With that the striker was running up the stairs to take a shower and get herself more presentable to see Levi. Sure the sweatpants and ponytail would’ve been just fine but showing up with her hair freshly washed, her favorite pair of jeans, a fitted t-shirt and some makeup on made her feel a lot more confident even if it was just completely friendly. You could want to look nice for friends, right? Just a few little spritzes of her signature perfume and Alex was running down the stairs feeling like a teenager again saying goodbye to her parents before going out. “I know you two know her routine by now but you can always call or text me if you need anything. Thank you again.”

In a perfect world getting to Levi’s apartment would’ve only taken about thirty-five minutes but thanks to the nightmare that is Los Angeles traffic it was probably a good hour or more before she found herself entering the building, making her way up to his floor and finally finding his door. Alex took a deep breath as the nerves finally kicked in and her heart started to race. For a second she thought about walking away because what if surprising him wasn’t the best idea? What if he had someone there? But before her legs could follow that plan her hand was betraying it and she heard her knuckles knocking against the door. Well there was no turning back now. The soccer player let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding when she saw him open the door and smiled, “Hi. Surprise.” @levi-hummus

#lhummon.#paras.#para: state i'm in | levi hummon.

27 notes · View notes

gemstoneconstellations · 5 years ago

Text

Kittens and Bottles

Summary: Your happy life with your favorite cat and favorite hero. This is a small continuation of here.

Wordcount:2644

You have the best cat in the entire world. Here are the reasons why.

She’s adorable; the cutest fur baby. She’s fluffy, sleek, and mews in the most adorable way.

She is cuddly. Not many cats let you rub your face into their bellies as much as you want. But she does; in fact, she will make you cuddle her belly. If you aren’t careful, you could die in your sleep from her smothering you. It would be a happy death.

She found you a boyfriend. A hot, sassy, sexy, funny, pro-hero boyfriend.

It’s been nearly a year since Kuiper’s escape tactics had been discovered and now you were happily co-parenting her with Hitoshi. It was pure bliss. Everything has been going so nicely. Hitoshi pretty much lived with you at this point; he really only used his apartment used to store his things and some of his clothes. Coming home to his sleepy, handsome face has been really nice.

His job as a pro-hero does put a damper on things sometimes. He is often changing his bandages in your living room and sometimes had to leave abruptly for emergencies. But he always makes sure that the two of you can spend some proper time together. You get to cuddle him when you go to bed, before he leaves for work; he would wait for you to fall asleep in his arms before leaving. But the best part is when he comes back.

That night, you woke up to a hand massaging your hip, a familiar chest pressed to your back and lips on your neck. He gently sucked on your skin, making you giggle. “Hmm, Hitoshi, that tickles.” Hitoshi hummed into your shoulder, continuing to kiss you, his thumb pressing into your lower back. You opened your eyes to see the clock showing that it was early in the morning. “Did you just get back?”

Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you, pulling your body closer to his as he nuzzled your hair. “Yeah… I think you should always wear my shirts. Nothing else…” You bit your lower lip as his hands wandered into said shirt. Teeth dragged across your neck, causing your toes to curl.

You gasped and opened your eyes to look for the special, small foil package in the nightstand. Only to see your Kuiper sitting in the middle of the room, watching the two of you. “Hitoshi.” Your boyfriend hummed but didn’t stop, his fingers venturing lower. “She’s watching us…”

“___.”

“Yes-” A haze took over you as Hitoshi used his quirk.

“Now, hold still for Daddy while I put our nosy fur baby to bed.” He rose from the bed and picked up Kuiper. She mewed at him, unhappy about being picked up and pushed out of the room. You almost felt kind of guilty as you listened to her voice her displeasure behind the closed door.

The bed dipped and you felt your body being moved, your ankles placed on Hitoshi’s shoulders and your clothing being pulled away. “Now, it’s time for Daddy to play~”

You sighed with relief, your stiff and sore muscles now relaxed after a nice hot shower. A soft towel wrapped around you, you hit the switch to turn on the fan to get rid of the humidity but nothing happened. You tried flipping the switch on and off, but still nothing happened. Great, you’ll have to call the landlord later, but for now, you just opened the small window to let in fresh air.

Wiping away the fog on the mirror, you were about to dry your hair when something caught your eye. “Hitoshi!”

“I didn’t do it!” Your boyfriend shouted, most likely from the bedroom.

You run your fingers down your poor, abused neck. “Then why do I have a bunch of hickies on my neck?”

Hitoshi appeared, shirtless, beside you in the mirror and leaned down to kiss one of the offending marks on the base of your neck. “I may have done that.” He continued to kiss you, pulling you closer to him.

You almost melted into him, till you felt tugging at your towel. You jokingly shoved Hitoshi away from you. “No way mister, I have work and you need to go to bed.” He stepped back into your space, despite your rejection.

“Nah,” Hitoshi’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own and were wondering your body again, squeezing your butt under the towel. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I think we should both go to bed.”

You shake your head at him and turn him around, realizing then that he wasn’t just shirtless. “Hitoshi, at least put some boxers on. We have young kitty eyes watching us.”

“Oh, I see who your favorite is. She can walk around naked but I can’t.” The two of you kept bantering back and forth. You were nearly late to work but you couldn’t help the smile that seemed to permanently pull on your face.

The open window in the bathroom long forgotten.

“I’m telling you, you don’t need to give her a treat every time she meows at you. She just got her weight down.” You were laying on Hitoshi’s side; the two of you were just lounging on your couch together today. Kuiper was stretched out over both of your laps, her slightly round belly exposed. Hitoshi opened his mouth and you could see the stupid word forming. “Say it, I dare you.”

He just laughed, leaning his head back on the couch with his eyes shut. “I can’t help but spoil her. She’s too cute.”

“Uh huh. At least you’ve stopped dressing her up in ugly bows.” You pinched his side as he laughed more. Kuiper seemed to have enough of the two of you moving so much and left your laps.

Now free from kitty petting obligations, Hitoshi pulled you closer into his lap and whispered in your ear. “I’m more into undressing you now.” He starts to shower your face and neck with kisses till he thought it would be a great idea to blow a raspberry on the junction of your neck. You snort and try to push his face away. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, thank you. The cold has been going around in the office lately.” You’d woken up this morning with a stuffy nose, nausea, and a heavy body. Hitoshi had to convince you to stay home by bribing you with snuggles and being waited on hand and foot. The two of you had sat together wrapped in warm blankets, watching movies and petting your spoiled kitty all day.

“I’ll buy some weight control food for her on my way home today.” Hitoshi ran his fingers through your hair as you tried to sleep. You groan when he tried to pull away, not ready for him to leave yet. Hitoshi chuckled, holding you closer to him. “Now who is acting spoiled. Five more minutes and then I have to go.” You hummed in agreement but that didn’t stop you from clinging onto him later.

“Okay, I know you are tired, but I can’t find my capture weapon.” You groaned, exhausted from the long week you’d had. You were so fatigued; that cold had really kicked your ass and your body was still recovering. You’d spent all day trying not to fall asleep, to finally come home to your comfy bed only to find Hitoshi frantically looking around the room and asking for help.

You pulled the blankets more tightly around you. “Noooooo.”

Hitoshi chuckled, getting down on his knees beside the bed and petting your head. “Okay kitten, but have you seen my capture weapon? I swear, I put it on the nightstand this morning.”

Thinking about it now, you might have seen it in the living room with Kuiper. “Find the real kitty, I think the fur baby was playing with it again.” Hitoshi hummed, his hot fingers massaging the back of your neck. Your eyes closed again. It was so nice to have someone else take care of you when you’re down. You feel a press of lips on your forehead as you drifted off to sleep.

As you suggested, Hitoshi went to look for the now slightly round black kitty. He swears that he isn’t giving her more treats… at least he doesn’t think he is. He looked in the living room, calling the kitty’s name till he heard her meow form the kitty climbing tree. Inside the small cubby at the base, Hitoshi found his scarf. Kuiper was lying in the middle of what looked like a nest. “What you doing, pretty girl? You can’t have that.”

He pulled Kuiper out of the nest and she purred in his arm as he grabbed his capture weapon. There was more than just his scarf though; socks, two shirts, and a random pair of boxers also resided in the cubby. So that’s where those had gone. “What you doing with all this stuff, princess?” He asked the cat, who just purred against him.

“Hmmm…” You groan, looking down at the pants that just wouldn’t button. “Have I been gaining weight?” Turning to the side with your shirt up to expose your stomach, you frowned at the full length mirror. You pinch at your skin and sigh.

Kuiper sat on your bed, watching you with her tail twitching. “Looks like both of us need to go on a diet. Maybe I’ll even get you a kitty leash and we can go for walks.” Even though you’d switched her food to a less fattening kind, she still seemed to be growing. You’d gotten rid of all the treats and Hitoshi swears that he isn’t giving her any more. Plus, she has been more demanding of attention, even at night.

Giving up on those pants, you dug through your closet, looking for some spandex pants instead. You’d finally found them when you heard the telltale sign of gagging. “Oh no, oh no. Hold it in Kuiper!” You rush over to pick up your cat and run her to the bathroom. Thankfully, you got her to the sink just in time for her to throw up, but you seemed to be a vomit sympathizer and could feel yourself getting nauseous as well. You were going to the kitchen for water when the front door opened.

“Hmm, now this is a greeting.” You jump as hands gripped at your butt; you were still only in a shirt and underwear. “I could get used to this.”

You giggle as you pulled Hitoshi’s offending hands closer to make him hug you instead. “I see you’re back later than usual. Everything okay?”

Hitoshi yawned before laying his head on your shoulder. You smiled at how cute and cuddly Hitoshi gets when he’s sleepy. He won’t move from his spot if you don’t, so you start walking with him on you to put the sleepy boy to bed. “Yeah, there was just a raid that turned out larger than expected but it’s okay now. How was your morning?”

You pushed your boyfriend onto the bed; he gave you a dopey smile. “Kuiper seems to be sick, she’s puked twice today already. She puked yesterday too. I’m gonna take her to the vet.”

Another yawn as he tiredly rolled over. “Poor baby, let me know how she is.”

“I will.” You found the spandex pants from before but paused before putting them on. “Hey, Toshi? Do you think I gained some weight?” There was no answer; you looked over to see him taking shallow breaths and letting out small snores. Dressed, you kissed him goodbye before taking Kuiper to see her vet.

“I’m sorry… could you repeat that?”

The vet handed over the test results while his other hand scratched Kuiper behind the ear. The kitty was purring so loudly, it was the only thing grounding you right now. “She’s not fat. She’s pregnant. I’d say about three weeks, entering her fourth.”

“But she hasn’t even had her first heat!” You’d wanted her to have kittens one day but had just been hoping that it would be when she was a little older. Is this what parents feel like when their teenage child tells them they are having a baby? You start to think that you’re going to throw up again.

You fell back into your seat as the vet placed Kuiper back inside her carrier. “She is old enough to have had it. Is there a way she could have gotten out?”

“No, there’s…” Last month, when your fan had stopped working, suddenly came to mind. Your landlord didn’t come to fix it for two weeks so you would leave the window open. It was so high up that you didn’t think she would be able to… but then again, she had gone through the air vents to get to Hitoshi’s apartment. You sigh and smack your own forehead. You should have known. “Fuck.”

“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t notice this sooner, especially if she’s been nesting. Gaining weight, puking, and being moody are all signs of pregnancy. She’ll be taking a lot more naps; it’s a lot of work making new life.”

With Kuiper now in your arms again and some nausea medication for your apparently pregnant kitty, you leave the vet’s feeling a bit unsure. You sigh as you stop by a store to get some baby blankets for Kuiper; she can’t keep stealing shirts and Hitoshi’s scarf to have her kittens on. There’s a lot you needed to prepare for with so little time. “Right, should mark down her expected due date.” You looked at your phone calendar to enter it in when you noticed something; you’d forgotten to mark your own period this month. Wait…when was it?

Hitoshi entered the kitchen yawning. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you cooked dinner. “Hey.”

“Good evening, my love. Feel better?” You leaned your head against his, your hand weaving through his lavender locks.

He was practically purring against you. “Nah. I could sleep some more, but something smelled good.”

Trying to keep your voice even so as to not give anything away, you focused on cooking again. “Hmm, well now that you are up, do you think you could go to your apartment? I could hear her lonely meows but I didn’t want to leave the food.”

Hitoshi stepped back to stretch and yawn one more time. “I thought we closed those vents? Yeah, I’ll pick up the princess.” You bit your lower lip to hide your smile as he left the room.

You waited a few minutes till Hitoshi came barging back into the room, holding up Kuiper in a panic, a small note in his hand. “___! Kuiper’s pregnant?!”

You didn’t look at him as you continued to cook. “Yeah, her too.”

“Too?” You turned to him and placed a sonogram in his free hand. Hitoshi’s eyes widened, looking down at your hand now resting on your stomach.

You smile at him as he placed Kuiper down on the ground, staring at the small picture of your eight-week-old fetus. “Mmhmm, too.”

Next thing you know, you are being spun in the air and kissed deeply by your ecstatic boyfriend. The rest of the night, Hitoshi was buzzing, his hand not leaving your stomach, even when you two were eating dinner.

The two of you laid together in bed, Kuiper against your chest and Hitoshi pressed against your back as he stroked circles around your stomach. “___.” You turned your head to face him as he whispered in your ear. “Marry me.”

You turned back to your cat, petting her as she purred in her sleep. “Nah.” You felt him go stiff and you turned back to him with a smirk, snickering. You kiss his forehead. “Kidding, yes.”

#shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #kitty #pregnancy announcement

591 notes · View notes

theatrediva1975 · 4 years ago

Text

Take It or Leave It (Chapter 1 - Leave It)

The sunlight streamed through the window overlooking the small, round kitchen table that served as Olivia Bennett’s dining room table/office desk/craft table and truthfully any flat service she needed. The apartment was tiny but efficient and just enough for what Oliva needed. The job offer to teach at a brand new charter school had come out of the blue and she had all of two weeks between the offer and her first day. Coming off a bad break up, the death of her mother and the elimination of her job in Florida, the offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Olivia grabbed this apartment off an online ad, sight unseen, and prayed for the best. She packed up whatever would fit in her SUV and the small trailer she rented and she didn’t look back. She bought some furniture and decorated her new little home. School started, she made a few friends and a year and a half later, she didn’t think she could have been more content.

Then she met Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn. Olivia smiled as she stared out the window at the flowering dogwood tree that grew on the side of her building. Recalling their “meet cute”, she smiled into her tea cup. He was the complete opposite of any man she had ever dated. Usually attracted to alpha male assholes who acted like they were the end all be all, Olivia was completely smitten by the slightly older, steadier, more mature military man. He was quieter, more introspective, softer than the others. He was incredibly intelligent, thoughtful and he had a wicked sense of humor he seemed to save just for her. No doubt, she was falling hard for her sweet sailor.

Olivia jumped at the loud rap of knuckles against the front door, splashing hot tea all over her t-shirt and the essay papers on the American Revolution she was grading at her kitchen table. Quickly grabbing a towel from the breakfast bar, she attempted to pat the papers dry.

“Keep your shorts on!” she called out as she jogged to the front door, stubbing her baby toe on a box sticking out from under the coffee table as she passed. “Dammit all to hell,” she muttered as she ripped the door open to reveal Eric Blackburn on the other side. Speak of the devil, she thought to herself with a smile.

“Hey there,” she said as she stepped back, tripping over��.something, to let Eric in the apartment. “This is a surprise.” Olivia noticed the stony look on Eric’s face as he moved past her. No kiss on the cheek, no smile, nothing. And it was the middle of the day. It unnerved her.

As he stepped further into the apartment, Eric surveyed the landscape of her living room. The boxes sticking out from under the coffee table, the empty shelves that had held her DVD collection, the pile of laundry on the far side of the couch. “Yeah, kind of a last minute thing,” Eric responded with a grimace, looking around at the mess. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Olivia winced at his tone. “I got some bad news the other day,” she explained slowly as Eric turned to her. “My lease has been a month to month for a while now and the landlord decided to call it so he can move his wife’s kid brother in or some such thing.” Olivia hadn’t wanted to bring it up until she had something else in place. It had only been a few days since Mr. Leonard dropped his little bombshell on her and she had been scrambling non stop trying to find a new place to move into. She hadn’t mentioned it in their few conversations because Olivia didn’t want Eric to feel any kind of pressure to invite her to stay with him. They weren’t there yet, having only been dating for a few months. They were just enjoying getting to know each other.

“I’m leaving in sixteen hours,” Blackburn stated.

Stunned, Olivia just stared at him. It wasn’t just what he said, but also how he said it that set Olivia’s teeth on edge. It was the tone, she guessed, that he used with his team. Short, clipped, authoritative.

“Oookay,” Olivia responded, hating the slight shake in her voice. She didn’t like his tone and didn’t know where this was heading but she was starting to feel a pit in her stomach. “You’re being spun up?”

“No. I am being deployed. Two weeks early,” he said, emotionless.

Looking around the room, and the small disaster it was, Eric was getting more and more agitated. He was a military man, after all. Neat and orderly was the way he lived his life and this was the opposite of it. And with his frame of mind at the moment…the loss of Echo team, the deployment being moved up, the way Bravo was already itching for a fight. Eric just sighed and shook his head, shifting his focus from what he was going to be facing to attacking the situation in front of him.

“Deployed? Doesn’t that mean for months at a time?” Olivia was desperately trying to learn all the military lingo. Google only helped just so much and she hadn’t met anyone else in Eric’s circle, so it’s not like she could lean on any of the other wives and girlfriends.

Eric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he responded testily. “I wanted to tell you in person.”

“For how long?”

“Three months, at least,” Blackburn responded.

“Three months,” Olivia repeated. As she began pacing in the small spot in front of her coffee table, her brain kicked into gear as she put two and two together. Her brow furrowed, her Irish temper beginning to flare. He was leaving. She knew this was part of the deal with dating a military man, especially someone like Eric who commanded a specialized unit. Still, she felt there should have been some warning. Especially when that one particular word clicked: early.

“Ok, just so I’m understanding correctly, you’re saying that while you are leaving in the morning, you were already scheduled to leave in two weeks for several months and you’re just now telling me? Is there anything wrong with that assessment...Lieutenant?” she added saucily at the end. Eric took a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her. He knew he was wrong to have kept that from her but it had been so long since he had been in a relationship and things had been so good between them, he hadn’t wanted to ruin it by bringing up the deployment. But with the loss of Echo team weighing on him, the sailor in him who was looking at months of combat and handling a Tier One team was pushing the boyfriend who just wanted to curl up on the couch and help his girl find a new apartment out of the way. “Look, I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person that the timeline had changed and I’m leaving in the morning” he repeated, almost coldly. “This is my life. Take it or leave it.” The words had barely left his mouth and he wanted to take them back. This was not what he had in mind when he came over here.

Olivia felt her heart stop. “I’m sorry. What did you just say to me?”

The two stared at each other. How had things gone from zero to a hundred in less than three minutes, Olivia wondered. “You heard me,” Eric said quietly.

Tears began to form in Olivia’s eyes. “Wow.” She turned around to take a second to pull the tears back, leaning on the little dining room table. A range of emotions were rolling over her as she stood there. Anger, betrayal, fear, disappointment. Why hadn’t he told her he was being deployed? Did he plan on breaking up with her before he left? Was this the easy way for him to end it? Had she completely misread the situation? Whatever the answers were to the myriad of questions popping in her brain, she knew one thing for sure - she promised she would never let a man break her like her ex did. So Olivia squared her shoulders and stood tall as she turned around to make the decision for him.

Olivia spoke as she walked towards the door. “Well, thank you for stopping by and informing me,” she said, figuring if he was going to use his ‘lieutenant’ voice, she was going to use her ‘teacher’ voice. Olivia swept her arm in front of her in the universal sign of ‘here’s the door’. “Please, do not let me keep you away from your duties.” She knew she was being passive aggressive but she also knew she had to be or she’d do or say something stupid.

Eric sighed and moved towards her. Olivia opened the door and moved back, attempting to stay out of his reach. “Look,” Eric began. Before he could get another word out, Olivia lifted her hand to stop him.

“It’s fine,” she said quietly, opening her front door. Olivia bit her tongue to stop herself from asking him to be careful and come home safe in one piece. With her decision to just let go a moment ago waving its flag in her face, she chose to remain silent.

“Liv…”

“Goodbye, Eric,” Olivia said sadly. With one last look, Olivia quickly closed and locked the door, leaving a stunned Eric Blackburn on the other side.

Not wanting him to hear her, Olivia quickly moved through the apartment to her bedroom in the back and sat down on the edge of her bed and started crying. Shit, she thought. What had she just done?

****************************************************************

The following morning, Eric sat at his desk, staring off into space. He replayed the prior afternoon over and over, seeing everywhere he went wrong. He should have told Olivia about the deployment sooner, he should have had his head on straight before he stepped foot in her apartment, but above all else, he never - never - should have given her the ultimatum of “take it or leave it”. And he really should have just sucked it up and went back to her place last night and begged for forgiveness.

Eric dropped his head into his hands. He had never felt so torn. He desperately wanted to go to Olivia. But there wasn’t time. They were set to take off within the hour.

A light knock on the door jamb caught Eric’s attention. Adam Seaver stood leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey man. Ready to go?”

Eric shook his head. “No, not really.”

Adam chuckled. “I find that hard to believe,” he replied, sitting in the chair across from Blackburn’s desk. “What’s going on?”

Eric looked at the Green Team instructor as a thought took hold. “Can I ask you to do me a favor while I’m gone?”

Adam shrugged. “Of course, man, anything. You know that.”

***********************************************************************

After Eric left the apartment, Olivia threw herself a pity party, complete with mint chocolate chip ice cream. She went to bed without checking her emails, texts or social media. She had zero desire to do anything except berate herself for her own childish behavior and recognize that her long standing insecurities and low self esteem issues had reared their ugly heads and cost her perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to her. It wasn’t until the next morning that she learned about what had happened, finally logging on and seeing the news about the SEAL team that had been killed in Afghanistan.

By that point, she knew she would be too late to reach Eric to try and apologize. He had much more important matters to attend to than her, she thought.

Olivia worked through the rest of the week in a fog. She had made no attempt to find a new apartment and she was down to just over a week to get her place packed up and find somewhere to live. Another teacher on staff had offered to let her use her guest room for a few weeks until she found something. It was a sweet offer but she also knew that said teacher was the resident cat lady and the idea of sharing the space with her and her six cats held little appeal. She’d rather go into debt by getting a hotel room until she found something.

After an excruciatingly long Friday, filled with exams, quizzes and a less than attentive group of teenagers, Olivia trudged into her apartment, knocking into boxes along the way to her bedroom where she changed out of her heels and work clothes, stuck her hair up in a messy bun that never looked as sexy as it did in the magazines, and put on her favorite, practically threadbare, Bon Jovi “New Jersey” tour t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. After reheating some leftovers in the microwave, she grabbed a bottle of wine and curled up on her couch with the mission of not getting up until she found an apartment. Not five minutes in, there was a knock on the door.

Olivia looked through the peephole in the door to find a petite blonde woman on the other side. Not recognizing her, Olivia unbolted the door but left the chain on so she could crack it open. “Yes?”

“Hi, Olivia? I’m Victoria Seaver,” the woman explained. “My husband, Adam, works with Eric on base.”

Olivia’s eyes widened slightly, a shiver soared up her spine. Was she here with bad news? “How can I help you?”

“Do you mind if I come in?” she asked politely.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Olivia responded, shaking her head at herself as she closed the door and took the chain off. She tried to run her hands down her shirt in a terrible effort to look presentable in front of “one of the wives”. The thought of meeting a Navy wife had intimidated her for some reason. Maybe because they always seemed way more put together than she was.

As she reopened the door, Victoria smiled at her. “Oh, this place is so cute!” she exclaimed. “It’s so sad you have to move.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. How did she know that? “Um, I’m sorry it's such a mess,” Olivia stated apologetically. “I’ve been trying to pack as best I can between school and grading and everything.” Olivia scrambled to pick things up off the other side of the sofa and the chairs on either side of the coffee table to give Victoria a place to sit. “Please,” she gestured.

Still smiling, Victoria thanked her. “I hated moving so much when Adam was working his way up through the ranks,” Victoria lamented. “I mean, I finally have a system, but it took me years to develop it.”

“How did you know about…” Olivia began.

Victoria raised her hand up, again with a smile. “Eric told Adam how sorry he was to be leaving in the middle of all of this. So, we’re here to help.” The statement was said so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Olivia stared at the woman, searching for what to say next. “I-I don’t...um, help? Help with what?”

Victoria felt bad for the girl in front of her. Brand new relationship with a military man and it’s someone like Eric Blackburn. A brilliant man, no doubt. But a serious dummy in the relationship department. Victoria reached out and took Olivia’s hand. “Eric told Adam you lost the lease on your apartment. And with having to deploy sooner than anticipated, Eric asked Adam if we would take care of you so you weren’t stuck doing this all by yourself.”

Take care of her? Olivia was shocked into silence. She didn’t think Eric even talked about her to anyone at work. She couldn’t help but stare at the patient woman sitting in front of her with her jaw dropped open, then dropping her head to hide the tears threatening to stream down her cheeks. She couldn’t, however, stop the sob that fell from her, causing Victoria to drop her hands, scoot closer to Olivia and wrap her arm around her shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Victoria cooed in Olivia’s hair as the tears fell.

The comfort and support prompted Olivia to, out of nowhere, retrace the steps that led to the outpouring of emotion, telling Victoria about the afternoon Eric last visited and then began telling her all about how they met and some of the dates they had been on before finally admitting out loud what she knew she should have been telling Eric, not the sweet stranger sitting beside her. “I’ve fallen in love with him and now it’s too late,” Olivia choked out.

Victoria once again grabbed Olivia’s hand. “Olivia, I have known that man for a very, very long time and as much as I adore and admire him, Eric’s an idiot.”

Olivia’s head snapped up at the statement and saw the glint in Victoria’s eye as she chuckled at her. Victoria continued. “He is a brilliant strategist, a cool headed straight shooter in a sea of politically motivated egos and he is, rumor has it, quite a deadly shot. But when it comes to interpersonal - or should I say, personal relationships - Eric Blackburn is about as astute and communicative as a 15 year old boy.”

Both women paused for a moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Well, I guess that could be said for most men, couldn’t it?” Olivia queried, earning her a rueful nod from Victoria.

“My Adam can be just as bad,” she confessed. “But enough about the boys,” Victoria continued, eyeballing the bottle of wine on the table. “Got an extra glass?”

Olivia smiled and nodded, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass, a plate, fork and a few little snack items to offer her guest. “Sorry for all this. I am sure you have way more important things to be handling right now than some overwrought, hysterical chick you’ve never even laid eyes on.”

Victoria shook her head. “Stop it. I am happy to help. That’s what we do - we help each other,” she explained. “Being a Navy wife or girlfriend or partner, we all experience similar things. It’s never the exact same thing but trust me, we are all here for each other.” As Olivia returned to the living room, she watched Victoria pull a tablet out of her bag. “So, with that said, I took some liberty.”

As Olivia settled in, Victoria proceeded to open up the app for a local real estate site she had bookmarked, showing Olivia several places she hoped would pique her interest. “I did some research on this place and found some places that are in the area and comparable.”

For the next few hours, the two women researched the local real estate market and made phone and email inquiries on several properties Olivia liked and could afford. They finished off the bottle of wine and then finished off the remaining mint chocolate chip ice cream. By the end of the evening, Olivia had several places to see the following day, but more importantly, she found a friend.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Victoria said as she stepped over the threshold to head home. “Tonight was kind of a daddy/daughter night but Adam has several things to do this weekend before Echo…” she trailed off.

It was the first time that night that the subject of Echo team had come up that night and Olivia wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. So she just went on instinct and pulled Victoria in for a hug. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine what this is like for you all to be going through.”

Victoria squeezed her back and when she pulled away, Olivia saw the tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she began. “It affects us all, whether it’s one life or a whole team. We truly are a community, Olivia. We have each other’s backs, 100%. You’re a part of that now, too. Whether you like it or not,” she finished with a wry smile which Olivia returned. Victoria continued. “Well, Hannah, my daughter, needs a distraction right now, like we all do, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if she tagged along with us.”

Olivia shook her head. “No, absolutely not. I’d love to meet her.”

Victoria smiled and leaned in, hugging the young teacher once more. “Welcome to the family, Liv,” she said in her ear. She pulled back, catching Olivia’s face in her hands and gave her a wicked grin. “You’re stuck with us now!”

The two women laughed and waved good night once more before Victoria descended down the stairs to the small lobby below. Olivia watched her leave before going back inside.

Curling up on the couch after cleaning up the dishes left behind, Olivia grabbed her laptop. She stared at the screen, knowing what she had to do but also hated it had to be done this way - impersonally, digitally. Calling was out of the question, so this was her only option.

Opening up her email program, Olivia chewed on her bottom lip, wondering what to say, where to start. Talking to Victoria had helped Olivia achieve some clarity and understanding but more importantly, a certain amount of hope that all had not been lost. So she typed just seven words:

Come home safe, sailor. I’ll be waiting.

Olivia never imagined she would get an almost immediate response so when her email alert chimed, she froze when she saw the response.

I promise.

One tear trailed down her cheek as she closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks that all was not lost after all.

#seal team #seal team cbs #eric blackburn #oc

19 notes · View notes

ohmightydevviepuu · 5 years ago

Text

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 9

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter nine [9/12] AO3

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she's been thinking that maybe it should say "Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck."

Her partner's been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

as ever, none of this would exist without @thisonesatellite. pretty sure this kicks off another section that i made her read 3 times. after changing, like, five words. listen, i needed to know if it was better, ok?

to @profdanglaisstuff and @katie-dub, always.

to the @captainswanbigbang for a hell of an event. i owe you all so much.

chapter summary: Shit gets real. Very real. In her dreams--and in her life. Emma has to decide: is she ready to try something new?

Emma opened her eyes. She was once again on her back, on the least comfortable mattress she had ever had the misfortune to encounter--which was saying a lot, considering some of the places Emma had slept in her life. There was a single bare bulb illuminating the space and shadows cast along the wall by the bars of the cell door.

She was in one of David Nolan’s holding cells.

“What luck,” drawled a voice--a woman, haughty and self-assured and someone Emma had heard before. “The Savior.”

Emma did not sit up as she registered the words, or the obvious capital letters of the title; she merely waited, turning her head so that the speaker came into view. Her posture was impeccable, and though she did not appear especially tall she established a sense of presence. There was not a hair out of place on her head and her clothing was simple, but obviously expensive. It was easy to see where--who--Regina Mills had learned her habits from.

“Cora Mills,” Emma said, her attention going back to the ceiling and the bulb, making her affect as disinterested as possible. “You look pretty good for a dead woman.”

read the full chapter on AO3

chapter nine

Emma stood in the doorway, watching her son sleep for the first time in her--and his--life. His hair was just a bit too long, she realized suddenly, seeing the way his fringe fell into his eyes. Liam was on the floor, and his eyes opened when she took a step into the room. Emma shrugged--hoping he would understand what even she could not.

Because she needed to leave.

She needed to be somewhere else, out of all of this, out of this bullshit of magical nonsense and curses and--everything.

She was going to take her son and she was going to get the fuck out of Dodge, away from Evil Queens and Dark Ones and roommates that felt like family and a bartender that felt like he could help her be a part of something, if only he wasn’t so monumentally fucked up.

Liam just watched her, watched her as she shook Henry gently awake, and then he nodded. He looked sad, but resigned, and Emma had to wonder: how many friends did Liam Hook truly have? Maybe he was a little lost, too, just like his brother, just like she had been.

Like she still was.

“Come on, kid,” she said, hoping her voice cut through the sleepy haze in Henry’s expression. “We’re getting out of here.”

Ruby had caught her in the hallway as Emma left Hook’s office, and the grin on her face was devilish, her eyes glittering in delight. “Angsty midnights with the hot-slash-insane bartender?” she asked. “I love it.” But then she had sniffed, and though Emma knew it wasn’t possible, it was like she smelled the alcohol in the air around her, even though neither Hook nor Emma had had anything to drink.

“Angsty midnight drinking sesh with the hot-slash-insane bartender?” Ruby’s expression changed, and she pulled Emma toward her, both of her hands on Emma’s shoulders, her gaze boring into Emma’s skull. “Babe, listen. You know I love you. And I know we’re going through something terrible. But--”

“I know,” Emma said.

“This is insane, Em.”

“I know,” Emma said.

“There’s gotta be a better way for you to work through your shit,” Ruby said.

But that’s not what Emma did--was not how she operated.

She was going to do what she always did: run. It was all she knew how to do.

Emma tried hard to not imagine Jefferson watching them through his telescope as she guided Henry toward her car. Henry’s delight with the dilapidated little yellow Beetle was almost enough to banish the worry.

Almost.

Until she started driving toward the edge of the neighborhood and the questions started.

“Wait.” Henry was suddenly alert. “You want to go now? We’re leaving now?” He looked over his shoulder. “Where’s your stuff?”

“You’re all I need,” Emma said. “I’m getting you out of here. Away from all of this, away from her.”

“No.” There was steel in Henry’s voice. “No. Stop the car. You can’t leave--you have to stay, you have to break the curse.”

“I don’t,” Emma said. “I don’t have to do anything but help you.”

“Emma,” Henry said. He was pleading with her. “You’re a hero. You can’t run, not when you can help everybody.”

Emma bit her lip. “I know it’s hard for you to understand--”

“You’re scared,” Henry said. “That’s pretty easy for me to understand. I’m a kid, I’m not an idiot.” He crossed his arms.

“I’m doing what’s best for you,” Emma said, turning her blinker on as she came to the main street that would lead them back into the heart of the city. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Isn’t that why you were looking for me?”

He shook his head. “I wanted you to break the curse. I wanted you to bring back the happy endings, and for us to be a family.” His voice broke. “Please, Emma, don’t make me go. We need you. Your family needs you.”

“Henry--”

He reached over and grabbed the steering wheel.

“Henry!” Emma swerved, yanking on the wheel to pull the car back onto the road and into the right lane. Her heart was racing as she turned to her son. “We need to--there’s a difference between fairy tales--fantasy--and reality.” “I’m not crazy,” Henry fumed. “Killian believes me!”

“Captain Hook’s opinion is not what I’m interested in right now, kid,” Emma snapped.

“You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment. You’re scared, but you know I’m right. Running isn’t what’s best for me. Running is never what’s best. I thought--”

“What?” Emma said, her eyes flickering back to him.

“I thought you were different.” He slumped in his seat.

It was just a flash out of the corner of her eye--red eyes, four feet--and for a second, she would have sworn it was Graham.

The car went off the road.

Something was wrong with the apple tree.

It was black, the leaves curling in on themselves; the fruit wasn’t red, but shriveled and brown.

It was dying.

The man in the animal-skin coat with the glittery skin was visibly pleased, Emma could tell. His toothy grin was wide and his fingers positively writhed with glee.

“Excellent work, Savior,” he hissed. “The curse is weakening.”

“You want the curse broken,” she said. “Why?”

“I’m planning a little trip,” he said.

“You’re going to need travel insurance,” Regina said, and Emma whirled around. “Because I’ve found a solution to my Emma Swan problem.”

It wasn’t Regina Mills but the Evil Queen that stood before her, in a gown of jet black with divided skirts that trailed behind her. She held her hand, palm up, out in front of her, and there was a ball of fire in the air. “An old, reliable solution.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Rumplestiltskin warned. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, Your Majesty, that all magic comes with a price.”

“Then you can pay it,” she seethed, and the ball of fire trembled.

An arrow shot through the air, causing the fire to extinguish itself, and Regina’s mouth dropped open. “You!” Her expression changed from shock to hurt to anger. “You could’ve hit me!”

“I never miss,” Graham said. His eyes flashed, one red and one black, and Emma saw the wolf.

They were back in the office.

Swan and Humbert.

“Emma,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

“You--” Emma said. “You’re--”

“Please, Emma. I need you to understand.”

“Why?”

“So that I can understand,” he whispered, and kissed her, sending warmth from the tips of her fingers straight down to her toes. It wasn’t--it wasn’t a romantic feeling, it was comfort and affection and trust and connection.

It was being a part of something.

“Did you feel that?”

Emma nodded, speechless.

“That’s what you did for me,” Graham whispered. “I died a free man, Emma.”

She cupped his face in her hands, feeling the scratch of his stubble on her palms. He kissed her, again, on the crown of her head, and his fingers combed through her hair, stopping at the chain around her neck.

“Emma,” he said. “Your fate is in a precarious place. You must hurry.”

“Wait--” Emma said.

“The opportune moment will present itself,” Graham said. “The rest is up to you. Find your family, Emma. Free them from the curse.”

“You’re--can’t you come with me?”

“I cannot,” he said, but his voice held no regret. “I gave up my heart so that the queen would spare Snow White’s. Wait for the opportune moment. Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain.”

“Graham,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled him close, one more time, and kissed him softly on the mouth.

If the first time she kissed him had been a gentle brush against her soul--the warmth of a sunny day--this was an inferno, burning everything in its wake as the energy rushed through her. It was raw and unfettered as it pushed every molecule in her body, electrifying her senses until she couldn’t feel anything but him.

“It’s you,” Killian whispered. “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s all for you.”

She chased after him, searching for more, but he stopped her with a smile. “I know you feel like a pawn, love, but remember: you’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played. There’s hope, Swan. All you have to do is believe.”

It was just a kiss, but it felt like--

“Just look at me,” he said, “and believe.”

It felt like magic.

She was in one of David Nolan’s holding cells.

“What luck,” drawled a voice--a woman, haughty and self-assured and someone Emma had heard before. “The Savior.”

“Cora Mills,” Emma said, her attention going back to the ceiling and the bulb, making her affect as disinterested as possible. “You look pretty good for a dead woman.”

“So do you, dear.”

Emma’s already-spinning head took a moment to process that, and a deep breath that she hoped was not noticeable--but she did not give Cora the satisfaction of a reaction.

There was a low, throaty chuckle. “I’m glad to see you’re not wasting your energy on pleasantries, Miss Swan.”

Damn.

A villain with a sense of humor, then. Not that Emma had the energy to spare for ‘pleasantries,’ not after the accident and the dreams and--

“Hook?” Cora said.

Emma once again did not allow herself to react, but she wanted to, as she heard the footsteps, low and languid, and the dry tone of his voice when he said, “Startling, aren’t I?”

It took no effort at all for Emma to imagine him making an ironic bow. “Some might even say striking,” he said.

Emma willed herself not to move, to maintain her calm demeanor. She didn’t even turn to look at him, not when she recognized the cadence of his words and the harshness of his consonants.

“I appreciate the warm welcome,” he said into the silence. He gave new meaning to the word deadpan. “And what have we here, Your Majesty?”

That got Emma’s attention--fucking hell, was everybody royalty in this magical, mystical Enchanted Forest? She turned to face him, finally, unsurprised to see the carefully blank expression on his face. He lifted an eyebrow at the movement. “Oh,” he said, licking his lips. “Don’t get up, princess. Not when I can think of so many pleasurable things to do with a woman on her back.”

In spite of his tone--and his leer and his stupid fucking eyebrow--a shiver went through her as Emma remembered all of the times in their crazy-short acquaintence when the space between them had seemed nonexistent, the pull between them too great, and she wondered. She thought of the way he had kissed her in her dream and the way it had made her feel, and she wondered.

Just how many things did he know how to do, with a woman on her back?

“‘Your Majesty’?” Emma repeated, trying to shake herself loose of his jibe, and his eyebrow, and that other title. Speaking of royalty.

“Do not misunderstand me, princess.”

“Cora is the Queen of Hearts,” Hook replied, and she did not have to imagine it this time, the ironic tilt of his head or the quirk of his mouth. “In Wonderland.”

“I hate Wonderland.” That’s what he’d said, and he’d meant it all the way down to his bones, but there was no emotion in his words as he turned back to Cora. As if he was done with her already.

“The time for that is done." "Just as I have done with you.”

It was his voice that was doing that to her, making her doubt, making her uncomfortable, and it didn’t help when he said, “Cora, darling--you seem to have a Savior in a cage. How does one come upon such treasure?”

“It’s you, Emma. It’s all for you.”

Emma closed her eyes.

“After everything we’ve been through, Hook, why do you still doubt me?”

It’s all for you.

“When I’m the one who brought you here, and preserved your memories--your purpose?”

“Your arrival reminded me of my purpose, but I cared not one whit whether this curse ever broke.”

“I may be a simple pirate,” he said, “but I know where my interests lie. How else do you think she wound up so easily in your grasp? It was all about waiting, my dear Cora, for the opportune moment.”

Emma covered her sharp inhalation with a cough.

“Wait for the opportune moment.”

That’s what Graham had said--that’s what the man in her dreams had said.

“You might have imparted that advice to Jefferson,” Hook said darkly. “You realize he almost cost you everything?”

Killian. Killian had said that. Not Captain Hook.

This was it, Emma knew.

The opportune moment.

“Satisfied?” Hook asked Cora.

Emma was in a cell with a woman capable of murder and worse on the other side of the bars, and all Emma had was her wits and--if she could let herself believe it--Hook. She ignored his words, his tone, his eyebrow, all of it, and listened to what lay beneath: the flash of desperation she was sure she wasn’t imagining, and that phrase. Hook didn’t know--couldn’t know--that she had dreamt of him saying that. He didn’t know that she had overhead his rift with Cora.

“You chose her. Now you have to live with the consequences of that decision.”

He was trusting her. Trusting her to trust him.

Try something new, darling.

“You,” Emma spat.

It’s you, Emma. It’s all for you.

She stood up quickly and walked the three steps to the bars. “That’s why--that’s why you gave me my necklace back. It was all about making me believe I could trust you.” Emma put the extra emphasis on ‘my’ and waited, watching him as he took two steps forward and leaned his head so that he was almost directly against the cell door--so that their eyes met, and Emma knew she wasn’t imagining what she saw there.

Hope.

Just a flash, and so quickly she almost missed it--so quickly that she would have missed it, except that she was looking for it for the first time in her life.

“I should have known,” Emma said, putting bitterness into her words. “You’re not exactly the sentimental type, are you?”

It was funny, or it should have been, to accuse the man who claimed to have carried a grudge for three centuries of not being emotional.

“I’m not,” he agreed, biting off the word. “You should have thanked me, Swan. That’s what’s customary when one receives a gift.” His body blocked Emma’s view of Cora as his fingers brushed against hers, and Emma couldn’t suppress the shiver as she felt him. The same warmth and tingle she had felt in the office--“Perhaps it shall serve as a reminder to both of us”--he’d said, and she felt it again, the anticipation.

“Right,” Emma said sarcastically. “Because you’re a goddamn gentleman.” She stepped back, as much for herself as for the pretense, and she clamped her fingers around the small metal pin he had slipped her.

Maybe they really were a team.

“Because I believe in good form,” he said. It was his turn to step away and return his attention to Cora. “And speaking of intentions, love, what are yours toward our captive friend? Mercy seems a bit out of character.”

“Oh, not mercy, Hook,” Cora said. Her eyes were sharp and narrow and focused entirely on Emma. “She’s going to help me, whether she wants it or not. I intend to get what I need.”

Emma straightened her spine and looked Cora dead in the eye.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said. “You’re still going to lose.”

Cora laughed. “Such bravery.”

Emma could do this. Emma did do this, day in and day out--got her skips and perps and clients to talk to her, to stall, to tell her what she needed to know. She could do this. She could get out of this cell and out of this fuckery and take her son--

Her son, who had been in the car with her when she’d gone off the road--oh, shit, this was why she could never be a mother; where was her son, was he ok, who had him, all of the questions she should have had on repeat from the instant she’d regained consciousness were on a loop in her head as she tried to maintain her composure in front of Cora. The fucking Queen of Hearts.

Emma didn’t even know how long she’d been in this cell.

“You get off on this,” Emma said. “This is the part that you like, the control and the power trip--”

But Cora knew. The bitch could tell, could see it in her eyes or some shit, because she laughed.

Again.

“The Savior,” Cora said, drawing out the word in what was unmistakably a gloat. “But all you are, child, is a name on a piece of paper, did you know that? Did you know that Rumplestiltskin mapped out your life before you were even born?”

Emma wanted to laugh at that--to laugh, or to cry, because there was absolutely no one in this world who could have predicted the path that her life had taken to lead her to this moment. She had made her own choices, and had to live with her own mistakes, but no one was going to tell her who she was.

Only--

Henry would tell her to be a hero.

“You’re not powerful,” Cora said. “You’re a pawn, which is exactly why you are here. You’re the Savior because it was all part of the plan.”

“You’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played.”

“This is the part where you tell me what you need, right?” Emma said.

“I need to be close to my daughter again,” Cora said simply. “You and this curse are currently the only things in the way of that.”

Emma barely flickered her eyes toward Hook before she punched back, a sudden flash of insight becoming clear to her. “What about the dagger, then?”

“The what?” Cora asked. She hadn’t even batted an eye, but Cora wasn’t the only one who could read people. Emma had gotten to her. Behind Cora, Hook shifted his weight, holding Emma’s gaze for just a split second with a barely-perceptible nod of his head.

Try something new, darling.

“Rumplestiltskin’s dagger,” Emma said, quietly enough that Cora needed to step closer. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? The power? I wonder, Cora dear, what your grudge against the Dark One might be?”

That had to be it, Emma knew, otherwise Cora would be holed up with Gold, plotting to do whatever the fuck it was that people who wanted to break goddamn curses did. Bad blood there for sure, Emma decided, and knew she’d hit her mark because Cora’s expression changed. She was a handsome woman, but the glare she leveled at Emma could probably turn things into stone.

If Emma believed in magic. Or daggers, or Rumplestiltskin, or one-handed pirates with sinful eyelashes who couldn’t keep their own personal space; who read her like a goddamn book, who told her secrets in the dark that made her feel seen and understood and made her wonder, in all of those times they’d been inches apart, what it would feel like if there was no space between them at all.

But she didn’t. She didn’t believe in any of it.

Liar.

“Listen,” Emma said, leaning forward. “You should know that I don’t have any fucks to give about this fight. I don’t give a shit about plans or saviors or curses. I’m just trying to get justice for my partner, and to move the fuck on with my life.”

Emma did not look at Killian as she spoke. She meant it--she meant all of it.

Liar.

Cora’s eyebrows narrowed; she was clearly unimpressed. Definitely another expression Regina had learned from her mother.

Which was fine--Emma almost had the lock open, anyway.

“I’m not like him,” Emma said, gesturing with her chin at Hook. “I don’t have any grand delusions about my life or its purpose. You let me out, let me go on my way, and I will tell you where your precious fucking dagger is. Or I will see you behind these bars, Your Majesty.”

Emma pushed the door open and stepped out.

Cora laughed for the third time. It was refined, and practiced, and unpleasant, and all of the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck were standing on edge.

“You’re going to tell me,” Cora said, “or he is. I’ve been waiting twenty-eight years for this.”

Hook interjected then. “I’ve been waiting a hell of a lot longer than that, Your Majesty.”

“So pretty,” Cora sighed, “and yet so useless. You can hardly blame me, Hook, for your failure to seize the--how did you put it? The opportune moment. I told you, Hook--”

Cora moved, and Emma attempted to dodge.

She was unsuccessful.

“You chose her. Now, there will be consequences.”

And then all there was--was pain. Her body, about to split open--her lungs feeling like there could not possibly be enough air in the universe. The feeling of something closing in around her heart.

Crushing it--

--or trying to.

Emma could feel it, Cora’s hand actually inside of her body, and the violation of it all--the physical intimacy, for Cora to be that close and to have her fucking hand inside of Emma’s body--was almost as bad as the literal physical pain. Which was overwhelming.

Until it wasn’t.

Killian had Cora in a headlock, his hook against her neck. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word was its own sentence, snarled directly into Cora’s ear, and Emma could feel him pulling Cora away from her in the way that Cora did not let go of her heart.

Her fucking heart.

“Don’t you know, Hook?” Cora gasped. “Love is weakness.” Her grip tightened, and she pulled.

Like she was trying to pull Emma’s heart straight out of her body, and this was it, this was what had happened to Graham, this was how he had felt in the moments before he had died, like his body was exploding and collapsing in on itself all at the same time, in horrifying, indescribable agony--

“I died a free man, Emma.”

Only--

There was a burst of white light, and Cora hissed in pain. Her arm, her hand, stopped moving, and Emma could take a breath again as Cora sagged against Hook, who had not released her from his grip. His face was devoid of any emotion but his eyes were icy chips of pure rage as he pulled her bodily away from Emma, who doubled over the moment Cora’s hand left her chest, heaving breaths and swallowing the bile that bubbled up in her throat.

“What was that?” Emma said. Her words came in raspy syllables.

“That,” Hook said, and his voice made his face seem expressive, “was Cora’s final mistake.”

And it really wasn’t fair, Emma thought--later, much later--that for all of her wishing to know what was happening, what the actual fuck was happening, and where was her son--Henry burst through the door, tailed immediately by Regina as she harangued David, who was pulling a bewildered Mary Margaret along with him--as Killian dug the tip of his namesake gently into the delicate skin along Cora’s neck, and she gave a horrifying shudder.

So much for not believing in magic.

“Mother?” Regina said, rushing up behind Cora and catching her as Killian let her fall. “Mother? What’s wrong?”

@kmomof4 @shireness-says @optomisticgirl @scientificapricot @captainsjedi @carpedzem @mariakov81 @stahlop @eirabach @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard

#cs fic #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #our little life (rounded with a sleep)#canon divergence #S1 divergence #cursed!killian #an alternate theory of the curse

31 notes · View notes

fleckcmscott · 5 years ago

Text

Watch What Happens - Chapter 9

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing, Angst

Words: 3,977

"Ms. McPhee, thank you for the tea and cookies," Y/N said, putting her mug on the small coffee table between them. "They were delicious. But keep the box of tea cakes I brought, all right?"

In the dark green overstuffed chair across from her, Ms. McPhee gave her a warm look. "They were no problem. It's nice to have company." She hesitated before speaking again. "Do you think you'll be able to help?"

Y/N reached to pet the cat lying next to her on the worn, gray sofa, searching for an answer. Getting the woman’s hopes up would be unkind. But with all the hours Y/N was working, and what she believed she was finding, she was stubborn enough to try. "I don't know what the outcome will be," she started. A soft smile crossed her face in an attempt to encourage the older woman. "But I'll do everything I can. How long did you and your husband live her?"

Ms. McPhee crossed her ankles as she rocked her chair. "Let me see."

While Ms. McPhee pondered, Y/N's eyes surveyed the apartment. It was tiny, and the living room had an open, cream color kitchenette on the end. A mini-fridge was under the short counter. There was an old oven, but the stovetop must not have functioned, because a hot plate sat on it. Half the cabinets were missing knobs, and the drawers no longer fit in their slots correctly. There wasn't room for a table; a folded TV dinner tray was leaned against the wall. Y/N exhaled sharply. This woman had so little - and here she was, having to fight to keep it.

"We moved here in 1942," Ms. McPhee continued, breaking Y/N's train of thought. "After Phil got hurt at Ace."

"Ace Chemicals? What happened?"

"Industrial accident. He had burns on over seventy percent of his body." Ms. McPhee took another sip of tea. "There was no way for him to keep working. And social security didn’t exist yet. Back then it was harder for women to get a job. I was a secretary for a little while, then an operator. But we still struggled, especially with our daughter on the way." Gesturing towards the ceiling, she continued. "This place was a godsend. Most landlords didn't accept housing vouchers. We were lucky."

Y/N wasn’t sure that was the word she would have used. Luck would have been not having an industrial accident in the first place. Or at least having had to struggle less when misfortune had knocked them down. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but admire Ms. McPhee’s resilience.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Gently, Y/N asked, "When did he pass away?"

"Four years ago. Heart attack." Ms. McPhee's lips pursed. "We went through a lot together. I know it's not much, but I don't want to leave. It was difficult but we built a life here."

That Y/N understood. Her parents had lived in the same house for almost fifty years, and had, as they had continuously reminded her, "held onto it during the depression, so don't take it for granted." And, before he'd completely lost himself, the home's familiar walls, carpets, and furniture had soothed her father. If some faceless corporation had tried to push them out, he would have raised hell.

Blinking the memory away, Y/N grabbed another chocolate chip cookie. "You mentioned earlier that people had come by to talk to you. Did they give you any sort of card?"

"They were so neatly dressed, I thought they were Mormons." They both laughed at that, Y/N coughing softly on a crumb. "But when I opened the door, they just had questions about my apartment," Ms. McPhee said. “I asked for ID, but they just gave me a Renew Corp. card. Then the letters started coming."

"And how long ago was that?"

"About eight months."

Digging into her canvas bag, Y/N found a pen and paper. She took the cap off her pen with her mouth and started writing as she spoke. "Eight months..." When she got back to the office tomorrow, she'd have to check the dates the Wayne Foundation started filing with the court. She felt Ms. McPhee's eyes on her. "Don't worry," Y/N said. "I'm not writing your name down."

Ms. McPhee chuckled. "I'm not worried, dear. I'm too old for that.” She leaned towards Y/N, then, as if she was spilling a secret. “I think those men wanted to scare me. But they just made me mad. Use my name however you want."

Y/N couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from turning up. "I admire your spunk, Ms. McPhee. You're a tough old bird. That's a compliment."

"Well, then, I'll take it as one."

Y/N stretched her arms and leaned forward. "Do you have anymore of those letters, like the one you gave me when we first spoke?"

Nodding, Ms. McPhee stood and left the room. Rising from the couch, Y/N perused the photos on the opposite wall, hanging over the small TV set. She recognized Ms. McPhee, with whom she assumed was her husband. Pictures of Thanksgivings and Christmases with undersized turkeys and tiny trees. Seeing the memories this one family had created in this undersized apartment, knowing how many more people were in this exact same situation, made her more determined to find out what the hell was going on and who was behind it.

Ms. McPhee came back, holding two shoe boxes. "Here. You can have them both."

Taking them from her, Y/N lifted the lid of one and carded through the red envelopes. There must have been close to fifty. "You got all these?" she asked, trying to hide her slight alarm.

"Some are from neighbors. You wouldn't know it, looking at me, but I can be persuasive."

Y/N snorted, remembering their first encounter. "These are very helpful. Thank you. I'll keep in touch, all right?"

Ms. McPhee nodded gratefully.

"Now," Y/N said, closing the box. "Can you tell me where Anderson Avenue is?" She pondered on to say next. Was Arthur her boyfriend? They hadn’t discussed it. But she thought it would seem odd not to know where her boyfriend lived. "I want to visit a friend before I head home."

"What's the address?"

"225a."

Ms. McPhee pointed as she gave directions. "It’s close. When you leave here, go right, then take another right at the corner."

"Thank you," Y/N said.

Passing her, Ms. McPhee opened a kitchen cabinet. "Let me get a bag. You can take some cookies with you."

~~~~~

Stretching her shoulders, Y/N hastened up the sidewalk. The shoe boxes were tucked safely in her bag, making it cumbersome to carry. It felt funny, knowing she'd have to keep evidence, at her apartment. But that was the only way she'd know it was secure. If Matt found the letters, she didn't think he'd kick her out on her ass. There was a good chance he'd shred them, though. That was too big of a risk. Tomorrow, she'd have to invite Patricia over to talk about the bullshit she'd found and, hopefully, enlist her help.

As she approached the courtyard of Arthur’s building, she ran her hand through her hair, then smoothed her pencil skirt with her palm. She wondered if he appreciated pop-ins. It was early Sunday evening and most places were closed, so it seemed unlikely he’d be out. Maybe she was being too impulsive. But it had been nearly two days since she'd seen him. It felt like two weeks. They'd had their nightly phone call, but it wasn’t enough.

After their dinner, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. For most of the evening, he’d seemed comfortable, needing reassurance only once or twice. The conversation had been enjoyable, even when it got heavy (though he still didn’t talk much about himself), and his company a warm presence. She loved how he'd tenderly held her as they'd danced, with her trying not to step on his feet. And the way his hesitancy had temporarily fallen away when he’d kissed her with what felt like his whole body.

If she was honest, she’d been forcing herself to see him less than she wanted to. Having him around her everyday would have been too much for her to think clearly. And clarity was what she needed. She didn’t want to rush into a fling that would flame out in a week. Their connection had become too important for that.

He’d worked his way into her heart so quickly, faster than she could have predicted. When she was at the office, a sarcastic remark or joke brought him to mind. She would recall the feel of his lips on hers at random. When shopping, she sometimes saw an item he might like, a sweater she thought would actually fit or a fancy lighter, and have to fight the impulse to buy it. She didn’t want to freak him out by showering him with gifts before they were a couple.

She took a deep breath to clear her head as she entered his building, then went to the mail area to find his apartment number. It didn't take long: "P. Fleck, 8J." When she went to the elevator, she paused. It looked rickety. But she had enough reading material if she was stuck for an hour or two. Stepping into it, she pushed the button for the eighth floor. The lift thought it over before closing and starting its slow ascent.

Once she arrived, she went the wrong way down the corridor and had to double back. She laughed at her mistake. At least the extra steps helped build her excitement. When in front of Arthur’s door, she bounced quickly between her toes and her heels, then pressed the buzzer.

"Coming!"

The sound of his soft, raspy voice, the anticipation of knowing he'd be with her in a few seconds... She smiled. As she heard the chain lock being slid over, she bounced again, once, feeling simultaneously ridiculous and perfect.

The door opened quickly and Arthur stood there, a dishtowel over his shoulder. Y/N didn't miss how his gray thermal shirt clung to his torso and arms, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He braced himself against the door, his eyebrows creasing in the middle. "Oh, hey. What are you doing here?"

She stared at him, his slicked-back hair from what she assumed was a recent shower, his eyes piercing hers. It took a moment for her to process his question, and she swallowed before answering. "I was working in the neighborhood and wanted to wish you luck before your show."

"On a Sunday?"

She gave a shrug. "It's unusual, but it happens."

"I thought you'd call," he said.

That wasn't what she'd expected. Ugh, he had been busy. She scrunched up her face. "Am I interrupting you? I wasn't sure if I should just show up. I can go if-"

"No." Arthur shook his head and looked down, sighing. "That's not what I meant."

She saw his shoulders tense as his hand moved to the doorknob, which made a jiggling sound when he fiddled with it. Y/N took a step towards him and leaned against the frame. "I've missed you since Friday."

A smile came across his face, slowly spreading from cheek to cheek. "Really?"

"Really." She dug into her bag, then, and held out the bag of cookies. "The client I was with gave me these. They’re for you and your mother."

Eyes flicking to hers, he took them. "That’s sweet." His hand was so close - he hadn't drawn it back completely.

Y/N pursed her lips, a tad frustrated. He wanted her to touch him - hell, he'd come right out and told her. And she hadn't missed the feel of his erection against her when she’d been in his arms. "May I kiss you?" she asked.

A breath of relief came out of him as he chuckled. "Yeah." The cookies were quickly put on the side table. He leaned into her a bit, his voice lowering. "You don't have to ask, Y/N."

"Good to know," she said, grinning at him. Her bag fell to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It only took a second for his right arm to pull her closer, his hand splaying on the small her back. “You don’t have to ask me, either.”

He tilted his head, nuzzling at her cheek before their lips met, his left hand going to her hip. The warmth of his lithe form against her went straight to her core. A low moan left her throat. The way his lips pulled at hers, a bit clumsy but eager, made her arch against him. She could tell he was holding back, causing heat to settle deep in her abdomen.

He tasted of nicotine and coffee, neither of which were particularly pleasant, but were definitely him. The artificial fragrance of the shampoo he'd used smelled like cheap musk, but was nice nonetheless. And she could have sworn he was wearing aftershave. She sighed happily as their lips parted. "Mm. You smell good."

"Thanks," he answered, backing away, his face flushed. He turned his body so she could look into the apartment. "Come in?"

"I'd love to." After stepping through the doorway, she put her bag down next to the side table and hung up her coat. "I can't stay long, though. If you peek in my bag, you'll see paperwork waiting."

He stepped to the kitchen sink. "I was just doing dishes," he said, indicating the dish rack with his hand.

She went to his side as he put his hands in the water, and took the dish towel from his shoulder. "Let me dry." As they worked in tandem, Y/N heard the radio on the windowsill was playing at a low volume. He had been listening to an oldies station. She wondered if he always had music on when doing housework.

Arthur’s expression was content. He looked her way every so often, his dimples showing when he did. "How's your job?” he asked.

"It's fine." She started drying the cutlery, and putting it on the opposite counter, unsure of where it should go. "My boss called yesterday. I have to go to some benefit on Thursday at Wayne Hall. I'm going to have to find something decent to wear."

His response came quicker than expected. "You always look nice."

She blushed. "Thank you." Grabbing a plate, she continued. "I wish I could bring you with me. I hate these things. Thank god there's an open bar.” She scooted a bit closer. “How about you? Have you had any clown gigs?"

His face remained steady. “It's slow this time of year.”

When Y/N put the plate on the counter, a row of prescription bottles caught her eye. They all had Arthur's name on them, and they were mostly empty. A couple of the drug names were familiar to her: Ahenelzine, Diazepam... Those were for depression and anxiety. She'd taken something for depression herself for a time when she was back home. Without that extra help, she wouldn't have been able to deal with being a caretaker.

She flushed, turning away before she could read the rest. Apart from what was on his laminated card and his terrible smoking habit, she'd simply assumed he was healthy, if a bit tired. Maybe he had a thyroid issue - that would help explain his figure, though she adored it. Or perhaps he just needed help dealing with his mother.

Guilt welled in her. His medicine and medical history were none of her business this early on. She wanted to give him that respect. Until there was a problem, if there was a problem, it wouldn't matter. Not unless he wanted to share that part of himself.

But there were quite a few bottles...

Y/N watched him as he washed a bowl, thinking of the isolation he'd described on their first date, his excitement at being able to show her around his city. The happiness she felt when she was around him, even if he constantly second-guessed himself and was often unsure of what to say. The way he’d tried to comfort her when she’d started crying on her couch. Her heart did a little flip.

He was the same Arthur as sixty seconds ago, before she’d spotted the prescriptions. The medication could wait.

"After the show, I was thinking we could get something to eat,” he said, putting a glass in the drying rack.

She sidled up next to him. "I'd love to. Pogo's is in Chinatown, right? Kao Wah is pretty good. It'll be my treat."

He let the water out of the sink, then took the towel from her and dried his hands. "But I'm asking you out.”

She leaned back on the counter, facing him. "Yeah, but it's your night. It can be a congratulatory dinner and a date."

He turned to look straight at her, his hip against the sink's edge. A small smirk was on his mouth as he shook his head. Y/N saw amusement and disbelief in his gaze. With his arms folded over his chest, he still held himself with reservation, even after taking her breath away at the front door.

She took his hand; it was still warm and damp. It opened as she brought it to the dip of her waist. His eyes dropped to her mouth before a bashful smile took over and he looked away from her. He was so hesitant, it felt like he was teasing her. She cleared her throat. "In case I hadn't made it clear earlier, you can touch me, Arthur. I want you t-."

His mouth was on her almost immediately, and groaned softly in this throat as she brought her palm to his chest. She felt his other hand grasp at her side and pull her close, while at the same time he turned to pin her gently against the counter. Giggles bubbled up in her throat as his kisses changed, surprising her when he pressed soft pecks on her cheeks and forehead. He hugged her close, then, and buried his face in her hair, sighing.

As she ran her fingers up and down his back, she closed her eyes. All right. That display had provided some clarity. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "How did I get so lucky to run into you at the store and the donut shop, hm?" she asked, squeezing him tighter. "And on the train?"

Grip loosening, he stepped away, frowning. "You're not the lucky one." He reached for his cigarettes and lighter, which were behind him on the breakfast bar. He rubbed his fingers together, then put a cigarette in his mouth. "I wish I-"

"Happy? Are you home?" a voice from the bedroom sounded.

Arthur plucked the smoke from his lips, putting it on the counter. "Hold on, mom."

Y/N winced. "She won't be upset I'm here, will she?"

Shaking his head, he turned towards the living room. "I just need to help her get up. Give me a couple minutes."

She watched his form until it disappeared into a hallway to the side of the apartment. Stepping further into the it, she checked out the living room. The place would have been something twenty-five years ago. Now it was run-down, but clean and well kept. The plaid wallpaper, stained from cigarette smoke, wasn't one she would have chosen. Her eyes roved over the furniture. A brown notebook was on the coffee table. And the pillow, bed sheet, and blanket on the couch made her brow furrow. Arthur didn't have a bed of his own? How long had he been sleeping on the sofa? At least she'd had a room in Boonville.

It occurred to her, looking around, that apart from an ashtray and some shirts hung haphazardly in the corner, nothing in the apartment said Arthur. Not the ugly cat candle on a nearby bureau, not the paintings on the wall behind the TV, not the wax fruit on the weirdest metal stand she'd ever seen. It was like he was an afterthought in his own home.

Arthur's voice caught her attention. "Here you go."

The sight in front of her was well-known. He guided the older woman to an easy-chair, one arm under her shoulder, the other holding her hand. She looked at Ms. Fleck's face and faded red hair. It was obvious she'd been beautiful when she was younger. Arthur looked nothing like her, but Y/N thought he must have gotten whatever genes made him handsome from her.

Once settled, Ms. Fleck turned to her. "Who's that?"

"She's Y/N, mom. The woman I told you about." He flicked on the TV.

Y/N approached her and crouched down to be at eye-level. "Hi, Ms. Fleck. It's nice to meet you. Arthur's said such nice things about you." She stuck her hand out to the woman and flashed a smile at Arthur. He grinned.

Ms. Fleck didn't respond at first, almost looking through her. Then she lifted her hand and took the one proffered to her. "I never thought my Happy would find a girlfriend. Especially one so pretty." Her lips turned up. "He talked about you, but I don't know where his head is sometimes."

Y/N flinched. Gently, she let go of Ms. Fleck's hand, then rose to stand and look at Arthur.

He looked as if his mother had struck him, standing stock still in front of the TV with his eyes shut. Y/N had never seen him angry before, but his clenched jaw and the fists at his sides made it obvious.

Ms. Fleck spoke again. “Happy, did you check the mail?”

Arthur’s face fell. “There’s no mail on Sundays.” His answer came softly, voice low and trembling.

Y/N reached and took his hand, then guided him back to the kitchen, away from his mother. "Don't listen to her. It's her illness talking," she said. It was an assumption, but it felt right.

He braced himself against the archway as he lit a cigarette, staring at the floor.

Not wanting to cause him pain, but needing to know what was going on, she asked her next question carefully. "Why does she keep calling you 'Happy?'"

Smoke left his mouth and nose as he spoke. "She's always done that. She's always told me to smile and put on a happy face." His shoulders shook as soft laughter escaped him. "I don't want to be angry around you. I'm sorry." The hurt in his eyes betrayed the smile he wore.

"Arthur, stop, stop," she said, bringing her hands to his face. After kissing him firmly, she put her forehead to his cheek. "It's all right." She carded a hand through his now nearly dry hair. "I'm sorry she said that."

He didn't put his arms around her, instead standing stiffly against the wall. "You should go. I know you have work to do." He said it quietly, almost a whisper.

She worried her lip, wishing he would let her comfort him instead of shutting her out. "Do you want to come back with me? Have some space?"

"No," he said. "She hasn't eaten."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah. I'll give her dinner and she'll want to go back to bed. Murray Franklin isn't on tonight."

Reluctantly, she let go of him. "Okay." He followed her to the door and helped her with her coat. Her throat clenched - he was still being thoughtful, even through his upset. She grabbed her bag and gave him a quick peck. "I'll call you when I get home. I already can't wait to see you. Pogo's at eight?"

Opening the door, he nodded, his eyes darting to hers for only a moment. "Pogo's at eight."

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @stephieraptorr @rommies @sweet-nothings04

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck fanfic #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

71 notes · View notes

ameftowriter · 4 years ago

Text

Their Own Secrets (Dr. Stone Fanfic)

Here’s another fic I wrote for that twitter prompt challenge. Almost 1.4k words written in an hour XD

The prompt for this one is Secrets

Ao3 | ffnet

Asagiri Gen had a secret. Well, he had many, but this one in particular is one of the deepest darkest ones he has kept inside him and will probably be dragged to his grave. He woke up from the petrification, naked, cold and scared for his damn life. Shihio Tsukasa gave him an offer he could not refuse. It was more accept it or be left alone to die in the brand new stone world.

Then in an accident, he discovered something that no one else in the world has known.

There was a date carved crudely into a tree next to the so called “Miracle Cave”

Honestly, the carving was more of the miracle than the cave itself if you ever got Gen to admit it.

The carving was a date. The exact date that an unknown individual had broken from the stone, naked, maybe cold, and most definitely… alone…

Gen did not know how to comprehend this fact. It took him a while, but he finally accepted this truth.

Perhaps that's where it all began.

That he fell for this unknown person.

Once he met Ishigami Senku, finally a face was plastered into his mysterious carver. He did not expect him to be this handsome, chaotic, yet wonderful human being. And yet he did.

THis was perhaps the beginning of his crush on him?

He never really told Senku that he saw that date. Would he believe him?

“Hey, Senku-chan… I saw that onderfyl-way date you wrote on that tree when I just woke up. And it’s because of that, I dragged my ass down here and fell in love with you!” Gen said to himself quietly as he recalled the moments that led him to this moment, willing to backstab Hyoga and his men. And in turn Tsukasa as well. People who could snap his neck in one hand so easily.

No… It was not willing.

He is going to do it.

“Haha…. Like he will believe that…” Gen laughed sadly to himself. “I guess for now.. It will be my little secret…”

Little did Gen know, months later…

________________________________________________________________

Ishigami Senku had a secret too…

Before he met Asagiri Gen, before the world turned to stone, before he even met Ooki Taiju, his soon to be best friend, the young budding scientist had begun running his experiments outside. Also because, their landlord scolded both of them for causing another explosion in the building.

Senku was just about to end his experiments for the day, when he saw three figures approach him. From what he could tell, they were middle schoolers from the school next to his elementary school.

It wasn’t long until their intentions were shown.

A punch and a kick to his face had sent poor Senku off his feet and landed further away from his newly created machine. The young scientist still rushed in and tried to pry them off from stomping and crushing it, but it was to no avail, he was not only younger than them, he was physically weaker than them.

One of the bullies found him annoying and turned to throw a punch. Senku closed his eyes in anticipation of pain, but felt none.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw that he was not hurt, or rather, someone had dragged him away.

He quickly turned to see his rescuer to only see a young boy about a few years older than him, and looked like he came from the same middle school as these bullies. The most noticeable feature he had was the colours (yes, plural) of his hair. One side, the shorter one was black and the other, longer, was white.

The bullies were not impressed (which meant that he wasn't with them, Senku sighed in relief for that) and yelled at him to mind his own business.

The young boy who rescued him, looked up to them and gave them a smile. Senku was not the one for the emotions, but even he knew smiling at the face of someone who can hurt you was not the best thing to do. But somehow this boy told them something sweet and something that gave Senku the feeling that it was all a lie. And to his surprise, the bulles lowered their hands and legs, apologized to him, and squirmed away.

“Whew…” his saviour let out a huge sigh of relief, “That was so cary-say… Are you alright?”

Senku finally had a good look at the boy who saved him. Besides the hair, he has calm, yet cold lavender coloured eyes, and his fake smile from earlier, had changed from a warmer one. It was odd, but it did save his life, so Senku did not ask.

Rather, he first asked, “Why is your hair like that?”

The boy laughed at him, “You say that first, and not a thank you? Gee, you're welcome.”

“Well I…” Senku’s face flushed pink from embarrassment, “I was just curious… scientifically speaking…”

“You’re such a cute little scientist…” Senku didn't feel like he was lying for that one, “And since you are curious, I have a condition that is called “Poliosis” the doctor said something about part of my hair not having something “melanin” and such and that's why my hair is naturally like this!”

“Oh….. that makes sense…” Senku finally remembered hearing about that condition from one of the hard textbook about diseases he had read a few weeks ago. “And youre talking about melanin, it’s what's responsible for our skin and hair colour.”

“You know of it?” the older boy laughed again, “That’s impressive for a cute little scientist like you!”

“Well I have to since I have to learn all the sciences after all.”

“And, pray tell, why do you want to do that?”

“Because I wanna go to space as soon as possible!”

The older boy’s eyes widened as he heard the young scientist say it with a straight face. He didn’t know if he was to be shocked or impressed or both.

“Well… I guess compared to even me and everyone else I know…” He began again, “You seemed to be in leaps and bounds in science.”

“I still have a long way to go…” Senku huffed

“Then I wish you the very best of luck, my cute little scientist....” the older boy then in a sudden rush leaned closer to Senku and kissed him at the forehead.

Senku felt himself freeze and at the same time felt hot from the sudden affection on him.

“I have to go, now.” The older boy turned away blushing as he slowly walked away from him, “My parents will kill me if I’m not home by six… bye you cute little scientist!”

And with that, they both separated without even uttering their names.

Though after that, they never saw each other again, and was all but forgotten, when another kid at Senku’s age had protected him from the bullies this time.

Three thousand seven hundred and nineteen years later....

“And that is why my hair is like this…” Gen had just finished explaining the reasoning behind his hair colour to Chrome, Kohaku, Suika, and Kaseki.

“So like half of your hair doesn’t have that melanin stuff” Chrome asked

“That is correct Chrome-chan! It's…”

“It's responsible for the colour of your skin and hair.” Senku interrupted the conversation.

“As Senku-chan says!” Gen gave everyone a warm smile.

Senku figured it was Gen that had saved him when he was younger, but hadn't had the time, or the courage to tell him.

For a while he wondered about his mysterious saviour, then forgot about it when he had met Taiju and Yuzuriha. But there were times that he still thought of him. Those two coloured hair…

When he met Gen, well he thought it was just a coincidence, then realized the probability of anyone having poliosis. When he remembered the sweet words he used he used the same to everyone he met, including him, he had little to no doubt that this was the young boy who saved him.

Because of this, the, what he thought was fleeting feelings for his saviour came back like the bullet train.

And whenever Gen turns to him, those same feelings hit him again.

But there were things that had to be done first. He couldn’t possibly let these distract him.

And yet… since Gen was here and is a part of them now… he wondered if he could ask him one day..

But for now… it will be Senku’s little secret...

#sengen #dr stone #ishigami senku #asagiri gen #secrets #sngn_1dw #fanfic #dcst #drst #dr stone fanfic

15 notes · View notes

nutbrain · 5 years ago

Text

Siegemas Day 1

Prompt: “Did you break into my house??” “You refused to put up any Christmas decorations! What choice did I have?”

A Smoke/Mute holiday fic :)

Thanks @dualrainbow for putting this event on and thank you @thedragonsarealive for beta-ing

(tumblr mobile doesn’t want to let me add a read more, so my apologies)

A loud thump pulled Mute out of a deep sleep, waking him with a start as his eyes flew open and breath caught in his throat. He waited a moment in the darkness, trying to discern if the sound came from within his apartment or one of the surrounding ones. He sat up, still listening as his heart hammered in his ears, almost certain the sound came from within his flat given how close it had sounded. A muttered curse drifted into his bedroom and Mute knew whoever it was was in his flat. He slid open his night table drawer as quietly as possible, pulling out the handgun he’d hidden there. Mute checked the clip and loaded a bullet into the chamber before clicking the safety off and moving to stand near the bedroom door. He was about to exit when he thought better of it, pulling out his phone and sending a text to Sledge.

‘Someone in the apartment. Going to investigate.’

Sledge lived close enough to be here in a few minutes, which would be enough time to confront whoever was in his front room. He could hear them moving around, rattling with something every so often. Mute cracked his door, peering down the dark hallway. Occasionally, the beam of a flashlight would whip around the room. Mute’s eyes narrowed; whoever this was had picked a poor house to rob.

Mute slid out of the bedroom, checking back down the hall towards the bathroom and finding no one. He stuck close to the wall, one hand on the gun the other reaching out towards the light switch. Closer, closer….there.

The lights flicked on as he swung around the wall and into the room, hands coming up with the gun, accompanied by a shout of “don’t move, hands in the air!”. The figure jumped sky high, dropping the rope that had previously been in his hands while he flung them up in the air. Mute felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he tried to calm his heart.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” The figure squirmed under Mute’s hard tone, glancing over his shoulder.

“Awww, babe. Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” He asked with a nervous snicker. Mute blinked, lowering the weapon as Smoke turned to face him. He was wearing a ridiculous looking headlamp, which almost distracted Mute from the fact that he was dressed in a garish Christmas sweater displaying Santa doing his best rendition of the rope stunt from Mission Impossible. Mute glanced around, taking note of several boxes of ornaments, a lopsided tree, and lengths of lights that he had originally mistaken for something more nefarious.

“Did you break into my house?” He didn’t remember giving Smoke a key.

“You refused to put up any Christmas decorations! What choice did I have?” Smoke asked, waving his hands in the air. Mute shook his head, flicking the safety back on his gun before setting it on the table next to him.

“I told you—“

“Yes, yes. Inefficient use of electricity and fire hazard. Blah, blah, blah. You need a little Christmas cheer in your life.” Smoke rolled his eyes dramatically, setting back to his task of stringing lights on the tree.

“You could have been shot.” Mute tried sternly, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Not to mention you scared the daylights out of me.”

“I might have knocked the tree over on myself when I tried to string the top. Maybe you can help me, mate?” Mute continued to frown until Smoke pouted, pretending to be unable to reach the top. With a sigh he walked over, knowing full well if he didn’t want James breaking and entering every night until Christmas, so he might as well give in.

“Oh, look, mistletoe! How’d that get there?” Mute looked up. Sure enough, stuck to the ceiling with what looked to be a dart was a sprig of mistletoe. The dart’s hold was precarious at best, looking to be barely stuck into the stucco above.

“How many tries did that take you in the dark?” Mute could only imagine what would have happened if that ricocheted back into Smoke’s eye.

“First try, luv. Now kiss me.” Smoke tugged on Mute’s pajama shirt, coming up in his tiptoes to complete the Christmas tradition. It was at that moment the sound of wood violently splintering thundered through the apartment. Both jumped as the front door was kicked in, a very angry Scot framed by the remnants of wood, brandishing a shotgun. Both Mute and Smoke jumped, the shorter man gripping his heart. The shaking of the walls dislodged the dart, and it dropped, the back of it pelting Mute in the top of the head.

“What the fu— what are you doing Sledge!?” A moment of panic rose in Smoke, before he realized who was at the door, quickly transitioning back to his usual smug self. “It was unlocked you know.”

“Did you find who broke in, Mark?” Asked the Scot as he too relaxed a bit as well, stepping past the remnants of the door swinging on its hinges and splinters littering the floor at Mute rubbed at the new sore spot on his head.

“Oh yes. Sorry about waking you. Turns out it was just this idiot breaking in to decorate.” Mute dropped that hand scrub at his tired eyes, contemplating the best way to explain this to his landlord and the neighbors.

“You really weren’t going to decorate?” Sledge asked, eyebrows pulling into a frown as he scanned the apartment. Mute shook his head. “You’ve been hanging around Thatcher too much.”

And with that, Sledge placed down his shotgun on the adjacent kitchen counter and attempted to piece the door back together, quickly giving up with a small apology. The Scot made a call to Thatcher, letting him know what the situation was and assuring him that yes, Mute was fine and no, he had not shot Smoke, much to Thatcher’s feigned disappointment. An invite to help was extended now that they were all awake, although if it were up to Mute, everyone would just go home and sleep.

No fewer than three neighbors poked their head in while Sledge was making that call, with Smoke (unhelpfully) telling each one of them that someone had broken in and kicked the door down. Only one questioned the order of the wording, but Mute shooed them off in his usual brisk manner, knowing he was about to become the talk of the building. Again.

Finally finished with his call, Sledge assessed the room before setting about helping Smoke unpack the decorations he’d brought, despite Mute’s best protests. With a grumpy, resigned sigh, he retreated to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and stewing in his emotions. Within ten minutes, they had a fourth visitor as Thatcher arrived, a bottle of whisky and a tree topper in his hands.

“Maggie, you came!” Smoke crowed, ushering him in and clearing a spot for the older SAS to stand and hand off ornaments. Smoke smiled and winked at Mute, waving him over to sit and enjoy the conversation. Mute responded by flipping him the bird, but approached nonetheless after pouring another cup of tea.

Mute would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their playful bickering, Smoke arguing that red and green was the only proper color scheme while Thatcher assured him that silver and gold was superior. Sledge took over the taller portions of the tree, saving Smoke from once again toppling the tree over (though with Mute awake to watch, he wouldn’t have minded seeing a repeat performance of what had woken him up). Finally, everything was coming together, Thatcher, who was now a tad tipsy, insisted Mute do the honors of placing the star atop the tree. He cheered loudly as it happened, Smoke telling him he was so proud and Sledge asking if that was so hard. With the work completed, Smoke decided he was owed a mistletoe kiss still, much to the others' chagrin.

Eventually the conversation gave way to sleepy yawns as the night progressed. With the decorations hung and the whisky almost gone, Thatcher and Sledge left, Smoke and Mute bidding them so long. Smoke, clearly not wanting to leave, puttered around the tree, making small adjustments to the tinsel and lights while Mute flopped down on the couch in exhaustion. The main room lights were flicked off and Smoke curled into Mute’s side moments later, humming in contentment. The two sat and stared at the tree as it twinkled, soft red and green glow cast across the wall.

“I’ll take that risk, babe.” Came the reply, voice just as sleepy.

They fell asleep like that, lights softly flickering, tinsel glimmering, and door hanging askew, wrapped comfortably in each other’s arms.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s mute #r6s smoke #r6s sledge #r6s thatcher #I’m weak for these two #happy siegmas y'all #Siegemas2019

78 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

The One Where Robin Gets Bronchitis

Sometimes, true love isn’t always epic kisses, breaking curses, fairytale weddings and romantic dances.

Sometimes it’s pushing your girlfriend away from you because you have viral bronchitis but she has no sense of self-preservation and keeps trying to kiss you.

(fluff, pure fluff friends)

Robin buries her face in her pillow as she hears the door close, Gideon leaving for work. On her bedside sit roughly five different kinds of medicine (she’s far too tired to give a real count) and a litre bottle of water, as well as a basin beside her bed despite knowing she won’t throw up. That’s what happens when her best friend-slash-roommate is an overprotective hypochondriac whose Mum Friend instincts kick into overdrive when someone is sick (especially when that someone is Robin, the girl he’s been looking out for since they were toddling around Storybrooke’s playpark together).

She lets out another cough, pressing her tissue to her mouth.

“You look like St Therese,” Hope says, casually as they can with five hairpins between their teeth. Since it’s entirely their fault Robin is in her tired, fevered, miserable state, Robin Facetimed them once she woke up to make them feel as guilty as possible. Now she’s curled up on one side, away from the harsh light of her window, her phone propped up by a stack of books and wearing the cat onesie she bought herself as an early Christmas present, all while huddled underneath her comforter.

“Who?” she asks.

“St Therese. You know, the French saint who died of coughing blood. Her last words in her diary were something like ‘wow there’s a lot of bubbly stuff on my mouth right now’. Or something.”

“Or something,” Robin agrees. “Anyway, I’m not coughing blood. I’m coughing mucus which is arguably worse.”

“What colour?”

“Hope!”

“What?” they sigh. “My dad said that you can tell a lot by the colour of your mucus.”

“Your dad grew up in the 1800s and wouldn’t know what antibiotics were if you threw them at his face. He probably threw little lavender bags at you when you got sick.”

“You know, technically you’re shit talking your future father-in-law there,” they remind her. Robin pulls a face at the camera as Hope slides another hairpin into their black locks before pulling them apart. “And for your information, it was rosemary.” They look down for a second, biting their lips like a nervous child, which in a lot of ways, Hope still is. Or at least in Robin’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Rob.”

“Don’t worry about it, H,” she replies before letting out another cough, making Hope flinch. “Just hope your date with Melody was worth it.”

“It was,” she replies, a pink blush on their pale cheeks. Robin giggles and looks beyond the phone screen to her bedroom door, where the scarf she lent Hope for her date is hanging on a hook. Hope swore up and down last Friday their bout of bronchitis was over and begged and pleaded (and admittedly, screamed a little) for their parents to let them go out with Melody that night for their two month anniversary. They had agreed, on one condition, Hope wrap up a warm as humanly possible. And since their scarf was lost in her Bermuda triangle of a bedroom, Robin had agreed to let Hope borrow one of hers, only after making Hope look her in the eye and swear they were better now. And they did.

And now she’s here.

“Was there a goodnight smooch?” she pries, giggling again. She’s pretty sure the fever is causing her to regress to a schoolgirl.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” they say coyly, only to have realisation slowly dawn on them. “Um… I’m just going to check up on her. See if she’s… you know…”

“Caught your disease?”

“It’s not my disease!” they squeak indignantly, standing up and putting their bag on their shoulder. “Anyways I have to go. Mom will arrest me if I’m late for class again.”

“Can she do that? Is that in her jurisdiction?”

“No idea and I don’t want to find out,” they answer. “How do I look?” They gesture to their outfit; black and pink hair tucked into a deliberately messy braid, graphic t-shirt and paint-splattered denim dungarees with a plaid shirt over it. Complete with winged eyeliner and dark lipstick.

“Gorgeous,” she tells them. “Gorgeous and gay.”

“That’s the look I was going for. Anyway, chug orange juice and go to sleep. Because you look like shit and I don’t want you to look like that. I’ll see you later, Rob.”

“See you, Hopey.” Hope clicks off the call and the screen goes black. Robin puts her phone to the side, groaning as another coughing fit makes her bed shake and brings up more mucus. Green again. Lovely. She pulls the blankets tighter around herself, pressing her face into her pillow and begging Zeus (who she knows is real, god damn it) to just either fix her messed up body or let her go the hell to sleep.

She hates being sick. She always hated it. When she was younger her mum had to wrestle her from the front door, Robin all dressed in her school uniform and insisting she was going despite her chicken pox/vomiting/fever/whatever was wrong with her this time. She can think up a million and one deep explanations for it or she can be blunt and honest; it’s boring. Storybrooke even on a good day, as much as she loves it, is boring with its small town and days planned out to the second, two restaurants, one bar and one nightclub that barely qualifies as a club. But when she’s sick and confined to her bed, she finds herself desperate for anything to set her free, even just to stand in the woods and shoot arrows at a tree for half an hour.

When it’s clear sleep isn’t coming, she pushes herself out of the bed, her comforter still wrapped around her shoulders like her brother with his cape in the Enchanted Forest. She stuffs as many of the pills and medicine in the pocket of her onsie as she can before grabbing her water and making her way to the living room. She had planned to get a glass of juice from the fridge as well, but all she can do is collapse onto the couch and pant, the short walk from her bedroom to the living room having used up what little energy she had.

She grabs the remote and whacks on Netflix while chugging her water. Hopefully, a season or three of Brooklyn Nine Nine can distract her from herself.

It’s three hours later when Alice comes in and by then she’s feeling at least fifty percent worse. Her chest is aching, her throat is raw from coughing and despite the fact that she’s only gotten up once to get the carton of orange juice from the fridge (the glasses are up too high and getting one would involve breaking her blanket cocoon) and refill her water, she’s spent the last half an hour trying to catch her breath. In short, she’s miserable, and not even the human ball of sunshine she calls a girlfriend can make her feel better.

“Good afternoon, the beautiful light of my life, how are we feeling today?”

“I want to die.”

“No you don’t.” She plops down the plastic bag on the sofa and takes out her so-called remedies. “I brought you chocolate… I brought you headache pills… oh, and Hope told me to get you this.” She chucks a bottle of something blue, wincing a little when it hits her face. “Sorry, my love.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “My reflexes aren’t great right now.” She takes a look at the bottle, grateful when she sees Hope told Alice to buy her a smoothie and not some Enchanted Forest cure-all made from tree bark and frogs or something. “Thanks, Al.” Alice settles herself on the couch beside her, kicking off her boots and tucking her legs up underneath her. “How goes the dog shelter?”

After the whole curse business was over with, it wasn’t long before Alice realised she needed a new job. For one thing, real estate in Seattle is a bitch even when it’s a cursed neighbourhood and your landlord is Michael Banks, but there was more. Alice wasn’t a fan of having nothing to do, and she wasn’t used to it either. Her dad had kept her days in the tower choc-a-bloc full of activities (if her old diary is anything to go by, she barely had time to breathe). And despite how good she was at the beignet truck; that was only part time and it wasn’t capturing her imagination like Sheriffing did for Emma or teaching did for Snow. So when she saw an advert for a vacancy at a dog shelter, who was she to say no?

“Oh, it’s fun,” Alice says. “Lots of little puppers. We think Matilda’s nearly ready to give birth.”

“No way,” she says, taking a drink of the smoothie. Nectar of the gods, she thinks. ��I remember when she first got pregnant. And you still don’t know who the father is?”

“Nope. She’s a frisky girl is our Matilda.” Robin chuckles and plays with her comforter. Alice turns to her, giving her the big, sad eyes she thinks only Alice is capable of, somehow wise beyond her years and innocently childlike at the same time. “How have you been, love?”

“Fine,” she sighs fondly, taking her girlfriend’s outstretched hand. “I sent some e-mails, I watched TV, I’ve been staying hydrated, I scolded Hope for making me sick-”

“Oh it’s not her fault,” she tells her. “Not really.”

“Uh, she lied and said she was better and then put my scarf around her bacteria ridden neck,” she points out. “I think that makes it her fault. Speaking of, have you heard from Melody at all today?”

“Melody as in Hope’s girlfriend, Melody?” Robin nods. “Can’t say that I have, why?”

“Because if our little Hopey planted one on her then the little mermaid probably has what I have.” She lets out another cough as if to prove her point. Thanks, universe, she thinks.

“You should really stop meddling in her love life,” Alice points out, opening the chocolate she’s pretty sure was meant for Robin and breaking a square off for herself. She then sheepishly hands her the bar and Robin takes it, unsure if she should be eating chocolate in her condition but hey, can’t hurt more than the bronchitis already does.

“I don’t meddle,” she says through two squares. “I’m just… you know… giving guidance.”

“Of course you are, my darling,” she says. “Now why don’t I make you some tea?”

“Ugh, please,” she sighs, not realising how much she wanted a cup until Alice had mentioned it. “Honey in it?”

“Anything for my honey.”

Not five minutes later they’re on the couch together, Alice pressed into Robin’s side. She feels kind of bad for not putting her arm around her, but again, that would involve breaking her blanket cocoon and she’s just not up for that. She can’t even hold her hand since both of hers are stuck inside the blanket and wrapped around her mug of tea.

If there’s an award for worst girlfriend ever, she wouldn’t win it per say, but she’d be a contender for sure.

Alice doesn’t seem to mind though. Not when she’s pressing kisses along her blanket-covered arms and shoulder and runs her fingers through her hair. Combined with Robin’s own illness-induced exhaustion, it’s almost enough to send her to sleep right on that sofa. Alice must have picked up on that, because she feels her lips, gentle and delicate, against her cheekbone and for a moment it’s nice.

And then it’s not.

“Woah, woah, wait,” she says, half wriggling away from her. Alice draws away quickly, her blue eyes wide, and if Robin wasn’t confined within a blanket, she’d kick herself. Their joint curse may be broken, but that doesn’t mean that the after-effects of what Gothel did to her father’s heart doesn’t hang around Alice and bleed into every other relationship she has. Robin wastes no time in pulling her hand out of the blanket and grasping Alice’s softly and gently squeezing it. “Hey, hey it’s okay. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she replies, a telltale flame of anxiety in her eyes. Robin’s thumb moves in soothing circles on the back of her hand, something that tends to bring Alice back to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Alice,” Robin interrupts, caressing her cheek. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s just… this is crazy contagious, babe. I don’t want you to catch it.” Alice’s bad mood breaks immediately, her normal, crazy, wonderful smile gracing her face and Robin can breathe.

“Well you know, my love,” she begins, walking her fingers up her arm. “All that time in the tower gave me a wonderful immune system.”

“Did it?” she asks. “I’m not sure that’s how it works…”

“It is,” she says, resting her chin on Robin’s shoulder and looking up at her, all big sparkling eyes that scream “butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth”. Robin wonders how many times Rogers had to deal with those eyes.

“Maybe. But I don’t want to risk you getting sick. Okay babe?” And that’s what makes Alice nod and settle for resting her cheek on Robin’s shoulder, playing with her fingers gently, linking and unlinking them. Robin can’t stop a small noise of contentment in the back of her throat as she leans against the sofa, maybe, hopefully, finally getting that sleep she’s been craving all day.

Until Alice kisses her cheek again. Exhausted as she is, she thinks (hopes) that it’s a hallucination brought on my her drugged up, over-tired mind, until that stupid girl she’s in love with kisses her again, higher up this time, landing on her cheekbone.

“Alice!” she groans, opening one eye. Alice smiles bright as the sun and innocent as a rose. It’s adorable and it makes her briefly forget what she was going to say. Briefly. “Stop.” Her girlfriend pouts as Robin presses a finger to her cheek and pushes her back. “I’m contagious.”

“I’m sure you’re not, Nobin,” she says, rubbing her arm. “And maybe I won’t mind…” Her fingers crawl up Robin’s arm like a spider and before her muddled brain can register what’s happened, Alice kisses both her cheeks and manages to sneak a peck on her lips before Robin slaps her face away.

“No,” she orders sternly, poking Alice in the chest. “Or you’ll get sick too and I am not dealing with you being sick.”

“What’s wrong with me being sick?” she asks indignantly.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking a sip of her smoothie and neglecting to mention the time Alice got the flu and begged Robin to call the hospital, convinced she was dying. It was only her own lack of strength that stopped her from walking there herself. She turns on her side and looks up at her girlfriend, in all her unruly hair, wide eyed goofy grinned glory. Everything she loves. “Al… please. I just don’t want you to catch this. It’s not fun. Believe me.” She strokes a stray lock of hair away from her face and pokes at the dimple in her cheek. “As much as it is taking care of you, I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Her face softens and she leans into Robin’s touch. “Okay, babe?”

“Okay, my love,” she responds, tickling the inside of Robin’s hand with kisses. “Now come her, let me cuddle the nasty bronchitis.” Robin nestles her head into her favourite pillow (Alice’s lap) and sighs as Alice begins gentle running her fingers through her hair. She feels herself slipping further and further away, the sleep she’s been desperately craving finally coming as the sound from the TV fades to white noise. She makes a mental note to thank Alice for coming over to see her.

If she’s not sick by next week.

Robin winces as Alice lets out another hacking cough, followed by a long, pained groan. She sounds vaguely like a wounded animal. A wounded bunny. Robin came over the minute Alice called to cancel their date tonight, letting her dad go off to his shift at the station. She tied Alice’s hair back and even came prepared, giving her the hoodie she just loves stealing before making tea and switching on the TV for her.

She’s going to be such a great wife, she thinks proudly.

“So you’ll never guess who has bronchitis,” she says into the phone teasingly, sitting on the edge of the couch, her phone wedged between her shoulder.

“Okay let me guess,” Hope says on the other end. Of course she called Hope the second she found out what Alice had. “Could it be your girlfriend who, despite repeated warnings that you were a contagious little bitch, smooched your face like there was no tomorrow?”

“I do not have bronchitis!” Alice snaps weakly, burying herself under the blanket. “It’s just a little cold-”

Robin turns her phone on speaker just in time for Alice’s bi-hourly coughing fit, complete with green mucus staining the tissues.

“Yeah that sounds like bronchitis, babe,” Hope says on the other end of the phone. “I would know. I started this whole debacle.”

“Oh speaking of, how’s Melody?” Alice asks, half sarcastic. Robin clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “Papa said he saw your Ariel at the pharmacy yesterday.”

“Melody’s awesome,” Hope says flatly. “Melody’s doing great. Don’t worry about Melody. Anywho I have to go. Lacrosse practice.”

“Knock them dead!” Alice tells them between coughs.

“Do not knock anybody dead,” Robin says sternly. “See you later.”

“Bye. Tell your girlfriend she’s a dumb lesbian.” Robin laughs as the dial tone rings in her ear.

“Hope says you’re a dumb lesbian,” she says as she sits down beside Alice. Alice curls up tighter under her blanket, her face barely peeking out.

“Hope’s the dumbest lesbain,” she says, about as mean-spirited as a kitten eating a lollipop. She groans again, so high and so long that it borders on wining, and Robin tries and fails not to find it adorable. Even if the saddened look on her face does tear at her heart.

“Okay, come here. Come to Robin.” Alice shifts and shimmies in her blanket burrito until she’s semi-upright, enough at least for Robin to cuddle her and kiss the fabric of her hood (not her face, as she knows). Her bony shoulders poke against Robin’s chest as she tries to get comfortable and her hand pokes out of the sleeve to take hers.

“You were right,” Alice admits, playing with Robin’s fingers. “I should have left you alone.”

“Well… not leave me alone, per say,” she replies, nuzzling into her head, feeling the wild mane beneath her hoodie. “Having you around sure helped me get better. And who else was going to make me tea and bring me chocolate?” She feels Alice’s smile, despite her burrowing so far into her jumper that only her eyes are visible.

“Nevertheless,” she begins, her voice scratchy and teetering on sleep. “I promise I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“No you won’t,” Robin says fondly, kissing the tip of her finger and tapping it on Alice’s nose. Her face scrunches up and her eyes flutter shut. Her shoulders drop and Robin knows she’s fast asleep by now, but that doesn’t stop her talking. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

#curious archer #curious archer ff #ouat #robin mills #alice jones #ouat ff

20 notes · View notes

snarky-bee · 5 years ago

Text

Milo

A story of Kallian and her boyfriend as teens in love. Pre-blight.

AO3

***

The thin metal tools poked at the inner workings of the lock with only the faint tinkling sound of metal against metal. Kallian’s eyebrows drew closer together with focus. In theory, it sounded easy, but in practice, picking a lock was not a skill mastered in a single try. But with each success, her confidence grew as she learned to pick up the sound of the near silent click with pins falling into place.

Opposite her sat Milo, his brown eyes were intent on her. His entire attention focused on her hands, watching and waiting for the sound of the lock opening. He tucked a loose dark curl behind his pointed ear.

Kallian wanted to kiss him. But not until she conquered this lockpicking thing once more. With a heavy click, it snapped open.

She handed the opened lock back to Milo. “Turns out, not that hard.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in approval. “Now, don’t be cocky, Kalli-girl. When you can pick a lock in under a minute then you’re talking.”

Kallian stuck her tongue out. Her stomach flipped when he used that nickname, and he knew it - given her pink cheeks and his rumbling laugh. Maker, she loved his laugh.

She snatched the lock back and snapped it shut. “Let me guess. You can?”

“What’s the point in working for a locksmith if I don’t pick up a few skills here and there,” he retorted.

“Funny,” she drawled as she dropped her set of picks and slid around to his side of the table. “You aren’t rushing to prove it.” She perched herself down on his lap.

His hands slid up her back and pulled her closer. Her heart raced for no other reason than the fact she was in his arms. And for the perfect shape of his cupid’s bow, and the dark liquid copper of his eyes.

She kissed him and he kissed her back. Heat rose up along her skin and she pawed at his shirt, sliding hands up his chest. She softly moaned against his lips.

“Get this sodding shirt off,” she whispered.

He yanked it over his head, curly hair falling around his shoulders. He kissed her again, letting his hands roam her body, the curve of her ass and gripping around her waist. His thumbs stroked the undersides of her small breasts, suggesting more.

Not for the first time she thanked the Maker that Milo’s mother worked so late.

“Come on Kalli, love, let’s take this to the bed,” he said warmly. Not the first time he’d suggested it. More than heavy petting and hours of kissing.

The warmth pooling between her legs spoke for how much she wanted to give in. But a nervous apprehension pulled her back from the precipice. “Not yet,” she whispered. A kiss to his soft, plush lips. “You said you’d wait,” she reminded him. How her heart was racing, body hot, like her skin yearned for his touch.

She pulled away slightly and swallowed. “Besides, you haven’t proven how good your lockpick skills are.”

“When are you going to tell me why you suddenly needed to learn,” he countered.

His shirt was still off. Distracting, warm. Her hands lingered. “I was curious,” she allowed.

“I just think it’s curious you haven’t asked me to teach you before. Considering how much you like to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Milo teased.

She couldn’t even pretend to be affronted. She had a habit of learning the secrets and gossip of the alienage - not that she spread it herself. But she liked to know what was happening and liked it even better when that information proved useful.

“You know the Bedard sisters?” she started. Milo nodded and she continued. “Heard their mum had to give up a silver locket to pay for rent. Old man Pratchett didn’t give a shit that it was their great grandmother’s.”

“Kallian, no.” Milo was already shaking his head. “Don’t start with this shit again.”

She got off his lap, fixing him with a hard stare while he threw on his shirt. His back faced her but she could tell by the hunch of his shoulders he was angry.

“Come on Milo, how many times are we gonna let Shems step all over us and never do anything back?” Kallian kicked the leg of the table. “You could help.”

He combed his fingers through his hair before turning around, hands on his hips. “Why do you have to get involved? You’re just asking for trouble. You’ll get caught and then what?” Milo sat back down with a sigh. “You at least getting paid?”

“Only in favours,” she responded curtly. “Someday I might be in shit, and it’s good to have some favours hanging around.”

“You wouldn’t need favours if you didn’t come up with these stupid plans,” he said.

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel,” she said dryly.

“It’s already risky enough that you pilfer things from Miss Gilbert, and now this.”

“Come off it. Some extra thread and scraps of cloth here and there? She won’t miss those things. I thought you liked the silk handkerchief I gave you,” she reminded him.

Milo patted his pocket where she knew the embroidered purple cloth was folded. “I do, Kalli-girl.” He moved towards her, cupping her face to tilt it up those few inches to meet his eyes. “I just worry you’re about to cross a line. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Her hand covered his. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Milo countered.

She flinched away from his touch as if it had burned her. All thoughts of affection flew out the window. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be like that. You’ve always been impulsive. I just don’t think you’re thinking this through.”

“Then let me just impulsively fucking leave,” she grumbled. “I can’t believe you!”

His door slammed and she stormed out across the muddy paths that wound their way through the rundown homes of the alienage. Mud splashed up on the hem of her dress as she stomped her way home. It was the rainy season. Mud clung to shoes and clothes alike.

Kallian stopped at the Vhenadahl. A couple of drunks were leaned against it, drinking something foul enough to make her nose wrinkle at the sour smell. She paid them no mind and went around the other side of the tree, leaning against it. Going home didn’t hold much appeal either. She wanted to break something.

Milo had pissed her off but not enough to stop her from following through.

After a time, she did go home, and played the dutiful daughter. She helped her mother finish with supper and patiently told her family about her rather boring day stitching hems and making deliveries.

At least she could let out some frustrations with some sparring.

Kallian huffed with the effort of dodging her mother’s blows and worked up a slight sweat. It felt good. She could feel how much better she was, the muscles in her shoulders that weren’t there a year ago. She grunted and aggressively knocked away Adaia’s left hand.

“Ouch!” her mother exclaimed, halting. She rotated her wrist. “Why do I get the feeling you’re angry at me?” She tilted her head, dark brown eyes narrowing. “Are you cross with me, Kallian? What’ve I done this time? Did I say the wrong thing about your hair today?”

Kallian’s look was withering. “You make it sound like I’m a wounded dog snapping at everyone who so much as looks at me,” she muttered.

Adaia sheathed her daggers and wrapped an arm around Kallian’s shoulders, pulling her in for a hug, rocking back and forth slightly. “No, not a dog, just a teenager.”

They stayed like that until Kallian’s shoulders relaxed, the tension gone. Her mother’s fingers through her hair relaxing her.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.”

Kallian took a deep breath, closing her eyes while her mother rubbed comforting circles on her back.

“Milo’s an ass,” she said.

“Please tell me we don’t have to go hide a body,” Adaia sighed laboriously.

Kallian giggled and pulled away. “Mum!”

She winked. “Made you laugh, though.”

“He just…” Kallian twisted her mouth to one side. She didn’t want to say why they fought, but she wanted her mother’s opinions. “He’s so overprotective, like, like I can’t handle my own life.”

“Mmm, Kallian,” Adaia wrapped her arms tighter. “Sounds like he cares very much. It’s how people like your father...and Milo... show they love you, yeah?”

If it was love, how come it made her feel so inept and incapable. “But you don’t do that. When dad said I shouldn’t learn how to fight you made him change his mind.”

That was when her mum let go and spun around to face her. She gently held Kallian’s chin in hand. “Because you are my daughter. And no daughter of mine will ever be helpless or dependent on anyone else.”

“Tell that to Milo…”

“Tell him yourself.” Adaia winked. “He will have no choice but to learn. Or deal with your wrath…” She rubbed her wrist where Kallian had struck it. Kallian opened her mouth to apologize, but her mother stopped her. “No it’s fine. It was a good strike. But how about we call it a night anyway, yeah?”

Kallian nodded.

She went to bed with her mind set. Confidence in herself, and a bit of sadistic glee in imagining the many ways she might tell Milo off. Particularly once her plan went just fine and she could throw that in his face too.

***

Milo thought she was impulsive, and she definitely could be. But Kallian wasn’t a fool. Before even asking him to help her with lockpicking, she had done her damn research to find out when she might have a window of opportunity.

That window turned out to be a weekly trip down to the gambling house.

Picks in pocket, Kallian left her house under the guise of visiting Milo. She was over there several times a week anyway. It was more private at his apartment than her place, after all.

It was not yet so late that she would be breaking curfew either. Enough time to hurry to the landlord’s house and be back before the sun had completely set.

She detoured down towards the building that Milo lived in, just in case anyone saw her they could confirm she had been heading to visit him. The alienage was home to many gossips and she knew well enough to avoid them when she could.

Looping back around through another alley, she snuck out toward the gates.

“Kallian.”

Her stomach dropped and she froze. How in the- “What are you-?” She turned around trying to come up with an excuse to her father. And there was Milo standing beside him.

He told her father. He fucking tattletaled.

“The better question is what do you think you are doing, young lady. I know I didn’t raise you to go sneaking about like some common thief.”

Her chest squeezed tight with the sting of betrayal. She glared at Milo, and instead of the sparkle of warmth she always felt in his eyes, she saw disappointment. Like she was a child who needed scolding. Scolding she would only get from her own father.

“You told him?” she shouted. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Milo?”

“I knew you wouldn’t listen to me, and I had to stop you from making a huge mistake,” he placated. “He was glad I told him. How would Cyrion have felt if you were arrested?”

Kallian’s lips turned up in disgust. “Don’t start acting all noble.”

“Noble? I’m protecting you! Can’t you see it’s because I love you? I didn’t want anything to happen to you, Kalli.”

A feral shriek ripped from Kallian’s throat. “You son of a b-”

“He did the right thing,” Cyrion interjected, stepping between both of them. He turned to Milo, gave him a pat on the back. “You know her temper, head on home. I’ll take this from here, son.”

That look of… of ownership. Like he had a right to say what she could or could not do. Breathing hurt; it hurt so much she wanted to cry. She was crying. Hot tears, and heart pounding. She wanted to scream, to pull out her own hair.

“We’re going home,” Cyrion said firmly.

Kallian wrenched her arm from her father. “I’m not going anywhere. And stop looking at him like he’s the bloody Maker himself. I trusted him and he went behind my back!”

His mouth turned into a straight line. “To make sure you didn’t get hurt. He’s good for you, Kallian. The kind of lad who would make a good husband someday.”

Her mouth clamped shut. Struck dumb. Her anger meant nothing? Her broken trust meant nothing? “Husband?” the strangled question was all she could get out before her throat closed up.

“Well, not right away of course. Wait at least a couple years to make sure it’s a good match. But first we’ll need to decide how long you’re grounded,” he placed a palm on her lower back, none too gently guiding her back up the road. “Home. Now.”

Numbly, Kallian followed along. Did Milo use this to get into Cyrion’s good books? He… wouldn’t do that. Would he?

For all that she had started to imagine it, the dress and flowers and maybe even spending her life with Milo… Marriage sounded like nothing more than a cage to trap her in now. The last thing Kallian ever wanted to feel was caged.

#kallian tabris #kallian/OC #milo #fic #snarky writing #adaia tabris #cyrion tabris #i wanted to explore why her first and only relationship didnt work out #and here is what we got

18 notes · View notes

jennygirl2014 · 5 years ago

Text

“Red is Your Color”-requested fic-Final Part

(A/N: HERE IT IS! I FINALLY FINISHED IT! I hope you enjoy! Please forgive me if it needs some minor edits, I’ll go back and do it later, I just wanted to get this posted lol)

Warnings: language and smut, smut, smut, NSFW

[Part 1 here] [Part 2 here]

Another three weeks went by, and still the loneliness in that apartment got to me. Not so much the loneliness, but the memories that the place held, both good and bad. It didn’t matter much more anyway, because while I had managed to scratch up enough money to pay for the rent by myself after Steve left, albeit late, this month was going to be a different story. I was over a week late on rent, and I still didn’t have enough money. I had picked up another job, as much as I hated to admit it, but I had yet to get paid there. I suppose my efforts were too little too late, that eviction notice would be coming if I didn’t find a way to pay it by the end of that week. The tip money I was getting was used to cover my phone bill, luckily my ex didn’t ask for the phone back, he just disconnected the service.

So there I was again, a cocktail waitress at some stupid bar. I had to wear something fitting and fetching, per the manager’s request, and I still wasn’t pulling in tips like other girls there. And to think I thought I was cute…shit. It was embarrassing, but it had to be done. I was just finishing my shift and helping put up chairs when the door to the bar opened, but I didn’t bother looking across the room. I kept placing the chairs up on the tables in preparation for mopping, something I had the joy of doing twice a week, until a familiar voice caught my attention.

“Hey.” I turned to see none other than Steve Rogers himself, standing next to me. He looked so well put together, jeans, grey shirt, leather jacket, ballcap, just like any other man who might have wandered into that club. Only I had a history with this one.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, breathlessly, not sure as to why. Maybe because he caught me off guard.

“I came to see you.” He replied so simply. As if we hadn’t fought like cats and dogs the last two times we saw each other.

“Who told you I worked here?” I began to quiz him, I certainly didn’t tell him, hell I didn’t even have his number anymore.

“Let’s just say a little bird told me.” He seemed unarmed, and by that I mean he didn’t want to fight. He could still snap someone in half if he wanted to, but he looked so gentle. I wasn’t having any of it.

“So Sam told you.” I made the connection, and he looked down and chuckled, “I thought I saw him here the other day.” At least I remembered who he was.

“Yeah,” he looked back up with a small smile, but I had to look past it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I knew we were over. “How have you been?” he tried to make small talk.

“What do you want? We’re closing up.” I told him.

“Well,” he started, “I got a phone call from our…your landlord.” He corrected himself and I sighed and looked away from him. I already knew what he was told. “He said the rent hasn’t been paid.”

“I’m working on it. I’ll have it by the end of the week.” I told him as I walked away to pick up more chairs. This was turning into an embarrassing moment, and I wanted no part of that.

“Well…just hang on…” Steve called my attention back to him and I stopped and turned to see him, but he stopped talking. Instead his eyes scanned me up and down, and then I remembered what I was wearing. He loved seeing me in that dress, hot red, tight, short. “It’s good to see you.” He said softly. I blinked at him and tilted my head, telling him without words that I was done with the conversation. And I was really done with him looking at me like that. Of course, I liked it, but I was never going to admit it. He found his next words. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” I looked away again, maybe because I was lying. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice. He licked his lips and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash.

“Here.” He held it out to me, and I blanched. I wasn’t going to take it. No way in hell.

“What’s that for?” I already knew the answer.

“Rent.”

“I said I’m working on it.” I grit my teeth at him.

“Well now you have it.” He thrusted the money closer to me. I didn’t budge.

“I don’t want it.”

“Come on…just take it.” He sounded almost like he felt guilty, “Everyone needs some help from time to time.”

“I don’t want your help.” I glared at him.

“Then use it for a new coffee maker.” He offered, “Or whatever.”

“Why?” I cut my eye at him. What did he want?

“Because I’m sorry.” He said it so gently that it tugged at my heart strings. I had to look down at my feet, I could feel my eyes wanting to tear up. “Okay? I’m sorry. About the fighting, about all of it.”

“Trying to buy forgiveness?” I found my inner bitch and blinked away the tears, “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He finally spoke of that woman, “She was never my girlfriend, she was just…just…” he huffed and shifted his weight, “Would you please just take the money?”

“Why not? She was cute.” I kept the conversation on that piece of angel food cake, just to make him squirm.

“Yeah, well, she can’t pull of a dress like that one.” He smirked as he made the comment about my dress. I had to bite my lip to keep the smile from growing, although it may have peeked out. “Red is your color.” He said it in a darker tone, one that got me thinking about what he was possibly thinking about.

“Is it now?” I raised a brow, matching his confidence.

“Red is feisty, it’s classy but it’s hot, means danger.” He gave another crooked grin, “Yes, it suits you.” I licked my red lips and couldn’t hide the grin any longer. There was a heat growing in my body from him looking at me and talking to me like that. He held up the money again. “Just take it.”

I had to think. I wanted the money, hell I wanted him. But I had to deny both, my pride wasn’t going to let me take his pity money, or whatever else he was thinking about giving me. God knows I could have used both. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and taking care of your own needs isn’t as fun as letting someone else make your toes curl. This man knew me, he had to know he couldn’t win me over that easily. I boldly stepped forward, closing in on him as I gently took the money from his hand, I felt instant heat when my fingers made contact with his. Oh how I missed that heat. He kept his eyes on my face, even as I stood close enough for him to kiss me. I knew he wouldn’t kiss me, but I couldn’t stop looking at his lips, those lips that I missed so much. While our eyes stayed solely on each other, I reached my other hand for the pocket in his jeans. I pulled it open with one finger, and I slowly but deliberately shoved the money back into his pocket. The heat radiating between us was like heaven and hell all at the same time. If we had kissed at that moment, it would have been amazing, enough to scorch what was left of my sanity.

“Stop flirting and start mopping!” the woman at the bar called out to me, breaking me from my trance. Steve pulled away from me as he shoved his hands in his pockets, as if showing the bartender that he was in fact keeping his hands to himself. He cut his eye at me playfully and shook his head.

“So stubborn.” He said it smoothly, like I hadn’t just ruffled his feathers. I knew I had. “Alright.” He nodded slightly as he began to walk away. “They really make you mop in that dress?” he playfully asked me. I shrugged, not wanting to say anything else that might ruin my moment of triumph. He took some steps backwards before pivoting and walking out of the door, leaving me with a sneaky suspicion that I was going to see him again. I couldn’t help but grin to myself as I turned back to my task, something inside of me glowing and hopeful after our exchange.

However, sometime between him leaving and me getting on the bus, most likely while I was mopping, my grin disappeared and all I could think about was how stupid I was. He wasn’t really back for more than anything but to see how deeply I had fallen over my head. Back to the same job, flirting with strange men to get a tip, struggling. Struggling because I didn’t have him around to stop my pride from burying me, to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground. Every time I was in trouble, he was there. Just not anymore. Why was I so stupid? That money would have helped, I really could have used that money, instead I would be sucking up to some ugly guy with smelly breath, forcing a wink as I passed him a cheap drink in hopes of a twenty-dollar tip. And then I would have to do it again, and again, and again… until I broke. More than that, I let him walk away, again. I kicked him out and slammed the door in his face, I let him walk away after getting his things and leaving my kitchen bare, I let him walk out of that bar, even after he showed me he still may have had some sort of feelings.

Of course he didn’t. That was me being hopeful for something that was never going to happen. I blew it. I was alone.

The bus dropped me off and I made the long and melancholy climb up to my lonely apartment, ignoring the aching in my feet and ankles from my strappy red heels. As I climbed the last couple steps, I noticed a large figure on the floor in the hallway just to the side of my door. There was Steve, again, sitting on the floor, waiting for me. I stopped in my tracks, not at all expecting to see him there, and when he realized I had shown up, he quickly got to his feet. I couldn’t believe it, he was waiting for me, at what used to be our apartment. I slowly approached, not knowing what to say, or do, or expect, but luckily he started the conversation for me.

“Late night?” his voice was soft, like maybe he was wondering what he was doing there too.

“Hello again.” I greeted him with my keys in my hand, but I stood there staring at him instead of unlocking my door.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what time you would be getting back, and I, uh…” he trailed off and looked around the hallway. I eyed him, suspiciously.

“What are you doing here?” I questioned him.

“I, uh,” he paused again, “I paid your rent.”

“You what?” my eyes got wide and I almost dropped my keys. Surely he didn’t really pay my rent.

“After you refused to take the money, I came back here and gave it to the landlord.” He nodded as he finished. His tone sounded confident, but his body language showed he was just as uneasy as I was.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, a little louder than I meant to.

“Because I wanted to.” He finally looked me directly in the eye, and then we both fell silent again. What was there to say?

“Thank you.” I swallowed my attitude long enough to thank him, even though it left me feeling rather pathetic. It was bittersweet, I appreciated his help, although I didn’t want it. What did this mean? The thought to actually go into my apartment and get out of those shoes popped back into my head and I walked up to the door and stuck my key in the lock. “Do you…want to come in?” I offered. He wasn’t moving, which told me he didn’t have any intention of leaving, and he used to live there anyway, so what did it matter?

“Sure.” He agreed as he followed me inside.

It was awkward, but at the same time, it seemed really familiar. I tossed my keys on the tiny table and leaned against the wall while I hastily took my heels off. I groaned as the shoes finally slipped off of my feet, thank the good Lord, because my feet were killing me. It didn’t occur to me until I was almost done removing my second shoe that I was bent over in that short dress, and he was standing behind me. Oops, oh well, nothing he hadn’t seen before. I padded over into the kitchen with my bare feet, the coolness of the linoleum felt wonderful after being in those high heels for so long.

“Want a beer?” I offered him a drink.

“You don’t have rent money, but you have money for beer?” he tried to be humorous, but it wasn’t funny.

“Actually no,” I retorted as I opened the fridge and bent down to reach inside and pull out one of the beers from the bottom shelf. “You left them and I just haven’t thrown them out yet.” I gave him the honest truth. Why I had left them in there I wasn’t sure, but they proved to come in handy at that moment. After also pulling out a bottle of chilled white wine I closed the fridge with my elbow and handed him the beer. He very willingly took it and used something on his keychain to pop the top. I popped the cork out of my wine bottle and didn’t even bother looking for a glass, I took a long, refreshing pull right from the bottle, ignoring the ring of lipstick I left. He chuckled at me.

“Long day?”

“Long month.” I leaned against the counter and took another sip. He finally pressed the beer to his lips and I caught myself staring at him, not so much him, but those lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped it down, and I saw the hue of pink on his skin. He was nervous. I distracted myself with more of my wine.

“Yeah it’s been a long month.” He agreed after swallowing his drink. I know what he meant, because I meant it too. This was Steve’s way of agreeing with me, that this break up had been hard on both of us. I felt bad for him, I really did, but I felt a little worse for myself. True it had been over a month now, but this past month seemed to just be harder, like the weight of it all finally hit me, or hit us both.

“I’ll pay you back.” My voice almost didn’t make it out past my lips.

“No,” he looked down and shook his head, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well I have to give you something.”

“You did.” He smiled as he held up the lowly beer. The beer he had bought himself and left in the fridge. Such a dork.

“Is that beer worth eight hundred and fifty bucks?” I raised a brow. He laughed, and it made my tingle from head to toe.

“Actually, your landlord said the rent went up again. He said he sent out letters but judging by that pile of mail over there,” he pointed to the pile of envelopes on top of the table next to the door, the one I placed my keys on despite the growing mound of papers, “I’m guessing you didn’t get it.” I was never good at opening my mail.

“Shit.” I cursed and rolled my eyes. “How much?”

“Eight ninety-five.” He informed me.

“Damn it!” I cursed again, “Why not just make it nine hundred? Does he think he’s doing me a favor by allowing me to keep an extra five bucks?” This just added to my stress. I couldn’t even begin to figure out how I was going to afford the place by myself. I shook my head and started willing myself not to cry, but I was failing. I felt the tears welling and looked away, pressing the neck of the wine bottle against my lips but not tipping it to drink. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” My voice did little to hide the fact that I was close to breaking down.

“You could look for a roommate.” Steve offered.

“I hate having roommates.” I quickly wiped a tear away before it could tumble down my cheek.

“I know you do, and I’m sure it would be hard to find one.” He paused as he drank from his beer again, “I mean, you’re messy, you use foul language, you don’t like doing dishes…” he started rambling off a list of my not-so-great traits. I cut my eye at him, and he winked at me. What a charming jerk he was being. I scoffed and shook my head. “You might as well start looking for a house for the price of rent here.”

“Yeah a lot of good a house will do me.”

“Buy a fixer-upper, save yourself some money.”

“I can’t even hammer a nail correctly.”

“No big deal, you decorate, I’ll do all the hard work.” He spoke those words without even flinching. I knew what he was doing. He must have been planning to butter me up and somehow just slip himself back in, back into this apartment, back into my life. It should have been music to my ears, God knows I wanted him back, but how can two people move on after how badly we fell out?

“I throw your stuff off the balcony, you empty everything in the kitchen, and now we just go buy a house together like nothing ever happened?” I questioned him, now letting my tears fall as they pleased. He set his beer down and looked at me, really looked at me, like he was ready to talk from the heart.

“I know…” he started and paused to think, “I know things ended badly. And I know we can’t take back what we did, or what we said, but that doesn’t mean we can’t move forward, or start fresh.”

“So you’re saying you want me back?” I tried to lay on my usual attitude, but I wasn’t doing a good job.

“Yes, I do.” His reply had my heart singing, but it felt too good to be true.

“What changed? What happened to that pretty little piece of—”

“Would you just stop?” he interrupted me and I closed my mouth, “I’m here because of you. I miss you. I miss us. I think we can make it work…but you have to try with me. I can’t do all the heavy lifting.”

“And just like that I’m supposed to take you back?”

“Come on baby,” he called me by one of my usual pet names, “Don’t do this. Let’s just start over. Please.” His eyes were pleading with me. And something in those ocean blue eyes made me break.

“Fine.” And then I sniffled back more tears, “I’m sorry.” I wiped more tears away.

“I’m sorry too.” He matched my apology. “I’ll try harder to make more time for us. And in return, maybe you could work on your temper a bit?” he eased that last part in gently, trying not to upset me more.

“I don’t have a temper!” I raised my voice, and he raised a brow at me. Point taken. “Fine. I will.” He smiled.

“Alright…good.” He held his arms open to me, “Now come here.” I hesitated as I wiped my eyes more. He gave me a playful pout. “Please?”

I could have leaped into his arms, but I didn’t, I still had to save face for some reason. But I did walk into his arms and embraced him, and he wrapped his strong arms around me in return. God it felt amazing, it made me feel warm and safe. I missed being against his chest, and in his arms. He smelled amazing, and I breathed in his scent, deep until it filled my head. I felt him place a kiss on my forehead, another thing I missed dearly. Even though I complained that he wasn’t around enough, he made me feel adored. Perhaps I was being selfish, I knew I had to share him with the world, he was a hero, but he was my hero too, and I wanted him with me more than anything. He was right, along with my temper, it was something I would have to work on.

“So they really made you mop the floors in this dress?” his voice rumbled against my body and I chuckled a bit.

“It’s a job, I guess.” I pulled away from him slightly and looked up at his face, and he didn’t waste a second leaning in and placing his lips on mine. It was a quick and simple kiss, and it wasn’t enough to satisfy either one of us. He kissed me again, slowly, wrapping his lips around my top lip and giving me goosebumps. “Does this mean,” he kissed me again, “I can quit?”

“Now I didn’t say that.” He teased me before kissing me again, this time with more heat and more vigor. The butterflies in my stomach turned into heat that slowly seeped all over my body. I was such a sucker for the way he kissed me, that damn mouth of his was my kryptonite. “But maybe you could leave this dress for different occasions. It’s not a work dress.” And he leaned in to kiss me again, but this time I surprised him with a little tongue, touching it to his bottom lip before sucking on him, and he groaned a bit.

“I thought you said it looks good on me.” The words rushed out, as if I was trying to race against the heat that was taking over my entire body, I was already growing wetter by the second.

“Oh it does,” he purred against my lips as he let his hands slip down onto my ass, and he gave me a firm squeeze, “But it would look much better on the floor.” I took the opportunity to make fun of his cheesy line by pulling myself away from his lips and playfully gasping at him.

“Captain Rogers!” I lightheartedly scolded him, “You don’t usually talk to women like that.” And I innocently slapped at his chest.

“It’s been a while, alright?” he gave me an exasperated look, and then he grit his teeth and looked me up and down again. “Now take off this dress.” He spoke through gritted teeth, almost demanding that I strip. The way he was looking at me was telling me he was in need, and I couldn’t deny I needed it too. I walked out of his arms, giving him a playful glare. I had something he wanted, and I was going to use it to my advantage. I leaned against the opposite counter, turned and pushed my ass out to him while I drank more of my wine.

“I don’t care much for make-up sex.” I announced to him.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He huffed as he rushed up behind me and pinched my left cheek, making me squeal. “Such a tease.” And then his hand found the zipper on the back of my dress and he yanked it down without an ounce of grace.

As soon as the fabric fell away from my shoulders, he had his mouth on me again. His kisses were warm and wet, the smacking sound his lips made when they left my skin fell onto my ears and made me even wetter. His large hands hastily shoved the dress further down and off of my body, causing it to fall at my feet, exposing me in nothing more than my matching silk panties. His hungry, opened mouth kisses were replaced with a sharp bite at my neck, and I jumped.

“Hey!” I complained about his roughness.

“A little payback for throwing my stuff off the balcony.” He breathed into my ear as his hands roamed all over me, his fingers reading my skin and goosebumps like it was braille.

I moaned and rolled my head back onto him, God it felt good. And then his fingers grazed up my torso, onto my breasts, where he gave me another firm squeeze and pulled me back against his chest. He gave me another wet kiss on my neck. I wanted to snap something back at him for his little payback quip, but my brain was too preoccupied on what his mouth was doing to me. As if that wasn’t enough, his fingers found my hardening nipples and he starting to roll and pinch them. The need seared through my veins and shot straight down to my womanhood, and my inner muscles clenched, needing attention, needing to be filled. I moaned and puffed out my chest, aching for more attention. His fingers didn’t cease on my poor aching buds, and his lips and teeth kept working on my neck and shoulder, the chill of the air on my naked skin combined with his work and had me squirming.

When he felt satisfied with his work, he released my pert nipples and slid his hands down my body again, his fingers found their way to that magic spot between my thighs, and he rubbed me through the silk. I moaned again and started squirming more, I hated how slow he was going, and I knew he was more than ready to get to the good part, I could feel his erection pressed against the back of me. I spun around to face him and was met by his hot mouth again, it was fierce and forceful on mine, claiming my mouth and the air from my lungs. I bit his bottom lip, testing him, telling him I still had my power. He upped the ante by dropping to his knees and laying a wanton kiss on my pelvis before gripping my panties between his pretty white teeth, and he slowly, seductively, pulled them down my legs. The feeling of his hot breath and teeth tracing down my body made me shiver from head to toe, and my fingers found their way into his golden hair upon his trip back up my body. With the little strength I had against his, he allowed me to keep him on his knees with his mouth hovering in front of my soaking pussy. He read my mind, but instead of staying down on his knees, he slid his hands back up to my ass and swiftly picked me up as he stood, and set me down gently on the counter I was leaning against. His hands gripped my thighs and he forced my legs open, exposing my sex to him in full view.

“Hungry?” I tempted him further.

“Starving.” He growled at me without taking his eyes off of the prize. He licked his lips before ducking his head down and getting to business.

He placed the flat of his tongue against my lips and drew one long, slow drag up my lips. A few more laps of his tongue had me moaning, until he used the tip of his tongue to flick my clit, then I was practically singing. He continued to pluck at my nerves, making my muscles contract and relax, sending me closer and close to the edge. I puffed, and moaned, and mewled as he drew tiny circles around my tiny button. My fingers gripped his blonde hair tightly and held him in place, begging for him to keep going. He sucked my clit between his lips and my hips started bucking against his face, God his mouth was so amazing. I felt him slip a single digit into me without any resistance, and I moaned his name. After thrusting his finger once or twice, he slipped another one in while simultaneously flicking his tongue on me again. The delight continued to grow when his two fingers began to massage my g-spot, sending me further and further into ecstasy.

“Oh God…” I moaned and pushed on his head more. I wanted more, needed more, of him, of what he was doing to me. His free hand reached up and played with my right breast, finding my nipple and tweaking it again. The sensation from his fingers and the tingling I was getting from his mouth met in my core. “Oh my God, I’m gonna come.” I whined at him, begging for that sweet release. But he pulled his mouth and fingers off of me, denying me from my growing climax. I groaned, “Come on! Don’t stop.”

“Not yet, baby.” He panted to me as he started to undo his belt and fly. This part was almost like getting a gift on your birthday. His fingers moved quickly but ineptly, his eagerness getting the best of him. “I need to be inside you.” His pants dropped and he lifted his shirt, showing off his hard rod, stiff, veiny and waiting to be shoved deep inside of me. It practically made my mouth water, seeing the length, the girth, the pink head. I bit my lip playfully and giggled at him.

“Is that for me?” teasing him always made him more assertive, more aggressive, which was just what I wanted.

“You know you missed it.” His low voice rumbled back at me as he lined up and positioned himself. The head of his dick rested against my wet folds only for a quick moment, and then he pushed inside, slowly and deliberately, making sure I felt every inch of him. My greedy cunt quivered as it stretched to accommodate him, his size was greater than the toy I had been using in his absence.

“Fuuuuuck…” I moaned as he buried himself inside of me completely. The tip of his dick hit my cervix in a way that was both painful and delectable. Full of need and lust I reached out and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled his lips to mine again for a wet, messy kiss. He expertly adjusted me on top of the counter, putting me in the optimal position to be rammed into. “I missed you.” I breathed to him after my lips released his, and he started thrusting into me. No time was wasted on starting off slow, he got right to setting a good rhythm.

“I missed you too.” He returned my heartfelt words, perhaps a little misplaced since we were getting down to the good part. I watched his face contort as he squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of my pussy on him.

“I bet you missed this pussy.” Dirty talk either got him going harder or annoyed him, both of which I enjoyed. When he ignored me and kept thrusting I decided to play with him a little harder. “That’s really why you came back, right?” The look of absolute pleasure disappeared from his face and he cut his eye at me, and I giggled at him.

“Alright,” he gripped my legs tightly and pulled me closer, effectively shoving himself deeper inside me until there was nothing left to take, and I gave a little yelp. “Enough of that.” He told me he was done with my brashness.

The familiar sound of his pelvis crashing into me fell upon the kitchen as he started to truly fuck me for the first time in a what felt like a long time. First, I had no words, no voice, and not even any breath left in my lungs from his quickness. He grunted and smirked to himself, this was how he liked it, he loved giving it to me so good that there was nothing for me to say. Eventually I thought to breathe, but the air quickly left me again in the form of a pathetic whine. My toy couldn’t compete with the pure masculine power of the super soldier pounding into me. I gasped and mewled again, and he gave a quick “Mmhmm” with a rather cocky nod. My orgasm wasn’t taking long to build, and I could feel my face starting to flush. The feeling of his clothes brushing against my bare skin only added fuel to the flame. This man came back to claim me and he was doing just that. It wasn’t long until I started sounding like some chick in a porno, squealing, moaning and practically hiccupping with pleasure.

“Oh my God…” I droned as I felt my muscles tightening. I was so close, but still wanted more.

“Touch yourself.” His voice commanded me, only shaking slightly from the swift and powerful pounding of his hips. He knew I what I wanted to do. I followed his command and my free hand found my clit, buzzing from what he was doing to me and still echoing the pleasure from his mouth. I rubbed in small circles, inadvertently applying pressure when his pelvis collided with my fingers. I was as good as gone at that point.

“Steve I’m gonna come.” I confessed while panting, the pleasure hitting me so good I swear I had tears welling in my eyes.

“I know you are.” His breathy voice was still low, but it sounded like he was close too. The way my pussy was gripping him, he couldn’t be that far behind. “So stop being so stubborn and come.” He demanded.

Forget talking dirty, I loved when he took charge of me, of my body, and it always did the trick. I went shooting off like a rocket as my orgasm came sweeping over me. I squealed his name over and over again as I trembled, my muscles clamped down on him so hard that I couldn’t believe he was still thrusting into me so sharply. He barely missed a beat. My nails dug into the back of his neck as almost every muscle in my body contracted, I was sure I had marked his skin. But he did not complain, instead he grunted and groaned as he found his own orgasm, chasing the tail of mine. He opened his mouth and let a loud shout escape him while he held onto me, keeping himself buried deep as he painted my inner walls with is hot cum. I watched his face relax as he panted and slowly came down from his high, his hot breath hitting my face and mixing with the air rushing in and out of my lungs just the same. I blinked, and I swear I saw stars somewhere off in the distance.

“Okay,” I breathed out heavily, “I might actually like make-up sex.” He chuckled and put his fevered forehead against mine.

“Should we christen the place all over again?” he questioned me, letting me know he could keep going. I honestly wasn’t sure if I could keep up, but that wasn’t about to stop me.

The End

@fay-1994 @avenger-nerd-mom

#chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #requested fic

24 notes · View notes