#second reminder it will be a flat tone but she’ll still smile because she’s polite

[glamjrwi]

Even though I adore the tidestrider siblings I can only kin gillion because I know edyn knows how to set emotional boundaries. And better yet I know she enforces them too

[libsterslobsters]

When the Levee Breaks...

Summary: It's been three months since The Snap. The reader has a lot to cope with: newly-aquired super soldier capabilities, being a stranger in a strange place, and most of all, the loss of Bucky. But lucky for her, Steve Rogers isn't one to let his friends go through hard times alone.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader (mentioned), Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced! Reader (platonic)

Reader has the ability to see bits of the future, understand all languages, and process information quickly as well as being a super soldier

Warnings: angst, self-destruct behavior, mentions of suicidal tendencies, mentions of mental illness, mentions of eating disorder, tiny bit of fluff.

___________________________________________

“Some times I feel I’ve got to run away, I’ve got to run away…” Her footfalls are too fast to keep in step with the song’s beat, but it still gives her some comfort to listen. Some, because really, when she’s punishing her body for the mere sake of feeling it scream at her, there’s not much comfort to be found.

“Once I ran to you, now I’ll run from you, this tainted love you’ve given-” She’s so busy concentrating on pushing herself, making herself hurt, that she doesn’t realize there’s anyone in front of her until she runs smack dab into them. “Oof!”

She’s knocked flat on her ass, but it doesn’t keep her down (no, of course not, she’s a damn super soldier now). She hops up immediately, intent on apologizing, making sure the other person is okay, and then getting back to her run, when the person she’s run into grasps her arm.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am are you-” Whoever she ran into stops short (she’s trying not to look him in the face, faces are painful to see now that she knows she’ll never see Barnes’ again), and the hand on her elbow falls away, forcing her to look up. Oh no.

“Steve.” Great. Out of all the people she had to run into, it had to be Steve Rogers. She knows most women would be absolutely thrilled to have knocked Captain America off his feet (he’s now brushing off the back of his pants, which she should probably do as well, but can’t bring herself to care), but not her. She likes Steve, really she does. They haven’t spent a lot of time together, but he is -was, he’s gone now, was- Bucky’s best friend, and they got along fine. He’s a nice guy. That’s the real problem, because-

“How’re you doing? I haven’t seen you in forever.” -he’ll ask her that. You know, being nice. Which means she’s going to have to lie.

“I’m fine. Good to see you again.” Now if he’d just get out of her way so she can get back to what she was doing.

“I didn’t know you were a runner.” Damn. He wants to have a conversation. Doesn’t he know that earbuds in means, “Don’t talk to me?” Probably not, because he’d never be that rude. Captain frickin’ America.

“I’m not.” Why did she have to say that? Now he’s looking at her in surprise, eyebrows raised, mouth open in shock.

“Then why-”

“Just thought I’d try it out. See if the super serum really is all that.” She can’t very well tell him that she’s out here hoping that the place where one of Thanos’ goons speared her through the lung (and the kidney… and the intestines… and part of her brain) wasn’t repaired as well as the doctors’ claimed and it’ll open up if she just runs fast enough, allowing her to slowly bleed out. He seems like the type to see that as a cry for help.

He chuckles. “Well, considering you were going around 65 miles per hour, I think you have your answer.” Sixty-five? That can’t be right.

“How do you know that?” He shrugs.

“ ‘Cause that’s how fast I was going, and you ran into me.” Right. Of course she’s now as fast as America’s golden boy. Because her life wasn’t bizarre enough already.

“Sorry.”

“No harm done.” She’s all prepared offer him a courtesy nod and take off again, when- “Are you hungry? Let me buy you breakfast.”

Her first thought is, “He’s flirting with me.” and her anger flares, but then she remembers who this is, and calms down. He’s being nice. Again.

“No thanks. I already ate.” She didn’t, hasn’t in two days in fact, but the damn super serum is keeping her from dropping.

“Then how about coffee?” He can’t take a hint. “Just a head’s up, the serum also keeps you from getting a buzz from the caffeine, but it still tastes the same.”

“I drink tea.” Why does she keep talking to him? The last thing she wants is to be around anyone that reminds her of whom she’s lost.

Steve smirks. “Then let me buy you a cup of tea.” Again, anger wells up in her, anger and pain, but she pushes it down. He doesn’t know about the last person who bought her a cup of tea, or what it lead to. This is just being friendly to the widow (no, they never made it that far, ex girlfriend) of his old pal.

“Please.” The megawatt smile falters for a moment. “We’ve all lost so many people that we can’t afford to let even potential friends slip away that easily.”

She doesn’t want to be his friend. Doesn’t want to be anyone’s friend. She just wants to be left alone for however long she has left until her enhanced body falters and finally gives out. But, it’s against everything she believes, whatever values she has left now that a huge part of her has disappeared like dust left behind after the snap, to return kindness with a cold shoulder. And if he’s so desperate for company...

“Okay.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

He’s never been to this coffee shop before, but he’s trying to hide that fact by studying the menu written in chalk with great concentration. In fact, he doesn’t particularly want to be here now. It’s too empty, too quiet. There’s too many people crying into their beverages of choice. But he had to come up with a valid excuse to keep her from disappearing again like she had three months ago after he told her, “I’m sorry. He’s gone. We lost him.”, and he was running low on ideas.

She looks terrible. No, correction; she looks average. He’s never seen the effects of the serum on a woman before (apart from the brief encounter with Hydra’s other super soldiers), but he’s almost certain she should look… stronger, somehow. More robust. If he’s being honest, she doesn’t even look like her old self, pre-serum.

She’s cut her hair, chopped it off unevenly, and it makes her look more severe. Or maybe that’s the fact that her cheekbones are more prominent, and although it shouldn’t be possible, she has dark circles under her eyes. She’s thinner too, although it’s unavoidable that her muscle tone has improved (at least from what he can tell; she’s in workout clothes, not the trendy kind, but a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, and besides, he’s keeping his eyes trained respectfully on her face). In short, she looks miserable.

Eventually, they both do order, and he doesn’t so much as get the chance to ask where she’d like to sit before she makes a bee-line for the table in the corner, half-hidden by a large fern, away from everyone else. That cuts down on the chances of them being recognized, or really, mostly him.

He gives her a few minutes to stir and sip her tea before starting the enquiry.

“So how are you doing really?” She nearly drops her cup at that.

“I told you, I’m fine.” So he’s going to have to dig.

“No you’re not.” She opens her mouth, more than likely to contradict him, but he continues. “You can’t be. I’m not, and I don’t know anyone else who is.”

Her eyes narrow, and he’s reminded of something Bucky told him in passing conversation back in Wakanda. “I always know when she’s mad, and so does everyone else. Trust me, you can tell.” He was right. Her face is rapidly flushing, and her posture has completely changed.

“Fine.” She snaps, and begins tearing the label off of her drink. “I’m doing shitty. I don’t have anywhere to live, so I’ve been sleeping at a different emergency shelter every night. I don’t have a job, which means I don’t have a source of income. I don’t know anyone because I’ve never been to fucking New York before. Oh, and my fiance turned to dust in front of me. That what you wanted to hear?”

There’s so much to unpack, but first thing’s first.

“You’re staying at the shelters?” She nods.

“Most nights. Sometimes I sleep on the subway. It’s not like the seats are full anymore.”

That’s not going to cut it. He may not know her well, but he’s not going to let her be homeless. He’s about to offer up the couch in his apartment (or, more than likely once she’s actually agreed to go, the bed while he takes the couch), but out of nowhere, she bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” She swipes at her eyes roughly. “That was rude of me. You didn’t deserve that.” No, he didn’t, but he gets it. This is a weird time for everyone.

“It’s okay.” He attempts what he hopes is a friendly smile. “I think we’ve all earned the right to not be as polite as normal. Plus, you really are doing shitty-”

She chuckles. “Wow. Captain America swears. Who would’ve thought.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, her sipping her tea, and him his… whatever this is. All the while, he’s trying to figure out the best way to shoe-horn, “Let me help you.” into casual conversation. Finally, he decides to just do it. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? She runs off again, goes back to the subway. On second thought, that’s pretty bad. Tact. This is a time for tact.

“What was it you do again? For a job, that is?”

“Did.” What? “Sorry again. Force of habit.” She meets his eyes. “I taught English as a second language, mostly to adults. That makes me a little anal about grammar.”

A teacher… that’s unfortunate, because all schools (and colleges for that matter) nation wide have suspended classes “until further notice” in the wake of Thanos. It’s possible she could submit an application now and be hired whenever they regroup, but she needs a source of income immediately.

“I also worked as a translator briefly. That is, before people started asking questions about how I was able to understand every foreign language they put in front of me without so much as a briefing.” Now that, he might be able to work with. Especially since their team has gotten a lot smaller.

“If, and it’s not a guarantee, but if I could offer you a job working with me, Nat, and what’s left of the team-” She grows a shade paler but doesn’t say anything. “-as a translator only, would you consider it?” To be honest, they could use her as more, especially with the training she received in Wakanda and her new status as a super soldier, but if her reaction is anything to judge from, the wound is too fresh for her agree to that.

“Yes.” The answer is immediate. His shock must show on his face, because she shrugs and tells him, “I’m out of funds and I don’t have a place to live. If someone offered me a job cleaning toilets, I’d take it.” That’s what gives him the courage to mention the next part.

“Is that your mindset about places to sleep too, because I have a couch that pulls out into a bed.” Her eyebrows shoot up, mouth forming a perfect “oh”. “That is, until you find a place. Or I can contact Natasha and see about renting you a hotel room-”

She shakes her head. “No, you’ve been generous enough. All of you, really. I can manage-”

“I know you can.” He feels bad about interrupting her, but this is going nowhere fast. “I know you can take care of yourself and manage on your own. But you don’t have to.” He almost adds that Bucky wouldn’t want that for her, but decides against it just in time. “If we don’t band together to help each other right now, then Thanos may as well have dusted all of us.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, studying her lap, and he thinks that he’s pushed too far. Then, with a sigh, she nods.

“Fine, but just a warning. I talk in my sleep.”

“Duly noted.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not been as bad as she thought, living with Steve. He’s an orderly guy, so she’s not picking up after him. He knocks before he enters a room, even if the door is open and gives her space. He doesn’t complain if she uses too much hot water and remembers to put the toilet seat down. If anything isn’t to her liking, all she has to do is mention it, and he immediately augments his behavior. In fact, the only disagreements they’ve had in the month and a half since she moved in have been over who gets the bedroom (he insisted on being a gentlemen and taking the couch, which she absolutely refused; she finally won by telling him that if he forced her to take the bed, she’d pack up her suitcase and leave) and who does the cooking (she said she’d do it and the laundry since she’s basically living in his apartment expense free, he said he’d do it on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays while she did it Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, then Saturday would be takeout; he won that one because he actually likes to cook).

They don’t really hang out together, apart from occassionally watching the news. Most of their conversations are banal. How was your day, I did laundry, gas prices have gone up, do you want the shower first. Roommate talk, but just from that she can tell why Bucky liked the guy so much, why they were such good friends (especially once she discovers that sweet, polite Captain America can be a sassy son of a bitch when he wants to be). It’s all very… nice.

And still, since that first day, she hasn’t sat down with him and had a conversation. Not about anything significant that is. He’s tried several times, but she’s shut it down as quickly and politely as possible. She appreciates the effort to be her friend, take care of the brokenhearted girl that remains, but she can’t let it go that far. She knows if she lets him scratch the surface, the floodgates will open, and she’s not prepared for that. She doesn’t want to talk about Bucky. She won’t.

No, they’ll just keep being nice to each other, being agreeable until she’s got a couple of paychecks under her belt and can make a deposit on an apartment and pay him back for his kindness (which is another uphill battle, but she’ll think about that later).

That’s the plan anyway, until after a run, she realizes that it’s gone.

“No.”

She distinctly remembers leaving it on the sofa table in an ashtray that’s there for decoration only. It’s where she leaves everything; her wallet, her key to the apartment, the damn knife she purchased as a scared eighteen year old on the run from her government. But it’s not there.

Maybe it was so loose thanks to her self-inflicted emaciation that it came off while she was wearing it as she slept and it’s between the cracks in the sofa cushions? She rips them away as if they’re a bandage, finding nothing (not even lint, because she had a cleaning fit on yet another sleepless night and vacuumed). Under the couch then. Behind it. Nothing and nothing.

She’s ransacked the entire living room and is intent on moving onto the bathroom when the front door opens.

“What the-” She doesn’t bother looking up, but it doesn’t matter. He’s next to her in three strides. “Are you okay?”

She means to reassure him that she’s fine, just misplaced something, but instead what comes out is,

“It’s gone, Steve.”

“What’s gone?” Even as he speaks, she’s emptying out the trash can to make sure she didn’t acidentally throw it out (her mind’s been all over the place these days).

“My ring.” It’s the last piece she has of him. There’s a few pictures saved to her phone (which she can no longer so much as charge up), and his file which has since been given over to her care, but that’s the last physical thing she has that he left her, the last thing his fingers touched that she can touch too. And it’s gone.

“I can’t believe I lost it. I was being so careful-” She’s babbling, not even making sense to herself at this point. “-and now it’s gone. It’s gone, just like him. Fuck!” She shouldn’t be crying like a child, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

“Language.” Her head snaps up to stare at an embarassed Steve. “Sorry. Force of habit. What I mean is, why don’t I help you look for it?” She nods, and forces herself to take a deep breath.

“It was silver-” vibranium actually, but the color is more easily identifiable. “-with engraving-”

“I know what it looks like.” He interrupts sheepishly. “Trust me. He asked me, “Do you think she’ll like it” about a dozen times in ten minutes before he gave it to you.”

She never knew that, and it sends fresh tears to her eyes.

“And it’s vibranium, in case you didn’t know. Said it needed to be-”

“Strong and adaptable.” She recites back. Same as you. That’s what he told her when he slipped it on her finger, explaining why there wasn’t a stone. She doesn’t feel like either of those things. Not since he went, and she stayed. “I know.”

“Alright.” He nods. “When did you last have it?”

“Before my run. I took it off so I wouldn’t lose it.” She laughs bitterly. So much for that.

“Then you check your bag and the bathroom. I’ll give this room another look and search the kitchen? Sound like a plan?” She’s out of the room without a reply.

The bathroom turns up nothing, and despite upending her backpack, purse, and the pockets of each various piece of clothing, there’s no sign of it. So that’s it then. She’s lost him, down to the final shred.

Starvation, over-exertion, lack of sleep: none of it has taken her down so far, but knowing that it’s over, she can’t even hold onto that little piece of him, is what finally makes her legs give out from underneath her as she collapses in a heap.

She hears his footsteps long before he enters the cramped bathroom, but she doesn’t lift her head. At this point, she’s not even sure if she can. If heartache really can kill a person, she won’t be here for much longer. And, if Steve wants to survey the damage, she won’t stop him. She’s too weak to hide it anymore.

“You haven’t eaten anything today.” It’s not a question, so she doesn’t bother to answer. “Or yesterday. I’m not sure about the day before because it looked like you tried the meatloaf, but you could’ve squirreled it away in your napkin while I wasn’t looking.” He’s right. That’s exactly what she did.

Her eyes are closed, but her enhanced senses let her know the moment he sits down next to her, a respectful distance away, of course.

“You could be suicidal. You could have an eating disorder or another mental illness. Or you could just not care anymore. My bet’s on the last one.” What’s there to care about? She has no family. No friends. She has a job now, sure, but they could easily find another translator.

“You don’t care, and you’re grieving. That’s a dangerous combination. Was when I came out of the ice with everyone I loved either dead or dying, and it still is.”

His hand settles on her shoulder. Just lightly. Not so much a grasp or a pat as an assurance, an “I’m here.”

“You need to talk to someone about it. Maybe not me, but someone. You don’t want to go on, but like it or not, you’re here. You’ve gotta find a way to keep going. Maybe find something like a purpose eventually.” He sighs. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water and I’ll be right back.”

“I miss him.” She’s not sure when she decided to say it, or even if she did. “So much.” Steve doesn’t say anything, so she takes it as a sign to continue. “I know I don’t have any right to say that. You knew him for so much longer than I did, and you’re not falling to pieces. But I feel like half of me has been ripped away, and I don’t know how to live without it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not even sure I want to.”

He sighs, and she gathers what little strength she has left to apologize. She shouldn’t talk to him about this. That’s like comparing your stubbed toe to the man who’s had his foot amputated. But before she can do any of that, she hears a muffled thump. She should care what it is, but she doesn’t. That is, until she realizes that Steve is now lying on the floor with her.

“Now that we’re both about as low as we can go-” The corners of her lips turn up despite herself. “-I miss him too. A lot. But not the same way you do.” She would assume not. After all, that would be weird. “There’s a girl I miss like that. Her name was Peggy. But, that’s a conversation for another day.

“I’m not gonna tell you it gets better, because it doesn’t. I’m not gonna tell you you’ll move on, because I haven’t. What I’ll tell you is you learn to live with it. Eventually it hurts less to talk about them, or to even think about them. It still hurts, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more good than bad. Sometimes it helps to talk about them with someone else. For me at least, it’s like I’m keeping her alive. But it’s okay if that’s not something you can do right now. When you’re ready, I’ll be more than happy to take a trip down memory lane if you want.” She nods, still not lifting her head. “Okay. I’ll keep my calendar open. Now, I really need to get you that glass of water.”

He’s nearly out the door when she manages to croak out, “Thank you. For being nice to me. It’s good of you to look after your best friend’s…” What is she now? “...old flame.”

“You’re welcome, and just so you know, I’m not doing this because you’re Bucky’s girl. I’m doing this you because I think we could both use a friend right now. A real one.”

It’s only after he leaves the room that she feels something digging into her hip and discovers the ring in her pocket.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s convenient, her moving just down the hall from him. Especially since they had that little talk, and now Steve actually considers her a close friend. She’s looking better now, back to eating and drinking. Sleep is still dubious, and over the past few months, he’s woken multiple times to her screams coming from the living room. At first he ran in, thinking there was an intruder. Now he knows to crouch next to the pullout mattress and shake her shoulder until she wakes up. Occassionally there’s tears. Often there’s a midnight conversation about whichever funny memory they can think of to lighten the mood. As she’s come back to herself, bit by bit, he’s starting to see why Bucky was tied up in knots over her. It’s obvious they were good together in a way that can’t be replicated.

The one thing that hasn’t gone by the wayside is her running, and that’s one he’s not going to touch, because he does the same thing. In the morning, they both take off just as the sun is rising (in opposite directions to avoid anymore collisions), and once whoever’s pushing the envelope on how much distance they can really cover is done, they meet up, have breakfast, and start work.

Natasha keeps giving him not-so-subtle hints that he should ask her out, but that’s never gonna happen. Even if you took away the greiving and both of them still being in love with other people, she’s just not his type. He can’t see her as anything but a good friend at the least and an annoying little sister at the most, and he knows the feeling is mutual.

That’s part of the reason why he doesn’t bother knocking before using his key to step into her apartment, a bag full of things she’s left behind in his hands. She’s not in the living room or the kitchen, and even though they lived together for a solid four months, he’s not about to cross his boundaries and go any further into her place without permission. So he takes a seat on the couch (his old one which is now hers because she claims she’s gotten used to the lumps and can’t sleep without them) and waits for her to appear.

A good fifteen minutes pass before he hears footsteps approaching the apartment and the sound of singing. He recognizes the voice immediately because of the times she’d sing in the shower, but the song is unfamiliar. More than likely, she’s still got her earbuds in and hasn’t realized she’s giving a free concert to anyone in earshot.

“Got the sunshine on my shoulders, got a fist full of four-leaf clovers. Yeah, my cup runneth over. My sky is blue.” Cheerful, and a catchy melody. Maybe he’ll ask her the name so he can look it up. You can find any song you like nowadays on one little app.

“Been kissed by lady luck, the stars are all lined up. Every arrow that I aim is true-” The key turns in the lock and he starts to stand. “-but I miss you.” Some pains never completely fade, but at least they’re talking about it. That has to be worth something.

[writethehousedown]

Last First Day (Lemyanka) - Zyan

A/N: Hi!! I am back back back again. I thought I’d sit out this one, but I ended up having inspiration last minute and here I am. I don’t know if I’ll be able to write one-shots for every day, but that’s what I’m striving for. All of these will be set in Argentina, because I can’t be bothered anymore to write about american schools. Hope you like it anyway! There’s a teeny tiny bit of Kyne/Kiara, because of course there is. My tumblr is @dollalpaca if you wanna hmu :)

(For reference: UPD means “last first day,” and Fernet is a typical Argentinian alcoholic drink.)

Summary: On the night of their UPD, Lemon gets sentimental about her friends and her long time crush on Priyanka.

TW - underage drinking.

“Did you actually buy your school supplies already?” Kiara asks, baffled, while Tynomi is braiding her hair. Lemon is putting away her backpack, already full of school supplies, giving the pair an eye roll. “Who are you, Rita? I barely have an old notebook and a pen left from last year, I haven’t bothered buying anything,” she comments, just as Tynomi swats her in the shoulder to keep still.

“You say it as if your girlfriend wasn’t a fucking flag-bearer, you nerd lover,” Lemon retorts, tossing the backpack on the side of the couch. Tynomi snickers, wrapping a hair tie at the end of the braid just as Kiara tries to throw the hair comb towards Lemon.

Almost right away, they hear the front door open and their friends’ voices announcing that they’re back - there’s also an argument going on, and they can clearly distinguish Kyne’s upset tone while Boa’s voice is being drowned out by Kyne’s complaints.

Lemon cocks a brow in Kiara’s direction when they hear something related to math and money, but Kiara glares at her, so she leaves it alone.

“Geez, we just sent you guys to buy the booze,” Tynomi says cheekily, finally letting go of Kiara’s hair as she wraps the last hair tie. Kiara almost instantly rises from the chair and goes to Kyne side, both because she wants to be near her girlfriend and she can’t wait to get her hands on the bottle of Tequila.

“This stupid bitch wanted to get the cheapest Vodka at the store instead of getting Nikov, which we had plenty of money for - I know, I did the math!” She complains, displaying the alcohol on the table.

Kiara coos, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s nice and all, but I don’t wanna hear about math or school stuff again, it’s our UPD! Lighten up!” She tried to coax her into smiling by peppering kisses all over her face, her hand still firmly wrapped around the bottle of Tequila. Lemon rolls her eyes, taking the bottle from Kiara and heading to the kitchen to get cups for the drinks.

The stars had aligned for her to get permission to host a little party with all the girls of the class before heading to the actual party with the rest of their classmates, and really, she couldn’t be happier about it - but, dear lord, she could absolutely not stand the lovey dovey couples. Who knew all of the lesbians in their year would end up in their class? Not Lemon, at least.

Well, she could tolerate them better if she had a girlfriend of her own, but there was no way her crush would ever—

“WHAT’S MY NAME?”

Speaking of the devil.

The scream echoes around the house, and there’s soon a collective screech. Lemon jumps slightly, gripping the plastic cups a tad too tight before heading to the living room, where Priyanka, Rita, Scarlett and Ilona are greeting the rest. She holds back a sigh, puts on a frown and approaches them with faux offense.

“Go ahead, it’s not like polite people knock the door,” she scolds Priyanka, setting the cups on the table and folding her arms towards her. Priyanka just rolls her eyes and wraps her in a tight hug, Lemon tries to push her away, but ends up giving in. She always gives in when it comes to Priyanka.

“Your shirt looks good, bitch! Love what you did with the neckline,” Priyanka teases with a smile, and Lemon’s eyes dart to her own chest. The shirt is ripped, her bra - equally bedazzled - peeking through. She smiles proudly, because it took her longer than it needed to, and her neck had hurt for three days after. The fact Priyanka points it out shouldn’t make her heart race so fast, but it does, and she has to go greet the rest of the girls that just arrived before anyone picks up on it.

“Anyone knows what the fuck is Jimbo doing for her shirt? That bitch hasn’t answered in the group chat since, I dunno, like January. Who the fuck knows if she’s going to follow the theme,” Ilona asks to the group, as she sits cross legged on the ground, fetching for a bottle of Fernet and a cup, looking around to find a Coca Cola.

Scarlett shrugs besides her, scrolling through their group chat, trying to find any sign that Jimbo had read and understood the theme they were going for with the shirts - but of course the bitch deactivated her reading confirmation. Great. They roll their eyes, hoping and praying Jimbo hasn’t gone out her way to do something extra and chaotic like she tends to do - what’s so hard about distressing a pink shirt, writing your name with stones and then doing whatever you want with the stones left?

“If she ruins the group photos, I will personally kick her ass,” Scarlett grumbles, accepting the cup of Fernet Ilona is offering her.

“You and me, bitch, you and me,” Rita pipes up, “But before we kill Jimbo - don’t you have a stereo, Lem? We need music!” She exclaims, trying to light up the mood, and the rest agrees with her. Lemon quickly gets up, asking if anyone wants to help her drag the stereo from the back of the house.

It takes Rita a split second to push - quite literally - Priyanka to help Lemon, giving Lemon a shit-eating grin while Priyanka warns Rita to not do that once they’re drunk because she’ll fall flat on her face.

Once they’re out of hearing range, there’s a collective giggle around the room, as the alcohol floods and they try to keep their bickering down.

“Do we think tonight’s the night? Anyone wanna place their bets?” Boa is the one that starts the chaos, making the girls giggle as they look at each other.

“I bet Lemon’s going to try to get liquid confidence, but then will chicken out at the last second and end up crying to one of us about how pretty Pri is. That’s what I bet,” Tynomi pipes up, snickering as she quickly downs her shot of vodka.

“Y’all are being too generous - I bet she’s not going to try anything, we know she’s a coward,” Kyne says, earning a pinch on her arm from Kiara, who’s sitting across her lap.

“You’re not allowed to call anyone a coward, bitch, I was the one that made the first move!” She reminds her in an accusatory tone, making Kyne’s cheeks take a rosy tone as she frowns ever so slightly. She shifts on her lap, reaching for the shots of Tequila Scarlett is handing out. “I bet tonight’s the night - it has to be, the hoe’s been pinning for her since, what? Jimbo’s quinces?”

“Calling it a quinces is too generous,” Ilona deadpans, cocking a skeptical brow.

Lemon’s crush on Priyanka isn’t something new, in fact, it’s been a running joke on their group ever since they were in third year and Jimbo was the first one to throw a “party” in which a lot of shenanigans happened - the only thing they could recall with clarity was that Lemon admitted to Juice (already drunk and in the verge of tears) that she had a big, fat crush on Priyanka.

It wasn’t funny at the moment, since poor Juice didn’t know what to do to calm her down, but as time went by and everyone picked up on Lemon’s obvious crush, it turned into an inside joke that always earned them a glare from Lemon, and a confused stare from Priyanka.

But it’s been three years since then, and this is their last year before they have to go to college, possibly move out and leave their boring little town, get jobs and be functioning adults with little to no time to see each other - as much as they joke about Lemon being an useless lesbian, they just want her to be happy on their last year together.

“Rita, you’re the one that has an iPhone, use that notes app of yours to write down everyone’s bets before the bitches come back,” Scarlett suggests, and Rita rolls her eyes, pulling out her phone and passing it around so everyone can type out their predictions.

“Wait, we’re missing Juice, Starzy and Jimbo, we can’t close it yet,” Rita says, once she gets back her phone and realizes they’re missing some girls.

“Close what?” Lemon exclaims, dragging a stereo along with Priyanka and leaving it in a different side of the room. None of them is quick to blurt out an excuse, but luckily Lemon brushes it off and asks if someone wants to be in charge of the music. Tynomi shoots up almost immediately, hoarding the aux cord and asking if anyone has any recommendations before she plays one of her Spotify playlists of old reggaeton.

Lemon settles next to Rita, asking Ilona to prepare her another Fernet, 50/50 if possible, and Ilona half-jokingly, half-seriously asks if she wants to get shit faced early, with a brow cocked in her direction. She just shrugs, saying she wants to start the night with a bang, but promises to take things slow, at least for now.

She doesn’t say that she has the goal of not crying tonight, because she’s cried a lot through her whole high school career and just wants a night where her mascara doesn’t end up running down her cheeks - admittedly, that’s easier said than done, but there’s always a first time for everything.

And, besides, it’s her last first day of school - she’s been enduring the hell that is Argentina’s public school for six years now, wasting half of it on the afternoon shift, sitting through classes sweating in places she didn’t know she could sweat because the classrooms had just one functioning fan, and the north of the country is all but cold. But it’s almost over now, she just has to endure eight more months before she’s off to the big city for college.

Though that should make her happy - it’s what she’s been hoping for since she started high school - she can’t help but feel the tiniest bit of sadness, as her eyes dart around the room and sees her friends, sees her crush laughing and drinking and very oblivious to the way her heart races against her chest by just thinking of her.

She’d get nostalgic of things that haven’t happened yet, but Ilona’s urging her to taste the Fernet she just prepared, and she takes a big swig when there’s a knock on the door. Juice enters without waiting for someone to open, Starzy and Jimbo following her closely, and she has bags full of alcohol on each hand, a wide grin on her face as she tries to find somewhere to sit. More than one of the girls sigh in relief when they see Jimbo’s shirt is pink too - they disregard the fact her design doesn’t make much sense, as long as it’s pink, they can live with that.

She promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but half a glass of Fernet later, she gets a little teary eyed as she looks around the room and sees all of her friends chatting and laughing and having fun. Lemon can only hope senior year is good to them.

 argentina hs au

[ansheofthevalley]

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said - Chapter 2 “The ‘Jon Situation’”

The party's time of death was 12:42 am.

Sansa and Margaery were sitting on the steps leading to the entrance of the house, bored and tired.

"So... why did you say that you didn't want Robb to see you like this?" Sansa ventured. Almost instantly, Margaery's cheeks flushed in a shade of pink oh so lovely. She knew that she would regret teasing her friend, especially when it was Jon, out of all people, who was coming to get them home safely. But she teases me endlessly, she thought. Now I can tease her.

"No reason" she muttered. She wouldn't meet her eyes. So unlike her confident (and normal) self. It only made Sansa smile. "I can't have him saying that I'm not a goddess 24/7. I got a reputation to look after" she elaborated, but her words didn't quite match her semblance. Sansa's smile morphed into a grin. Oh, she would have her time on the sun. Or on this case, the moon.

"You like him!" she gushed. Margaery tried to cut her off but it was of no use. "You do! You like him!". Sansa started laughing, a strange exhilaration taking over her. Gods, I am drunk.

"It's not my fault your hot brother dropped by the other day, all flushed and sweaty from running" her friend blurted. "I'm still a woman, Sansa. A human being".

"First off, ew" she started. Margaery threw her hands in the air as she mumbled something to herself in response. "Secondly, he dropped by? When?" she asked her. Their parents and younger siblings would be coming down to King's Landing to spend the holidays with them. Sansa knew her brother Bran wanted to check out Jaehaerys' Philosophy School. He still hasn't made his mind about which college to choose: King's Landing College or Oldtown University.

"He said it was about your parents. Apparently, they rented a house just outside the city" Margaery told her. "He wanted to let you know that you could bring a friend over if you wanted. Which is a godsdamn tragedy, since I'll in Pentos for the holidays" she pouted.

"And he couldn't tell me that over the phone?" Sansa wondered out loud. Her friend just shrugged and realisation hit her hard in the face.

Gods, he's pulling a Sporty Robb, Sansa thought, becoming exasperated in a second. Sporty Robb was the absolute worst. When she was a freshman in high school, Robb was the guy all the girls were mooning over. She had to endure the helpless sighs the girls would make each time they'd arrive, or leave, or just walked from classroom to classroom. Obviously, all that attention got into his head, in part thanks to one Theon Greyjoy, a new student from Pyke. Every time he would finish his rugby practice, he would go straight to where the cheerleaders were, trying to make idle conversation and flirt with a new girl each week. He would do that, every. single. week. And that's how Sporty Robb came to be.

She couldn't believe her 20-year-old-brother was behaving like a teenager again. She'll have to talk to him about Marge. She wouldn't let him ruin one of the few friendships she has in the South.

Though I hardly believe True Love is what Marge feels for him, she thought.

She spares her friend a look; she's resting against one of the marble columns, looking up at the sky, mesmerized by the stars.

Gods, we're both so drunk.

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

"How long till your darling Jon comes? It's not like we're in up in the Vale" Margaery complained.

Your darling Jon

Sansa can feel her face redden. "He was sleeping when I called him" she said all too fast, her voice too high. "He lives near the Iron Gate and we're practically in Rosby". She hoped that her reasonable explanation would be enough for her friend to shut up. "Besides..." Don't do it, screams the voice in her head. Don't you dare do it. "He's not 'my darling Jon'".

And then, there's that look in Marge's face. That 'bitch-please-you-can-try-to-fool-yourself-all-you-want-but-you-won't-fool-me' look. I walked right into that one, she half thought, half chastised herself.

"Really?" her friends said, lifting a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "We're gonna do this again?"

"He's not 'my darling'" she basically shouted. Get a fucking grip, that same annoying, yet reasonable voice inside her head told her. "He isn't" she said, once she gained some semblance of composure.

"Then why is it that since your arrival" she started "you haven't been out in a single date, hm?" she was looking at her as if she were a police detective fishing for answers from a criminal.

Sansa would've laughed, if only she didn't have the impulse to scream at her in exasperation.

"Because not all of us think about dating all the time" she retorted.

"But you do think about Jon all the time" she pressed on. Gods, she was relentless.

"I do not think about him all the time" she said, outraged.

"Yes, you do" Margaery teased in a sing-song tone.

"No, I don't!" she denied, feeling her cheeks starting to redden once again.

"You do!"

"I don't"

"Yes, Sans, you d-"

"Would I have secured a date with one of the boys from the rugby team if I was thinking about Jon all the time?" she retorted, in hopes to make her shut up, but as soon as she said it, she regretted it.

"You naughty, naughty girl" she said, all too amused. "Dating one of your brother's teammates". Oh, she was delighted. "Does he have a name?"

"Dickon" she replied through gritted teeth.

"The Tarly boy?" she gasped, bringing her perfectly manicured hand to her chest. Sansa could only roll her eyes at her. "Girl, you got your she-wolf paws on a hottie. Let me tell you. One time, I went to the running tracks after our Political Theory class to meet Loras. I don't remember what for... but that's not the point. The point is that I arrived just after rugby practice had ended, and I saw your Dickon along with Robb, cooling off near the benches-"

She had to stop her. Or else she would be like this during the whole ride home and Sansa simply wouldn't survive that. It was too much. "We just agreed to go out someday, it's not like we're having a full-blown love affair" she interjected, grabbing her friend by the shoulders, begging her to stop her drunken rambling. But Marge could only flash her that beautiful smile of hers. That infuriating smile of hers.

Just as she finished talking, she heard a car pulling over. A black Camaro SS. And suddenly, she felt her whole body redden at what was going to happen. She didn't know what would happen exactly, but she knew nothing good would come out of this. Nothing good can happen in car ride with me, Jon and a drunk Margaery, she thought somberly.

"Jon, the Dark Knight, to the rescue" Margaery shrieked, full of glee, and stood up as soon as she saw him. Sansa didn't need a mirror to know she was as red as a Dornish Camellia. She chanced a glance of Jon; a beautiful shade of pink starting to cover his cheeks. He always looked so cute when he'd flush. She didn't notice she was staring, at least not until she saw him standing right before her.

Shit

"So, I guess you had a great night" he offered with that gorgeous half smile of his. The one that would make her heart skip a beat or two. She saw that half smile transform into a full-blown smile and Sansa could swear she felt weak in the knees. You. Are. Staring, the -apparently sober- voice in her head told her.

"'Twas alright" she said, trying to appear nonchalant. "It was pretty snobby, actually. Marge and I tried to save it, but it was of no use".

Margaery, upon hearing her name, snapped out of her own world to correct her. "More like I tried to save it. I danced my ass off trying to revive the party and what did you do" she complained. "You know what she did, Jon?" her friend asked him, her voice full of hurt and wearing the most endearing (and hilarious) version of her "little rose" face. "You know what she did?" Seven Hells. Drunk Margaery had even more of a flair for the dramatics than sober Margaery... and she was pretty dramatic while sober. "She ditched me" she finally said, voice and face equally hurt. "For a handsome, tall stranger. Can you believe?". The astonishment in her face and the whole clutching-my-pearls pose would've been hilarious to Sansa... if it weren't for the tiny fact that she was telling Jon fucking Snow she flirted with Dickon, as in Dickon, his and Robb's teammate.  "She's even gonna go on a date with him" she whispered to him, giggling like a child, because of fucking course, Margaery was having a field day with this.

Jon turned to look at her, his cheeks turning pink again, and Sansa wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow her right there in that exact moment. She was about to say something when she heard Margaery's playful and oh-so-innocent voice. "So, it looks like you might have some competition now, Dragonknight" she added while walking towards Jon's car. Sansa could just feel the smirk in her friend's voice.

The Stranger take me.

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

The one-hour ride from Harry's mansion to her and Margaery's flat was the longest hour in Sansa's life.

They spent the first fifteen minutes in silence: Margaery fast asleep in the backseat, Sansa staring out the window and Jon focused on the road.

With each minute, the silence grew stronger and stronger. It's was deafening and unbearable. She was desperately looking for something to say, but didn't trust herself in her drunken state. And in the trance Jon puts me in every time I'm close to him, her thoughts reminded her, proving her point.

She was starting to panic, when words left her mouth, without her permission. "Sorry about Marge" she tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. Jon spared her a quick look. His eyes looked almost black and so deep and beautiful... Fuck. "You know how she is when she's drunk" she explains with a laugh; a laugh that sounds too forced in her ears. The thing is, Jon doesn't know how Marge is when she's drunk because this is the first time that she has to be alone (and wide awake) with Jon while being drunk. At least last time, I was lucky enough to pass out, she thought, feeling resigned. Here's the thing about about first times: they were fucking terrifying.

Jon only hummed in response. His eyes never leave the road.

It only made look at him again. Carefully.

His hair was pushed back from his face, into a man-bun. A few unruly curls still found their way to his face. He looked like he just woke up, and seriously, it just isn't fair. It's not fair that he looks like that after just being woken up by his best friend's sister. He truly was The Warrior come alive. Aemon the Dragonknight reborn (if he had black hair and gray eyes). Looking at him, she wanted nothing more than to push those unruly raven curls back. She wanted to touch his face, let his beard tickle her palm. She wanted to stand so close to him so she could see the gray in his eyes. She wanted to be oh so close to him that she could breath him in, the scent that made Jon Jon.

It wasn't until he looks back at her with curious eyes that she realized that she was staring. Again.

Sansa tried to do her best to salvage the situation her thirsty, drunk self put her in. "You really are the best" she says. She could feel the flush creeping on her cheeks once again. Like a fucking schoolgirl, she thought.

Her words made him blush and that made her feel more lightheaded than the alcohol. "Stop it" he told her, trying (and failing) to hide his beautiful smile.

"You are" she insisted. "Here I am, miles away from campus, in the house of some rich asshole." Her description of Harry made him laugh. And in that moment, she realized she could get high on that sound. She could let it lift her up up up until she reached the clouds. "Drunk, with an even more drunk friend" she laughed, while sparing her dear friend a look; she was sleeping like a baby in the backseat. A beautiful, drunk baby. "And I call you in the middle of the night and you come to my rescue. Even though you have practice tomorrow". She couldn't help the softness in her voice as she told him all of this, because it really warms her heart that he would drive up to Rosby at 2 a.m. for her.

He just took a quick look at her, then at the road.

And then the most catastrophic thing happens. For her heart, at least.

He gave her an earth-shattering smile. The kind of smile that makes you weak in the knees and makes you wonder 'how dare he be so godsdamn beautiful?'.

Fuck

"You make me sound like a hero, Sans" he laughed. "Like one from the stories you love to read".

Seven fucking hells

He remembers. "Well, that's because you are" she said, trying to put an end to this conversation because at this rate, she would make it home as human goo.

Then, the strangest thing happened. He looked at her with such tenderness. His eyes were incredibly soft. His lips were a little bit parted. He looked like he was about to say something.

The sight made her heart go berserker in her chest.

But something shifted in his eyes. Made them hardened, even if it was just a little bit. But Sansa noticed. He half-smiled at her and returned his attention to the road ahead of him.

She rolled to her side, looking out of the window, paying attention to the trees and the stars; but soon closed her eyes. She wanted to remember every single detail of the look that Jon gave her.

Even though it most probably become all hazy in the morning.

(Continue reading on AO3)

[iamartemisday]

The Highest Bidder- a Pepperony fic

A/N: This is my unfortunately late gift for @xxdustnight88 as part of the @womenofmcu‘s Valentine’s Day exchange.

Hope you enjoy!

Pepper had been working as Tony Stark’s personal assistant for nine months, one week, and six days. Here’s what she’d learned:

He drank dark roast coffee with two sugars and one milk.

His favorite band was AC/DC, and she was ninety-nine percent positive he secretly owned the rights to all their music.

He would wear the same pair of jeans multiple days in a row even though he had two closets full of designer clothes.

He preferred blondes with large breasts and long legs, though he’d happily take a brunette to his bed. Very few redheads, though. Not that she cared.

He had no concept of circadian rhythms and didn’t realize he was the only one.

That was how she found herself awake at two in the morning on February 14th, her ill-chosen pop song ringtone cutting holes in her skull with a rusty knife. Tony’s face appeared on her Call ID, grinning like a fool. He was drunk when she took it. Kind of mean, but sometimes, she needed a laugh.

She hit accept. Reminding herself that she made more in a month than most people made in a year, she refrained from cursing him out and settled for a non-committal, “Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Club Forty on Eighth Avenue at six.”

“Excuse me?”

“Be at Club Forty on Eighth Avenue at six o’clock tonight. I’ll get Hogan to pick you up. Wear the most expensive outfit you have, and if you don’t have anything that’ll make you look suitably rich, buy whatever you need on my tab. Hogan will give you cash.”

“Wait, Mr. Stark, I don’t understand.” She made the fatal mistake of looking at her glowing blue clock radio. Now her eyes were about to explode. She rubbed them fiercely, struggling to keep them open. “You want me to go to a club?”

“Club Forty. Eighth Avenue. There’s going to be a charity bachelor auction and I need you to buy me.”

“...why?”

“Because if you don’t, Angelica Spooner will.”

“Who’s Angelica Spooner?”

“Some heiress I met at a party a few months ago. I was going to invite her back to my place, but it turns out, she’s kind of completely nuts and obsessed with me. So I must avoid her at all costs.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She showed up at my office the next day in a wedding dress.”

Okay, that was pretty bad.

“You know, there should be other women at the auction.” Pepper didn’t actually remember seeing that on Tony’s schedule. Knowing him, he agreed after his seventh daiquiri and failed to remember until yesterday. “There’s no guarantee she’ll win.”

“I’m not taking any chances.” Pepper heard clanking in the background. Sounded like he was elbow deep in a radiator again. “I’m sorry if you had plans-”

She didn’t, and they both knew it. She’d been between relationships since long before Stark Industries was on her radar.

“-but if you do this for me, I will give you anything you want. Extra pay, double vacation days, you name it. Just please, please-”

“Okay, relax. You don’t have to beg.” Not that she didn’t kind of enjoy it. “I’ll buy you at the auction and keep you far away from your bride-to-be.”

She could hear him shudder. “Thank you. I’ll get Hogan to pick you up at five. Unless you need to run some errands first? Get your hair done or something?”

“No, that’s fine.” Pepper ran her fingers through her hair and hit multiple knots. She pushed through and managed to only wince in pain. “I can get myself ready. See you tonight, Mr. Stark.”

“You are a dream, Ms. Potts.”

He hung up and Pepper stared at the phone, watching the time change from 2:32 to 2:33. Now there was a sign-off she’d never heard before. Once, in her first week of work, he told her her eyes sparkled when she laughed and left him mesmerized. She’d taken the compliment as it wasn’t about her ass or her breasts, but assumed it was just him being his usual self. Charming all the girls like a regular Casanova. Knowing she’d never in a million years say yes because that violated so many workplace regulations and just, in general, would be in poor taste.

Never did she think he actually meant it.

Because obviously, his type was elegant, classically beautiful Gwyneth Paltrow type women. Not mousy failed model Pepper Potts.

But the way he called her a dream, in the exact same tone of voice he used to wax poetic about her eyes, almost like he did find her as beautiful as those other girls. Almost like he had a whole different reason to ask her this favor.

Almost like…

Pepper rolled over and fell back asleep. By morning, she should be fully rested and returned to sanity.

**

Her nicest outfit was a midnight blue evening gown she bought herself as a Christmas gift. It was made of a material she didn’t know the name of but felt like wearing a waterfall. The neckline was on the lower end, but still presentable. The skirt molded to her body like a glove, flaring just a bit at the ankles. Pepper had yet to wear it, but the shopkeeper had insisted, in broken but passable English, that she was a dish in it and men would adore her.

Her doorman, a stone-faced man who could catch flies out of midair, swallowed his tongue as scrambled to open the door for her, and Hogan forgot how to speak for a few seconds as he tried his best not to stare at her.

The shopkeeper was right. Good.

She’d showered earlier in the day and given herself a simple updo. Her make-up was neatly applied and her nails cleaned and manicured. It was a quarter after five and there was nothing to do but get to the club with a half hour to spare.

Of course, traffic being what it was, she just barely made it before the clock struck six. Happy opened the door for her and handed her a platinum credit card.

“From Mr. Stark,” he said. “There’s fifty thousand on there. Should be more than enough to win the auction. Don’t worry, it’s in his name.”

“Thanks, Happy,” she said as the bouncer removed the velvet rope to allow her entry.

She checked her coat and entered the party. It was a swanky event devoid of the usual drunks grinding against each other to pounding dubstep beats. Instead, a pianist played a jazzy tune while men and women in their black-tie best sipped wine and talked about how great being rich was. Pepper recognized a few of them as Tony’s business partners. They greeted her warmly and she responded in kind. Nobody was looking to make conversation, so she found an empty seat near the stage without much trouble.

A man was at the podium organizing his notes. He was short and nearly bald with wire-rim glasses. When he coughed into the microphone, the feedback made Pepper’s ears ring.

“Attention everyone. The auction will begin in five minutes. Please retrieve a paddle from the front desk if you haven’t already.”

Pepper’s paddle was flat in her lap, made from polished cedar wood and lined with gold. Unnecessarily ornate to the highest degree, but all she could’ve expected from the one percent of the one percent.

More people were filing into the dining room now. So many new voices, it was impossible to pick out more than one or two at a time. She distinctly heard a husband and wife arguing over the former’s fixation on their twenty-something babysitter and a waiter rushing through the crowd with a drink in hand.

“Your margarita, Miss Spooner.”

Pepper turned all the way around in her seat. The waiter, grinning foolishly, handed the drink to a woman in a black sequin cocktail dress. She was blonde, leggy, and had boobs bigger than her head. Definitely Angelica.

Despite her objectively pretty face and clear skin, Pepper couldn’t say what made her especially attractive. She stared at the woman as long as she could without being noticed, and there wasn’t a single distinguishing feature to be found. Maybe it was just the distance.

A bell was rung, signaling the start of the night’s main event. The balding man had fixed the microphone and now spoke without causing physical or emotional damage.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming. We’d like to first take the opportunity to wish you all a happy Valentine’s Day. We hope tonight will be a night to remember.”

Some polite applause and then the balding man continued.

“We will begin with our charity bachelor auction. First up, we have Mr. Thomas Holloway, CFO, and co-founder of Datson-Holloway Incorporated. May I start the bidding at five thousand dollars?”

Pepper watched silently as each consecutive bachelor took the stage. She had no idea what Tony’s place in line was or where he was sitting. Most of the men came out from behind a curtain, so it was possible he was back there having as many drinks as he needed to stand before the crowd like a piece of meat and hopefully not go home with someone who probably had his name carved into her arm. Not once did she raise her paddle, earning a few inquisitive looks from the women around her.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she whispered when the stares wouldn’t stop.

Mr. Blake Matthews of Hammertech sold for a cool forty thousand. Then the room hitched a collective breath as the man of the hour appeared.

“Last, but certainly not least,” said the balding man, “Mr. Tony Stark needs no introduction. Let’s start the bidding off at-”

Every paddle was in the air. So was Angelica Spooner.

“Twenty thousand!”

A few paddles went down, but most were furiously waved. Tony’s eyes locked on Pepper, his smile turning horribly fake as a silently pleaded with her. This brought her back to the reason she was here and she rose to her feet.

“I bid twenty-five thousand,” she said.

Angelica Spooner looked like she wanted leap across the room and tear Pepper apart like a rabid cheetah.

“Thirty thousand,” she cried instead.

“Thirty thousand!” The balding man clapped his hands together. “Very good. Do I hear thirty-five thousand? Thirty-five thousand, anyone?”

“Thirty-five thousand,” a random woman in the audience yelled.

“Forty thousand,” said Angelica.

“Forty-five thousand!”

This was actually getting pretty exciting. Even Tony seemed to be enjoying himself. He flashed Pepper a thumbs up, emboldening her to put an end to this once and for all. The credit card burned through her dress into her skin. Fifty thousand dollars. Even the biggest spenders wouldn’t dare go that far all for one measly dinner date. Indeed, more than three-quarters of the paddles were down and what remained were only half as high as they had been.

Pepper didn’t dare look at Angelica, no matter how weirdly tempted she was to give the woman a smirk.

“Fif-”

“Seventy-five thousand dollars!”

A wave of gasps as Angelica pranced on stage and clung to Tony’s arm, so assured of her victory now that her insane bid was on the table. She whispered something in Tony’s ear. He turned snow white and couldn’t bother to fake smile anymore. Now, he just looked sick.

“Well, we have a real battle royale here tonight,” the balding man cheered. “All right, seventy-five thousand. Do I hear eighty thousand?”

Crickets. Pepper couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. It didn’t matter in the slightest because Tony was her boss and a flirt and about as far from serious boyfriend-husband material one could get outside of convicted felons. Him going on a date with this woman meant nothing to her aside from the legal ramifications if she was as bad as Tony claimed. Otherwise, it was nothing she had any involvement in. Nothing she cared about.

He was just her boss.

But Angelica’s hands on his arm and her lips in his ear…

“No? All right.” The balding man prepared his gavel. “That’s seventy-five thousand dollars going once… going twice… s-”

“ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND!”

It didn’t sound like Pepper’s voice. If she hadn’t felt the vibrations in her throat, she wouldn’t have known it was her at all. Angelica’s eyes bugged out. Tony looked like he’d just seen Jesus. The balding man sputtered and nearly dropped his gavel.

“Wha- you- you can’t-” Pepper kind of liked how presumptuous Angelica had been in going on stage. In the proper lighting, it was now perfectly clear how unpretty she really was.

“That’s it,” a male voice snapped from the audience. Then a middle-aged man stood up. “Angelica, get down here. It’s over.”

“But daddy,” she whined, “you said-”

“I said no more than seventy thousand. No more. Now move. We’re going home.”

It took a few more seconds of pouting and clutching Tony’s arm with her tentacles, but finally, she uncurled herself and stomped off stage, muttering obscenities to herself.

The crowd was silent as father and daughter left the room. He could still be heard yelling at her for embarrassing him even as the balding man cleared his throat and brought the event back to order.

“All right. That was… well, I think it’s safe to say we have a winner! Sold to Virginia Potts for one hundred thousand dollars. Thank you so much, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper waved awkwardly as those daring enough to applaud whistled and whooped for her. She stepped towards the stage where Tony was shaking hands with the balding man. They left after Pepper handed over the card and signed a few papers promising to clean out her bank account to pay for a dinner with her boss. The whole process made her head spin and her stomach churn, even after Tony took the organizers aside and most likely arranged to cover the payment himself.

“Hell of a show there, Potts,” he said while they waited for Hogan to bring the car around.

“Tony, I’m so sorry,” she said, clutching her dress and leaving behind unsightly wrinkles. “I know I was only supposed to bid fifty thousand. I didn’t mean to let it get so out of hand.”

“What are you talking about? You did exactly what I told you to.”

“But you gave me fifty thousand and I ended up bidding twice that.”

“So? I have twelve more cards just like it. Even if I didn’t, I’d give every cent I have and most of my major organs not to go home with Alex Forrest over there.”

“That reminds me,” Pepper looked around but thankfully didn’t see Angelica anywhere. “What was she saying to you?”

Tony shivered as beads of sweat dripped down his face. “Let’s just say I’m really glad I don’t believe in love spells. And that I didn’t drink the wine.”

“Okay then,” Pepper took him by the arm without thinking. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Yes indeed,” Tony took a breath to calm himself down. “How does Monica’s sound to you. Or maybe the Dancing Goose?”

“What’s the Dancing Goose?”

“This little hole in the wall I found one night while bar hopping in college,” Tony said. “It’s a lot ritzier than it sounds and they make amazing crepes. I think it’s a great date location.”

“Are you saying we should actually go on a date?”

Tony shrugged. “I mean, you did spend one hundred thousand dollars on me. Just because I’m paying it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get my money’s worth.”

Pepper tried not to laugh. She really did. “You know there are a few big reasons why you and I can’t date. Reasons which I have listed to you several times already.”

“Yeah, I was thinking we could skip that part and just go for the crepes.” Tony tried to look endearing and innocent with his puppy dog eyes. If Pepper was a giggling fangirl, it would’ve worked like a charm. When she didn’t break, he sighed. “Okay, tell you what, we go for a friendly dinner and talk about work and other boring stuff. So instead of being a couple, we’re just two co-workers chatting over a candlelit dinner on Valentine’s Day. Sound good?”

Part of Pepper wanted to say no, and not at all for the right reasons. “I suppose an impromptu work meeting in a public place followed by returning to our seperate homes at a reasonable hour would be all right.”

Tony slumped a little. “You sound like my junior prom date’s dad.”

“Or I could just go home.”

“No, no, friendly work not-date is fine. I can live with that.”

Happy arrived with the car and honked the horn. He didn’t say a word as they got in the backseat, which Pepper made a note to give him a good tip for. She sat several inches from Tony, nodding along as he sung the Dancing Goose’s praises, interspersed with directions on how to get there for Happy. As they pulled out, Pepper caught sight of Angelica out the rearview mirror. As she stormed down the steps with her father, her heel snapped on the bottom step, sending her plummetting forward. She landed face first in a puddle from the morning’s rainfall, ruining her hair and dress.

Pepper was not someone who took pleasure in other people’s suffering, she really wasn’t, but she couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling in her stomach as Angelica struggled to stand with tears running down her face. Nor could she stop herself from ‘accidentally’ laying her hand on Tony’s forearm and squeezing.

[thedistantstorm]

The Morning After

A Kinderguardian wakes up on a couch, in a nice apartment in the Last Safe City, with no idea how she got there, and the Vanguard Commander makes her some coffee. He’s wearing regular clothes. Lilith is intrigued, hungover, and also regrets everything.

Roughly two weeks after the events of Phoenix Protocol:

-/

The lights in the flat are dimmed when he enters. Only a single candle is lit in the living room. On their loveseat - he doesn’t even blink at the thought of it being theirs, though this is technically still his residence and she does keep her own apartment - his beloved is curled up, focused. Her tablet casts ambient blue light across her features. He can tell she’s reading for pleasure based on how relaxed she is, Tamashii nestled into the collar of her robe, optic dimmed and resting. It isn’t that late though, so he's a bit surprised she has the lights off.

“Long day?” He asks, and stills when Miyu immediately puts her finger to her lips to shush him. She smiles when he heeds her request, staying silent. Tamashii shimmers away as she rises. She crosses the room as quietly as he’s ever seen, and she pulls him by the forearm into the kitchen.

Her lips press against his in greeting, and she turns on the single light over the sink instead of the main ones. “We have a guest this evening,” She murmurs gently. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“A guest?”

Miyu jerks her thumb toward the living room. “Lilith’s on the couch." From this angle, he can see the lump of small Warlock, the strip of light created from the one she's turned on illuminating her blanket-covered legs. "That fireteam she teamed up with on Titan invited her out. She’s never been drinking before.”

His eyes light up with something soft, almost amused, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Hopefully she didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“I don’t think she’ll do it again,” She murmurs. “Got a little philosophical with me on whether or not an Exo is technically a human being and cried herself to sleep.”

Zavala’s mouth twitches into a frown. “You should-”

“Yeah. I’ll talk with her about it when she’s sobered up a bit.”

He nods. “Cayde had his moments. The adjustment was… well, I think most Exos struggle with it.” He looks at the girl on their couch and back to Miyu. “If I can help, let me know.”

She squeezes their combined hands. “I appreciate it. She’s a good kid. Wish she’d have asked me to take her out though.”

“You can barely control your own drinking, if I remember correctly-” She flushes in the dim light and pouts.

“You came to get me one time,” She hisses.

“Shaxx seemed to think it happened more than that.” The smile that blooms on his face is more teasing than judgmental.

"It only happens when I'm with him. You can't tell me he's never subjected you to peer pressure!"

He chuckles low, pursing his lips and holding a finger to them, reminding her to be quiet. She blushes harder. He kisses her again, slow and sweet. "Shall we take this to the bedroom as to refrain from disturbing our guest?" 

Miyu hums something in the affirmative and lets him lead her with a hand on the small of her back. For the first time, when she closes the bedroom door behind them, she locks it with a quiet snick. Nizana will alert Tamashii if their guest needs anything.

-/

Her optics take longer than normal to boot up, to fully orient. She smells coffee before anything and blinks herself into focus silently. There's a blanket over her. It smells like sandalwood and jasmine, floral and fresh. She needs to stretch. She's sleeping on a couch, and though it's comfy, she feels like she's been dragged behind someone's Sparrow through the EDZ.

Nizana churrs quietly in her head. Washroom is to your left, the second door down the hall. Freshen up, you'll feel better.

She listens to her Ghost, feeling like she's still lacking a touch of her normal equilibrium. She wretches into the toilet for several moments, and if she had the ability to do so, she's certain she'd be blushing or crying out of embarrassment. She doesn't even know where she is.

You really did a number on yourself, Lilith, Nizana chastises through their link, but waits to do so until she's almost finished. Lilith splashes cool water on her face.

I remember being at the bar, Lilith thinks back to her Ghost. Morgana and Bertie and I were having a good time.

Yes, but you tried to show off and outdrink them.

Did I win?

Nizana shimmers into the space between her and the mirror, then scans her with a blue beam. Lilith recoils.

"'S too bright," She slurs, her own voice feeding the hollow pounding of her rapidly worsening headache.

"Do you think you won?" Nizana replies at normal volume. "You're going to be mostly functional today, but I wouldn't suggest fieldwork. You will likely feel dizzy and uncomfortable, at least until this afternoon."

Lilith sighs. 

Nizana relents, "You did win, but you were very intoxicated afterwards. My scans showed your alcohol levels to be nearly three times the limit to be considered safe to operate a Sparrow. You conducted yourself rather… outlandishly as well."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," Her partner chirps right back. 

The Exo puts a hand on her forehead, looking at herself in the mirror. Even the ambient lights of her mouth made little fireworks go off in her head when she appraises herself. She didn't know she could feel like this. "I think I need to sit down."

"That sounds like a smart idea."

When she returns, there's a mug of coffee sitting on a black coaster waiting for her. On further inspection, the coaster itself looks handmade, with durable yarn. She takes note of a loveseat adjacent to her, a comfortable looking recliner, and a modest sized screen across the room. The blinds are drawn, so she can't tell exactly where in the City she is. That bothers her a bit, but not enough to subject herself to seeing what's beyond the window. The natural light will likely hurt her head, as well.

The sound of soft, measured footfalls makes her still. She doesn't know anyone who sounds like that.

Did I… go home with a stranger?

Nizana doesn't answer her. 

Lilith sighs and draws the blankets around herself. She feels cold. Hopefully she didn't. She doesn't think she'd be that unintelligent, even if everything after that super cute fruity drink was a blur. Maybe this is Bertie or Morgana’s home, although everything seems rather well lived-in and high end, considering the comfort of the furniture.

"Quietly," Comes a low voice from the kitchen. "Surely-" Their words get lower, and Lilith's sharp hearing cannot pick up what they're saying.

A very tentative, muffled trill is the reply. It still hurts her to hear. Then, she notes that a small, white shelled Ghost flits into the doorway. When Lilith makes eye contact, it shimmers away.

The footsteps grow louder, but not unbearably so. 

"Good morning," Commander Zavala greets politely, and Lilith gapes at him, jaw hanging. She's glad she's leaning over the coffee table with both hands around the mug. If it was in transit to her mouth she's sure she would have fumbled it.

"Uh…" Nizana provides zero assistance. Lilith supposes she deserves this. Weakly, when the Commander drops into the recliner near her and her brain errors on the innately casual nature of his movements, of the fact that he's wearing a simple tunic and pants, not full armor, she hangs her head and mutters, "Sorry for the trouble, Sir."

He shakes his head. "I believe I've conducted myself similarly plenty of times. We've all been there," He offers sagely. When she looks at him, surprised she's not being lectured, he gives her something almost like a smile. With his mouth. She doesn't - she must still be asleep, she thinks.

"Not to sound rude, Commander-"

The Awoken sips at his coffee. "Zavala is fine. We are not at the Tower, you are not on assignment, and it is well before working hours."

"Did you bring me home," She blurts, and she's certain some part of her face is surely overheating. Perhaps the ground will swallow her up.

He leans back, coffee in hand. "No, I did not. Miyu retrieved you. She's currently asleep in our bedroom, I suspect she'll be up shortly."

"What." The word is thrown out like a thunderclap. "She - you…" She sags dramatically against the couch.

"For all your projecting, I suspected you knew."

Lilith blinks at his eyes, then focuses on his forehead because his irises are so bright. "I mean, I do," She sighs. Her outburst doesn't help her head stop hurting. She flails dramatically despite it. "But she's never come out and told me!"

Owlishly, Zavala blinks back at her. He has more coffee and thinks before responding. "Miyu trusts you," He finally says. "Therefore I do, as well. I would hope your exercise discretion."

There is silence between them until the sound of quiet footfalls comes from the far end of the flat. Adelaide pops back into existence with a quick spark and zooms through the air. Lilith watches as deft hands reach out and bring her close, initiating a strange version of a cuddle.

"Good morning, Addy," Miyu whispers, Tamashii hovering over her shoulder. 

It's a party in here, Lilith thinks to Nizana.

Nizana sighs. I think it's nice, she answers in her distant, cool tone, and Lilith holds out her palm immediately, summoning her into the physical realm. Though seemingly childish and self-centered herself, Lilith is not dumb. She knows that answer means Nizana is lonely or jealous, maybe both.

With her Ghost in front of her, Lilith strokes her fins gently and cups her between her palms. Adelaide, upon seeing the newcomer, immediately introduces herself, Tamashii floating over as well. 

“Sleep well?” Miyu inquires of their guest.

She looks down. “I feel like I’ve been put through a blender.”

“Death by turbine is rather annoying,” Zavala quips and Miyu swats playfully at his shoulder before perching on the arm of his chair. “What,” He asks incredulously. “I was simply empathizing with her pain.”

“Mhmm,” She hums, yawning with a cute little yowl. He blinks up at her in a secretive kind of smile and she returns it, nose scrunching as she looks down at his face.

“Oh, you two are gross,” Lilith crows, looking at her own reflection in the blackness of her coffee. “I’m going back to pretending I don’t know about this before you make me sick.” 

"You being sick is on you, Lillie," Miyu informs her, in a volume just above a whisper. "Neither of us drank themselves silly last night."

[asharee-arie]

Falling Seems So Easy

Read here on Ao3.

"I'm going to murder you,” Alec hisses at Jace, stabbing his brother in the arm with the swizzle stick from his drink for good measure. “First you drag me out to the bar for this stupid group hang,” the sarcasm dripping off his tongue at the words group hang made his feelings about this particular endeavor crystal clear, “And then you let me get sucked into a thirty-minute conversation with Raj who apparently thinks we’re meant to be. I just had to break up with someone I wasn’t even dating!”

“Woah, buddy, calm down.” Jace pats his back in a way that is probably meant to be reassuring but only serves to further narrow Alec’s already annoyed gaze. 

Alec forces himself to take a deep breath and remember that Jace is his brother whom he loves. Of course, his attempts to calm his ire are shot to hell when Jace continues with, “Sounds like you were maybe giving out some mixed signals at work.”

“I bought him lunch. Once!” Alec cries, attempting to stab Jace with the swizzle stick again, missing as his brother recoiled on his bar stool. Normally, Alec likes to refrain from indulging in this type of childish behavior, but it has been a day and stabbing Jace feels vaguely therapeutic.

“Stop it!” his brother yelps attempting to swat the stir stick out of Alec’s vengeful hands. “Don’t blame me because you accidentally started dating someone without realizing it!”

Alec huffs in a few long breaths because otherwise he is going to shove the swizzle stick up Jace’s nose and attempt to lobotomize him which, on second thought, might actually improve Jace’s personality. Before his revenge plot can fully materialize, Izzy slides onto the stool next to him with a cheery grin.

“You look positively murderous, big brother.”

The obvious glee in her tone makes him shake his head in mild amusement. Only Izzy would think walking into the line of fire constituted a good time. 

Jace leans around him to fist bump Izzy in greeting, his words making Alec groan. “Alec is just feeling salty because he had to break up with his coworker.”

Izzy’s eyes go wide with disbelief as she slaps him on the shoulder, “You had a boyfriend and didn’t tell me?!”

“No,” Alec grinds out between clenched teeth, “We weren’t dating. My coworker is just delusional and thinks lending him a quarter for the vending machine is a step down the path of true love.”

“Been there, hermano.” Izzy puts a consoling arm around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder while flagging down the bartender for a drink. “We Lightwoods are irresistible.”

Alec can’t hold back his laugh as she gestures toward Jace and winks, “Well except him. I think everyone can resist Jace.”

“Not Clary,” the blonde proclaims proudly scanning the crowd for a glimpse of his red-haired lady love. Not, Alec acknowledges with an amused grin, that Clary seems aware of her status as Jace’s beloved.

The fiery redhead knocked Jace on his proverbial ass the moment she’d moved into the apartment across the hall from theirs. His usually charming, smooth brother had disappeared in the face of her blindingly wide smile and he hadn’t reappeared since. Between Jace’s unprecedented lack of game and Clary’s seeming obliviousness to his feelings, all his former attempts to ask her out had gone hilariously askew.

On one memorable occasion, Jace ended up on a dinner date with Clary’s best friend, Simon, after Jace went overboard in his attempt to woo her in the style of the Spice Girls. It’s time tested advice Jace had argued the next day If I want to be her lover, I need to get with her friends. Platonically.

Izzy inclines her head in thanks as the bartender delivers her glass of Cabernet before directing another smirk at Jace and moving in for the kill, “Aren’t we here because Clary didn’t realize that you were asking her on a date and thought it was a group thing?”

The reminder makes Jace frown slightly before he shrugs it off and resumes grinning with his normal sense of inflated self-confidence. “A minor setback,” he concedes stealing a sip of Izzy’s wine, “I’m planning to be so charming tonight that she’ll ask me out on a date herself. Problem solved.”

Alec feels his lingering irritation fade as he listens to his siblings bicker good-naturedly. The familiar back and forth is a welcome distraction after a truly terrible week of work, his second rum and Coke further helping to smooth out the rough edges of the night.

Beside him Jace suddenly lurches to his feet, his arms waving enthusiastically as he spots Clary weaving through the crowd toward them. The petite redhead is flanked by the ever-present Simon, whose presence makes Izzy sit up straighter on her stool and fluff her curls. 

Normally, Alec would take the opportunity to rib his self-possessed sister for her unusually obvious level of interest, but all coherent thoughts vanish as his eyes catch on the truly glorious man to Clary’s left. He is, well, perfect if Alec is being honest. He glitters all the way from his bedazzled high tops to his elegant cheekbones, his rainbow highlighter shimmering under the lights. 

“Izzy,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth, “Who is that?”

“Magnus? He’s Clary’s co-worker. Hot, right?”

The distracted, off-hand way she relays the information makes Alec frown in betrayal. She’s been aware that this beautiful man exists and has never once attempted one of her ridiculous matchmaking schemes on his behalf. It is downright rude, he decides.

“You are unbelievable.”

The dramatic whispered accusation causes Izzy’s left eyebrow to arch as she drags her attention off the bespectacled nerd she seems to find attractive to look at her brother. “Excuse me?”

“You have tried to set me up with four different people this week alone and yet you’ve never even mentioned that Clary has him for a coworker?”

“I wasn’t sure he was your type.” A wide, pleased smile sweeps over her face, “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“He is everyone’s type.”

“My baby is growing up.”

Izzy’s teasing coo makes Alec cringe even as his eyes refuse to stop studying every inch of Magnus from the tips of his artfully-styled hair to his long, slim fingers to the somehow adorable hint of ankle peeking out above his shoes.  Alec is aware that he is being entirely too obvious about his interest, his siblings will never let him live this down, but it is hard to feel anything but warm as Magnus glides to a stop in front of him.

“And who might you be?”

The question is all but a purr, and Alec is embarrassed to find himself instinctively leaning closer.

Alec opens his mouth to say something, anything really, when Magnus unleashes a lethally bright smile, all sparkling eyes and full lips, effectively short-circuiting all of Alec’s remaining brain cells.

“How are you real?” he blurts out, his face scrunching up in abject embarrassment even as the words fly out of his mouth. “I mean, I’m, uh, Alec.”

A shocked giggle escapes Izzy. “Smooth, Alec, smooth.”

“Abort, buddy,” Jace coughs behind him.

“Biscuit,” Magnus drawls out without ever breaking eye contact with Alec, “I’m suddenly feeling a bit put out with you for not introducing us sooner.”

“Join the club.”

Alec’s cheeks heat as he realizes the words in his head are still managing to slip past his lips.

He’s doing the math on how quickly he can make a break for the exit because, really, Alec cannot be trusted to be in polite company right now, when Magnus throws back his head and lets out the most charming throaty chuckle. The sound slips over Alec’s senses like satin, smooth and inviting, enticing him to stay. 

His brain is still struggling to come back online when Magnus takes another step closer, forced to tilt his chin up marginally to maintain their eye contact, “Is Alec short for Alexander?”

“Yep, but nobody calls him that.”

Magnus ignores Jace completely and holds out a hand in invitation, “Buy me a drink, Alexander?”

Alec manages a jerky nod as he tangles their fingers together. Magnus pulls him forward with a teasing yank that brings them close enough for Alec to feel the warmth of the other man against his chest.

“Guys, this is like one step away from being inappropriate.” Jace’s complaint falls flat when he instantly follows it up with a lascivious wink and an all too unsubtle thumbs up in Alec’s direction.

Izzy elbows Jace, “Shut it, Jace. They’re sweet. This story is going to make my toast at their wedding so easy to write."

Alec sputters helplessly as his siblings ignore all social norms and launch into a heated debate regarding which of them most deserves to be Alec’s best man at his hypothetical wedding to the gorgeous, tanned man standing before him.

“I’m a man,” Jace argues with an edge of condescension that usually ends in bloodshed (by Izzy’s hand, of course). “It’s literally in the name - best man. Chicks not included.”

Izzy scoffs, her expression shifting into something that Alec can only describe as bloodthirsty, “I’m his favorite sibling.” 

She shrugs as if to say case closed.

Jace gasps in outrage. “Take that back,” he orders before turning to Alec. “Tell her that I’m your favorite.”

Clary and Simon watch the volley of words with matching wide-eyed delight as Alec wishes desperately for the Earth to swallow him whole.

“Guys,” Simon starts cautiously, obviously unsure if he should enter the fray, “Maybe, we should all get a drink?”

“Soon,” Izzy promises him with a sweet smile that turns sharp as she focuses her attention back on Jace. “There’s no way that Alec trusts you to give the best man speech. Your brain to mouth filter doesn’t exist.”

“Alec’s isn’t working so great right now either,” Jace shoots back belligerently.

“Kill me now,” Alec mutters under his breath, screwing his eyes shut. He feels the beginnings of a headache pounding behind his eyes. It is just his luck that not only does his brain seem incapable of forming complete sentences when it comes to Magnus but that his siblings have also gone full Lightwood.

A tender stroke across his palm makes Alec’s eyes fly back open to meet Magnus’ warm, amused expression. 

“I’m sorry about them,” Alec whispers desperately trying to convey with his eyes that his siblings’ insane behavior is unsanctioned, and he shouldn’t be held responsible for the tornado of insanity currently swirling around them.

The soft, teasing strokes don’t stop as Magnus’ lips twist up in a smirk, “Well, darling, it’s your choice of course, but the lovely Isabelle seems the obvious choice. She’d look amazing in a tux.”

Izzy’s triumphant yell and Jace’s indignant gasp are little more than white noise as Alec raises their interlaced hands to press an uncharacteristically bold kiss to Magnus’ knuckles. “Perhaps we should just elope,” he says under his breath.

Magnus' eyes glint with humor, and perhaps just a hint of something heavier, as he smiles up at Alec. "I have a feeling, Alexander, that I might take you up on that someday."

Something settles in Alec at the words. A warm possibility surging through his veins until it tumbles out of his mouth in a delighted laugh that only makes Magnus' eyes shine brighter.

"You guys, I ship this so hard."

Alec startles, his attention abruptly shifting off Magnus to their friends who are all watching him with various levels of disbelief plastered on their faces.  Simon is grinning like a dope, clearly proud of himself for his announcement, while Izzy beams proudly looking ready to start a slow clap in his honor at any moment.

"I think," Alec says slowly, well aware that his face is somewhere between besotted and adoring, "That we should go get that drink now. Alone."

Magnus' smile is bright, happy and wide as he allows Alec to tug him away from their friends. "You read my mind, darling."

And, if some day, Izzy does tell this story at their wedding, Alec finds that he doesn't mind. 

[hookedonapirate]

A Birthday Surprise 

Summary: It’s bad enough Emma was goaded into helping her college roommate throw a surprise birthday party for her boyfriend who Emma hasn’t gotten along with since they’d met. It’s even worse when he accidentally walks in on her in the shower thinking she’s said roommate. Talk about a birthday surprise he’ll never forget…

A/N: So, there will be another chapter that I’ve already started writing because this ended up being much longer than I’d expected. Like @rouhn has reminded me when I told her there was going be another chapter, I am simply incapable of writing one-shots because I end up taking off with it. And sadly this one doesn’t have the smut I had planned but their will be plenty in the next one. Thank you @mayquita for looking it over!

Hope you all enjoy!

Tagging @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld. Anyone else who would like to be tagged, please let me know.

Rated: Explicit 

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

Part 1

Part 2/3Emma is freaking out the second she enters her bedroom. She slams the door behind her and slumps into it, letting her head fall back until hitting the surface with a groan.

What the fuck did she just do?

She betrayed her roommate—her best friend! What the hell was she thinking?! She’s liked Killian for a while now; she's dreamt of kissing him, of tasting him in her mouth and being with him, but she's never intended on acting on those desires. Not while he’s dating another woman. Not while he's dating her best friend!

The steam from the shower must have fogged up her brain.

Emma closes her eyes, the memories flickering in her mind from when he entered the shower—the feel of Killian’s fingertips on her hips, his sultry voice in her ear, his warm chest pressed to her back. She was furious with him, but God, he was like forbidden sin encased in a gorgeous, deliciously tempting package.

And boy was he delicious. The taste of his cock—his salty cum—still lingered in her mouth and on her lips.

Emma can still feel his body on hers, his wet hair on her fingertips and his hard, throbbing dick in her hand.

For months she's wanted him,  but now the shame of taking him in her mouth is crashing over her like a ton of bricks. And it's not like she can just avoid him and pretend it never happened. She has to help Milah set up for his birthday party, which she is required to attend.

Shit, he's still currently in her bathroom turning off the shower.

And he’ll be staying for breakfast.

Fuck.

Maybe she’ll be able to get away before Milah gets back?

Crap! Milah has her car.

Maybe she’ll just go for a walk. Maybe she'll just stroll down to the campus library or the gym. Or maybe she'll go find a hole to crawl into and die.

Emma is in panic mode as she tosses her robe off and throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

• • • •

“Em, how do I look?”

Emma's stomach churns as Milah twirls around, making sure her roommate gets the full effect of the dress and sees exactly how it fits every curve. Emma gives Milah a once-over. It's not that the brunette looks ugly. No, it's not that at all. In fact, she looks beautiful in Emma’s black dress—her dress, which Milah has decided to borrow because it was just sitting in the closet and not being worn. For crying out loud, Emma was saving it for a special occasion. But alas, she gave in to Milah’s pouting and pleading when Emma had initially scolded her for wearing it.

“You look better in it than I do,” Emma replies with a resentful smile.

“Really?” Milah looks in the full length mirror, hand on her hip as she studies her reflection. “I doubt it. You're beautiful, Em.”

And damn, why does she have to be so nice? Emma wonders. Milah is the type of girl who gets along with anyone and has that charming personality everyone loves. She's also a party girl who’s not so much into college—mostly the experience. Emma can see why her roommate is appealing to the opposite sex; she’s always felt like the ugly duckling next to Milah. Emma merely wishes one guy in particular wasn't attracted to the beautiful brunette.

There's a knock on the door, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

“He’s here. Em, will you get that? Tell him I'm not ready yet.” Milah takes long, slow breaths, trying to stay calm; Emma can tell she's nervous.

“Sure.” Sauntering out of her bedroom, she goes to answer the door, and when she pulls it open, the sight makes her jaw drop.

Milah’s gorgeous date has those dreamy, blue eyes and tousled hair. He’s wearing blue jeans, a dark blue button-up shirt that matches his eyes and a black silk vest, revealing his dark chest hair which teases her imagination as to what the rest of him looks like.

“Evening, Swan.”

Emma is too busy checking out her roommate’s date to notice he’s gazing back at her, an eyebrow raised smugly, eyes sparkling with curiosity and intrigue.

“Not that you don’t look lovely, Emma, but I wasn’t expecting you to leave your flat in pajamas,” he remarks playfully with an adorable grin, his eyes still scanning her up and down.

“Come again?” She lifts a brow, her features etched in confusion. He is correct in that she’s wearing a tank top and pajama bottoms, but she isn’t planning on leaving her cozy apartment. She’s planning on finishing a paper that’s due on Monday while sipping a cup or two of hot cocoa.

“I just meant I didn’t know tonight’s theme included pjs. If I’d have known, I would’ve worn them myself.” Killian steps closer, and there's a confident swagger in his hips as he whispers in her ear, the accent in his voice deep and silky, making her skin tingle. “And I sleep in my birthday suit, so that would've made for a much more interesting evening.”

Emma’s breath hitches and a chill skates down her spine at the idea of Killian hanging out in her apartment completely naked, but she quickly steps back scowling at him. It’s not that she can’t picture what he looks like without any clothes, because she definitely can, but what the hell is this guy talking even about? “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere tonight. The theme for my evening includes having my face in my computer so I can write my paper. You and Milah obviously have other plans in mind, so I doubt what I’m wearing will have any sort of impact on your night.”

Killian scratches behind his ear, his face twisting in confusion. “Oh… I was under the impression you’d be joining us.”

His words take Emma off guard, and now she is even more bewildered. “You did? But I thought… I thought you and Milah were going on a date.”

His cheeks are turning a light shade of red and Emma can see the disappointment flashing in his eyes; he looks ashamed, maybe even embarrassed as he tries to mask it with a chuckle. “Well, this is awkward; I wasn’t aware this was a date. I thought the three of us would be hanging out as friends; maybe go catch a movie and grab a bite to eat.”

Another pleasant chill runs down Emma’s spine. Killian agreed to this evening without the intention of seeking something romantic with Milah? Well, this… this changes everything.

“Killian, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Milah’s voice hauls Emma back to reality and she watches as her roommate approaches Killian with a wide grin, looking him over.

Milah is wearing Emma’s dress and she’s wearing it fiercely and proudly as Killian’s jaw drops slightly. Emma can practically see the reality washing over him. It’s the most obvious thing in the world that Milah has no idea this isn't a date between her and Killian.

“You look beautiful, Milah,” he compliments politely, lifting her hand to press a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“Thank you. And you don’t look too bad yourself,” Milah expresses shyly with a wink, her cheeks tinted with a light pink blush.

Killian looks at Emma, trying to gauge her reaction and at the same time, he’s holding an apologetic expression. But it’s fine. Really. Emma’s fine. She doesn’t want to join them anyway. She’d rather stay home and finish her schoolwork, wallowing in self-pity and regret instead of disappointing her roommate by going with them. “I hope you two have a really great time,” Emma says sincerely, forcing a weak smile.

“Thanks, Em. Oh, I forgot my sweater. Be right back.”

Milah scurries off towards her bedroom, and Killian steps into Emma’s space again, appearing to be nervous and full of regret.

“Are you okay with this, love? I mean… I only agreed to this because I thought I'd be spending time with you.”

Emma’s heart flutters at his words, but again she only has Milah’s interest at heart and doesn’t want to hurt her like that. “Are you kidding?” She nonchalantly waves off his words, her voice higher in pitch than she means it to be. “I’m totally fine.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes, but he offers a soft nod. “Alright then. I just thought there was something between us the other night.”

Emma scoffs. “I was drunk out of my mind, in case you forgot.”

The pain in his eyes pulls at her gut, so she allows her voice to become softer, guilt falling over her features. “Thank you for taking me back home. That was very nice of you,” she murmurs sincerely.

“Oh course, love.”

“But let’s face it—you and I don’t mesh well,” she points out gesturing between them, trying to ignore the solemn expression on his face. Her heart aches, but she knows this is for the best. “Besides, Milah’s been looking forward to this all week and we’re not about to burst her bubble, you got it?” she warns, raising her eyebrows as she stares at him with a weighty expression.

Killian swallows thickly, but nods, unwilling to argue with her. “Got it.”

Maybe she wishes he would’ve fought with her about it, but he doesn’t, and maybe she hates him for that reason. “And as difficult as it may be, try not to be jerk,” she tells him, a scornful tone lacing every word.

Killian’s features turn hard; his jaw is set firmly as he glares at her. “Of course I won’t be.” He appears to be hurt and offended, and Emma is regretting her words, but she has to stay strong. She can’t let this man see how much he’s gotten under her skin. She can’t let him know that, yes, there really was something sizzling between them the other night, and it had nothing to do with her being drunk. They’ve been doing this dance since they’d met.

“Good. Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

“We are. In fact I'm glad you're not going with us. I like you much better when you're drunk. You're much nicer,” he mutters, gritting his teeth.

Anger bubbles under her skin and she wants to smack the stupid out of him. “Yeah? Well, even when you’re not running down people with your motorcycle and ruining their perfectly good sweaters, you’re still a pompous ass.”

Before Killian can retort, Milah is emerging from the hall and joining them at the door. “Okay, I’m ready now.” Her cheerful voice is a stark contrast to the sour mood settling between Emma and Killian, but he quickly changes his demeanor and flashes a charming smile, extending his elbow to Milah. 

“As am I. Shall we, love?”

Milah happily takes it, looping her arm through his. “Such a gentleman.”

Killian smirks at her, making Emma’s heart clench. “I’m always a gentleman,” he clarifies smugly and kisses his date’s cheek before opening the door for her.

“Bye Em. Have fun writing your paper. And don’t wait up for us,” Milah suggests with a wink.

Emma rolls her eyes as Killian looks back at her, tossing an unapologetic grin before he walks Milah through the door. “Aye, we might be out pretty late, Em,” Killian agrees, taunting her.

Emma wants to scream, but somehow bites her tongue, containing her frustrations. Now he really is just being a pompous ass and she no longer regrets not telling Milah this wasn’t supposed to be a date. “Go to hell.” She flashes Killian a fake smile, and after Milah scolds her for talking to him that way, Emma watches them disappear into the hallway. She watches as Killian Jones slips through her fingertips, and it makes her heart hurt (just a little).

With a silent huff, Emma flings the door behind them, letting it close with a loud, satisfying click. Cursing under her breath, she leans against the door, planting her open palms and forehead against it to refrain from throwing something out of the anger and furry building inside her. Never again will she be nice to that stupid, cocky bastard. In fact, she hopes Milah breaks his heart in two and rips it to shreds like she does with every other guy she’s been with.

• • • •

By the time Emma’s casually stepping out of her bedroom fully dressed, she’s not entirely sure what to expect, but when she enters the main room, the front door is being opened and Milah is emerging with one arm curled around a paper bag full of groceries.

“Guess who beat me here,” Milah says with a smile as she moves away from the doorway.

Emma stops abruptly in her tracks when Killian comes from behind her with another grocery bag in his hands and follows Milah to the kitchen.

“He got here right before I did.”

“What a coincidence,” Emma mutters with a frail laugh. Trying to avoid his gaze, she flees to the door, wanting to escape as quickly as possible.

“Em, where you going? I'm making breakfast for all of us.”

Emma stops and sighs at Milah’s words, slowly tilting her head to look at her roommate, who's setting the bag on the counter.

“I um… I have to get some work done at the library.”

“And I just remembered I have some things to finish before class, so I should probably take off too,” Killian tells his girlfriend, and walks out of the kitchen, avoiding any eye contact with Emma.

“Oh no you two don’t.” Milah is instantly out of the kitchen, grabbing both their hands and hauling them away from the door, towards the table. “I didn’t go to all this trouble to make chocolate chip pancakes for nothing. So you’re both going to sit ,” her voice is firm and strict, leaving no room for arguments as she forces Emma into a chair before pulling Killian around to the other side and pushing him into the one across from her, “and eat .” Killian and Emma steal a glance from one another before returning their attention to Milah.

“You’re going to cook, love?” Killian asks, surprised.

Milah scowls at him. “ Yes, I’m going to cook. I’m making you pancakes for your birthday.” She goes to the counter and falls into her previous task, preparing the pancake batter as Killian swallows thickly, guilt appearing in his features. Emma tries not to stare too long at the bastard, but it’s extremely difficult not to, considering she just gave the man a blowjob in the shower.

“You really didn’t have to go through the trouble for me,” Killian tells his girlfriend, clearing his throat.

“Well, I wanted to,” Milah assures and hurries over to him flashing him a soft smile as she kisses him briefly on the lips. “Happy birthday.” “Thanks, love,” he says appreciatively with a small smile. Fidgeting with her fingers, Emma squirms in her chair, trying to hide the jealousy swarming inside her gut. Her eyes awkwardly wander around the room as Milah leaves his side and returns to her task. Even though Emma continues to avoid eye contact with him, Killian’s stare is burning into her skin. “Do you need any help?” he asks, tearing his gaze from her and looking at Milah. “No, I’m fine. It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger,” Milah states, stirring the finished batter in a bowl. “You just sit; the food will be done soon.” Emma doesn’t know how much longer she can take of this. She just made out with this guy in the shower and took him in her mouth. She’s seen him naked and he’s seen her naked. Now she doesn’t know how to act around him. Especially with Milah in the same room. The sounds coming from the sizzling skillet and clanking dishes are just not enough to drown out her thoughts, and there’s nothing she can do but fix her gaze on Killian. He’s apparently thinking the same thing as he meets her eyes, regarding her with a contemplative stare. Before Emma knows what’s happening, they’re engaging each other with a heated exchange of yearning looks, expressing their thoughts without being able to put them together in words.

Killian leans his elbows on the table and runs his tongue over his bottom lip; Emma’s not quite sure if it’s intentional or if he’s even aware he’s doing it. Thankfully, they’re interrupted when Milah places a plate of food in front of each of them.

“Dig in, you two.”

Emma’s eyes widen at the mountain of pancakes, strawberry topping and whip cream on her plate. “Well, I know one thing is for sure—we’ll all be going into a sugar coma after this,” Emma comments playfully and Milah sighs.

“Mock them all you want, but it’s Killian’s favorite breakfast, right babe?”

Emma’s brows wrinkle in confusion. Since when has Killian ever mentioned he even liked chocolate chip pancakes? Studying him closely, even he seems to be puzzled.

• • • •

“What the hell?” Emma spats, holding up an empty box of cereal and shaking it in the air to display her disapproval.

“Good morning to you too, love,” Killian replies with a mouthful of cereal, his eyes fixed on the t.v. screen.

Emma glares at him. “You ate all of my cereal.”

He only shrugs, continuing to munch as he watches Black Sails.

So, he's into pirates; now she's starting to see why he wears the biker jacket with the skull and crossbones. “Sorry, love. I got hungry.”

“One, I'm not your love, and two, if you're hungry you should go to your own place.”

“Milah left me in bed and said I had to stay in it until she got back from class, even though she doesn't get out until ten and she knows I'm an early riser. I got bored so I came out here.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Emma lets out an irritated sigh and plops down on the couch next to him. She turns her head, eyeing his cereal. She had one bowl of Cap’n Crunch left and was looking forward to eating it for breakfast when she went into the kitchen, but her hopes and dreams were shattered when she picked up the box, finding it empty.

“You know, it's not polite to stare while someone eats,” Killian comments, never taking his eyes off the television.

“Well, it's not polite to steal someone's food,” she snaps back and peels her eyes away, crossing her arms in frustration.

“Would you like to share?”

Emma’s eyes practically light up as she looks over at Killian who has actually torn his gaze away from his show for two goddamn seconds to offer her a bite. She nods and scoots closer to Killian, tucking her legs underneath to get more comfortable and accepts the offered spoon, taking a mouthful of cereal.

She starts watching the show and subconsciously inches closer until her side is pressed into his as she takes more spoonfuls of cereal from him. She can feel Killian gawking at her as she munches on her cereal, so she looks over catching his gaze, and stops chewing. “What?” she asks with her mouth full.

Killian chuckles. “You like this show?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I? It has action, adventure, pirates, salty language... sex; what's not to like?”

Killian quirks a brow and smirks, unwilling to refute her. “I don't disagree with you, lo—Swan.”

Emma glares at him, not understanding what he's insinuating. “So just because I'm a woman, I’m not allowed to be into those things? I've actually seen this episode four times for your information.”

He emits an exasperated sigh. “I only asked because the first time I watched this with Milah, she couldn't understand why there were episodes of this. And whenever I mention Black Sails, she asks me what the hell I'm talking about.”

“And what? Because Milah and I are friends who live together, we’re supposed to be exactly alike, have the same tastes and watch the same shows? Her favorite is Young and the Restless and I can't stand that soap opera shit.”

“Aye, agreed. I can't even get her to watch Game of Thrones. She belongs to the—”

“One percent of the population who's never seen an episode?” Emma finishes for him.

“Aye.” Killian chuckles and returns his eyes to the screen as Emma does the same, sliding the spoon into the milk to scoop up some more cereal.

“But Black Sails is better,” they both say in unison before Emma brings the spoon to her lips, and they quickly glance at each other in surprise.

“Jinx, buy me a coke!” they both shout, but Killian (barely) says it first and they share a laugh.

“A little slow on the draw, Swan,” he teases smugly.

Emma flashes a sarcastic smirk. “Shut up.”

Killian’s grin only widens. “Make me.”

She scoffs and takes another bite of cereal before passing him the spoon. “Keep talking, Jones, and I will.”

Killian accepts the spoon with a smirk. “Is that a challenge, Swan?”

Emma’s breath stutters, and she makes the mistake by eyeing his lips, conjuring ways to make him shut that damn mouth of his or perhaps put it to better use. Shaking those thoughts from her mind, she quickly peels her eyes away, transferring her attention to the t.v. 

“Go to hell.”

Emma's hoping that will shut him up, but to her chagrin, Killian starts rambling about how much he loves this show and offers his annoying commentary; she's pretty sure he's only trying to press her buttons.

If that's his goal, he's certainly succeeding. She’s very much tempted to kiss him senseless (only to shut him up of course) so it's a good thing Milah arrives home a moment later.

• • • •

“Cap’n Crunch,” Emma blurts out before she can prevent the words from pouring out of her mouth.

“What?” Milah inquires in confusion.

“Cap’n Crunch is Killian’s favorite breakfast,” Emma clarifies casually, scooping up some pancake on her fork.

She is skittish about the concoction in front of her, and Milah certainly doesn’t exceed her expectations; though the pancake is cooked thoroughly, it tastes like batter.

“Aye, but this is a close second,” Killian quickly adds, but when Emma glances over at him, he seems to agree with her about the pancakes, and tries to hide the unpleasantness of the taste in his features.

“Ha, see? I knew it,” Milah chirps proudly as though her previous statement were an educated guess. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s… it’s good,” Emma replies, not wanting to upset her. Besides, if Emma gets enough strawberry topping and whip cream on her fork, it somewhat disguises the taste.

“Really?”

“Aye, love.”

Emma licks up the whip cream from her lips, and her eyes wander, falling upon Killian who, to her surprise, is watching her intently, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She doesn't mean for it to be suggestive, but apparently Killian is very interested in the movement of her tongue. Perhaps because he's felt the effect of that same tongue on his thick, hard cock as she ran it up the length of him. “It’s delicious,” Emma says out loud, but she’s certainly not referring to the pancakes. And they both know it.

Killian’s cheeks are tinged with blush as he tries to suppress a smirk.

“Give me a taste,” Milah tells her boyfriend, and he makes sure to pile the topping onto his fork before feeding her a bite of it. “Mmmm, that is good,” the brunette moans, licking her lips.

Emma quickly looks away, peering down at her plate, but her roommate is making yummy noises and she can hear hers and Killian’s lips smacking together between bites. Suddenly Emma feels nauseous. She sets down her fork and quickly stands up. “Sorry, Milah, the pancakes are good but I really have to go. I remembered I have a study group I have to meet up with at the computer lab. I’ll be back later. Thanks for breakfast.”

Both Milah and Killian are calling after her, but Emma ignores them and grabs her bag, practically running out the door.

• • • •

Emma’s hair is shimmering in the sunlight as she sits next to the window in the Student Center; it's one of the moments he actually stops and appreciates her beauty. She appears to be tired and her face is twisted in concentration as she alternates between reading her textbook and typing on her computer, but she's still a sight for sore eyes after a long morning full of tedious lessons.

He knows he'd never cheat on Milah, but just because he's dating her doesn't mean he can't notice when another woman is beautiful... right? Besides, Emma doesn't like him anyway; she's made it clear several times—every time she calls him a pompous ass or tells him to go to hell or yells at him for eating her food—she can't stand his bleedin’ guts. Even if he weren't dating Milah and even if he were interested in more than their sparring matches everytime he sees her, he doesn't really stand a chance.

“You look like you could use a grilled cheese sandwich and coke, love.”

Emma looks up from her computer, and strings are pulling at his heart as he witnesses the jaded look in her emerald depths that somehow spark to life when he captures her attention. Or maybe it's the soda and sandwich he's offering which instantly has her putty in his hand. Perhaps, he should use this tactic more often.

“Ugh, you have no idea.”

He hands her the refreshingly cool beverage, and she wraps her lips around the straw and takes a sip, sighing in relief. “Aren't I the one who owes you a coke?” Her eyes follow the movement of his hands as he takes the wrapped sandwich out of the bag, and she’s licking her lips, practically drooling when he holds it out in front of her.

“Aye. But you can get me next time,” he chuckles. “Besides, you look like you need it more than I do.”

Emma accepts his answer, although she's barely listening; she's too busy grabbing the sandwich from his hands. Breathing in the smell appreciatively, she begins unwrapping it with care as though it were made of pure gold. Taking a bite, Emma actually closes her eyes, moaning when the golden bread and gooey cheese melts in her mouth, and she takes a moment to savor the taste before swallowing it down.

Killian is fascinated as he watches her. “It’s edible, I presume?”

Emma nods, licking her lips and fingers. “It's delicious.”

Killian grins in success. “So, is it delicious enough to grant me access to your table?”

She doesn't even have to think about it; she only waves her free hand, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Access granted.”

He slides into the booth as her eyes fall shut again, and she takes another bite of the sandwich, her tongue sweeping across her lips when she's finished chewing.

“You have no idea how much I've been cra—” Emma stops, her lashes fluttering when she opens her eyes and creases her brows, studying him suspiciously. “Wait, how did you know grilled cheese was my favorite? I don't recall mentioning that to you. And how did you know I’d be here?”

“Milah told me. She once mentioned your weak spot for grilled cheese and your affinity for going to the student center to study. She also informed me this is where you'd be going after your eight o’clock class.” Is it considered stalking when he’d purposely asked Milah where she’d be in hopes of seeing her here? His girlfriend didn't bat an eye; she only assumed he wanted to know so he could avoid running into her.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Of course she did.”

“And unlike her, I actually pay attention when people tell me things. Milah stopped for takeout the other day at our usual spot and couldn't even remember the thing I order every single time—coconut shrimp. She also doesn't know where my go-to spot is, which is by the lake at the park, even though I've told her several times before.”

Emma purses her lips in contemplation. “Well, she knows what my favorite food and spot is, so maybe she just likes me better than you,” Emma gloats casually in between bites of her sandwich

“Perhaps you're right, love.”

“I'm always right. I wouldn't even be surprised if she dumped you for me.”

“I would be okay with that,” Killian admits with a shrug, unopposed.

Knitting her brows in confusion, Emma is clearly unconvinced. “You'd be okay with that?”

Wagging a suggestive brow, he smirks at the idea. “Am I okay with my girlfriend dumping me for another woman? As long as I can watch, I am.”

Emma glowers at him, her cheeks tinged with blush.

“What? You asked, love.”

She sighs and shakes her head, taking another bite as Killian opens his laptop bag and pulls out his MacBook.

“You don't mind if I work on my homework here, do you?”

She looks like she has to think about that for a moment but he can tell her resolve has already weakened when it comes to him, considering the sandwich she’d just devoured, causing her to appear more human with some food in her belly and the fact that she didn't correct him when he called her love. She hasn't told him to go to hell or kicked him out of the booth yet, so those are already good signs. “I suppose, as long as you're not loud. I have this research paper that requires my full concentration because I've been kind of stuck five pages in and don't really know where to go from there. I've been trying to work on other assignments hoping that will help get the juices flowing again, but so far it hasn't helped.”

“Ah, I see.” Killian purses his lips in thought, offering a soft shrug. “What is it for? Perhaps I can help.”

Emma seems shocked and also a bit amused that he would offer such a gesture. “I doubt you can. It’s for a business communications class and I'm writing about the intercultural communication.”

“That’s not a problem, love. I think I could actually be of great assistance.”

She lifts a brow, her weary eyes clouded with doubt. “But aren't you a mechanical engineering major? How could that possibly help me?”

“Aye, I am, but I’m working on a minor in business.”

Once again, Emma is shocked by the information he's revealing to her. “Really? You're minoring in business? Milah didn't mention that.”

“Well, it's true, love. During my first semester here, a very wise professor was quick to inform me that if I want to succeed in any type of career, a business minor is a great way to improve the soft skills I need—interaction and presentation skills, being able to work with other people on team projects. It’s also helpful to write papers on a topic that isn’t actually a technical report while learning to have an argument and clearly articulate it.”

Emma nods, accepting his answer. “That makes sense, I guess. So, you really want to help me?”

“Sure, why not? I could proofread what you have so far and perhaps provide some input and maybe come up with some ideas for the part you're struggling with.”

“Honestly, I really could use all of that, if you don't mind. But it may take all day, and it’s due tomorrow.”

Again he shrugs very casually. “I have all the time in the world. My schedule for the day is free and clear. Besides, I do owe you for that night at the party when you pretended to be my girlfriend.”

“And for the sweater and books you ruined, and all the food you always eat of mine,” Emma reminds him, but she doesn't seem bitter as she scoots over in her seat. In fact, as he grabs his computer and gets up, taking the spot next to her, she's practically gleaming with excitement.

He feels guilty for almost hitting her with his motorcycle and ruining her things, but he’s hoping to get in her good graces. He's dating Milah, so they'll be putting up with each other for who knows how long. He even saw a sweater he thought of getting her in the window of a small boutique downtown, but he wasn't sure how his girlfriend would react if he bought something for her roommate. He and Milah aren't serious yet, but he still doesn't wish to cause problems between the two lasses. “I really am sorry, love, but I'm hoping to make it up by offering an endless amount of my time and support to help you with your work. I will also fuel you with more caffeine and food when needed.”

“I'm not opposed to that.” Emma is actually holding a small smile as she removes her flash drive and hands it over to him. “Let's see what you got, Jones.”

“Believe me, love—I've got more than you can possibly handle.” As Killian accepts the drive with a smirk and inserts it into the port, he can detect the faintest shade of pink brushing her cheeks from the corner of his eye. Once he pulls up the document on his computer, he’s wallowing in success and begins reading it while Emma works on an assignment for a different class. As much as he enjoys her typical feisty attitude—when she's calling him names and cursing at him or overall heated with anger—he also enjoys her softer, more vulnerable side. He enjoys just being next to her in silence.

• • • •

“Can we get the bill please?”

Killian waits as Victor pays their tab; he had previously insisted he could pay for his own drinks, but his friend was unwilling to accept payment.

“Thanks again, mate.”

“It's not a problem, Killian. I can certainly handle spending a few bucks on my buddy for his birthday.”

“Still, it's much appreciated.”

Killian is glad he's had a few drinks in him because he's spent his entire day thinking about Emma's wicked mouth, how bloody amazing her soft lips felt around him and how her tongue tasted against his. He can't seem to get the image of her gorgeous, perfectly round breasts that’ve been haunting him since he's laid eyes on the naked gems. But even the rum isn't helping much with that issue. In fact, it's only fueling his imagination and the never-ending slew of vivid thoughts and musings of all the possible ways he wants to be with Emma. He likes Milah, but he feels something entirely different for Emma, and he doesn't want to hurt his girlfriend, but she doesn't really deserve being second fiddle. So, he's been preparing himself all day for what exactly he's going to say when he sees her.

“Vic, can you take me to Milah’s? I'm afraid I've had too much to drink to operate my motorcycle.”

Victor chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “Of course. I was fully expecting that to happen. Why do you think I only had one drink?”

“To tell you the truth, I didn't really pay attention,” Killian admits bashfully. “I only noticed you seem more sober than I am. Thank you again, mate.”

Vic waves him off as they walk to his car. “Don't mention it.”

Killian's eternally grateful for his friend and for the fact that he’s not too drunk. He can still walk without stumbling, he can still speak coherently and he can still express his feelings properly without acting like a fumbling fool.   

He’s liked Emma for longer than he's ever cared to admit, but he's always shoved those feelings down because he was afraid of rejection, and also because he never wanted to get into between Milah and Emma and the friendship that has blossomed between them. But the alcohol in his system may be enough to give him the courage he needs to finally break up with Milah and tell Emma how he really feels about her.

• • • •

The day goes by rather quickly, and people flitter in and out of the student center as Killian continues to work on Emma's paper, adding notes, making the necessary corrections, and offering ideas for what to write next. Every once and a while they stop to take a break and fuel themselves with energy drinks and protein bars, and Killian procures some Chinese takeout for when they are both desperate for real food. By the time they're both too exhausted to continue any further, it's ten o’clock at night and there's no one there but them.

“I should probably get going now and catch some zzz's. My paper’s not due until tomorrow evening so I'll have some more time to write. At least now I know which direction I'm heading.”

“Glad to help, love.”

They gather their things, strap their bags over their shoulders and walk out of the building together, taking in the refreshing evening spring air, not a soul in sight.

“Let me take you home. I cannot, on a good conscience, let you walk alone in the dark, love.”

Emma raises a brow in confusion as she eyes the motorcycle parked in front of the building. “You mean on your bike?”

“Why not? Have you ever ridden on one? You never forget your first.”

Emma shakes her head. “No, I haven't, but I don't even live that far from here, as you know.”

A grin graces Killian’s lips, his eyes dancing with devilry as he climbs on the motorcycle. “Consider it your lucky night then. I'm going to the same place, so hop on, Swan,” he encourages, licking his lips. A chill races down Emma's spine; he does not look sexy or enticing on the large motorcycle, straddling the seat all clad in leather as he slips on his helmet. Certainly not. But still, she relents, stepping up to the bike while rolling her eyes.

“Fine.”

Her stomach is full of knots as he pulls a second helmet off the motorcycle and hands it to her. “That's a good lass.”

Slipping it on, she nervously climbs on the seat behind him, placing her hands on his sides.

“You should probably hold on tight, love.”

Accepting the invitation, Emma wraps her arms around him, bracing her chest against his back as he starts up the motorcycle. The engine roars to life, and as they speed through the streets, Emma holds on for dear life, reasoning that it has everything to do with being scared of falling off and nothing to do with the body heat keeping her warm as she tightens her arms around him. She's surprised he can even breathe.

The wind rushes through her hair and it’s the most exhilarating thing she's ever experienced in her life. Emma's heart is racing as her hands grip tightly at his shirt, feeling the solid abs underneath and the rhythm of his breathing. Even though they're not facing each other, the position feels so intimate—more intimate than they've ever been. All of the previous nerves from being on a motorcycle are completely melted away; she feels comfortable with him and finds herself putting her complete trust in Killian, only taking the time to appreciate being this close to him. Before she knows it, Killian is pulling up in front of Emma's apartment, and she removes her helmet, reluctantly hoping off the bike, already missing his body heat. “Thanks for the ride.”

“It's not a problem, love,” he says with a warm smile, and she's surprised when he takes off the helmet but doesn't turn off the engine or get off the bike.

“You comin’ up?” she asks, remembering he said he was going to the same place. But of course the smug bastard wags his brow in a sinful manner, his lips curving into a smirk. “As difficult as it is to refuse such a request from a beautiful woman, I have a girlfriend, love.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Yes, my roommate. Which is why I asked if you were coming up. That and because you told me you were going to the same place.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm as she shakes her head.

“Ah, there's the Swan I know and love.”

Emma's breath catches in her throat. Did he just say he loved her? No, no he was definitely being sarcastic. “And look, it's the stupid bastard I know and love.”

“You mean pompous ass?” he asks, his smirk never fading.

“That too.”

Killian chuckles, unoffended. “Well, you believed this stupid bastard, so what does that make you?”

Emma tosses a sardonic smirk.

“As much as I would love to come up, I can't tonight; I have an early class tomorrow.”

She doesn't want him there anyways, Emma thinks, but when he slides his helmet back on, her heart is aching, and a part of her wishes he would stay, but of course she’d never let him know that. “Okay. Thanks again for the ride… and for just... today,” she admits with a shaky breath. “You're a lifesaver.”

Killian lifts his hand to his helmet-covered ear as though he didn't hear her over the engine, but she knows he did. “What was that, Swan?”

Emma’s cheeks are heated with blush and she calls out, “you're a lifesaver, okay?!” yelling loudly so he doesn't make her repeat it again.

If it’s even possible, his grin is even smugger than it was before. “That's what I thought you said.”

Emma rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging her lips.

“Goodnight, love. And good luck on your paper.”

With that, he revs up the engine, glancing at her one last time before he takes off, zooming down the street. Emma stands there watching him as he disappears into the night. 

The next day she ends up finishing the paper using his helpful advice and it earns a perfect grade, no thanks to Killian (but of course he doesn't see it that way when she tells him). Two days later, she finds a package in hers and Milah’s mailbox from the clothing boutique downtown. She's blown away because it's a white Camille like the one her mother had given her before it was ruined. There's also an anonymous note that reads, “It's probably not as good as the one your mother gave you, but I do believe this is long overdue,” and she knows exactly who it's from. Emma blushes and smirks, tucking it in her arms protectively as she walks up to her apartment. She absolutely loves the sweater, but she'll never tell him that. She’ll also never tell her roommate who actually gave it to her. It’ll be their little secret.

• • • •

Killian is practically trembling with fear as he and Victor reach the apartment. “You really don't have to go in with me, Vic. I am fine from here.”

“Relax, I’ll leave soon enough. I just wanted to make sure you got here safely and were able to get into the apartment.”

Killian pulls out his keys, holding up the one for the apartment to show it to him. “I have a key, mate. And I'm certainly capable of letting myself in.” He doesn't usually like to barge in unannounced—Killian is still feeling the (wildly pleasant) effects from the last time he barged in uninvited—but he’d knocked a couple of times with no answer, even though both Milah and Emma's cars were parked in front of the building.  

Victor gestures to the door. “By all means,” he challenges.

Killian rolls his eyes before inserting the key with ease and unlocking the door, pushing it open. The place is dark, and Killian is starting to panic as he flips up the light switch.

“Surprise!”

The sight before him certainly is a surprise. He’s in shock as his eyes circle around the room, seeing all of his favorite people there and many more. Killian is in awe because he's surprised Milah did this all for him.

His girlfriend is the first to approach, placing a kiss on his lips. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, love. You really didn't have to do this.”

“Of course I did. I'm your bae,” she reminds Killian, pulling away from him. “I’m going to get some punch. Would you like some?”

“Sure, love.”

Milah leaves his side and goes off to fetch some drinks, but she gets distracted in the process and chats with some of her friends.

Killian chuckles and turns to face his sister, who’s approaching him with a smile and kissing him on the cheek. “Happy Birthday, Killy.”

He playfully rolls his eyes; he hates when people call him that, but his sister is the only one allowed to. “Let me guess; you put Milah up to this?”

Leanna laughs and shakes her head. “Actually, no. This wasn't my idea. According to Milah, it was all hers,” his sister pauses as she looks away, searching the crowd, “but if you ask me, someone else planted it into her head. She also helped put this together and called me up, asking if I could come into town a little earlier than I'd planned.”

His brows crease in confusion as his eyes follow Leanna’s gaze and lands on a beautiful blonde who's standing in the middle of the crowd with a drink in her hand, her eyes looking away from him.

Killian shudders, the air in his lungs sharply escaping him. He’s always known how beautiful she is, but that word is such a pale comparison to how she looks at the moment. Maybe it's because he’s seeing Emma in a much different light after their morning mishap and the accompanying activities in the shower, but right now, she literally takes his breath away with how stunning and undeniably sexy she is. Long golden curls pulled up into a high ponytail, vibrant green eyes framed by long lashes and dark makeup, a glittering black sequined V-neck dress that hugs her curves and falls mid-thigh, long shapely legs and shiny black, ankle wrap stilettos are all components that orchestrate the vision pulling him in.

As alluring as her elegance is, something from the corner of his eye captures his attention, and he pulls his eyes away, catching a glimpse of the cake on the table behind her; it's a pirate ship cake. He also notices all of the decorations—the streamers, the balloons, the table settings—are representing nautical pirate themes, and he has to smirk at that and quickly searches for Emma again, finding her staring back at him. Now he knows she is behind all of this.

Damn it, Swan.

He’s cursing her silently because he didn't think he could possibly like her any more than he already did, but he does. (Only a wee bit more.)

Killian walks over to her, and she has a small smile on her face, both of them blushing profusely. He wants to grab and kiss her, but obviously that's out of the question, so he awkwardly runs his hand through his hair, not knowing exactly what to say to the woman who'd given him a blowjob in the shower and then fled… twice, so he settles for a casual greeting while trying to keep his voice from shaking, but it doesn't work very well.

“Hi,” he manages, his words utterly wrecked and his stomach burning with nerves; he’s a bloody mess. After all, this is the first time he’s actually spoken to her since their awkward and surprisingly hot encounter that morning.

“Hi.”

[undercoverwatermoon]

“Surprise” (Jalton/Future Fic)

This started as a completely different story, but here's where it ended up. This occurs in the same verse as "Stars", so they're a series now.

Series on AO3 here: Future Moments I'll continue adding related one-shots to this series as I am inspired to write them. All will be future Jalton.

Definitely a wedding one (as promised to #TheFab5) will be added at some point, and of course Jalton babies and Daddy!Adam.

This story happens an appropriate amount of time prior to "Stars”

Endless thank you's to the #TheFab5 who are always willing to talk me off the ledge when I get lost in my feelings (see evidence below), and to @stupid-jeans (who IS one of #TheFab5 lol) for the always wonderful beta!

Enjoy everyone!

It’s only been five days since they touched down on American soil, and an entire three days since she last saw Adam. Saying goodbye at the airport had been a brand new experience, barely hours since they’d given in to the long-standing tension between them, finally deciding their chance at happiness was worth the risk.

Jaz. We are practically together, in every sense of the word, except...physically

Adam had been so convinced. So sure that it was their time. It gives her goosebumps remembering the look in his eyes as he’d patiently argued his point. Preach’s words from a few deployments ago, about not ignoring connections, echo in her mind, and she makes a mental note to ask Adam how many wisdom interventions Preach had subjected him to in the recent past. Comparing stories might be fun.  

Walking aimlessly along the supermarket aisles, looking at everything and deciding on nothing, Jaz finds herself daydreaming. It’s strange to her, how the most mundane things remind her of him. That healthy, cardboard-like cereal he likes is on aisle nine, and she stops there for what seems like hours, smiling like a fool until she finally throws it in the shopping cart. Then come the bagels -Adam likes carbs- the blueberry ones for some reason, so she grabs those too, chastising herself for feeling like a giddy teenager, buying her boyfriend’s favorite things.  

A couple dozen more items end up in the cart, but her mind is distracted, a thousand miles away where Adam is, visiting his sister’s family for a few days. She knows he’ll be back, logically, so it feels ridiculous to her how much she misses his scent, his voice, his smile....how much a cereal box in her hand makes her feel like he’s closer somehow.

Right now, in the middle of an empty supermarket, at two o’clock in the afternoon, this tough, badass, special operations sniper wants nothing more than to have her boyfriend home. How is she supposed to wait two more days?

“Sorry,” she mumbles to the polite old man she almost runs over moving towards the checkout line, and minutes later she’s on the road with a hodgepodge of groceries in the trunk.

The minute she walks through the garage door she knows he’s home.

“Adam?” Calling his name, she rounds the corner from the kitchen and finds him standing there, smiling at her.

“Surprise.”

Adam catches her easily when she rushes toward him and jumps, long smooth legs wrapping around his waist. Laughing as she peppers kisses all over his face, he turns and leans their entwined bodies against the nearest wall, savoring the feel of her pressed against him, in all the right places. God, he missed her so much, and he will tell her that and lots more, as soon as his brain can manage a coherent thought.

They make out like teenagers for a few minutes, soft noises, sighs and moans mixing together, amplifying the pleasure slowly building as their hands roam.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and she smiles against his mouth. “I might leave more often though, if this is the reception I get.”

“Who says you’re ever leaving again?” Adam chuckles at that. Jaz looks him in the eye, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I’m serious. Not sharing you with the world. They can get their own Adam.”

The attempt at levity falls a bit flat. It’s not the words themselves, but what lurks beneath them that has Adam immediately shifting from amusement to mild concern.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

That soft, intimate tone laces his voice, and Jaz is mildly afraid of the power it holds over her now. Closing her eyes with a shake of her head, she tries to refocus on the way his hard body is still pressing her against the wall. Rolling her hips against him, she moves to kiss him, but Adam is on alert now, and he’s not going to let this go. He shifts his his hips back slightly, and her legs drop to the floor. So, they’re doing this. Now.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.” At his skeptical look she sighs. “It’s just…” Trailing off, she looks down for a second before ducking under his arm and moving towards the kitchen. Adam follows her, a few steps behind, giving her the space her body language is begging for.

Finding the right words proves harder than expected. The wave of frustration begins to rise within her, and having no clue where it even comes from makes it so much worse. The past three days replay in her mind. What is she suppose to say here? That she missed him? That she spent every waking minute daydreaming about his arms around her? That being away from him for three measly days almost drove her mad? That now that they’re here, officially together, she’s afraid she won’t ever survive without him? Isn’t it too soon for all of that?

They’ve grown as close as two people can be without actually being together these past five years, but in all that time, they’ve never done this. Talking openly about their feelings, giving voice to their fears, hopes, and expectations. Five days ago, she thought they were simply taking the next logical step. Giving in to the overwhelming need to explore their relationship - and each other- with nothing holding them back. Right now though, she wonders if they’re right back at square one.

“Talk to me.”

Jaz can’t help but turn towards him at that. She wants to tell him everything, so badly, if only to erase the worry etched on his face. But she’s never done this before….intimacy, opening up. Never cared enough to stick around and do this instead of run.

Even so, she knows none of her past experiences could ever compare to now. Because this is Adam, who is everything she never dreamed she’d find in a man. So, regardless of the past, she will do her best to muddle through this, for him. And it will be messy and uncomfortable, but there’s no other option in her mind. If things between them fail, it won’t be because she didn’t try. Those clear blue eyes she loves are growing more troubled now, and hating that her silence is the cause, she takes a deep breath and jumps in feet first.

“I think it’s just...everything.” She begins with a helpless shrug. “In the last five days, we came back from Turkey, debriefed at the DIA, talked about us- you and me, as a couple- then spent the best night ever together, like... I didn’t know that was even possible...and then you left and--”

Adam frowns at that. “We agreed. You said you were fi--”

“I know what I said, okay?”

The outburst takes them both by surprise, but Adam instantly takes a step closer, cupping her face in his hands before she can retreat. So much is swirling around them, a cloud of questions and future decisions and sensitive conversations about the past- which Xander would say they absolutely need to have. Adam knows they’ll need time to wade through it, and he wonders how much of what’s still to come is driving the frustration pouring out now. Still, amongst all the heavy thoughts floating in his mind, one stands out, and it surprises him that it’s not serious at all.

“The best night ever?” Adam asks, with raised eyebrows and lips curved in a teasing smile.

Jaz huffs out a surprised laugh. “Seriously? That’s what you got from all that?” she asks, and attempts unsuccessfully to squeeze out of his grasp.

Adam sobers, readjusts his strong but tender hold around her neck, thumbs stroking her cheeks. Opening his legs wide, he lowers so they’re at eye level now.

“Jaz, baby. Listen to me.” The pet name draws an almost imperceptible whimper from her, and she brings her hands up, wraps them around his wrists. “I know it’s a lot to take in...us. But I promise you, we’ll figure all this out. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”  

The words sink in, and the raw, fearless emotion in his gaze catches her off guard. It’s too much, and she knows it’s a bit spineless to want to hide from it now, but she’ll implode if she doesn’t clear her head.

Reaching with her right hand, she runs her fingers over his beard, offering a smile that doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. He leans into her touch, wanting to draw her out, but she turns her body away from him toward the counter instead, one hand closing around the nearest grocery bag as the other drops away from his face.

Once again, Adam lets her go, watching as random food items emerge from the striped reusable totes.

“Well….that’s good to know,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. “That you’re staying, I mean.” With her back to him, she holds up the cereal box for him to see. “Because, I’ve already bought this awful bird food you like. And those blueberry bagels, which are carb-loaded monstrosities really, and it’d be so rude of you to--”

Large, strong hands on her waist halt her nervous rambling, and when he folds his warm, solid body around her, the tension just oozes out of her with a long, deep exhale. Turning in his arms, she buries her face in his chest and just breathes him in.

Adam stands there, arms wrapped tightly around Jaz, and his mind flashes to the few seconds before, as he’d watched her stiff and shaking lightly, emptying out grocery bags. Her words about cereal and bagels flood his ears now- and the underlying fear in them, the possibility that he may not stick around- hits him like a sucker punch to the gut.

He’d gotten on that plane, because his nieces were waiting and Jaz had been adamant she’d meet them another time. Thinking it was her way of carving out “me” time for herself, he’d acquiesced. But as he’d stood hugging her goodbye outside the TSA line, nose buried in her apple-scented hair, he’d wanted nothing more than to haul her with him through security and never let her go.

With stark clarity, he can now feel this abyss between them, this notion of impermanence and ambiguity hovering around their relationship status, their future. He’d thought they’d have time for all that. His words as he’d explained his reasoning five days ago float through his mind...Jaz. We’re practically together, in every sense of the word…

Now though, he can see that statement wasn’t entirely true. By holding back those three words that mattered the most, he unknowingly allowed doubt to seep in through the cracks. Adam knows that nothing but brutal honesty will do now. It’s the one thing that has always worked to stop her from spiraling, so he decides that’s the way this will go. There is no room for more misunderstandings now. They’re not starting this journey on uneven emotional ground.

Jaz’s muffled voice interrupts his epiphany, and he rubs his cheek against her hair as he feels her mouth moving against his chest.  

“I just missed you. It’s stupid. You were only gone three days, and I know we’ve only been--”

“I love you, Jaz.” The way she freezes against him tugs at his heart. After a second, she inches back, staring at her finger as it toys with a button on his checkered dress shirt. He watches as she takes a deep breath before her brown eyes drift up to his, shining with unshed tears.

“You do?” Uncertainty and hope mingle in her voice.  

“Of course I--” Adam swallows, eyes closing against the flood of remorse.

“I’m such an idiot. I convinced you that we could do this, that the time was right for us... and then I….” Shaking his head, he brings his forehead down against hers with a regretful sigh. “I’m sorry. I love you, okay? I have loved you, for years. I’ll say it as many times as you want. Just, please, don’t cry.”

Unable to find her voice after that, she swallows and moves her head up and down in a nod. Adam opens his eyes in time to see her radiant smile, and can’t help kissing the now pinkish tip of her nose. When she blinks, and the tears finally fall, he wipes them away with his thumbs. He’s desperate now to make her understand, and the words just tumble out.

“I was waiting to tell you, when we had more time. I’ve been...planning it for a while.” That self-deprecating Adam smile, the one he reserves just for her, makes her chuckle through the tears. “I even asked my sister for advice. I was gonna take you out. Our official first date. That’s why I came back early, to surprise you and...God, it doesn’t even matter--”

“Adam.” Jaz’s voice is strong now, sure and steady, and he lets out the proverbial breath he’s been holding. Slowly, she fans her hands on his chest, tracing lazy patterns with her fingers and following them with her eyes.

“You know, our first night together?” She looks up through her lashes now. “It really was the best night ever.”

Adam grins, fast and bright. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

[wittystiles]

The Bluff | Part One | Mitch Rapp

Author: wittystiles

Title: Prologue

Characters: Stan Hurley, Irene Kennedy, Reader, (tech Mitch Rapp is in this too)

Summary: Mitch Rapp is a highly trained CIA opperative. And a huge pain in the organizations ass. As a member of the elite (and unknown) Orion Team, Mitch causes quite the headache for CIA Assistant Director, Irene Kennedy and his trainer Stan Hurley. The two have decided things must change, and Mitch must be calmed down. With the help of Reader, they hope they have things figured out.

A/N: This is like my favorite thing right now. The ideas I have for this have me so excited! Like, I’m looking forward to sharing this. Also, this is my first (of hopefully many) chaptered fics, so. Please enjoy! Thank you to @ellie-bee242 for the prompt that has inspired this whole thing, and for her constant support and help.

The smell of bitter coffee was prominent in the small office mixing with the subtler scent of whatever air freshener hung in the corner above the door. Stan thought, distantly, that it may perhaps be vanilla. Then again, that could be the smell of the creamer that Irene had generously poured into her cup turning the color of the coffee from tar to mud. She raised the cup for a drink as Stan looked at his watch.

12:14 PM

“Are we ever going to get this meeting started?” Stan questioned Irene, setting his own cup down on the edge of her desk. “I’ve been sitting in here for ten fuckin’ minutes. I’ve got places to be, Irene. People to see, things to do. I can’t sit in here all day with my thumb up my ass.”

Licking her lips to get the taste of (the still awful) coffee off of them, Irene lifted her eyes to look at the clock on the wall behind Stan Hurley. She gave a small smirk, keeping mum.

“Oh for heaven's sake,” Stan huffed, pushing to stand from his seat.

Irene narrowed her eyes at him, “sit Stan.” Her tone was flat but demanding. Stan sat.

Returning her attention to the clock, Irene smiled.

12:15 PM

“The meeting was scheduled for 12:15. You arrived early, and therefore I had no obligation to speak to you. Now, I do.”

Stan got visibly annoyed, pursing his lips into a thin line. He leaned his back against the chair, crossing his left knee over his right. “What is this meeting for, Irene? My previous statement still stands. I still have things to do and people to see.”

Irene picked a file up from her desk, holding it out to Stan as she sipped from her cup.

Stan read the name on the top of the folder and rolled his eyes, trying to keep from groaning audibly. “Why is every meeting we have about him?”

Irene shifted her position in her chair to be more comfortable, holding her mug with two hands. “You know why, Stan.”

Taking a deep breath, Stan began thumbing through the folder, huffing a bit. “I know all of this shit.” He closed it, dropping it to Irene’s desk with a dull thud. “What did he do now that warrants me dragging my ass all of the way down here to drink shitty coffee with you?” Stan picked his cup up, taking a swallow of the liquid.

Irene set her cup down and leaned forward, crossing her hands in front of her, resting her forearms against her desk. “He is a risk, Stan. And we fe-”

Stan cut her off with curt laugh. “Are you about to tell /me/ that this kid is a risk, Irene? I have been saying that since day. Fucking. One.” Stan jabbed his finger against the folder for emphasis. “I knew he was a risk, and I told you not to take him in. Told you not to give him to me. It is not my fault you did the opposite.” Stan crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re about to say I need to crack down on him harder, save your breath. I’m doing my best with that sonovabitch, who if you couldn’t guess, doesn’t listen to more than a tenth of what I say.”

Irene took a deep breath, shaking her head. “If you would have let me finish I would have said ‘and we feel it is necessary to bring in reinforcements to help you’.”

Stan nearly dropped his mouth in shock at her. “I don’t need reinforcements, Irene. What I need is to get Mitch Rapp out of my fucking hair. I don’t have that much left!” Stan gestured to his head with his right hand, resting the elbow of his left on the arm of the chair. “This little asshole has single handedly raised my blood pressure to the point where I need pills. Can you believe that? Pills, Irene. Like the kind given to Grandad’s at the nursing home.”

Irene bit on her lips to keep from snickering at him. “Aren’t you a Grandad, Stan?”

He pointed the index finger of his right hand at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re pushing me Irene.”

Irene unfolded and then refolded her hands together. “Stan, we’re sending in a handler. For fear of Mitch actually killing you from aggravation, we think you need someone else on your team.”

“I can handle him myself,” Stan said bitterly.

“You just told me you need him out of your hair, and that he’s giving you high blood pressure.” Irene reminded Stan.

“I say those things out of frustration. Every time I have to get into a monkey suit and come down here to talk to you about that little prick I harbor a bit more resentment for him. That, however, does not mean I am done trying with him. He is my own personal vendetta. I do not want you sending in one of your uppity, sniveling fresh-out-of-the-womb Bureau babies to try and keep track of that kid. Just, give me a fucking higher powered taser. Perhaps an actual cattle prod to deal with him. He’ll get his ass in check.”

Irene raised her hand to her forehead, rubbing it with the pads of her first three fingers. “Stan, you’re not cattle prodding Mitch into submission.”

“Absolutely not, I’m going to cattle prod him until he shits his pants. And then he won’t continue making mistakes. Like how you have to rub a dog’s nose in it’s own piss so it stops going in the house.”

Irene’s eyes widened in shock. “Stan! You’re not going to do that.”

Irene swore she saw disappointment flash in Stan’s eyes. She had to take in a deep breath for a count of five seconds, releasing it for three before she could speak. “Stan, electrocuting him will likely make his behavior worse.”

Stan shrugged, “so? I would enjoy it.”

“The whole point -” Irene had to catch herself, her voice had risen. “The whole point of this conversation is for us to, together, decide the best course of action to curb Mitch’s wayward behavior. Not make it worse and give you some sadistic pleasure.”

“Please don’t make it seem like I would get off on torturing the kid. Because, while true, it’s uncomfortable.” Stan sighed heavily. “You’ve decided you’re bringing in a Bureau baby on your own, Irene. How is that us coming up with the best course of action “together”?”

Irene rolled her eyes. “Stop calling them ‘Bureau babies’ please, Stan?”

Stan nearly shook his head no, but stopped himself. “What would you prefer? CIA Cunts? I like that one too.”

Irene flared her nostrils in anger, taking a deeper breath. “Stan, we’re bringing in a handler. But I have chosen to allow you to help me decide what this handlers duties are.”

“Staying the fuck away, how’s that sound?”

“We have two really good candidates for this position, Stan. One is a newly recruited trainee, similar to Mitch when he first started here. He’s a little timid, but I think he’d work decently.” Irene picked up a file and held it out to Stan, who promptly tossed it back onto her desk. “The other is a second year field agent. Started early, graduated top of the class, follows commands.”

Irene picked up the final file from her desk and offered it to Stan. He read the name at the top of the folder, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

“They’re a she?” He asked, opening the file. He thumbed through it for a second before setting it down on his lap. “She’s pretty. She’ll be trouble though, Irene. You know how Mitch is when it comes to women.”

Irene sighed, “which is why I’m leaning towards her.”

Stan took a moment of silence, holding his hands together against his lips in a mock prayer position. “Why don’t we assign someone else to him too? Just really drain the agencies pocket books?”

Irene sighed, “I think two will be enough.” She sipped her coffee before raising an eyebrow. “But maybe two directly assigned to him wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve ever come up with Stan.”

Stan rolled his eyes, shaking his head a bit. “It wasn’t a real idea, Irene. I was being what you’d call ‘a smartass’.”

Irene was going to say something but caught herself.

“So, how do you plan on using this chick?” Stan asked, indicating the folder in his lap.

“That’s why you’re here Stan,” Irene said. She resumed her comfortable, leaned back position in her chair.

Two hours of brainstorming and logistics later, Stan and Irene had formed their plan. They had talked all of their options over, some causing Stan to curse in frustration. Others making Irene groan in annoyance. When they’d narrowed down their course of action, they made sure it was the best one. The one that would help Mitch the most.

They both sure as hell hoped so. And, though neither would admit it, they were both a little worried. There was a lot of room for error.

“Would you go refill our coffees?” Irene asked, holding her cup out to Stan while tapping at her keyboard with her other hand.

“I’m not your errand boy. Ask your assistant to do it again. She looked eager to please.” Stan went to pick his cup up, realizing his was empty as well. He huffed, pushing up from the chair he felt like he was growing a part of. “I’ll be back.” He snatched Irene’s cup from her outstretched hand, holding it by the handle in the same hand as his own cup. He pulled the door open and nearly walked into the woman with her fist raised to knock.

“Oh,” Stan said a little startled. “Did you invite her up, Irene?”

Irene nodded and Stan moved out of the way letting the woman in. She gave him a small smile before taking a seat in one of the two chairs in front of Irene’s desk. She crossed her legs, and rest her hands on her knee. “Hello, Ms. Kennedy.” She said, smiling politer to Irene than she had to Stan.

Stan had set the mugs on the desk of Irene’s assistant and returned to her office, shutting the door behind him. “You were fast.” Irene said, giving her attention to the new addition to her and Stan’s meeting. “I just sent the message to have you be sent up, what, forty seconds ago?”

The new addition gave a shrug, “I was already up here ma’am. You said you figured you’d want to see me around 2:15, perhaps 2:30. It’s 2:20 -” she looked down at her watch. “2:21, actually, so. I thought I’d head up. I’m sorry if I’m early.”

Stan snorted a laugh, “if she told you 2:15 you’re late. If she told you 2:30 well, don’t expect her to talk to you until then. She likes to shove it down your throat that you’ve got to follow her orders, so she’ll sit in silence for ten fuckin’ minutes to piss you off.”

Irene let out a deep breath, “watch the way you talk Stan.” She turned her attention to the woman, smiling sweetly. “Thank you for being prompt, (Y/N). Good to see you.”

(Y/N) gave Irene a gentle nod, gripping her knee a bit.

“You can relax, (Y/N). I have not called you up here on anything terrible. You don’t have to look so rigid.” She glanced at Stan. “Don’t make a remark.”

(Y/N) relaxed back against the chair, loosening the grip on her knee. “Why may I ask, am I here then, ma’am?”

Irene smiled, “we have an assignment for you, (Y/N). You’ve proven yourself more than apt in the field, and during your internship during college your leaders all commended you highly. We feel that you would be the most fitting for this - role, if you will.”

Stan rolled his eyes at Irene calling the assignment a role, but felt it nearly appropriate. “This is going to make her such a good actress, I’ll nominate her for a fucking academy award, Irene. Since this is a ‘role’.”

(Y/N) gave the both of them a confused look, uncrossing her legs to recross them again this time opposite. “What do you mean I’ll have to be a good actress Mr.-?”

“Stan.”

“Mr. Stan?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her brows.

“No, my last name is Hurley but you’re to call me Stan. Thought that was obvious, are we sure she’s as smart as you say Irene?”

Irene gave Stan an exhausted look. “(Y/N), we’re assigning you as a handler - of sorts.” Irene began, leaning forward to pick up Mitch’s file. “Here’s your charge,” Irene held the file out to (Y/N), who took it immediately.

She opened it and began reading the front page, here eyes stopping on the picture of the attractive agent before hurrying over the information provided.

Name: Mitch Rapp

Age: 26 Years

D.O.B: 03 . 28 . 1991 - Charlotte, North Carolina

Height: 5’10

Weight: 180 LBS

Marital status: Single

Occupation: (redacted)

Financial situation: (redacted)

Education: Degree in international business, Syracuse University.

Languages: Arabic, French, German, Italian, Persian.

Psychiatric Evaluation: Mood swings, Night sweats (former), Obsessive delusions (former).

Alias: (redacted)

Lead: Stan Hurley

Training: Weapons, Marksmanship, Hand-To-Hand Combat, Explosives.

Department: (redacted)

Operations: (redacted)

Place of Residence: (redacted)

Handler: (no known)

Level Of Clearance: (redacted)

(Y/N) looked up at Irene, sighing a bit. “I’m going to be watching after someone my own age?” She closed the file, resting it against her leg.

Irene shook her head, “not exactly.” She cleared her throat. “You’re going to be.. Handling him. You’re going to be in charge of making sure he doesn’t get himself into any more… lets just call it trouble.”

“So I’m going to be made to babysit him? If he’s so highly trained why am I necessary? I don’t feel like someone like him, a troublemaker, would like someone holding his hand in the field.”

Stan laughed, “not exactly either. You’re not going in the field with him, (Y/N). And you won’t be holding his hand and walking him along.”

“What will I be doing?” (Y/N) asked, opening the file again to look over the rest of the pages.

“Well,” Stan started, a smarmy grin stretching across his thin lips.

—————

Tags: @ellie-bee242 , @redstringlovers , @lovefilledtragedy

If you’d like to have a tag, tell me please! (-:

[mollymauk-teafleak]

psssst...if you're accepting prompts then you should totally write something for demon!alex *backflips out window*

CAREFUL, PLEASE DON’T HURT YOURSELF

Being a demon, ahunting animal in every sense of the world, Alex’s fight or flight response wasone of his strongest instincts. And right now, as he sat on the bed watchinghis girlfriend pace back and forth across their small bedroom with the phonepressed to her ear, her expression tense and shaky as she said those words- I’mpregnant…again- every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run and runand not stop.

But he’d promised.He’d promised on bended knee, with too many emotions to count bubbling in hischest as he kissed her stomach again and again, he’d promised to be here forher whatever she needed.

Even if it might endwith him being killed slowly and painfully.

Eliza’s expressiongave nothing away, he could only imagine what was happening with the other halfof her conversation as he watched his Betsey nod and make vague noises ofagreement and mumble half replies.

“No, we didn’t…itwasn’t exactly, no…of course…I know, Dosia, I’ve thought about it carefully…yeah…thanksso much, we’ll be there soon…I love you too.”

After an agonisinglylong wait which Alex spend trying to calculate how much damage his demonic bodywould realistically take on if he jumped out of the window right now, Eliza gavea nervous sigh and held the phone out to him.

“She wants to talk toyou,” she murmured apologetically, trying not to look like she was handing hima grenade ticking its way gradually and inescapably down towards exploding,though that was how it felt.

Alex accepted thephone hesitantly, taking a deep breath and trying to remind himself forcefully anything for Eliza, anything for mychildren, anything for my family.

“Your majesty?” hetried carefully, thinking it was best to start out very formally and politely,seeing as he was dealing with his boss’ wife, the Queen of the Crossroads andone of the most powerful demons in history.

And his Betsey’s bestfriend.

“So,” he tried andfailed to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice, “Eliza told you the goodnews, huh? New little bundle of- “

“Alexander Hamilton,”Dosia cut across him, her tone so cold and flat it left Alex feeling like he’dbeen dumped alone and naked on an Arctic ice floe, “Are you a complete andutter moron?”

Alex bit his lip,eyes silently begging Eliza for help but even his beloved couldn’t save himnow, “I like to think I’ve at least got street smarts- “

“Don’t interrupt, “Dosia snapped, no louder but there was a force behind it, an echo that turnedhis guts to lava, “Because I see no other way someone could watch the personthey loved, the very delicate and breakablehuman, whose already been through literal Hell for them, struggle to carryand give birth to one of their half demonic babies…and then accidentally knockthem up again!”

Alex trembled, “Um…Iknow and I’m sorry but I talked to Betsey and she says she s-still wants to gothrough with it…”

“Is that so?” thephone felt like it was getting hotter in his hand, uncomfortably hot in fact asDosia’s voice climbed and grew more fiery, trembling with the depth of Legion, “After500 years of existence, is something as simple as putting on a condom really thehardest thing you’ve ever had to do? Would you like me to explain it to you,for crying out loud? Here, so don’t open the damn thing with your teeth andthen take it between your thumb and forefinger…”

Even Eliza could hearit as her poor Alex received a sex ed lesson from a demon queen at fullstrength and volume, perching on the bed and watching with a fond, helplessexpression as he winced and held the phone at arm’s length, Dosia’s voice stillringing clear and powerful.

She did her best notto laugh at his misfortune, her hand resting soothingly on her belly where thenewest addition to their family was tucked up safe, the surprisingly tinylittle thing who was causing all this trouble. Usually telling your friends yourfamily was growing by one wasn’t a life-threatening task but their situationwas a pretty rare one, she had to admit.

Maybe rare was evenbeing too generous, unheard of was closer to the mark. Humans and demons didn’treproduce as a rule, let alone two times in as many years. Nor did they worktogether or date or live together or genuinely love each other the way Alex andEliza did, especially after facing everything that stood in the way of theirrelationship, so maybe all in all, having a baby wasn’t actually the weirdestthing they’d ever done?

Either way, a littleuncertainty was something Eliza was well used to.

She wasn’t all thatworried, Dosia had promised she’d just chew her Alex out for a while, leavinghim untouched. And as Eliza thought back to the twenty-six hours it had takento bring their son into the world, she couldn’t help but feel like he deservedto be strung up just a little bit?

She promised himselfshe’d put him back together with hugs and kisses as soon as he was done, gettingto her feet and wandering out of the bedroom, leaving Alex’s very angryeducation to be muffled by the door closing behind her. Shaking her headfondly, she wandered down the hall towards the nursery, the one where littlePhilip slept but would soon be turned around and redone for the new baby.

Philip had taken thenews that he was going to be a big brother very well, better than Alex andEliza could have hoped, especially when they told him that they’d be moving inwith the Burrs (so Eliza could be under their protection while she was in hervulnerable condition) which of course meant being even closer to his bestfriend in the whole world, little Theo.

He swallowed all thatchange and disruption with nothing but enthusiasm and yet the prospect ofgiving up his room for the new baby was what had shaken him to his little three-year-oldcore. So, Eliza wasn’t all that surprised when she found him sat ratherforlornly on the nursery carpet, like he was making the most of every secondthe room was still his, idly hugging his toy giraffe.

“Hello there, littleman,” she smiled, sinking onto the floor next to him, wondering how much longerit would be before her pregnancy made such simple movements impossible, “Youlook thoughtful.”

“Thinkin’,” Pipconfirmed, nodding so hard his mop of curls bounced.

Eliza stroked herlong fingers through his hair. Looking at little Pip as he was now, you’d neverbe able to tell what he was or, rather, what half of him was. Sometimes shefound herself unconsciously studying him, how he interacted with the othertoddlers they encountered at the park, looking for any signs or little ticsthat might put her precious baby in danger. Most of her nightmares these daysplayed out the things she couldn’t let herself even consider in daylight,namely what might happen if people knew the truth about her son. People meaningjust about anyone, more vitriolic hunters, demons looking to get one over onher boyfriend, even just ignorant humans doing their usual hideous thing withthings they didn’t understand. From her world, from Alex’s world, Eliza strivedto make sure her little lion cub had no idea of the myriad of dangersurrounding him from all sides.

She didn’t think thenightmares were going to get any easier, though, as her second baby grew.

“What are youthinking about, love?” she murmured, trying to shake those thoughts out of hermind.

Pip wrinkled hisnose, scrunching up his smattering of freckles, “Um…dunno?”

Eliza chuckledgently, “That’s okay…are you maybe thinking about what Pops told you yesterday?About the new baby?”

His sweet little heartshaped face flushed a bright pink as he admitted, “Maybe.”

She’d expected asmuch, gently lifting her son into her lap, holding him as close as she couldwhich never really seemed to be enough. As she did, she guided his pudgy littlestarfish hands down to her lower stomach, not for any particular reason, justthinking that the action seemed to soothe Alex and maybe it would work forPhilip too? But it turned out to be a very good unconsciously made decision.

As soon as his palmstouched down on his mother’s skin, Pip’s already large eyes widened even more,his mouth opening in a little O of surprise.

“Mama!” he whisperedreverently, “There they are!”

“Oh?” Eliza blinked,charmed by the expression of bewildered excitement on his face.

“Can feel them!” Pipwas practically vibrating with excitement, the demon side of his genes showingthrough in the restless energy that visibly buzzed through him, “Can feel them glowing!”

Of course. Alex couldpick up on the baby’s energy as they grew in her womb, from the way it wasentangled with his own, a part of him as much as it was a part of her. Whycouldn’t Pip do the same?

“Can you really?” Elizagrinned, with only a little touch of jealously. Why did she have to wait untilthat first kick when it was her body the baby was inside? Stupid demon powers…

“Uh huh!” Pip beamedback at her, the gaps showing in his teeth, “They’re green! Nice green, greenlike grass and flowers and…and frogs!”

Eliza snorted withlaughter at that, cupping Philip’s face lovingly in her hands, running herthumbs over his soft cheeks, “That sounds very lovely, little man.”

“I swear, if you puther life on the line just because you can’t keep it in your pants one more time, Hamilton, you lose yourdick privileges, do I make myself clear?” Dosia snarled down the line, probablycausing some of the wires and transistors along the way to burst into flames.

“I wouldn’t go thatfar!” Alex yelped defensively, his nature getting the better of him, “She’llhave you and Maria like last time, I don’t think her life’s in dangernecessarily…”

He realised immediatelythat this was the wrong thing to say as a horrible silence, somehow worse thanher words, filled the space between them, stretching out until he was beggingfor her to start yelling at him again.

“Uh…Dosia?” heventured in a mouse-small voice, wondering if she actually had fried theconnection.

“Alexander,” came theicy reply, “Have you ever had to carry a ten-pound weight in your stomach andthen push it out of, in your case, your ass? Because if you have a burningdesire to do so, I do have that power you realise and am perfectly happy tooblige you from this distance…”

The rumble in Alex’sstomach at that point was most likely a complete coincidence, the effect of thesoda he drank earlier (he wasn’t one for moderation) or something elsecompletely unrelated to Dosia’s threat but it still struck terror into him.

“No, no, no!” he gavea little scream, gripping the side table, “No thank you, your majesty, allpowerful and merciful queen of the underworld, I feel like I can empathise withmy girlfriend sufficiently without that, thank you and also I kind of want toactually live to meet my child?”

Dosia made a derisivenoise but thankfully, nothing happened to Alex.

“Listen, I’m nothappy about the fact that Eliza has to go through that mess again,” he groaned,running his hand through his hair, “But she wants to do this and I respectthat. For the whole nine months, I swear, I’ll be right by her side and doevery single thing I possibly can to make it even a little bit easier on her.And, for your information, I’d be saying that even if you hadn’t yelled at meso…so, yeah.”

Realising he didn’thave a good end to his argument, Alex just kind of trailed off, his hand fallinglimp by his side.

There was anotherharrowing pause before Dosia spat out, “Congratulations,” and slammed the phonedown on him.

That was when Alexdecided to run.

Philip and Eliza werestill sat in wonder as Alex sped into the nursery, skidding to a halt as allhis fear fled and expression softened at the scene in front of him.

“Can feel the baby,Pops!” Pip shrieked delightedly before his father could even open his mouth, “They’rein there!”

Alex chuckled, comingand taking a place by his Betsey so she could lean her head on his shoulder,taking the opportunity to wipe away a few emotional tears as she did. He’dreally hoped his little one would get that particular power of his, the onethat brought him so much peace, to know for sure that his loved ones were closeand safe.  

“He’s been telling meall about them,” Eliza explained, smiling tenderly, wrapping her arms aroundAlex’s, “How they’re feeling, what mood they’re in, he can sense all of it.”

“No way!” Alexgrinned, it sounded as if he was even more perceptive than his father, “That’sso cool, you go little buddy!”

Pip flushed withpleasure, demonstrating his power proudly as he carefully examined his mother’sstomach, her shirt pushed up for his hands, “Very green, green and happy. Kindahungry. Lotsa love.”

Eliza gave a gentle,happy little sob into her palm, snuggling close to Alex, “Oh…”

Alex found his girlfriend’shand and squeezed tight, his own voice thick with emotion, “And can you feelhow much they love you, mijo? How much they love their big brother?”

Pip puffed his littlechest out, eyes as bright and human as you could hope, “Yes! Love for me, too.”

Alex smiled, rufflinghis son’s hair. Maybe they didn’t fit into one category or another, maybe theywere breaking a few rules. But it sure as hell felt worth it.

[1111ljk]

Request: Name

 Anon Request #1: 6/8/2017

two-shot

count  ➵ 2533 words

genre  ➵ angst, fluff, a lil comedy, [WARNING: some cursing in there]

theme ➵  bestfriend!jungkook

characters  ➵ jungkook, you PART 1

Part 2/2

A few more seconds and you would finally be free from that class. At least, that’s what you would always think. Of course, unlike now, you’d never have to rush your way out. The aftermath was always terrible. It wasn’t just the traffic by the doorway as students pushed each other to leave that dreadful class, it was also the preparation before that, when you’d have to thrust all your things into your bag as fast as you could, resulting in books with folded pages, sometimes folded covers, essays and quizzes torn slightly at the edges and random pencil scribbles over your notebooks. It was a mess, but it was in exchange of not having to see him.

Jungkook sat behind you in class. It always gave him the ease of leaving together. After the revelation of his girlfriend, he had been more comfortable in leaving you behind and catching up with his girl in the other class. Of course, you were fine with it. You reminded yourself that it was his life, not yours. That your feelings were not reciprocated and that you brought this on yourself. But things started getting harder when Jungkook started waiting for you on some days. A very paradoxical situation, but that was it. You didn’t want him to care about you, that would only make you fall harder, nope, nope.

So when Jungkook started tapping your shoulder five minutes before class ended, you resorted to focusing so hard on your book that you barely felt it at all. Jungkook then turned to running after you as soon as class ended, so you decided to run faster. And now, you bolted your way towards the door seconds before class would actually end. It might have looked a little rude but you didn’t wanna see Jungkook. Selfish as it may sound, it hurt to see him and for your own sake, you weren’t going to.

“What the hell?! Wait up!” you could hear his voice bellowing for you and you ran a little faster, making your way clumsily towards the girls’ bathroom, finding yourself a stall and locking yourself in. Just in case.

You panted softly, trying not to make it obvious to anyone as you hugged your bag tightly against your chest. It’s been weeks since you last properly spoke to Jungkook. You avoided social media because Jungkook and his girlfriend would pop up in pictures on your timeline. You avoided his calls. You felt bad for not telling him anything but you made a promise to yourself that once you’re over this, you were gonna tell him. The difference? By then you wouldn’t be so bothered anymore. But you weren’t so sure, it seemed like your feelings only grew stronger by the minute.

“Why the hell is she avoiding me?” Jungkook grumbled, slamming his locker door shut so strong it made Jimin jump back a little. “I’ve never seen her work so hard at anything!”

“How should I know?” Jimin retorts, rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

“I don’t know!” Jungkook pouts, taking a sip from his water bottle to cool himself down. “At first I thought she just couldn’t hear me or was too busy or had something urgent but it’s been weeks! I’m tired of this!”

Jimin purses his lips, eyes looking anywhere but at the younger boy in front of him. Unlike the blind idiot, he had already figured it out. Jungkook may have been blessed by the Almighty with good looks and good height but he sure as hell wasn’t quick with women, much less women who were his own friends. “Maybe you should let her be, Kook. Perhaps she’s dealing with someth-”

“Then she can tell me!” Jungkook argues, cutting off his elder in frustration. “I’m her best friend!” Jimin only nods, understanding all this anger coming from a rowdy college kid. If he were in his right state of mind, Jungkook would have apologized for his behavior by now. But then again, Jimin wanted to punch the living shit out of this dumbass too. You weren’t just Jungkook’s friend, you were everyone else’s too. In fact, you were Jimin’s favorite baby sister. He couldn’t believe he was friends with an oblivious dumbass.

“Just let her be, Jungkook,” Jimin sighs, slinging his bag over his shoulder and patting the younger on his shoulder, a reflex he has forced himself to make into a habit anytime someone pissed him off. “She’ll come back and tell you when she’s ready.”

And with that, Jimin left, leaving Jungkook alone and, still, angry. He takes out his phone from his pocket, dialing your number and hesitating on whether or not to call you. He does anyways, feeling unreasonably nervous. But you don’t pick up. He inhales, holding his breath for a few seconds, and releasing. Jungkook had a short temper and it was especially shorter when it concerned you.

But he had never been angry at you longer than a day. This time, he was getting more and more pissed. He just wanted you back by his side. His best friend was supposed to be with him at all times - is that too hard to ask?

So Jungkook shoves his phone back in his pocket and decides to disregard Jimin’s advice. He gathers his stuff into his bag, walks out of school, and takes the next bus to your area. 

Ding-dong.

You were in the midst of brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed when you heard the doorbell. Rushing, you gargle and spit the content out of your mouth, wiping it then running towards to the door. Upon opening it, you were surprised to see a person wearing hoodie you had always found comfort in.

“Jungkook?”

He stares at you, eyes stern, hair slightly damp from the rain outside. “Surprised? You must be. I mean, you’ve been ignoring me for the past three months.”

You let out a defeated sigh, allowing him to brush past you rather roughly and settle himself on your couch, a little too comfortably for your liking. You didn’t really wanna see him yet, much less see him sitting in your house.

“Kook, I’ve just been really busy. That’s all.”

But you knew Jungkook wouldn’t fall for that. He just sat there, staring at the TV which displayed nothing on it. You knew he wouldn’t budge until you told the truth. But you couldn’t say it either. Instead, you sat next to him, arms on top of your lap, as if you were in being punished in someone else’s dwelling.

“I don’t get it, did I do something?” he finally muttered. You could tell he was disheartened by your attitude towards him, his fingers fumbling with each other and his head now slightly looking down.

“No, i-it’s not you, it’s just,” you sighed, knowing this would get nowhere. “I’ve just suddenly decided to make up for my crappy grades.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, turning to you. “Crappy grades?” he scoffed. “Girl, sit down, my GPA’s a 2.8.”

That made you chuckle, loosening your stiff shoulders. “I guess my GPA doesn’t look that bad next to yours.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he whined, looking grumpily at you. Then, his face returned to it’s concerned state. “But... is there something wrong?”

You pursed your lips. “I’ll make it up to you, you free tomorrow?”

You instantly regret trying to make up to Jungkook. Sure you guys had fun at the arcade - it was finally like how it was before. You didn’t feel anything towards him. Well, you did, but not as much as before. It just felt more like you were friends. 

It felt even more like you were friends now that you were holding on to a giant stuff toy and four shopping bags - all for the King himself. There was not one thing that was yours. 

You struggled to walk down the street while Jungkook comfortably walks ahead of you, proud of the bet he won against you (the reason you’re holding all those things single-handed). You grumbled, scrunching your nose and carefully walking forward. That was useless though, you ended up falling almost face flat on the ground.

“Ah!” you squeaked, frowning, trying to gather all your things again. Thankfully, the little brat decided to help you.“Are you okay, miss?”Miss?’ you thought, looking up to find a cute concerned face looking down at you. He had a brownish blondish hair, eyes sparking with worry. Your cheeks started to turn red.

“I’m okay,” you uttered, not wanting to embarrass yourself furthermore. You knew who this guy was. He was pretty popular at school - not as popular as Jungkook, but almost there. His name was Daniel.

He offers you his hand and you almost take it until someone decided to be a party pooper. 

“Gosh, you loser, what took you so long?” Jungkook interrupts, taking your hand and helping you stand up, dusting you off. Daniel could only look at you two awkwardly as he retreated his hand. You felt sorry for him and wanted to apologize for your best friend’s rude behavior.

“Sorry, your highness,” you retorted, grabbing Jungkook’s stuff from the ground. 

Daniel decides to interfere, clearing his throat. “Uh, well, I mean, I know this sounds really weird but I’ve been following you around and I just, uh, well, I know you from school and all and...”

“And?” Jungkook questioned, arms crossed against his chest, the look of discontent on his face. And perhaps a little bit of temper in that tone.

Daniel took a look at him for a split second, looking back at you, hand scratching the back of his head. “Well, I was wondering if you, um, wanna have coffee some time?”

Your lips broke into a shy smile and you tried to come off as normal as possible, hopefully he won’t notice just how much you resembled a tomato right now. But what you couldn’t see was Jungkook’s gritted teeth, tightened fists, and a look of disbelief on his face.

“I wo-”

“She’s busy.”

You turned to Jungkook, eyes raised questioningly as he confidently glared at Daniel. You had this urge to step on his foot right now.

“I didn’t even mention a day or tim-”

“She’s busy. She will always be busy. And she’s not interested.” Jungkook answered sternly, glaring into Daniel’s confused and hurt face..

“Jungkook,” you uttered, warning him of his attitude, all while Daniel exchanged looks with the latter.

Daniel nods, smiling politely before taking his leave. You wanted to call for his name, hoping that your idiot asshole bestfriend did not scare him away too much. After all, Jungkook could be scary when angry. 

“What the hell was that?” you demanded furiously, Jungkook just looking away from you.

“Well, I mean, was I lying? You’re always busy!”

“No, I’m not!”

Jungkook then looked at you, squinting his eyes. “Not for him? But busy when it’s me?”

And you were caught. Jungkook inched his face closer to yours, way too close.

“I-uh-”

“That answer just pissed me off,” he breathes out and for a moment it scared you. 

“Jungkook, it’s not what I meant-”

“What’s going on?” he pulled back, looking directly at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“N-nothing, I’m just...”

“Just what?”

“Just... stuff has been going on and I, I-”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“I like you.”

And you swear to God you never hated anyone more than yourself. Your hands immediately went to cover your mouth and you shook your head in disbelief as Jungkook just stared at you wide eyed.

“Wait, no-” you tried to cover yourself up but even you know Jungkook wouldn’t believe it. So you stared at the ground, feeling like tears were about to run down your eyes from utter embarrassment. You knew Jungkook would never look at you that way. It’s been years since you’ve known him and not once has he ever looked at you the way he looked at girls he liked.

He, to you, was the moon in a dark and dreary night. Comfort in times of difficulty. But you, to him, were just the flowers during spring. Someone who was just there by default, but not someone he would ever think of more than he should.

But then he laughs. He laughs so light heartedly that you weren’t sure if he was mocking you or he didn’t believe you. 

“You like me but you’re gonna take that date offer from Daniel?” Jungkook laughs, but then his face drops. “Are you kidding me?”

You look up, a little confused at his answer. “What are you trying to say? You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you.”

That got you again. You blinked, head slightly tilted, trying to figure him out.

“Try and say yes to any guy who asks you out again and I’ll make sure to kiss you in front of them.”

And you were red yet again. You just stared at him, not believing the words he just said. He grins, pulling you forward and kissing you on the lips.

You, on the other hand, patted his chest fervently, trying to get him off of you, but he clung on. When he did pull away, you felt so bad. You felt so so bad. 

“Kook, your girlfriend,”

He blinks. “My what?”

“You know... her...” you fumbled with the hem of his shirt, looking down at the floor.

He bursts into laughter, placing his chin on your fingers and forcing you to look up at him. “I broke up with her after a month of meeting her, stupid, you just never knew because you were too busy ignoring me.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Why’d you never tell me?”

“Because you were ignoring me!”

You nodded. That was a valid answer. 

“Wait I’m confused, so, you like me too?” you asked.

“Are you a dumbass? That’s exactly why I’ve been dying to talk to you all these weeks,” he rolled his eyes. “I realized, after going out with her so many times, that there was only one girl that could make me so happy. I don’t know what went wrong with me and that I couldn’t see it. But… I broke up with Jihyo. She wasn’t surprised.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned. “Were you mean to her?”

“No!” he answered. “I just, I don’t know, I missed you. All I did was think of you. I saw a couple of guys eyeing you at school and I felt so angry and Jihyo sensed it from there on I guess.”

But being the little princess you are, you decided to play with him. “What is your point, Jungkook?”

He glared at you, pouting slightly. “I like you. So much. Maybe even more than IU.”

You chuckled. “So... what are we now?”

“You’re mine,” he grins, kissing you on the lips again, before a smug and teasing look appeared on his face. “Well, unless you’ll take that date from Danie-”

“No!” you protested, pulling his face down to kiss him again.

And from then on, you spent your days wallowing in the moonlight while Jungkook spent his days carressing the flowers of the spring.

 A/N: yay! I finally finished. I must say I find it hard to write happy endings but I hope this wasn’t too cheesy for any of you. If it’s really bad, then please send in some constructive criticism. Do send in some more requests. I got 7 months of doing absolutely nothing.

[allthemarvelousrage]

silentsamemu

replied to your post

“Looking for Aftermath minific promptlets until my kids go to bed and…”

Could I ask how Laura met the bots?

This takes place after Strays, but before the main events of The Swear Jar. 

—-

The first time Cooper disappears for an entire day, Laura panics. No matter how often she reminds herself that they’re safe, they’re no longer fugitives in the United States, the year in Wakanda still weighs heavily on her mind, lingers in her dreams. She still wakes up sometimes in a cold sweat, and has to shake the feeling that if she turns around, goes down the hall and checks each of the doors behind which her children sleep, she’ll find only empty space, empty beds, instead of her babies.

The panic is easy to contain at first. She’s not hysterical by nature. She comes from practical stock, problem-solving stock. Take one step, then another. Work the problem at hand, not the myriad possible problems that might lie in the future. Running around like she’s lost her head will not find her son, so she allows herself five breaths to feel the fear, and then firmly puts it aside, finds her shoes, and leaves her family’s apartments to start looking for Cooper. 

—-

The panic isn’t so easy to contain two hours later, when she’s all but scoured the compound top to bottom and still hasn’t turned up so much as a hair of Cooper Francis Barton. The panic is, in fact, having a much easier time of driving her on hurrying feet and quickening breath towards the archery range, where she expects to find Clint. 

Unless he’s disappeared into thin air too. 

That thought doesn’t help the panic. 

Clint is right where she thought he’d be, and his warm, happy smile at seeing her approach quickly shifts to a frown of confusion and concern as she halts in front of him. “Hey,” he says, soft and gentle, sets his bow down to reach out and take her by the shoulders, rubbing her biceps soothingly. “What’s wrong?”

Her head swims as she takes a deep breath, oxygen rush making her momentarily dizzy, but Clint keeps her from swaying too much. “I can’t find Cooper,” she says while the spots are clearing out of her eyes. “Lila is with Cassie, and Nat stole Nathan this morning, but I don’t know where Cooper is.”

It relieves her to see how fast the concern clears from Clint’s expression, because that means he knows there’s nothing to worry about. “Cooper’s with Tony,” he says. “Has been since this morning. Cooper wanted to see where Tony worked, so they came to me after breakfast. I told them it was fine.” The smile slips a little and his head tilts when she does sag, apparently misreading her relief for upset. “Was that not okay?”

“No,” she says, hastily shaking her head. “No, he’s safe with Tony. I just…” She trails off, swallows and closes her eyes. 

Clint pulls her into a hug, more of an embrace, and she leans into his reassuring warmth. “You want to go make sure?” he asks gently, kisses her temple. 

She makes a face into his shoulder. “I’m being ridiculous,” she mutters. 

“Naw,” he replies, moves her so he can see her face and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I put you through a lot, and that took a toll. It’s going to take time for all that to go away.” At least he doesn’t apologize this time; he’s getting better at that too. “C’mon,” he says, kisses her forehead, and slides his arm around her shoulders. “It’s almost time to drag Tony out of the workshop and remind him he needs to eat sometime this week anyway.”

—– 

“Shit,” Tony says, wide-eyed as he stares at them both, and Laura’s faintly amused that his first instinct is to jingle around in his pocket for a quarter, which she holds her hand out to take. She doesn’t think he’s even noticed he’s done it yet. “I didn’t think to leave a note for you, Laura.”

“It’s fine, Tony,” she says, before he can start apologizing in more depth. He’s another one that needs to stop kicking himself black and blue. He will, if Laura has anything to say about that. She peers past, glancing around. “I just wanted to check and make sure Cooper hasn’t corrupted you into world domination.”

Tony’s smirk is wry. “Not one of my sins, unless you count dominating energy and communications across the globe. He’s in the bot lab, in the back. I’ll get him.”

“No no. Just…” She sighs and looks up at him with a wry smile. “Is it okay if I come in, just for a minute?”

Tony gives her an odd look, surprise, and glances to Clint before looking back at her. “Of course it is,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Her sin is obsessive politeness,” Clint says, and oofs at the elbow she nudges into his ribs. “What? It’s true.”

“It’s not polite to point it out,” she says primly. “Thank you, Tony. I’ll just be a second.”

“Stay as long as you like,” he replies, still with that baffled tone. As she walks away, she hears Tony add, in an undertone to Clint, “You know you’re both welcome anywhere, right?”

“Laura never assumes anything, dumbass,” comes Clint’s easy, fond reply, “so maybe try telling her that. Normal people use words to convey their intentions. I know it’s not a technique you’re familiar with, but might be worth a shot?”

“… I hate you so much, Katniss.”

“Mutual, Tin Man.”

Laura smiles and shakes her head. At least they’ve finally shaken the last of the tension between them. She reminds herself to tell Cooper he can finally dig the box of toy cars out from under his bed, where she told him to hide them. 

Cooper’s got his back to the stairs, and two … rover-looking machines on either side. They’re all focused on the work table in front of them, busily chirping and beeping and chattering between themselves. Though she’d only heard of the bots in passing, she finds herself completely unsurprised to discover them displaying personalities of their own. 

The last remnants of the irrational fear dissipates when he glances over his shoulder to the robot on his left to take the tool it’s offering him, catches sight of her, and turns with a smile. 

“Hey Mom,” he says. “What’re you doing here?”

Cooper’s at a touchy age, and Laura’s still trying to get a feel for how much motherly affection he minds her showing. She settles for ruffling his hair with a hand, smiling down at him. “Came to get you and Tony for lunch,” she says. “I thought we’d go into town. There’s a diner there I keep meaning to try. What do you think?”

Cooper looks back at the table, back at her, then down at his feet before back up. “Mom… can we do that another time? Me and Tony are doing a project and I kinda wanna finish it.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You know, last week, you were badgering your father and I to take you into town so you could get away from the compound for awhile.”

“That was before Tony asked if I wanted to learn how to be an engineer, Mom,” Cooper replies, impatiently, and Laura bites back a smile. “Please? Can I stay?”

She eyes him for a moment, until he’s shifting from foot to foot, and then decides to be merciful. “If you tell me what you’re working on.”

Cooper eyes her right back, as if sizing her up. “How do I know you’re not a corporate spy looking to steal my ideas?”

“Corporate spies don’t pay your allowance, brat.” She reaches out to ruffle his hair again. “I’m your mom, not an infiltrator.”

“That’s the perfect cover,” he says, squinting at her. “No one ever expects their moms.”

She laughs, while making a mental note to herself to talk to Clint about how many spy thrillers he watches with the kids, even if he claims to only do it so he can point out to the kids all the things they’re doing wrong. “C’mon. What are you working on?”

“I,” he says, and steps to the side to turn back to the table to show her, “am learning how to be an engineer from Tony. He made these guys, and they’re super helpful. Thats what I want to do too. And Tony’s the best. He says I’ll get into MIT no sweat, if that’s what I want. But I don’t want to wait for college, so…” He takes a deep breath and lets it out fast, in a huff that sets his shoulders. “I’m making a bot like Dum-E and U.”

Her eyebrow goes up again. “Dum-E and U? Those are their names?”

Cooper nods, points at the one on the left. “That’s U. He’s kinda shy, so don’t be offended if he doesn’t look at you or anything. He holds the cameras and makes sure Tony’s experiments are properly documented. And this,” he says, patting the other bot on the flat top of its… head, she guesses. “This is Dum-E. Tony said he made him when he wasn’t much older than me, in his Dad’s workshop. He’s had him a long time. He’s not really smart, not like FRIDAY, but he’s great at helping. And he saved Tony’s life a couple times.”

She doesn’t want to accuse her son of overexaggerating things, but she’s seen the machines Tony creates, and this one doesn’t look remotely advanced to be able to do complex things like that. “He did, did he?”

“Yup! A couple of times, Tony caught on fire. Hazard of innovation, he says. Dum-E used the fire extinguisher in plenty of time, and Tony says all those things really don’t count, but I think they do.”

“I see.”

“And,” he adds offhandedly, “when Mr. Stane stole Tony’s arc reactor out of his chest, Dum-E got him the old one before his heart stopped beating. And even Tony says that counts as saving his life. Tony underexaggerates a lot of those kinds of things, so I think it should count two or three more times.”

Her breath catches and her spine goes cold at the implications. Out of all the stories she’s heard about the various Avengers, she’s definitely never heard that one. “I think you’re right,” she says when she can speak again. “And if Dum-E hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have Tony now.” 

Dum-E chirps inquisitively at her, and its head-analogue tilts slightly as she leans over him. “Thank you,” she breathes and, though she wants to throw her arms around the clunky metal body and hug the hell out of it, she doesn’t want Cooper to give her that exasperated look that tells her he thinks she’s being weird either. So she settles for dropping a light kiss to the top of its head, just above the round lens. “I appreciate it a lot.”

Dum-E chirps again, a happy sound, and spins on its wheels. 

“I know it was a long time ago,” Cooper says, “but I wanted to say thank you to them, so I’m making them a little brother.” He hands her his tablet, which is currently displaying surprisingly professional-looking schematics. “Tony helped me draw them, but I’m still just a kid, so I shouldn’t feel bad about that, he says. I gotta come up with the name myself. And I don’t want it to be dumb. It’s harder than it looks.”

“I named four kids, kiddo,” she says with a smirk. “Tell me about it.” She scrolls slowly through the pages, marvelling a little at the miracle Tony in their lives continues to feel like. “Well, that is definitely a robot.”

“Oh my god!” Cooper blinks, and then his whole face lights up. “Mom! You did it! You did it!”

Her turn to blink and stare. “What did I do?”

Instead of answering her, Cooper bounds past her and down the half-flight of stairs, running for the front. She follows behind in confusion, tablet still in her hands, as he calls, “Tony! Tony! Mom did it! She said it was definitely a robot! And since its my first one…”

Tony turns from his conversation with Clint, who’s looking just as lost as she is, but Tony just grins and holds out a fist which Cooper obligingly bumps. “1-DAR. Nicely done, science kid. Don’t forget to update the files with the name. Rule 9: write the little things down, because you have no idea how fast they’ll disappear from your head.”

“Gotcha.” Cooper nods solemnly, then turns back to her and holds out his hand. “Thanks so much, Mom. Can I have my tablet back? I gotta update my files.”

“Sure,” she says, bemused, and hands it back. “You boys look busy, so I’ll bring lunch down to you in a bit. Sound good?”

To her surprise, Cooper throws his arms around her waist and hugs her tightly. “You’re the best, Mom! I’m going back to the bot lab, Tony. You coming?”

“Go on without me, I’ll be there in a minute. Gotta talk to your parents a sec.” When Cooper’s back at the top of the stairs, Tony turns back to them with a grimace. “I should have left you a note, Laura. Or come ask you myself. I–”

“Shut up, Tony,” Laura says and he goes shock-still when she just hugs him impulsively. “He’s happy here and we trust you. A note’s fine. Stick it on the fridge. It’s where our family puts things we need each other to see. He can be in here sunup to sundown as far as I care. Just let us know, is all.” She pulls away from him before she starts to cry and smiles up at his absolutely baffled, slightly terrified face. “What do you want for lunch? I’ll bring it down for you.”

“Whatever’s fine, Laura. Don’t want to be a bother.” He withers a little under her steady gaze. “I like chicken club sandwiches,” he mutters, eyes darting to the side. “I was gonna make myself one later with the leftovers from dinner the other day.”

“I got it,” she says with another smile, holds his gaze long enough that he starts shifting uncomfortably. That’s when she turns back to Clint, who’s looking highly amused and smug at her. “Let’s leave the boys to their tinkering.” 

“Talk to you later, Tony,” Clint says, glancing over her shoulder with another sideways smile. “See you when you get home.”

“Sure,” Tony says, still uncertain, and sees them out the door. 

Clint walks with her in silence for a few minutes as they head home, but she can feel him swelling with amusement and smugness. “So,” he finally says, just as they’re leaving the workshop and lab areas to wait for the elevator. “I couldn’t help but notice…”

“Shut up, Barton,” she says firmly. “That’s not a conversation I want to have right now. I’m still thinking.”

He’s still smug and smirking, the prick, as he shrugs broadly. “All I’m saying is…”

“I know what you’re saying.” She sighs and rubs her forehead, then scrubs her face. “Did you know one of his bots saved his life?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Yes. You didn’t?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “He makes the most amazing things and doesn’t take credit for any of it. More to the point, he’s teaching Cooper how to do that and only worries that we’ll be mad at him.” She looks at Clint, and just like that, her mind’s made up. “He’s a Barton,” she declares. “He’s ours.”

“I know he is. Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Clint says, snags her around the neck and pulls her in to kiss her forehead. “We’ll fix him up. You’re really good at that. Just look at how you put me back together.”

Weight she didn’t even know she was carrying is abruptly gone. “You’re still a work in progress, Barton,” she says. “I don’t think there’s ever gonna be any fixing you.”

“Probably not,” he agrees, and holds his arm out across the opening elevator doors to let her step in first. “But you love me just like I am.”

“Probably,” she admits with a soft laugh as the doors close behind them. “We all have our incurable faults.”

—–

Tony and Cooper barely notice her coming in a short while later, and she leaves the tray with their sandwiches and drinks on an empty counter nearby. Tony thanks her distractedly, echoed a second later by Cooper, and they go back to their arcane technobabble. She smiles fondly at them, the two heads so close together, and feels blessed all over again.

As she’s moving through the main workshop on her way out, she sees Dum-E tidying up a workspace off to the side. She glances over her shoulder, but neither of her boys are paying attention to her. 

It’s impulsive, but she steps into the work area, and stops beside Dum-E, who twists his lens around to look at her and beeps curiously. “Thank you again,” she says, far more heartfelt than when Cooper had been there, and this time does hug the bot. “He wouldn’t be here if not for you, so thank you.”

Dum-E chirps again and the shaft of his upper body rests gently on her shoulder, like he’s hugging her back. He beeps again, happy and noisome, but she knows without understanding a single sound that he’s saying you’re welcome.

[succinct-assbutt]

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part II)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: none; S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Summary: The reader, distraught over not having a date to her sister’s wedding, considers asking one of the Winchesters to pretend to accompany her; will Dean manage to save the day and play pretend for two weeks, or will his feelings get the best of him?

Word count: almost 4k

A/N: yo this blew up way more than i ever thought it would thank you so much for the support <3

Dedicated to: @quixoticcat, @skymoonandstardust, @girliciousdreams, @captainbitchslap, @awkward--jay, @fandomlover03, and @daesunglg

PART 1

~*~*~*~*~

Friday arrives much faster than anticipated. It’s a warm, brisk morning, the sunlight raining down and painting  Massachusetts with a summery essence. Fallen leaves litter the yards of suburban homes and a canopy of those that remain is spread across the road, only a few dots of light peering through.

“Textbook illustration of the apple-pie life.” Dean remarks as he steers the car down a long strip of tarmac. “God…it’s making me sick already.”

“Hold it down. You know I don’t want you throwing up on any of my family members.” Y/N admonishes, letting her gaze avert from watching the houses roll by and unto the elder Winchester; today, despite her attempts to persuade him,  he’s still settled on wearing his usual hunter get-up—jeans and a plaid (obviously)—and his chin is adorned with a feint patch of stubble. His eyes are set on the road, focused, but she don’t miss the way his mouth quirks up at the remark.

Sam laughs as his eyes follow the array of little homes. “Noted.” He says. “Anything else Dean needs to know should probably be voiced out right now. You don’t want him making a fool out of himself around your family either.”

“We talked about this already last night.” The elder Winchester groans.

“No cussing around my mom, no crude jokes, saying the grace is a must, and—“

“And be sure to talk politics with your dad. Yes, I got all of that the first hundred times you told me.” Dean, rolling his eyes, makes a turn for the left and Y/N heaves a sigh of relief. They pass a group fo teenagers walking to school (way too late).

“Okay.” Y/N sighs, then raises her finger for emphasis. “Oh—also, be sure to try and interact with all my brothers. They love that.”

 “We’ve met your family before, Y/N.” Sam’s eyes never leave his screen as he twiddles away at his phone.

They had; at the birth of her hunting career with the boys, years back, Y/N had had to make trip down to Massachusetts to handle a siren case that the Winchester’s provided extra muscle for. Their time in town had been spent at her parents’ home.

“I know, but this is different.” She defends. “Dean is….” She pauses, eyes skittering over to the elder Winchester for not so much as a second before they return. “….my boyfriend. Or pretending to be my boyfriend. There’s going to be a lot of pressure.”

“Your folks don’t seem like the type.”

“I just want to rub it in their faces that I’m.”—she raises her hands in finger quotes—“not single anymore so that they’ll get off my case.”

The elder Winchester nods slowly, pulling a face. “Makes sense.”

“Not really.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

The younger Winchester finally lifts his head from his phone. His gaze bounces from Y/N to Dean. “What did Cas say, by the way?”

“About tagging along?” Dean casts a brief glance into the backseat. “Not much. He said that he doesn’t see why we need him there anyway. I told him Y/N’s sister was getting married and she gets to bring a couple of friends, and seeing as we’re the only ones she has…” He trails off. Y/N then smacks him on the shoulder, earning a satisfied smile. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I told him that we want him to come with.”

“And he said no?”

Dean shrugs and continues to drive. The conversation ends there for a moment, and once a silence spreads throughout the car, Dean tunes the radio on and Y/N turns her head to the window.

Trees and houses and roads oh so familiar from her childhood escapades through this tone roll by. Streets, cafes. Although vast and very busy, she knows this place like the back of her hand; the local pool where their family used to go on weekends, the private schools she bounced between. Just down the road, wedged in the valley nearby are the woods where she encountered her first monster at the tender age of sixteen.

So many memories. So much attachment. Y/N hates Massachusetts more than anything; because it reminds her of how idyllic her life was before she started hunting. It reminds her of people and of places and everything the rest of her peers experienced that she didn’t get to; hunting whisked her away from her life, stripped her of a regular teenage hood. But then again, she’s not complaining.

She chose this life. She chose Sam and Dean. She loves Sam and Dean. You can tell her that the sky is red and that pigs fly and she’ll still believe all that first before she believes that they boys are anything but her family.

Boston is a few kilometers off the highway, down a winding road lined by thick trees and shrubbery, and with a few residential buildings scattered around. Despite being a large neighborhood dotted with mansions and the like, it’s a lot quieter. The rumble of the Impala’s engine is evident as Dean, instructed by Y/N, steers his way through. The outline of the city is painted against the canvas of the bright blue sky as they approach. The traffic, taken the time of day, is minimal and so they manage to get to the hotel in time.

In the parking, Dean kills the engine immediately, and then, heaving a heavy sigh, turns to Y/N.

His face speaks no ounce of nervousness, which only makes the young girl’s stomach coil into a tighter knot. She wants him to be nervous. One of them has to, and Dean’s placidity leaves room for only her own anxiety. “So….?”

“So…” She replies, trying to ease away her own nerves. Her hands feel clammy and the back of her neck is hot.  “Just don’t be nervous, yeah? My parents are like predators—they can smell your anxiety a mile away.”

“Not helping.”

“Not supposed to.”

“I feel like I should be telling that you, Y/N.” Dean remarks. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“No, I’m not.” She is. It’s a terrible lie and very evidently so, but thankfully none of the boys say anything. Instead, however, Dean reaches out and envelopes her hand in his. Y/N then stills, and feels the color drain from her face.

The contact is warm, assuring. Her hands slides perfectly into his and their fingers intertwine, palms pressed flat.

“We’re gonna kick ass.” Dean says confidently. Y/N doesn’t hear him—she’s looking at him, staring him dead in the eye, but the words enter one ear and fly out the other because her hand is in his and it’s nice.

It’s nice.

They’ve never held hands before, not like this. Dean guiding her through a dark path on a hunt, Y/N pulling him with her as she runs from a vampire. Their hands have definitely touched before, and their skin has definitely grazed before, but this is so alien to Y/N, because it feels nice and like everything that it’s not supposed to.

Dean stares into the young girl’s gaze as he tugs on her hand, offering a brief smile. “Come on.” He goes to open the door. “We’re gonna be late.”

Once his hand leaves hers, it’s like her trance has been diminished, like spell once cast over her has been broken. She floats back to reality. Sam is hauling their bags out from the trunk, she realizes, and Dean is trying to fit as many weapons into his luggage (just in case) as he can. She quickly gets out. The hotel, adorned with a very tropical theme, is down a strip of cobbled path with a few plants at the sides. Y/N follows the Winchesters, trying to keep the pace, when she hears Dean call to her.

She turns. “Huh?”

“Give me your bag.” He says, his hand open as they walk. Y/N stares at him for a moment, eyes glazed over. She’s still a bit dazed. Looking at Dean now feels alien and almost unreal, like she’s looking in one of those funny funhouse mirrors. Maybe it’s just the stress of this wedding, or the heat, she thinks, trying to brush it off

“Oh, uhm.”

“I got it.”But before she can speak, Sam plucks the rucksack from her and hoists it up on his back. Dean scoffs.

“Wow, Sam.”He rolls his eyes as they approach the hotel. Towering above them, it’s a giant of a building, quaint balconies perched up on room, it’s years and history written out in the way vines climb in slender tendrils along the stone walls. Inside, the ceiling climbs so high one might think it reaches the heavens

“Maybe Y/N should have asked you to play her boyfriend instead.” Dean remarks as they stroll in. The place is packed; an eclectic cloud of people roams the room, all with their luggage in hand.

Sam smirks. “Maybe she should have.”

“The reception’s over there.”

Y/N points to the desk ahead. Shuffling through the crowd, the trio makes their way over to the counter, the receptionist smiling at them. She’s young, probably older than them, but still her skin is taut and plump and her brown eyes gleam as she speaks. She types something into the computer and in a moment heir rooms are assigned, all courtesy of her family. Sam has agreed to carry everything upstairs and meet them at the lounge, so Y/N and Dean decide the time alone can be used to go over their ground rules again.

They wander over to the bar, a noticeable distance between them. The room is ambient, lit up by little warm lights suspended from the high-set ceiling despite it being day. Slow jazz music floats through the crowded room. As soon as they settle down, swarming like locusts in a field, the waiters come over, all trying to fix a menu in their faces until Dean ushers them away and says that they’re not hungry. Y/N is a little bit disappointed—she hasn’t eaten all morning—but says nothing, instead focusing on the man before her.

“Can I cuss around your sister?” Dean asks as he leans back in his seat.

Y/N nods vigorously, her expression saying that the answer is quite obvious. “S/P/N’s got a mouth like a sailor. A little profanity won’t hurt. Not around my parents though.”

“Not around your mum…?”

“Not around either.” She says. “They hate it, think it makes you look delinquent.”

Dean nods thoughtfully, then goes on asking various questions. Time seems to drift by unnoticed, the conversation bouncing from one end to another like a ball in a tennis court.

“Can I drink?”

“Sure.”

“Smoke…?”

Y/N wrinkles her brow in uncertainty. “You don’t smoke.” She says; it’s a firm statement, a proclamation rather than a question

“But if I had to?“

“Fine.” The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh.  Dean chuckles. The sound is precise and brief but still manages to bring a shy smile to her face.  Moments later, the table has quieted for some reason, so Y/N lifts her gaze to Dean, regarding him curiously. She knows that look—it’s hard not to when she’s seen it so many times, with Sam or Cas, or even first hand. Gaze set on the floor, his lip is tucked between his teeth and he runs his tongue over his lips, his contemplation evident until he finally looks up.

“So,” The elder finally allows their eyes to meet. “What about us? You know…our boundaries, instructions. Do’s and don’ts. What do we say if we get the stereotypical how did you meet quiz?”

“Doesn’t really matter.” She waves a dismissive hand and then leans back in her seat. The fiber of the backrest presses into her back, crackling quietly. “My parents already know we met through hunting, but we could always just use some other cover with my other relatives.”

“So we lie?”

She quirks a teasing brow and smiles. “You have no problem lying that you’re an FBI agent basically every day. Lying that you met me on vacation or something can’t really be that hard…?”

“Where was our vacation to?”

“So we’re settling on the vacation-thing?”

Dean shrugs. “Any other options? I’m sorta just following here. It’s your plan.”

“Don’t say it like that. We’re a team, Dean.”

“Right, almost forgot that.” The elder Winchester chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay. What if we met on unconventional grounds? Maybe I nearly ran your dog over and you got pissed, so you tried flagging down my car and threatened to press charges. You didn’t, of course. My good looks and wit managed to persuade you into changing your mind and just having dinner with me instead.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the green-eyed hunter, her mouth quirked upwards. “Is that your definition of romance? It sounds like bad lifetime movie.”

“It’s realistic.”

“It’s dumb.”

Dean pouts, then folds his arms and leans back in the chair. “Whatever.” He grumbles. “You think something up then.”

“Vacation it is.”

“You’re insufferable.”

A wide grin stretches across Y/N’s face and she revels in the victory, when Sam walks up. He comes up from behind her, the only indication of his arrival being the way Dean’s eyes dart to the space past her seat.

“You guys aren’t eating?”  He asks, pulling out a seat from the table nearby. He sits and turns to Dean.

“Do you want to?” The elder Winchester looks to Y/N—he’s asking her.

Opening her mouth to speak, she’s about to decline (because they don’t have time to sit and eat anyway), but the grumbling in her stomach reminds her of her hunger. The sound is embarrassingly loud. Her mouth instantly shuts, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Shut up.” Y/N chastises as her cheeks are swarmed with pink. The elder Winchester doesn’t listen. He begins to howl with laughter, clasping his stomach, and Sam snickers along with him.

“Whatever.” She turns her head, scowling, as his laughter begins to melt away. Leaning back in his seat, little bubbles of laughter escape him, and he lifts his hand.

“Waiter.”He calls. A few feet away, with long curly blond hair, one of the servers from earlier turns. Dean’s ruddy face smiles at him as he calls him over. He scuttles over, a polite smile on his face.

“Yes, sir?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” Dean’s voice is ribbing and smug.

“Shut up.” The young girl rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the waiter. He’s young and his face is dotted with little pink spots of acne. She orders a chicken salad, just like Sam, and Dean goes for stake. Moments later, the food arrives, hot and scented with herbs and spices.

They eat and then, stuffed and satisfied, head up to their rooms to get cleaned up. Y/N just got a call from her parents asking where they are, that they’ve been waiting on them for a while now and everyone is already arriving

when they finally get to their room, Sam waiting out in the hallway, she and the elder Winchester hurry to get ready. Y/N curls her hair and throws on some mascara while Dean runs a quick shower.

“Okay, this is it.” She says, standing by the bed; the light from outside floods the area, bringing out the very delicate and chic design: the walls, painted mocha brown, are adorned with little trinkets and the bedspread is a light toffee color. There’s a potted palm in one of the corners, candles practically everywhere, and the wooden floor is warm beneath her bare feet.

“Operation Wedding Crasher is in pursuit.” Y/N says to Dean

Standing in the bathroom, he’s just gotten out of the shower and is trying to fix his hair, running his fingers through it and muttering profanities beneath his breath. She’d insisted that he changed—taken how many outfits he’s recycled, she’s pretty sure he wore that very one years ago when he first met her parents

“Roger that.” He takes one last look in the mirror, checking his stubble and hair, then walks over to the bed where his shirt sits.

Y/N tries not to stare at his bare-chested form as he quickly slips on the shirt, the front undone and exposing his caramel-colored skin. Instead, she clears her throat and turns away. This is the only way; if she doesn’t, she’s going to end up drooling a puddle on the floor or letting her gaze linger for too long, and that’s the last thing she needs right now. As if things weren’t awkward enough back in the car.

She then looks down at her hand, once encased in Dean’s, the marks from her battles with monster’s still there. There’s a little crescent shaped scar sticking out in her palm that speaks of a hunt years ago, a hunt with a rugaroo that ended in tears and blood and Y/N clasping onto Dean’s shirt for dear life. It’s hard to forget. She can recall getting it, can remember the pain of having to kill that young girl because of the abomination she had come, can still taste the blood on her tongue and feel the pain in her hand.

This life has left her with various moments like that. It’s a packaged deal when you’re a hunter, a sort of terms-and-conditions scenario, to have at least one hunt that has managed to strip you of normality. Something that took you over the line that separates you from the regular world—that was it for Y/N. She was it. That girl couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Having her blood on her hands had definitely been the initiation into the hunter’s game for Y/N.

She has been through so much in her time as a hunter and it shows; on her face and on her body. On her hands. She runs a finger along the tissue, watching it intently. Dean is speaking in the background, saying something to her that she can’t decipher because she forgets to for a moment, until the memory nudges at her conscience once more. The rugaroo hunt. Her scar.

It had been Dean to help her that night. It had been him and his nobility to carry her out of that house before she could bleed out; it had been him and his care, his selflessness, that got her to the car parked miles away from the woods they were in; it had been Dean to stop the bleeding and the tears that seemed to rain from her eyes after she killed that young girl and it had been his hands to cloth the wound in her own.

It had been and it will always be Dean, because Dean is her family.

“Y/N?” He says, pulling her from her reverie.

The young girl immediately looks up and whips around, facing the elder Winchester who is already dressed and ready to go. Y/N’s eyes widen; she doesn’t say it, but the outfit change was definitely a good idea.

Because wow.

Her eyes rake up and down the green-eyed hunter’s structure, taking in the sight of his crisp burgundy button up and dress pants—he looks stunning. He always looks stunning. It’s not weird for Y/N to say because it’s Dean and everyone notices his attractiveness upon first encounter, but this is a whole different case. It’s still him, of course. His eyes are still vibrant green, breaching into a hazel-gold, and his hair is still chestnut brown and his smile and his heart and everything Dean Winchester is still evidently there, but it’s just…different, like looking at the same thing but from a different angle.

“Uhm…” He draws out after a while.

Y/N looks back up to his eyes; her face then flushes and she swallows. “Sorry, uh” She stumbles, clasping her hands together and trying to regain her composure”—you were saying?”

Dean is smirking. “I look that good, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He chuckles. The first few buttons of his shirt are popped and you can see a patch of caramel-tinted skin peering out at you, a feint scar on his collarbone adding some extra touch. “I was saying that we should get going. Sam’s already waiting up for us.”

“Right. Uhm, so we’ve gone over everything, yeah? You get the plan?”

“Yes. Act like we’re dating.”

“Act like we’re in love.” Y/N corrects as she grabs her satchel from the bed and goes to Dean at the door. She stands, body facing him. “There’s a big difference. My parents are going to be all over my case for these two weeks if they see that you and I don’t have any chemistry.”

“We already do, though.” He defends.

“Whatever. Then let’s amp it up—mega chemistry.”

“Mega chemistry, huh?”

“Yeah.” She smiles; it’s goofy and a bit shy because, God, did she really just say that?

But Dean doesn’t seem to mind, because his lips turn up to and he shakes his head. “Dork.”

“Let’s go.”

Y/N goes to open the door, her hand hovering right above the knob when Dean cuts in.

“Can I hold your hand?” He asks.

The young girl then stills and her hand floats away from the door. She stares at him; his voice is calm and collected, like he’s asking her what’s the time or how she is.

“You…want to hold my hand?” Y/N’s uncertainty is evident.

Shrugging, he pulls a face, an expression that says no duh, why not.“Yeah.” He answers. “We are trying to portray that mega-chemistry, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

“Yeah…so.”

She feels him reach out, like it’s happening in slow motion, like she can’t do anything, and take her hand in his. Their skin grazes and fingers lace. His hand is far bigger than hers, rougher, too, but it’s a satisfying contrast as the butterflies in her chest are roused.

Dean’s smile is ribbing and smug and Y/N’s heart is in her as she feels her palms clam up. He opens the door and they step out into the hallway, the heat immediately smacking onto them. Sam is leaning against the wall, typing away at his phones, and he looks up when he notices their presence.

A smile twists at his lips. “There’s the happy couple.”

“Shut it.” Dean says, smirking as they begin to saunter down the strip of corridor.  Y/N is trying to mollify her feelings, rinsing them away, trying to rationalize why they’re even here in the first place. They shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be getting so worked up over something like this, but it’s hard to. The past few days, with this wedding situation overhead, have been nerve-wracking—could that be it? she wonders. Could those anxieties be the cause of her frazzled emotions?

But she doesn’t have time to ruminate. The elevator takes them to the ground floor and they shuffle out once the doors open, Sam and Dean talking about how weirdly excited they are about meeting Y/N’s family as they walk through the ballroom and then out into the garden. . Picnic benches are set up across the expanse of greenery and evergreen trees sprout from the ground all around. There are cobbled paths through and fairy lights (currently off) strung up between branches willows. She remembers this place from when her dad would bring her along on workshops and send her out here to play.

Y/N notices her mother first.

Her hair is an ashy blond, curled into a bob, and she’s wearing a white caftan and jeans. She’s smiling, laughing at the table cluttered with familiar faces. Only about two or three people are strangers to her.

Then, as if instinctively, she clutches Dean’s hand tighter in hers. He then casts a brief glance at her, one of caution, worry, almost, and Y/N meets his gaze.

“I’m nervous.” She admits, visibly gulping.

His eyes regard her curiously. “Why?”

If only she knew. But she doesn’t, so Y/N only shrugs and looks back ahead. When they’re a few feet away from the table, that’s when S/P/N notices them because, gleaming like the sun in a salmon colored dress, she rises from her seat and welcomes them with a smile.

 “Y/N!”

 ~*~*~

Part 3

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[anavoliselenu]

Grounded chapter 15

He kissed the tip of my nose as the plane began to move. “Not much. First, I just wanted to take his measure, to see if he was worthy of someone as stalwart as Lana. And if he is, I’m only going to tell him that he needs to man up. A man in love has to make the first move. It’s the least he can do.”

I smiled at him. I could feel how soft that smile was. “So you’re the matchmaking type?” It reminded me so much of Stephan. “Are you going to be setting up all of our friends?”

He returned my soft smile in spades. “Love is like that. It’s like a wildfire in my blood, and now that I know what it feels like, it’s made me generous. I feel like the world should get the privilege. And if I can help someone I care about find it, then certainly I’ll try.”

“That’s so sweet,” I told him sincerely.

He smiled into my eyes, and his smile wasn’t sweet at all. “You won’t think I’m sweet in about ten minutes, when I tie you to my bed and f**k the sense out of you.”

I felt parts low in my body clench. “You’re in such a romantic mood. Aren’t you going to call it making love today?”

“How about we call it lovingly f**king your brains out?”

I laughed. That did sound more apt, I thought.

Justin wore me out for hours before he let up enough for me to catch a little nap. The man redefined the word insatiable. It felt like I’d barely caught a moment’s sleep when he was waking me up again.

We stopped by the Middleton Resort to freshen up before our lunch with Akira. Justin changed into his version of vacation casual, which consisted of a soft white V-neck that set off both his muscles and his golden skin to perfection. He wore low-slung, pale-gray cargo shorts, and loafers with no socks. I studied his ankles with singular fascination.

“If anyone had told me that ankles could be sexy before I met you, I would have said they’d lost it.”

He grinned. “I’ve always thought yours were sexy. The first milestone on my way up from the ground and up to paradise, Love.”

I laughed. Of course he took it there.

I changed into a silky pink tank and dark gray shorts that were borderline too skimpy. I wore white flip-flops entirely for comfort.

Justin eyed up my legs. He traced my collar absently. “Even without heels, you have the sexiest legs on the planet.”

He had worked me over hard, but I still felt that drugging feeling of wanting that only he could inspire move through my system.

We met Akira at the Middleton Resort’s cantina. The instant I saw Akira, I understood the appeal. He was a huge man. I’d never seen Justin standing side by side with anyone taller than himself before Akira, I realized, as he shook hands with the other man, who stood a good two inches taller than Justin. He was an intimidating man, but God, was he a sight.

He had classic Hawaiian features, with thick dark brows over handsome brown eyes, and a generous mouth with a mean twist. He had wavy black hair, and everything about him was big, but it was all muscle. The man took good care of himself, going by the bulky muscles moving restlessly under his suit.

He treated me with marked deference right from the start. Justin, not so much. He had no qualms about going after the other man right from the get go.

“You went out with Lana. I saw you with her in the papers once.” Akira’s tone could not be mistaken for friendly or indifferent.

Justin grinned. Perversely, I thought that Justin saw Akira’s hostility as a good sign. And perversely, I thought he might be right. “We’ve been friends for years. We’ve accompanied each other to a few social events.”

“What does that mean, exactly? I read a piece that said you had dated.”

Justin studied the other man. “Why do you ask? Is it idle curiosity, or are you jealous?”

Akira didn’t answer, just stared at Justin like he wanted to strangle him.

Justin was far from intimidated. “I want to know because of Lana. I’d like to know how you feel about her.”

Akira silently fumed. It was easy to see that he was a volatile man, but I could also see that he was one that had spent time working on controlling his temper.

Justin sighed. “You’re difficult. Leave it to Lana. She has such a soothing way about her, so of course she would be in love with a walking powder keg of a man. Life is funny that way.”

I would have sworn that Akira’s dark skin was turning red.

“I’ll level with you, Akira. Lana doesn’t date; she never has, so she certainly never dated me. She’s been hung up on you for so long, and so badly, that she’s never even wanted to date. She’s been pining for you for years. I’ve checked up on you. You’re single, you’re straight, so what the f**k is your problem? Don’t you care about her?”

Akira flushed. Very carefully, he set clenched fists on top of the table. “Why the f**k is it your business?” he growled.

Justin leaned forward, undeterred. “Because I care about Lana, and because I know she’ll never come to you herself. It’s time to man up, Akira. If you love her, it is your job to show her.”

Akira tapped a giant fist to the table. The table bounced a little, because a tap from a man his size was like a full on punch from another man. “How do you propose I do that? I doubt she’d take my calls, and she hasn’t been back to the island even once since she left.”

“Call her dad. She’s a workaholic. Get him to send her here on business. If you can’t get her to stay, that’s your own fault.”

Akira took this better than I would have expected, just setting his mouth into a hard line and nodding thoughtfully. “You swear you never touched her?”

Justin threw his hands up. “I never even tried. I swear it! It’s probably the reason we’ve stayed such close friends.”

We had lunch and took our leave of Akira. He was severe but polite as we parted. He was an unreadable sort of guy, but I thought that he had warmed to Justin at least a little by the time we left. With me, he was perfectly polite, though of course I’d never been romantically connected to Lana in the media, as Justin had.

The next leg of the flight was longer, though sharing a spacious private jet with Justin for eight more hours was no hardship.

The private jet wasn’t designed with a normal galley, or a normal anything, really. The flight attendant and our security had their own enclosed space between us and the flight deck, where they could both have privacy, and give us some. Justin took advantage of this to the fullest.

The plane had barely reached ten thousand feet when he was kneeling in front of my seat, bending down to kiss my thighs, nuzzling his way between, spreading them wider as buried his face against my sex. I was still wearing my shorts as he teased my cl*t with his nose.

He had gone from buckled up and innocently sitting next to me to making me pant for him in seconds flat. He stripped my shorts and panties off and I gripped his hair into my fists as he set to work on me bare.

“You’re insatiable,” I gasped as he licked at me like he would never stop.

“Yes,” he murmured against my skin. “I’ll never have my fill of you, and I’ll never let you forget it, but you’re hardly one to talk, Love.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Mr. Indulgent

The Cavendish property was located in the Ginza district in Tokyo. I had gotten every tourist booklet that I could get my hands on about the city, but Justin had a wealth of information, as well, since he had apparently spent plenty of time in Tokyo himself. According to my tourist booklet, and Justin, Ginza was one of the main shopping districts in the city.

We were given the royal treatment from the moment we walked in the door. I was growing accustomed to it, though the Japanese took the royal treatment to a whole new level. I was still growing accustomed to the Japanese way of bowing in deference to one another. I found their manners charming, and tried to emulate them quickly, wanting to blend into the culture as much as possible, though of course it was impossible for me to blend in there. Still, I badly wanted to avoid standing out as a rude foreigner.

Justin had his manners down perfectly, as though he visited often. For all I knew, he did. He even spoke a convenient amount of the language. I had studied it, but I was hopelessly outclassed. One sentence of Japanese out of his mouth and I was lost, just watching him in awe and not understanding a word of it. The locals seemed to have no trouble, though.

We’d been discussing for weeks just what kind of a trip I had envisioned when I thought about visiting Tokyo. Justin seemed to find it charming that I’d only been thinking of a tourist type tour of the city. I wanted to use the subway, visit every temple, shrine and park, and all of the popular attractions. Basically, I wanted to see as much of the quirky city as humanly possible. The plan was for nine days around the city, then another four in the areas surrounding Mount Fuji, and then one day on top of the mountain itself. I had even talked Justin into camping out on top for a night. He had been easy to convince, considering that he’d never actually been camping before. I wasn’t an expert on camping myself, but I was an expert on roughing it, and a night in a tent on top of a famous mountain just sounded like fun to me. I got the idea in my head, and Justin didn’t even try to dissuade me.

“Of course, I’ll arrange for supplies,” was all he’d said, giving me his indulgent smile.

We started our first sightseeing day in Tokyo at the crack of dawn. We wore shorts, T-shirts, and comfortable shoes like the tourists we were, and set off on foot for our first destination. Kyokyo, the Imperial Palace, was only twenty minutes from our hotel, so we went there first. Our security trailed us at a somewhat discreet distance, and I almost forgot they were there for most of the day. The palace grounds alone took up most of our morning.

We encountered the scenic jogging trail that surrounded the palace grounds first. I had been reading aloud about the trail from a tour guidebook the night before, so Justin grinned as he pointed it out to me. “Wanna go for a jog?” he asked me.

I nodded and smiled. I wasn’t a big jogger. Even when I did work out, it was usually lower impact cardio than an actual run, but it sounded perfect just then.

We jogged for maybe ten minutes, Justin keeping pace beside me, before I slowed to a brisk walk.

I grimaced at him. “I know this won’t be a shocker, but you’re in much better shape than I am.”

He gave me a rather lascivious once-over. “I disagree. I like your shape much better, Love.”

I laughed. The man could turn anything suggestive.

We spent hours walking the trail around the grounds and covering every inch of the scenic gardens inside. It was a romantic setting and Justin, being a romantic soul, used every bit of it to his advantage, clasping my hand and smiling into my eyes. If I wasn’t already hopelessly in love with him, just one morning like this one and I swore he would have changed that.

We took our time exploring the palace, and when we were done, we found another charming park just a few blocks away. Children played some version of soccer in a shaded dirt field. The people we had encountered had been the epitome of polite so far, not even staring at us, though we must have seemed out of place to everyone there. The only difference were kids under fifteen. They stared unabashedly at us, their game coming to a halt as we strolled by. As we drew even with them, all of the young teenage boys raised their hands in the air, as though they had planned it, and began to cheer. I giggled at the strange reaction, looking at Justin. “What was that?” I asked him.

He was grinning. “I think we just found some new members of your fan club.”

I rolled my eyes, still laughing. Boys were weird.

We strolled the large circular park, pausing when we caught sight of an impromptu concert in the park. A crowd had gathered to watch a small orchestra play.

Justin pulled me into his arms, handling me with mastery and gallantry, surely a rare combination. He moved into a light-stepping waltz, smiling down into my eyes.

“What a charming city,” I told him, smiling back, enjoying the novelty of a morning dance in the park.

He nodded. “I’m finding a new love for this city. For everything. You’ve made the world a new and exciting place for me.”

I flushed in pleasure, believing every intoxicating word he said to me.

We leisurely walked from the Imperial Palace district and back to the Ginza district, shopping a little, but mostly just exploring the fascinating city. We walked through a mall, and used a tour guidebook to try to find one of the large city gardens in the Tokyo Bay that I’d marked.

We were trying to decipher the map for maybe five minutes, laughing at our confusion, when Clark approached. He’d been hovering with Blake, following at a discreet distance all day.

“The Hamarikyu Gardens, right?” he asked, peeking at our map.

I nodded.

He pointed down a street. “That way,” he said. He had apparently been here before. “We’ll pass the fish market, which is closed for the day, but it’s just a few blocks past that.”

We thanked him and began to wander that way. Justin had an arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close, uncaring of the heat and humidity.

“We’ll have to do the fish market tomorrow morning,” Justin said. “It’s worth it. Best sushi in the world.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the time of the day, or the day of the week, but the lovely gardens were nearly deserted, only the occasional painter capturing one of the park’s landmarks visible. The beauty of the well-maintained gardens stood in stark contrast to the skyscrapers of the adjacent Shiodome district. We circled the large park leisurely, stopping often to enjoy views of the scenic garden, and the waters of the bay beside it.

“Let me know if you see something that you just have to paint,” Justin told me, as we passed another artist. “I can have supplies brought right away, if you’re so inclined. This place seems to inspire artists.”

I smiled at him, loving that he tried so hard to understand me. I had just been thinking that I’d like to spend a morning painting here.

“You’re so sweet,” I told him.

He smiled, and it was as un-sweet as it could be. “I was just plotting where I would f**k you here. You have strange ideas about sweet.”

I laughed. I had a feeling that seeing the world with Justin would give me strange ideas about a lot of things. “How do you propose we do that?”

His eyes smoldered at me. “You let me worry about that. There’s a teahouse set on a tiny island in the center of the gardens. How would you like to attend a traditional Japanese tea ceremony?”

I was delighted by the idea. “I’d love nothing more. Except perhaps your other plans.”

He winked at me, giving me a roguish smile. “There’s no reason we can’t do both.”

The teahouse was quaint but I found it incredibly beautiful, the open windows with a view of the gardens like a frame for a perfect picture. We sat cross-legged on a tan bamboo mat while an ageless looking Japanese woman went through the painstaking and elegant ritual. I watched with rapt attention, fascinated with every detail, because every detail was so perfectly orchestrated. The simplest motions became art as the practiced woman moved fluidly through the ritual, the arms of her light pink kimono barely rippling as her arms moved.

Justin bowed low to her when she presented him with his tea, spouting off a fluent stream of Japanese that I couldn’t begin to follow, but he was obviously praising her.

I felt a completely unreasonable wave of jealousy. I tamped it down, knowing that it was insane. But his praise directed at anyone but myself made me feel covetous of it.

The woman flushed at his praise, making her pale beauty even more pronounced.

I bowed low to her as she presented the tea to me, stumbling over my Japanese thank you. The woman was the epitome of grace, which made me feel a little clumsy just looking at her.

The woman left us alone after the drawn-out ritual was over, giving us the teahouse to ourselves. I knew that deferential privacy was the Justin Cavendish effect.

I gave Justin a sidelong look, still sipping my tea. He was watching me, and the look on his face made me squirm. He wore a slight smile, but his eyes had gone full on Dom.

“It made you jealous, just having me watch her do the tea ceremony, didn’t it? You’re that possessive of my affections now.”

I wrinkled my nose, wishing that he couldn’t read me quite so well. It was embarrassing to me that he knew just how unreasonably jealous I could be. I nodded. There was no point in hiding it, since he’d seen it clearly.

“She’s beautiful, and you were fascinated by her,” I said, as though I couldn’t hold the words in. “Did you want her?” I asked, knowing it was a stupid question. I didn’t want to know if he did, and I didn’t want him to lie, so it was just masochistic to ask.

His eyes softened just a tad. “No, Love. The thought didn’t even cross my mind. It did occur to me, though, that I would love for you to learn to do that. The thought of you serving me with such restraint is intoxicating…”

“I could never do it like her. She’s perfect.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth just so. “I wouldn’t want you to do it like her. I’d want you to do it like yourself. What do you say? Would you like a kimono and some tea ceremony lessons?”

I nodded with no hesitation. “I’d love that.”

He smiled, reaching a hand up to cup the back of my head. He moved into me. “We’ll devote a morning to it, then.”

He kissed me, then pushed me to the floor, moving roughly on top of me. He ground his hard erection into me, still fully clothed, while he ravished my mouth. He showed none of his finesse as he gripped my h*ps and moved against me, biting hard on my lower lip. It was as though he wanted to be as savage as possible, a perfect contrast to our refined surroundings.

He pulled away, sitting up to watch me. His pretty mouth was a little mean as he smiled at me, running a hand through his hair.

“Stand up and take off your clothes. Every scrap,” Mr. Cavendish told me.

I glanced around, a little shocked at the prospect, when I should be far beyond the point of shocking. Perhaps it was the perfect manners of everyone we’d run into, but it seemed a little wrong to do something so crass in the serene teahouse. Plus, there were open windows everywhere, and a good chance that we would be seen or heard.

“Can we?” I asked breathlessly.

That made him laugh, and as his Dom eyes played over my face I knew that he loved with a passion the scandalized look I now wore. “I’ll do anything I please,” he told me. “That was one of the first things you should have learned about me. Now take off your clothes, or I’ll do something that really embarrasses you.

I obeyed, hurrying because I felt so awkward.

He tilted his head, leaning back on his hands. “Slowly. Draw it out. And touch your body for me as you show it to me.”

I pulled my top over my head slowly, unclasping the front of my bra to let my br**sts spill free.

“Fondle yourself. Show me how rough you like me to handle them.”

I palmed the large globes firmly, pushing them together, avoiding my still-tender n**ples, but kneading at the flesh around them. I did like them handled roughly, but his hands were so much better suited to it than mine.

“Take off your shorts and panties now, but don’t touch yourself.”

I toed off my shoes, sliding my shorts and panties off in one smooth motion.

“Come here. I want you to put your foot on my shoulder. I need to see how wet you are before I’ve even touched you.”

I obeyed carefully, leaning forward a little to keep my balance. The teahouse was lit only with natural light, but I still didn’t think I’d ever felt more nak*d as I stared out of the open windows, scanning to make sure that no one was watching us.

He hummed in approval. “So wet already. Let me see how you touch yourself. Rub your cl*t for me.”

I obeyed, but a little sound of disappointment escaped my throat. I wanted him to touch me.

“Don’t complain. Say yes Mr. Cavendish, or I’ll make you get yourself off.”

“Yes, Mr. Cavendish,” I murmured, trying not to sound resentful. He had me spoiled, after all. His touch was a drug that I could never go back from.

I circled my cl*t with a light touch, circling my h*ps as I did so. He watched closely, his eyelids getting heavy. He leaned close, holding my foot on his shoulder to keep me steady. I shuddered as I felt his breath on me.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he told me when I’d worked myself into a fever pitch.

I obeyed, and he just watched me for a while. I heard the rustle of his clothing, the movement of his zipper, and then the sound of him shifting slightly on the bamboo mat.

“Arch your back,” he told me. “Spread your legs a little wider. I’m going to ride you so hard that you’re going to have sore knees and a tender cunt when I’m done.”

I moaned and arched. He gripped my hair roughly, pulling my head back as he rammed into me hard. He set a jarring, brutal pace, such a stark contrast to our genteel surroundings, and I loved it just as much as he knew I would.

He had all of the smooth moves in the world but he used none of them, rutting into me with a harsh, single-minded purpose. I’d thought he’d taken me every way there was, but the way he took me then was so savagely violent, feeding both my need for pleasure and pain, that I came around him with a ragged sob, feeling punished and pleasured in equal parts.

My knees were sore by the time he found his own release, pulling hard on my hair as he reached the end of me with a rough grind of his hips. “Oh, Selena,” he moaned, and there was a world of praise in his voice, as though only I could undo him like that, and I closed my eyes with pure pleasure at the thought.

He folded himself against my back, giving his name on my back, and then my neck, a hard kiss. “So f**king perfect,” he told me, still twitching inside of me. “Every inch of you was sent to me from heaven.”

I smiled at the thought. It still caught me off guard sometimes, how whimsical and romantic he could be, especially after what we’d just done. “Only you could make rutting on the floor like animals into something romantic,” I told him with a laugh.

He pulled out me with the most delicious little noise. “And why shouldn’t it be? What isn’t romantic about finding a few perfect moments of bliss with the woman I love?”

I couldn’t come up with one thing.

We walked through the rest of the gardens leisurely, holding hands and sharing lingering touches and tender looks. His gaze was particularly warm when he looked at my pink knees. He loved to leave his mark on me.

We checked out the Tsukiji Fish Market in the morning, and we sampled some of the best sushi in the world there with an early lunch. We spent the entire afternoon at the famous Ueno Park and Zoo, enjoying people-watching and sightseeing.

Over the next few days, we visited every shrine, temple, museum, and worthwhile sight in the city. Clark or Blake would snap pictures of us in front of all of the famous landmarks. I thought we must have taken at least a thousand pictures within the first five days of the trip.

We shopped for hours in the huge discount mall set up around the Senso-ji Temple, and ate various forms of street food. I tried it all gamely, but I would sometimes catch Justin clenching his fists when he saw me trying something.

“What?” I asked with a laugh. He’d been scowling while I’d tried a bite of a fried octopus ball.

“If you get ill from eating that, I’m going to go wring that street vendor’s neck.”

I wasn’t surprised. The man was never able to completely rein in his protective streak.

Justin seduced me in the Koishikawa Korakuen Gardens one morning, in a small shrine, in a private little glade. I was sure that Clark or Blake must have been standing by to guard against intruders, because he took his time on me there, bits of the sun bathing us through the leafy trees guarding our little slice of paradise.

We devoted an entire Sunday to Harajuku Street and the Meiji Shrine, since they were vast, but within walking distance of each other.

I tried not to be rude, but I couldn’t help but watch as one of the intricate wedding processions moved through the Meiji Shrine.

Justin wrapped himself around my back. I watched for a long time, fascinated by the lovely spectacle of it. I glanced at Justin when we moved on. I’d been expecting him to make a few cracks about weddings, but he’d been unusually silent through it all.

“That was beautiful,” I told him.

He just nodded, pursing his lips and looking down at our joined hands.

Harajuku Street was everything I’d imagined and more. I stopped and watched every time one of the Harajuku girls passed by, sometimes in packs, dressed like lollis, and gothic lollis, and some in full-on cosplay. I always got excited when I recognized the anime that they were imitating. Justin found this adorable, telling me so with his most indulgent smile.

I found us some matching T-shirts in an anime-themed shop. They were mock versions of school uniforms from an anime I liked. One was black, one white. I held them up and was startled when Justin shrugged out of his own shirt. I was as good as ogling his smooth golden chest as he pulled the white anime shirt on. It was tight as a glove.

I used a dressing room to change into my black version of the same shirt. The shop girl was giving Justin very wide eyes as he paid, and I couldn’t blame her. He had just given her quite the show. Justin baring that much skin was a mouthwatering display, no matter the reason.

I thought it was so sweet that he was willing to indulge me by wearing the shirt for the rest of the day. The material was soft and thin, and I couldn’t seem to keep my hands off his chest in it as we walked the crowded street. He didn’t mind.

We spent an evening in Akihabara, the Electric City, even wandering into one of the famous maid cafés. There were cute Japanese girls that looked too young to be working serving us food, and kittens wandering the café, one even jumping onto our table to be petted. It was charming, but would have been more so if not for the older men that seemed to be there to ogle the way too young girls.

Justin was a big hit with the girls, of course. The maid that served us couldn’t even look at him without blushing, and several asked to take pictures with him before we left, though there was a sign in English clearly stating that it cost forty-seven hundred yen to get pictures with them.

By the time we departed the city for the Mount Fuji portion of the trip, I felt I had seen and done every imaginable tourist attraction we could come up with.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Mr. Forever

We took a train to Hakone to enjoy a day and night of hot springs before we climbed the majestic Mount Fuji. Justin had rented out an entire property for us to spend the day. It wasn’t a Cavendish property, but it was impressive nonetheless. It was so huge that I honestly couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be rented out as a hotel or a house.

The property boasted traditional Japanese structures, the back half of the property lining up with the lake and dotted with countless natural hot springs.

It was the most relaxing day we’d had since we’d gotten to Japan. We stayed in and made love for what felt like the entire day.

We weren’t in the house for thirty minutes before Justin had dragged me to the hot springs, stripping us both as we walked.

The hot water felt delicious, the weather near the mountain marked degrees colder than in Tokyo. He shadowed me as I moved into the water, gliding to the very edge of the pool to gaze at the spectacular view.

He made love to me there, pressing me hard against the side of the pool as I gazed at a perfect view of the mountain while he f**ked me senseless.

We got a late start on the climb up Mount Fuji the next day. Justin reassured me that we didn’t need an early start if we were camping out, and that the views were even more beautiful in the summer’s afternoon sun. So we had another lovely soak in the springs and then a leisurely lunch before finally heading out.

“Summer is best for Mount Fuji,” Justin told me as we began our climb. “But we need to come back to Japan in the spring for the cherry blossoms.”

We hiked side by side up the pronounced stone trail. I carried only the tiniest hydration pack. Justin wouldn’t hear of me carrying anything else, but he and Clark had weighed themselves down heavily with camping supplies.

“Is there anything in the world that you haven’t seen?” I asked him. “I’d love to go someplace that’s actually new to you.”

He stopped to give me one of his most intense, heart-stopping looks. “Everything feels new, now that I have you. The world’s gone into color now, and I want to see it all again with you.”

We made good time up the mountain, since we were all in good shape, and the ones’ weighed down with heavy packs were in great shape. We stopped often to enjoy the views, but we made up for that by setting a brisk pace otherwise.

Justin handed me a lychee rice energy drink in a silver bag. It was a strange little on-the-run meal that we’d picked up a few times. It hardly fit in with his usual dieting standards, being mostly sugar and simple carbs, but he’d been pretty lax about that on vacation.

I drank the strange drink, which was basically a packet of calories on the go, and enjoyed the view.

I felt such a sense of wonder about where I was as I watched the great shadow of the mountain move across the land. The world felt so big here, and I so small, and I felt that was a good thing. So often in my life the world had felt too small, as though no matter where I went, all of my problems could still follow and devour me. I felt the opposite of that here—my problems becoming too small to even worry me.

I caught Justin watching me, a bemused look on his face.

I smiled at him. “I love it here,” I told him.

One corner of his pretty mouth hitched up wryly. “I hope so. It seems we’re spending the night. I must say I was surprised to find you were the camping type.”

I shrugged. “I’m not, really. I’ve only been a few times with friends, but it was easy enough, and the thought of doing it here was just too tempting.”

“When was the last time you went camping, then?”

I had to think about it. “Last summer, up at Mount Charleston, with our crew.”

A brow rose. “Anyone I know?”

I sighed. “Murphy and Damien, and some people you don’t know.”

His jaw clenched.

I gave him an exasperated look. “Really, Justin. You just need to get over being jealous of him.”

“I assume you didn’t share a sleeping bag?”

I rolled my eyes, the beginnings of anger stirring. “No. I shared a small tent with Stephan.”

He nodded. “I’m not jealous of him anymore. Or at least, I’m taking care of it.”

I studied him, baffled. “What on earth does that mean?”

He grinned, the tightness in his expression just disappearing. “I’ve decided to set him up. If he’s blissfully in love, perhaps he won’t think about you so much.”

That surprised a laugh out of me. “Are you really matchmaking again? You take the word controlling to a whole new level. Your control freak tendencies and that Cavendish charm are a dangerous combination to our friends’ love lives.”

He just shrugged. “I know he’s your friend, and I actually even like the guy, but just knowing the thoughts he must be having about you, considering the way that he feels, was driving me mad. To cope, I had to come up with a strategy on how to deal with him. Seeing him with Jessa was like a light switching on. He’s into her, more than I think he realizes, but he was just so hung up on you for so long that he was blind to it. Don’t get me wrong, I sympathize with that. Being unreasonably obsessed with you has become one of my favorite hobbies, but I’ll be damned if anyone else gets the honor.”

I thought about Damien and Jessa. “It’s a match that makes sense to me.”

“An old friend of mine is in need of a new flight crew for his private jet. I’ve recommended Murphy and Damien as his pilots, and Jessa as his flight attendant. It will put the two of them in close proximity often. All we can do is hope that will be enough.”

“That’s so sweet of you. I was just worrying about how Damien and Murphy might not get to work together anymore, and how sad that would be.”

He winked at me. It made my stomach do little flips. “I know you were. I have my eye out for jobs for your friends, since so many will be unemployed within the year.”

God, I love him, I thought, for the millionth time. “Thank you for that,” I told him.

He stroked my cheek. “I love your soft heart. I’ll make it my life’s mission to accommodate it.”

We continued to briskly climb the trail. Even stopping frequently to enjoy the incredible views, we made the climb in just over four hours.

We had a spectacular view of the sunset as we reached the crater at the top of the mountain.

“We couldn’t have timed it more perfectly,” I said, in awe of the view. It was unquestionably the most beautiful sunset I’d ever seen.

“Yes, I know,” he said succinctly.

I shot him a look. “You did time it?”

“Yes. I wanted today to be special. I wanted it to be perfect.”

I still studied the view as he spoke, but I felt him studying me. I shot him another quick glance. “What’s so special about today?” I asked, a serious note in his tone alerting me to his mood.

My heart stopped and then did one slow turn in my chest as he got down on one knee in front of me.

“I wanted you to have a perfect view of the world that I want to lay at your feet, my love,” he began. His eyes were clear and impossibly beautiful with what could only be a plea.

My eyes filled with tears as I saw what he was doing, and how painstaking of an effort he’d made for it to be perfect.