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fitrahgolden · 1 year ago

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Something That Digs At Us: 5 - You'll act as a clever medicine

[NOTE: Truly, nothing is happening in this story, besides maybe some character development, it seems. My apologies.]

“Ah, he lives. I remembered having a brother–and a best man–but then he disappeared, and I thought perhaps it was all a dream.”

Anthony kissed Daphne on the cheek as she stepped back to let him into her house. “I’m sorry, Daph,” he said as he handed the bouquet he was holding out to her. “These are for you.”

Daphne’s teasing smirk turned into a genuine smile as she took the flowers. “Aw, all is forgiven–as long as these don’t come with a lecture on each flower’s origin and every meaning they have in different cultures and–”

“They are just pretty flowers for my sister. I promise.” Anthony laughed.

As Anthony moved to sit at her kitchen island, Daphne found a vase in a lower cupboard and filled it with water. “To be honest, all would have been forgiven anyway, considering why you disappeared.”

“I hardly disappeared.”

“Mmm, you did. But I’m very happy for you. Thus, forgiveness.”

Anthony’s ears went red. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Kate’s lovely, and all reports say no one has seen you this happy in years.”

Anthony reached up to run his hand over his face. “Alright, alright.”

“Does the air smell sweeter? Are colours more vibrant? The sounds of birds chirping–”

“Aren’t I here to talk about wedding stuff?”

“Ostensibly.” Daphne grinned.

“Great. I knew this was a trap.”

“Of course it is. Simon’s intel is absolute rubbish! Kate has similarly made herself scarce, though I suppose that’s more typical of her. Anyway, Simon only knows what his mum has told him, which she only knows from Mary, who only knows from–”

“Kaveri and Edwina, I got it.”

“So…” Daphne swayed side to side, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, besides the fact that I’m definitely not coming to family dinner any time soon so I can avoid getting this seven times over all at once. Mum’s phone calls have been testing the hell out of me as it is.”

Daphne sighed, looking sympathetic. “You know it’s all from a good place. Like I said, we’re happy for you.”

Anthony smiled at her. “I know. Thank you. Truly.”

Daphne said nothing, just looked at him expectantly. Anthony shook his head in defeat. “Fine. It’s been wonderful, slowly but surely. She’s, um… I don’t know, she’s really good for me. It feels… safe and warm whenever I’m with her. She makes me happy, simple as that. I just hope it’s the same for her. She’s not the easiest to read. And I want to take care of her in ways I don’t think she wants or needs. It’s hard. I haven’t figured out how to lo–How to navigate this yet. But, early days, right?”

If Daphne caught his slip up, she didn’t give it away, for which Anthony was thankful. Do I love her already? I mean, I fucking like the hell out her. Maybe I’m falling in love with her? I definitely want to–

“Anthony?”

“Yeah? Sorry.”

Daphne’s grin was too big, Anthony thought. “It’s very sweet.”

“Ugh, OK. If that’s enough to suffice for now–”

“Not at all, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, that's all you’re going to get, so am I leaving unless there is actual wedding business to attend to?”

“Fine.” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Come look at this bloody seating chart.”

—

Me: Hey. Can I come by and take you to lunch?

Kit: Oof, I’ve had it already. Off in 2 hours.

Me: Damn, OK. I need to get more familiar with your schedule.

Kit: It’s fine.

Me: Early dinner?

Kit: I promised Amma I’d show my face at hers so everyone knows I’m alive. I’ll let you know when I’m home and you can come across the hall? I want to be at mine tonight.

Anthony pouted like a damn child. He wanted to see her before then.

Me: Yes, please. What’s been keeping you away from your family?

Kit: A nuisance who can’t stop talking about plants and thinks everything I draw is him.

Me: Ugh, what an arsehole.

Kit: Tell me about it.

—

Anthony found himself sitting in a cafe across the street from Kate’s book binding shop. He’d settled next to the large windows, plenty of light for him to make some sketches based on his latest observation trip. The urge to surprise Kate by dropping by her work with a pastry from the cafe had brought him there, but he had to stop himself from actually following through. “I don’t like surprises.” He’d tried his best to respect that even since their first date. If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t always easy. He thought back to his conversation with Daphne. He loved grand gestures and spur of the moment expressions of affection. He’d never felt for anyone what he felt for Kate, so the tendency to want to do those things was stronger than he’d ever felt. But even stronger was his desire to be Kate’s safe space, someone she could trust unconditionally. So, he wanted to love her the way that she needed to be loved. Again with this? Love? Where was that coming from? He knew exactly where it was coming from, of course. But he needed to put that away for now. He’d know when the time was right to bring it back out.

Me: Hey. I know you’re off soon. I’m nearby. Is it OK if I come by? Just want to say hi.

Anthony tried to turn his attention back to his sketchbook–the one Kate made for him–but his pencil didn’t move while he waited to see if she would respond.

Kit: Yeah, OK. That’d be nice.

Anthony jumped up, put his sketchbook in his bag, and made his way to the counter to get an almond croissant. He practically skipped across the street to Dedicated Parchment and opened the door, causing the overhead bell to ring. Within a few seconds, a man appeared with a bright, attractive smile.

“Hiya. Welcome in.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Will. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, um–”

“He’s here for me, Will.”

Anthony’s heart stuttered at Kate’s voice and his eyes shifted over to her as she rounded the corner, hair pulled up into a neat bun, wearing a royal blue apron. All he saw below the apron were her bare legs, so she must have been shorts. Anthony was too busy cataloguing everything she was and wasn’t wearing to notice Will looking between him and Kate with a knowing smirk.

“Ah, you’re Anthony.”

Anthony blinked and looked back at Will. “Right, yes.” Anthony extended his arm to shake Will’s hand since this started to feel like a proper introduction. “Anthony Bridgerton.”

Will smiled good-naturedly, shaking Anthony’s hand. “Will Mondrich. Kate may have mentioned you a time or two. I’ll give you guys a moment.”

Kate rolled her eyes as she shared a look with Will. He patted her on the shoulder on his way back around the corner. Kate turned her attention to Anthony and approached. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

She looked down at the bag in his hand and looked back up at him expectantly. “That for me?”

“Yes.” Kate reached for it, but Anthony put the bag behind his back, leaned forward, and murmured, “This is for you, too.” He kissed her as she laughed, kissing him back as she reached around him and grabbed the bag anyway.

“Thank you. For both.”

Anthony smiled down at her before taking in the space around them. Sample books lining bookshelves, various colours and textures of fabrics on display, stationary show awards hanging behind the customer service desk–and Newton on a dog bed in the corner, vest on, ready for action. “Oh! Hi, there.” Seeing Newton and looking back at Kate caused him to notice she wasn’t wearing her jewellery. “No necklace or ring?” His thumb ran over the finger where the ring usually sat.

Kate shook her head. “We can’t wear jewellery in the studio. Or, at least, we shouldn’t. There’s a lot of machinery in there. Best practice is to not wear anything that dangles or can get caught.”

“Mmm.” Anthony looked down at her decolletage, realising he almost never saw it bare. He rather liked how the necklace hung above her cleavage, but any part of her body unadorned was a very pleasing sight.

“So, by ‘nearby’ you meant…”

Anthony looked sheepish as he admitted, “...sitting across the street, yeah.”

Kate reached up and cupped his cheek, rubbing his stubble with her thumb as she whispered sweetly, “Silly.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I need to finish up here and head to Amma’s.”

“OK.” Anthony leaned back in for another kiss. Kate obliged, giggling.

“Really, Anthony.”

“Mmhmm,” Anthony moaned against her mouth.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Kate said softly, still not pulling away.

“Can’t wait.” Anthony cupped the back of her neck.

“You’re making that very clear.” She allowed one more kiss before pushing him back.

Anthony exhaled slowly before landing a quick kiss on her temple before she could think to stop him. “Bye.”

—

Kate walked down the hall towards her flat, forcing herself to slow down to a leisurely pace. Ever responsive, Newton matched her speed. She was more keen to get to Anthony’s door than she wanted to admit. Lately, she found herself thinking about her past relationships–or attempts at relationships. Had they gotten this far before? Not in terms of physical intimacy. To that question, the answer was obviously no. The more important question was, had she ever felt like she was approaching this place, this person around whom she could let down all her defences, be unafraid to ask for what she wanted, what she needed, and confidently turn down what she didn’t want?

She’d felt Anthony was special for a long time. So far, he was living up to that gut feeling she’d had ever since Simon told her one of his uni friends was moving into her building and they met when Simon was helping Anthony with his boxes one afternoon.

No. She was sure no one had gotten this close before. But how much longer could something this good last? She shook the thoughts out of her head as she released the locks on her door before turning towards Anthony’s flat. She’d think more about that later, preferably with her therapist. Right now, all she needed was Anthony.

Kate knocked and Anthony opened the door pretty much immediately. She raised an eyebrow. “Waiting with bated breath, were you?”

“Yes.” Anthony smiled and there was hardly a hint of jest in his answer. “How was dinner?”

“Really nice. And now that I’ve provided proof of life, I am free to hole up in my flat again for the time being.”

Anthony leaned against the doorjamb and Kate’s skin warmed immediately. He reached out and ran his fingers underneath the chain that was back around her neck. “Mmm. Want company?”

“Very much so, yes. Do you know anyone?”

Kate backed up as Anthony entered the hallway, turning back briefly to lock his door. He said nothing as he stalked closer until Kate felt her back hit her door. “Oh, did you mean you?” There was a big difference between sounding breezy and sounding breathless. While Kate was aiming for the former, she definitely landed squarely on the latter.

Anthony kissed her so roughly that she yelped. “Can I come in?”

Kate truly felt defenceless when Anthony sounded like this, voice pitched low, raw and wanting. She nodded as best as she could without taking her lips off his and Anthony turned the door handle and they stumbled inside. Unbothered, Newton sauntered past them and headed towards his bed in the corner of the living room. Kate spared a thought to mentally pat herself on the back for feeding him right before she left her family and taking a turn around the block before coming inside.

Her capacity for any non-Anthony thoughts quickly dwindled to zero as he hauled up against her door as he deftly engaged the locks without looking. Kate released a sigh into his mouth. He was so considerate, even in these circumstances.

Anthony carried her into the closest room–her kitchen–and sat her down on the counter. “I missed you,” he whispered before he pulled her shirt over her head.

“I can relate.” Kate’s head fell back as Anthony kissed his way down to the waistband of her shorts.

“Can you, Kit? How about I show you how much I missed you, and then you can decide.” Anthony dropped to his knees as he tugged her shorts and underwear down in one swift move.

“OK,” Kate panted. Anthony wasted no time, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder before splaying a hand across her belly and burying his tongue inside of her. “Shit. Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

—

“Anthony?” Kate was staring up at the ceiling, the thoughts from earlier whirling around in her head. The room had been silent for a while, but she knew he was still awake because he was spinning her worry ring as it sat on her finger.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For texting before you visited me at work today.”

He shrugged and kissed her chest. “Of course, Kit.”

Kate was sure Anthony didn’t understand what it meant to her. No one before him would have said, “Of course.”

—

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 2 years ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1684 words.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 That's right, I'm writing fics and turning my Bloody Mary Ghosttober fic into its own universe because I'm so in love with Trans!Reader, Swiss, and Copia as a relationship. Like, I have a word document with notes about their relationship written down so that I can do some fics for them. I'll make a masterlist for this universe with some basic stuff on there such as pronouns I picture the reader having and such. Also! As a side note, if you guys wanna be able to see all the fics I write that are rated as 18+ you'll need to have your content settings set to being able to see mature sexual content or at least blurred, otherwise you'll miss stuff!

“Can’t fucking believe this shit. Can you believe it? I can’t.”

Swiss didn’t bother to hide his amusement at the current predicament. The fact that Sodo had done a number of dangerous activities as a ghoul that had never resulted in injury made the fact that he was currently laying on a hospital bed with his leg propped up even funnier than it already was. He’d been in countless fights and scraps with other ghouls, smashed against walls, smacked against doors, and that wasn’t even taking into account how rough he liked it with other ghouls in the bedroom. None of those had led to him needing medical attention yet stamping his foot a little too hard on stage had injured his ankle enough that he needed to be taken to the hospital nearest the ministry to be checked over.

The fire ghoul glared at him. “Shut up.”

Swiss smiled innocently. “I said nothing.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your smug little face.”

“Oh?” Swiss folded his arms over his chest. “And what’s that? What is it that I have written on my beautiful face?”

“You wanna say ‘I told you so’ so badly. You wanna rub it in that I was using too much force on stage and now I’m laying here on a stupid hospital bed looking at your stupid mug.”

The multi-ghoul gasped, dramatically clutching a hand to his chest in fake-offence. “Who, me? I would never do such a thing! I think someone’s a bit cranky because he didn’t listen to me when I told him to be careful and not stomp his little feet so hard.”

Sodo narrowed his eyes at his bandmate, gritting his teeth. “Now you listen here…”

“For the love of Lucifer, both of you stop that.” Copia entered the room, already looking exhausted and drained despite only having been at the hospital for a couple of hours. His Papal paint had been washed away, only the black around his eyes remaining. Even with those inky circles, Swiss could still see how tired he was beneath the makeup. “I do not need to hear you bickering like little children, ah? Please try to get along for my sake.”

As much as he wanted to ignore his Papa and continue his spat with the fire ghoul, Swiss reluctantly agreed. The other patients in the hospital didn’t need to be kept awake by their petty fights, even if it was hilarious to see Sodo getting riled up. Besides, there would be plenty of opportunities to make fun of him once they returned to the ministry. From the sounds of it, there were no broken bones or fractures to worry about. They were just waiting for the doctor to return with some pain meds so he could be discharged.

As Copia and Sodo began to talk, the former asking the latter questions and making sure he was comfortable, Swiss stepped out into the hallway and made his way towards the exit to get some fresh air and prevent another argument from happening before they made their way home.

Just as he rounded a corner, he bumped into something and heard a yelp and thud. “Shit, sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

You blinked from your position on the ground, the bouquet of flowers thankfully still intact. A slate grey hand extended towards you, and you gratefully took it, allowing the stranger to help you to your feet. As you glanced up at him, you were immediately taken in by the glowing amber of his eyes. While this wasn’t the first time you’d met a ghoul, it was a surprise to be face to face with one in the hospital.

“Hey, you didn’t hit your head or anything, did you? I’d feel bad if I gave you a concussion.”

His voice broke your focus, making you shake your head and smile at him. “Well, if seeing ghouls is a symptom of concussion then I'm afraid you have indeed concussed me."

Swiss grinned. “Oh? Would a hot ghoul make it a pretty serious one?”

You raised a brow at him. “Think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Is that a yes?”

You pretended to think for a moment. “Hm, how about I get back to you on that one? Don’t think I’ve decided yet.”

You couldn’t help but feel a prick of joy at the way he perked up at that. Sure, it probably wasn’t a great idea to strike up a friendship with a ghoul, but what harm could come of it? He didn’t seem to be dangerous from what you could tell. In fact, he seemed to be relatively harmless as he gazed at you.

“I’m Swiss, by the way. Are you visiting someone here?”

You smiled and gave him your name. “My best friend just had his appendix removed so I’m just coming to check up on him and bring him some flowers.”

“Damn. I hope he’s doing better now then.”

“Oh, definitely. They’re just keeping him in to monitor him and make sure he doesn’t get an infection or anything before he gets discharged.”

Before Swiss could respond, you heard someone calling from down the corridor for him. You watched his shoulders slump, disappointment flickering in your belly as he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Guess I’ve got to go,” he sighed forlornly. The unwillingness to leave in his voice made you feel something akin to hope in your heart and you immediately whipped out your phone.

“Hey, why don’t I give you my Insta? That way we can keep in touch.” Your face immediately grew warm when his focus snapped back to you, his eyes wide. “Only if you want to, though. I get we’ve only just met, and it probably doesn’t look great that we’re doing this in a hospital, so I completely understand if you’re not comfortable with –”

“Sure.”

You blinked. “That’s… okay?”

Swiss’ face lit up as he pulled his phone out of his back trouser pocket. “Hell yeah! What’s your username? I’ll give you a follow now and then shoot you a message when I get home.”

Giddy with anticipation, you typed it into the search bar on his app and gave him the phone back once you’d hit follow. You did your best not to read too deeply into the pleased expression he was now wearing.

Once Swiss had finally tore himself away from you, you finally picked the flowers up from off the floor and made your way to the room your friend was staying in. He waved you over the moment you were through the door, wincing as he did so. You placed the flowers in his lap and tentatively hugged him while making sure he didn’t pull on his stitches. You took in how tired he looked and immediately felt bad for making him wait for you.

“Sorry I’m late,” you told him. “I bumped into someone in the hallway and got distracted.”

You cringed internally at the way he quirked a brow at you. “Oh? Were they, per chance, cute?”

“Dude, shut up.”

“Oh, definitely cute. Maybe even, dare I say, hot?”

“I will walk out of here.”

He pouted. “Now, is that any way to treat your best friend in the entire world? Come on, tell me about them! What’s their name? Did you get their number?”

You took a seat in the plastic chair beside his bed and couldn’t hold off your smile any longer. “Okay, so his name is Swiss and I’m pretty sure he’s one of those ghouls from the ministry. You know, the one up on that hill on the edge of town? I think he was here with someone else from up there, but he didn’t say. We got cut off and he had to go before I could ask him.”

“Please tell me you got his number. Don’t make me get up out of this bed and track him down.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “I gave him my Instagram. He said he’ll message me when he gets home, so the ball’s in his court now. If he doesn’t message me then it’s not the end of the world.”

***

The moment he was back in the underground dens of the ministry, Swiss locked himself away in his room and flopped down onto his bed. He used his tail to flick on the TV with the remote and settled down against his pillows as he opened Instagram on his phone. He clicked on your profile without hesitation and began to read your bio. He immediately recognised the trans and nonbinary flags in your bio, making sure to check your pronouns and commit them to his memory before he started typing out a direct message to send you.

swisscheesghoul Hey! We met at the hospital today, hope your friend’s doing okay 😁 just got home so I wanted to make sure you got back safe too

Almost immediately he got a response and read it eagerly.

transreader69 Ye just got back myself actually so great timing! Hope whoever you were visiting today is okay too. I totally forgot to ask why you were there oops 😅

swisscheeseghoul He’ll live I guess. He sprained his ankle pretty bad and he’s being a little bitch about it so that means he’ll be just fine

transreader69 Ah, ofc ofc. Being bitchy is usually a sign that you’re gonna be alright. Do you both live up at the ministry? Or are you from elsewhere? Sorry idk much about ghouls

swisscheeseghoul Oh yeah Sodo’s the bitchiest ghoul I’ve ever met. We live in the ministry dens with the other ghouls. How’d you know?

Swiss waited a while for reply before he drifted off too sleep, his eyes heavy from the day’s events. He sadly missed your reply and didn’t see it until the next morning, smiling as he read it and enjoying the pleasant warmth that burst through his chest.

transreader69 Just a hunch. Idk many other places that such a hot ghoul like yourself could’ve come from 😉

#bloody mary universe #swiss ghoul #swiss x trans!reader #swiss x reader #the band ghost #fanfic #mine #my fanfic

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

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Lost in Zero Gravity (P.2)

Title: Lost in Zero Gravity (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers. Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 3,072 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: Song inspo for this fic

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“You must have made a really good first impression,” Tatiana commented, blowing out a ring of smoke. Her charcoal lined eyes creased with her pleased smile.

You shrugged, “I was just working.”

“Don’t try to be modest now. It’s not becoming on you,” she laughed in response.

She had called you into her office to tell you that you had been specifically requested for an assignment. It seemed Tony and Steve’s mob were going to be taking a vacation and they wanted you available. You were not one to turn down a paid vacation, especially if they were going to be there. As dangerous as they were, they had been a good fuck and Tony had made sure to get you off. That was far more than probably eighty percent of the people you had been with since you started working the service.

You hated the smell of the cigarette smoke and it was always the hovering stench in her office. She was going to kill herself far too young and maybe shave a few years off your life in return for however she made you stand in here. You adored her, there was no doubt about that. But you wished she would kick the habit.

“Where are they going?” you asked, feigning that you were contemplating about refusing the assignment.

“Riviera Maya.” You narrowed your eyes and she said, “It’s in Mexico.”

An inclusive resort no doubt. It could be fun. Maybe you could ask someone to travel with you so you would not be completely alone when they were not wanting to bed you. Or maybe not… some time alone might do you well.

Tatiana added, “Wives are going to be there though.”

“So, why am I gonna be there?” you asked honestly.

Tatiana snorted, “Oh, stellina.” She took another deep inhale exhaling as she said, “There are so many things there to keep the spouses occupied. They’re rarely together except for dinner. It’s just for appearances.”

Rich people’s lives sounded exhausting.

“You just need to be out in the open, keeping yourself available for them whenever they have an opportunity to slip away and have some fun with you. Otherwise, just keep yourself occupied with the beach and nice drinks. I know you hate suntanning but there are shops to poke around in. I know you like shopping.”

“That I do.”

“Maybe they’ll give you extra.”

“I don’t want to go around trying to get greedy.”

Tatiana smirked at that. “That’s my girl. I trained you well.”

<><><>

Pushing your sunglasses up onto your head, you hopped up onto one of the barstools on the bar you had just walked by and circled back to. You had yet to see either Tony or Steve and you had been here since yesterday. The place was relaxing and the room was great. You had basically sunk into the bed, having one of the best nights of sleep you had had in a long while without any noise from Elisha in her room along your wall back home. Leaning over the counter, you asked for a strawberry lemonade.

“Strawberry lemonade? It’s a party, dollface.”

You recognized that voice and you straightened back up, turning your head to look in his direction.

Steve was standing there, leaning on the counter. He was a sight for sore eyes. He was only in swim trunks, aviator glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. That did not hide the fact you knew his eyes were running unabashedly over your body. Your stomach fluttered at the sight of him, thinking of how he handled you last time.

“I bought this specifically for this vacation,” you said, hopping down from the stool and turning around for him to let him see the whole suit. When you turned back around, he was grinning. “It looks good right?”

He nodded, “You look damn sexy.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“My wife is here,” Steve said, and you frowned instantly at this immediate change in conversation. Was he trying to kill the mood so quickly? He said, “I know. She’s got her little masseuse guy here to keep her entertained, so I should be able to have my own fun. But I’m trying to be good.”

Picking up on his hint, you sauntered towards him. Your hand came up, resting on his chest. “Why do you have to be good if she isn’t being good?”

“I had to hold it in until she ran off,” he told you.

You pulled his sunglasses down to see his eyes, keeping them on the bridge of his nose. You smiled when you were able to actually meet his gaze.

“Well, when do you get to not be good?”

“Right now,” he said and you smiled in response. “It’s why I came and found you. I saw you yesterday. Wandering around. Took everything in me to not come up to you. Looked like you found yourself a nice little boyfriend though?”

“He was trying really hard but no… no dice for that guy,” you told him.

You pushed his glasses back up and your arms wrapped around his neck. He grinned back at you, his fingers tracing along your exposed back.

“I’m assuming you’re liking what you’re seeing?”

“Very much,” he murmured, his fingers playing with the hem of your suit.

You nuzzled your nose to his. “Hmm. So we know where this is going?”

<><><>

You stood in front of the mirror, completely bare. Steve had brought you back to their villa. Tony’s wife was gone, off to a spa treatment. The room had a wide door open to the patio overlooking the ocean. There was a hot tub and pool on the patio and although you wanted to indulge, you refrained. You got undressed for them instead, waiting for them to get antsy enough to take charge. It did not take long as you predicted.

Tony came up from behind you, nude as well. His hands ran across your breasts, cupping.

“Don’t you look marvelous…” he murmured, his fingers tweaking at your erect nipples. You bucked ever so slightly, and he smirked. His nose came to nuzzle into the nape of your neck. “I knew I chose right… a perfect gem.”

“You still seem to like what you’re seeing?”

He chuckled, one hand snaking down to toy with the top of your sex.

“You’re gonna look even better underneath that mirror.”

You turned in his arms, your forehead pressing against his. “A man that likes to review his work. I don’t know if I should be worried.”

“I didn’t get to where I am by being a half ass.”

Steve was at your other side and he enveloped you to him. To both of them, you asked, “Any critiques?”

“Loaded question,” Steve chuckled. “I mean, the biggest is you haven’t sunk one of your holes on either of us. I mean, it’s been a whole five minutes. What’s the hold up?”

“Sorry, I was enjoying the company.”

He kissed the tip of your nose lightly, “And I’m sorry for being so charismatic.”

“I’m assuming you can’t multitask then? Be charismatic and fuck me at the same time?”

A low growl left his mouth now, “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not at fucking all,” he told you pulling you over to the bed.

Steve was looking upwards, and you knew he was taking in the sight of you hovering over him as you sunk onto his length in the ceiling mirror. His eyes were swimming with arousal and you hoped to always be the cause for that.

<><><>

“Y/N, you got a gift,” Wendy said, pointing at the table as you walked into the brothel’s kitchen. You had come in to get a drink but smiled seeing the bouquet and gift.

“Really?” you asked, letting your backpack fall from your shoulder and along with your carry-on drop to the ground. You had just gotten back from Mexico; that was quick if it was from who you thought it was. Upon seeing the flowers, you knew your assumption had been correct. They had asked you what your favorite flowers were and even though that was extremely obvious why they were asking, you had told them all the same.

The bouquet was large and there was a nice heart balloon in the center. You smiled, leaning in and smelling the flowers deeply.

“Where’d you get those from?” Elisha asked, coming into the kitchen. You shrugged, smiling sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes, giving a little laugh, “I know exactly where those came from.”

“There’s also this,” you said picking up the gift bag from beside it, waving it at her.

“That’s dangerous,” Elisha commented, grabbing the bloody mary that Wendy had made her. They must have had a rough night.

You shrugged again, opening the bag. Your lips curled into a smile as you pulled out a bright blue teddy. “Cute,” you giggled. Elisha and Wendy shook their heads, taking a drink. You held it up against your body and asked, “Think they want me to wear it for next time?”

“I don’t think they bought it for shits and giggles,” Wendy snorted. “How was the trip?”

“It was nice.”

“Good to hear it. You should relish in this.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, putting the teddy back into the bag. You thought of the extra money that Steve had tucked into your bag, remembering that you should tuck that away. It was smarter to not spend all the money that was thrown at you. That is what fools did; you needed to think ahead.

<><><>

The dress was loose and casual, perfect for the saloon they had asked you to meet them at. They had sent a car for you and met you at the curbside. When you got out, you looked around, cocking an eyebrow at the sight of them dressed in nice, pressed jackets. You were going into a dive bar, what were they doing?

Tony took your arm, Steve trailing behind. “Hmm, a sun pattern,” Tony commented, his fingers pulling at the fabric of your dress.

You gripped his arm, smiling. “I like to be a shining beacon in people’s lives.”

Tony chuckled in response, his grip tightening on your waist. The bouncer did not ask for your IDs; they must know them. It was dimly lit, packed. There were dancers on the stage and your eyes were drawn to their movements. The woman dancing had curves to die for.

“Where we going?” you asked as they led you through the bar. Your eyes ran around the tables the further you went in. Did they have a reservation?

“For the real party, sweetheart,” Tony told you, his lips brushing your ear. You shivered at the touch.

It was dark back here and you tensed. Tony felt it, a light chuckle leaving his lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got you.”

Two men were standing in front of a door and they opened it when they saw the three of you approaching. There was a table with a group of other men, looking like they were waiting for the three of you. There were a handful of other women sitting around the perimeter of the room behind the players. They made brief eye contact with you, sizing you up quickly before averting their eyes again.

“Took you fucking long enough,” one of them drawled at Tony and Steve.

“Sorry, we were waiting for our lucky dame,” Tony returned.

Tony kissed your hand as you sat, before he turned away and sat in his chair. Steve’s hand grazed you affectionately, before he sat down as well.

You sat quietly, watching them play. It was poker, that much you knew. It was intense, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife. They were taking this seriously and you surmised they were gambling a bunch of money.

Steve was staring across the table at the first man who had spoken to them when they walked in, his eyes narrowed. The other man was not flinching but something must have been a tell for Steve because he pushed chips forward.

“Well, senator… I’m gonna raise you,” Steve commented.

Your heart stopped a bit, hearing him call him that. Your eyes narrowed at the man across the table. You did not pay attention to politics but the way the man’s face scrunched at Steve’s tone… you knew he had to be one. A senator. What had you let them drag you into?

The man chewed on his lip before throwing his cards down on the table without showing what they were.

Steve’s mouth broke into a wide grin and he held out his hands.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” the man snarled before getting up from the table. He buttoned his suit jacket, leaving the room without a second glance.

“Sore loser,” Steve commented, much to the amusement of the other men at the table to your surprise. You thought they would be more angry about losing the money they had but maybe the man had been a common enemy.

They gathered up the chips, tossing them into a bag. Tony’s hand snaked around your waist.

“Wanna spend this?” Tony asked, grinning broadly, holding the bag up to you as he guided you towards the door. You giggled and he kissed your cheek. “Steve’s treated us. But especially you, baby.”

<><><>

Pulling your dress back on over your head, you straightened it, making sure it was covering your ass. It was short and you did not need to be flashing anyone on the sidewalk.

“You sure you don’t want me to order you a cab…?” the man asked from behind you, taking a long drag on his joint. He was still lying in bed, watching you get dressed.

Confidently, you turned around, fluffing your hair. You shook your head, “It’s not too far. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a tough cookie,” he said, shooting you a smile.

“I try to be,” you said winking at him, grabbing your purse.

You left his place quickly, heading back to the brothel. It was not a lie, it was not far.

The distance did not matter though when it came to what was waiting for you outside.

A hand closed around your arm, yanking you into an alley. You screamed but another hand slapped across your mouth as you were slammed up against the wall. Your heart was pounding, your eyes wide in fear staring at your assailant.

Your fear melted away to a mixture of anger and disgust. You would recognize those hazel eyes anywhere. You had stared into them far too many times as he towered over you, beating you into submission. You had run away from them far too many times, locking yourself in the bedroom until he got tired of trying to beat the door down.

Garnering strength from a place you did not know existed, you shoved him away, much to his surprise. He did not expect you to fight back, and he stumbled back.

“Have you been fucking following me?” you demanded, your chest heaving.

“Just interested to see what you’ve been doing since you ran off. Looks like you are visiting a bunch of men,” Jared sneered at you, getting back on his game and closing the space between you. Your fists clenched by your sides and he noticed, smirking. “You gonna hit me?”

“No,” you spat.

“So, what’s got you leaving someone’s apartment this time of night, baby?”

“That is none of your business.”

He shoved you back into the wall and you winced against the cement scratching at your skin. You swallowed it though, clenching your jaw, glaring at him. You were acting far braver than you felt. Jared always had the power to make you feel small and weak and it seemed just his presence had that same power. You felt just as helpless as you did a year and a half ago. He was frightening; you knew what violence he could unleash.

“What’s this?” Jared asked, yanking at your purse.

“Nothing, it’s my purse!” you said, your hands closing around it to try to yank it back from him.

“Looks pretty expensive, Y/N… Marc Jacobs? What have you been up to?”

He gave another hard yank, and the chain broke and you hissed against the pressure against your shoulder as it snapped away from you. You reached for it and he shoved you back again, harder this time and you let out a pained noise. Your eyes searched the buildings that surrounded you, hoping someone would be looking out the windows and be able to come to help you. It looked like no such luck.

He yanked out the hundreds the man you had just left had given you.

His eyes were dark, glowering at you. “Where’d you get this?”

“From work!”

His backhand was swift, knocking you off balance. But he was there to catch your falling momentum only to slam you up against the wall for the third time, his forearm pressed into your throat. You gasped, trying to breathe.

“You left me to spread your legs all over the city?”

“What are you talking about?” you exclaimed pitifully, trying to deny it. Your hands clawed at his arm and he only pressed in harder, making you gasp more desperately.

“I saw you go into that building with that man. Yes, I was following you! And you come back out with all this money? I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were a worthless slut.”

Tears pricked at your eyes and he growled, “You always did cry too soon for my liking.”

Your purse fell to the ground and his other hand reached up between your legs. You tried to fight him, and he socked you this time. Your head knocked against the wall and you saw stars.

Jared pushed away and you crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. You squeezed your eyes tightly, trying to gain back some sense of balance.

“Hey!” you heard someone shout from far off.

All you could see was Jared’s shoes coming in and out of your vision. You felt a sharp pain in your stomach making you lose all your breath before his shoes were gone. You blinked again before losing consciousness as you saw a new pair of shoes come into your line of sight.

~~~

Tags: coconutqueen21

#steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #stony x reader #stony smut #marvel fic #my shit

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renee-writer · 4 years ago

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An Invisible Thread Chapter 21 Mr. and Mrs. Fraser

She stands before the full length mirror, a bride. On pure white, lace, silk, and taffeta. Jenny had found it in a shop in Inverness. Everyone had done their jobs well and now it is finally the day. She will be Claire Fraser soon. Making official something that has been a fact for quite awhile now.

“You are so beautiful.” Her mum says. The tears she can’t hold back drip down her face. Thank God for waterproof make-up.

“Thank you mum. I can’t believe this day is finally here.”

“Finally?” a laugh as she takes a seat at the vanity table in the Laird’s room that is being used as a bride’s room. It will be a wedding night room also, a fact that makes Claire flush with embarrassment and anticipation.

“I have loved Jamie since I was two and knew I would marry him since I was eleven and we shared a first kiss. So, yes finally.”

“I can’t argue with that. Mary and Willy have the baby ready. He is so precious. Not,” she adds, “that I wish you making me a grandma anytime soon.”

“I have been on the pill for a month now. We are good.” Her eyes drift to the bed and she flushes again.

“That type of pre-planning is very responsible. You two are so young but, the responsibility you are showing makes me think the others are right. That you are ready for this.”

“We are truly.”

“For all of it?” Again she flushes. She wants him and badly. But the actual act, especially the first time, well, it was a bit intimating.

“I am a bit concerned about tonight. We have been good. Not done that. Things but..”

Her mum smiles. They thought so, her and Ellen, but to have it confirmed. Now to help her daughter. “Claire, the stuff you two have done, did it feel pleasurable?” Her flush deepened. She nods. “Brilliant. Tonight do a lot of what you have been doing then move on to other things, eventually coming to together. You will know when it is time. It will sting a bit, but, if you find pleasure before, it won’t be to bad. Also, urinate before and after. Trust me. You don’t want a honeymoon bladder infection.”

“Ah, thanks mum.” She takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Her dad will be here within minutes. They will follow Geillis and Willy, and Mary carrying William down as a ring bearer. Her mum will push the wheelchair as Claire holds her dad’s hand. A bit unconventional but a way for both her parents to walk her down the aisle.

“Oh my beautiful daughter.” Henry calls out when he wheels himself in a few minutes later.

“Isn’t she exquisite?” Julia replies.

“She is.”

“All ready dad?”

“Yes. Your procession is all lined up. William is so bloody cute in his tiny kilt.”

“Brilliant. And Jamie?”

“Well, I can’t tell you what he is wearing but you will soon see. He awaits you.” She lets out her breath and stands, soothing her gown out. Her mum adds the veil and they step out. They head to the lift that the Fraser’s had added for Henry and head downstairs. Her bridal party waits at the door that leads to the back garden.

“You are a vision Claire. My brother is a blessed man.” Willy comments.

“As you and Mary. William is the cutest baby I have ever seen.”

“Thank you Claire and for including him in the ceremony.” Mary softly says.

“You’re welcome.”

“Ready hen?” Geillis asks. She nods before replying.

“Very. I have been for years.”

The music starts. The Wedding Song( Where there is Love) and her heart speeds up as Mary and William step out. She smiles at the sounds of awe from their guests at the sight of the baby. Geillis squeezes her hand before threading her arm through Willy’s and stepping out next.

Claire takes a deep breath and takes her dad’s hand. The music swells at the lyrics, “a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home”. Their cue. Julia takes her husband’s chair and they step out. A trellis covered with flowers cover them as they walk down the aisle. It is beautiful but all Claire sees is her groom.

Her Fire Jamie is a Highland Viking Warrior, with his kilt, high boots, sword and dirk, linen white shirt, tartan held over his shoulder with a broach engraved with the family motto. He is magnificent. By the look on his face, he thinks the same about her.

They move slowly, to slowly, as the music continues. “A woman draws her life from man and gives it back to him. And there is love.” A few more steps and they are in front of Jamie.

The music stops and the priest smiles at them. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

She hears her dad utter ‘woman?’ under his breath before he answers, “Her mum and I do.” He then takes the hand he still tightly holds and places it in Jamie’s. Julia wheels him back towards the chairs and she is his. Her soon-to-be husband’s. It is a bittersweet moment.

She smiles at him as his warm hands enclose over hers. “I love you.” She mouths as the good father begins to tell their guests why they are gathered together.

“I love you.” He mouths back.

“Now the couple have vows they wish to pledge to each other.” He says after they have said the traditional ones. “Claire.”

“From the time I was your Curly Care,” a twitter of laughter runs through their guests. She, focused on him, talking only to him, continues, “I knew there was a bond between us, even if at two I was unable to express it. Being away from you was like being away from family. Finding you again at ten was coming home. I knew then we were more then mates. With our first kiss, I knew we were heading here. Jamie, you have been my second home, my soulmate, and now you will be my husband. I love you more then words can say and will as long as our souls exist.”

The laughter was now soft sobs as Jamie tells her, “So Fire Jamie and Curly Care finally made it here. I knew it too, as soon as I so you that day 16 years ago. I was inconsolable when my Curly Care wasn’t there at kindergarten. But, even then, I knew, knew, that someway, somehow we would come back together. That the bond wouldn’t be broken. So, I was awed but not surprised when you returned. I did vow I wouldn’t lose you again. Now you stand here pledging to be mine forever and it is as it should be. As it was fated to be. Te agam ort, Claire. Forever.”

There isn’t a dry eye among their guests as they exchange rings. As Brian binds their wrist for the older part of the ceremony.

“You are blood of my blood and bone of bone. I give you my body so us two may be one. I give you my spirit until our life’s be done.” They pledge.

“May I present Mr. and Mrs. Faster. Kiss you two.” They do, tasting each other’s tears as their family and friends cheer. He lifts her up and carries her back down the aisle to the laughter and cheers of the others.

The cake is perfect for them as the side, on each layer, shows a couple from weans until their wedding day, growing up and growing closer. Their story. They carefully cut into it and feed each other. They dance, together and with her dad and his mam. They are toasted and feed. Claire throws her bouquet which Geillis catches. Jamie her garter, after removing it with a blush. He tosses it to Angus. Pictures are taken.

“We are leaving,” Jamie announces after a few hours. “You guys are welcome to stay as long as you like. Thank you for all you have done for Claire and I. We love you guys.”

He takes her hand and they head to the house. Bird seed and bubbles follow after them.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #an invisible thread #mr and mrs. fraser #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #modern au #outlander fandom

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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I’m married, I used to be a wedding planner, I’ve been to far too many weddings. All this said, I still struggle real hard to write a wedding. So, nonnie, I hope you like this! It was nice to get it out of my head and have it put in actual cohesive words, even if it took longer than I intended❤️

found on ao3 | here |

*I’m having to repost because something super funky was happening with the “keep reading” as can be seen in the screenshot of the ask. Sorry about that!*

-/-

June 19th, 2021

Ruth wants them to stay apart tonight.

It’s some kind of tradition or superstition, and as an athlete, Killian gets it. He does. He is all about doing the same stupid thing over and over again because it was happening on a day where something good happened. When he made it to his first post-season, he didn’t shave until the last ball was played. In 2018 when they made it to the World Series, he wore the same pair of socks every day. He washed them, but it was still the same pair of socks.

(He’s too particular about cleanliness not to wash things.)

But those were things he needed in order to convince himself that they were going to win, that he was going to be able to do it, and that everything was going to be alright.

He doesn’t need to spend the night away from his wife the night before their wedding.

The thing is that they can’t exactly tell anyone that they eloped over a month ago. It would break their family’s hearts, and he and Emma are committed to keeping that secret between the two of them.

That was their day, just them, and it’s not something to be shared.

He’s been wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck for the past month, and God, he can’t wait to get to put it on his finger tomorrow even if he’ll have to put it right back on the chain for games.

They likely shouldn’t have picked a wedding date right in the middle of baseball season, but this is the date that worked for everyone.

No game happening.

No work for Liam and Elsa.

Ruth could come to town.

And no one was so pregnant that they couldn’t attend.

(Anna told him that if they got married while she was eight months pregnant with twins she would murder him, so they obviously changed the original date.)

“Mom, I’m not doing that.”

“It’s tradition.”

“I stayed apart from David when we got married,” Mary Margaret adds in as they walk down the hallway after paying the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner.

“I’m staying in my own damn apartment,” Emma huffs. “I like my bed and my stuff, and I don’t want to have to sleep on the rock-hard bed in your spare bedroom.”

“Okay, well, you stay home, and Killian can stay at Liam’s.”

Emma stops walking and crosses her arms over her chest before briefly glancing at him. She is not happy, and if she didn’t love her family, he imagines there would be some kind of strangulation happening right about now.

Well, if there also wasn’t the threat of jail as well. That might also keep her from doing it.

“I appreciate you both looking out for tradition and any possible horrible things that may happen to us if we don’t stay apart,” Killian sighs, “but this wasn’t something we were planning on doing and neither of us are interested in it. If down the road we don’t work out, feel free to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Are you serious?”

“As anything.”

Killian glances over at Emma, at the small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. If he looks at her, he can ignore the disapproving stares of Mary Margaret and Ruth. It was Ruth who was insistent, but now, he might be a little more scared of Mary Margaret.

“Emma,” Ruth sighs, “won’t you please do this? It’s tradition, and it would mean so much to me to get to spend this night with you.”

Emma sighs and tilts her head up to look at the ceiling. She’s got on a short white dress tonight, and it flows off her body from the waist down, but it’s tight around her chest where the material barely covers her breasts. He’s been distracted by it all bloody night and the way that his mother’s ring hits in the concave between her boobs, but now as her neck is elongated, all he can focus on is the smoothness of her skin and the way her summer tan accentuates all of her features.

Beautiful.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Emma finally says. “I will see you both at nine tomorrow morning, and you will be with me until I walk down the aisle at six. That’s so much time, and I would much rather spend the night with Killian. I don’t think we’re going to be cursed.”

“Let the woman go,” David yells from the elevator door. “I’m ready to go to sleep.”

“David speaks the truth,” Killian laughs, reaching over to thread his fingers through Emma’s. “It’s been a long, wonderful day, and I cannot thank you both enough for it. Let’s all go home, though, get our beauty sleep. We’re all going to need it. There’s only so much editing the photographer can do.”

Mary Margaret and Ruth finally relent, and David manages to drag them out of the restaurant where they have been camping out for the last several hours, toasts given and delicious food eaten as half of the people they knew came up to he and Emma to congratulate them and talk about their excitement for tomorrow. The wedding has ended up being much bigger than either of them intended, mostly because of the sheer number of people they know and getting carried away with the help of Mary Margaret, Ruby, Elsa, and Anna. It’s honestly been insane and a whirlwind with the season taking up most of his time, and after they got married last month, neither of them have cared much about what this wedding will be like.

It’s a celebration with their friends and family, and if everyone else is happy, he will be too.

Though, he is excited to see Emma’s dress. He’s not seen it yet, but he knows he’ll find her beautiful in anything.

Killian tugs on Emma’s hand, and they start walking to the elevator, heading down to the lobby to get his car from the valet. There are photographers waiting outside, and he hears Emma groan. He squeezes her hand, wishing there was some other way to comfort her from the nuisance that are gossip reporters, but there’s nothing they can do now besides get his keys, get in the car, and go home.

“Was Ruth driving you crazy too?” Emma asks as they start slipping out of their clothes in their closet. “I know she means well, but oh my gosh, I never realized how much of a traditionalist she could be until the past few weeks.”

“I mean, it’s not unheard of for couples who already live together to stay apart the night of the wedding.”

“No, it’s not, but I still didn’t want to do it. I mean, have you slept on the bed in the guest room at David’s? It’s awful.”

“You could take the couch.”

“I promise they wouldn’t let me.”

Killian chuckles and hangs his shirt up before taking off his belt and his pants as Emma unclasps her bra. “Tomorrow you’ll wear the pretty white dress and carry a far too heavy bouquet, and everyone will be so amazed by your beauty that they won’t care that you kept bucking their traditions.”

“Getting a little cheesy there, Jones.”

“It happens sometimes.”

Emma shakes her head and bends over to grab one of his t-shirts. She doesn’t bother to hang up her dress or put away her bra or her shoes, and one day he will stop hoping that she’ll clean up her clothes.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Probably not.

He ends up picking up her clothes and putting them away after he’s changed into a pair of shorts, and he finds Emma in the bathroom taking off her makeup and washing her face. It takes her a little longer than usual to do it, and by the time she’s finished, he’s scrolling through Netflix trying to find something for them to watch as they fall asleep.

“You went ahead and got yourself comfortable, huh?” Emma laughs as she gets into her side of the bed and pulls the covers up to her chest.

“You took forever to take your makeup off.”

“Had to make sure there wasn’t any left. I’d definitely get, like, the biggest zit in the world, and believe it or not, I want the pictures to look nice tomorrow.”

“They could always airbrush it out. As long as it’s not too big. I was kidding about the photoshop thing earlier.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, reaching over to gently shove him. “Did we bring any leftovers home?”

“No, but I know Scarlet took a box home. You could always call him.”

“Would it be crazy if I did that?”

“Yeah, love, yeah it would.”

“It was really good food.”

Killian puts the remote down and leans over to wrap his arm around Emma’s waist and pull her closer to him. She’s warm, even if her feet are cold, and he breathes in the lingering scent of her perfume as she settles against him.

“We have some food in the fridge. Or I can make you something.”

“None of that will be the same as Will bringing me the leftovers.”

Killian laughs into her neck and then kisses the skin there. “I know for a fact that you’re going to brunch in the morning, so I think you’ll be able to make it.”

“Don’t be jealous that my friends plan on me having better food than Liam plans on you having.”

“Well, maybe I’ll have to attend the brunch as well.”

Emma twists around in his arms, elbowing him and kicking him before she settles so that the tips of her nose brushes against his. “I’m so glad we got married at the courthouse. I mean, I’m excited to wear my dress and to have the big party, but I really liked that day.”

“Aye, me too.”

She presses forward to glide her lips over his, soft and slow, and neither of them are in a hurry to get anywhere. He loves when they get to be like this, when they have time to tease and explore and not be in a rush to get to a certain destination.

There’s always somewhere to be, something to do, a game to play, someone to talk to. There’s always a rush.

Right now, however, the only rush is the beating of his heart and the way that the woman in his arms makes him feel.

Frustrated and exasperated and so damn in love that he’ll pick up her shoes when she leaves them around, which is always.

When they come together, it’s in that same gentle, slow motion that they were following earlier. Emma’s hair is cascading down her back in long, soft waves, and when she bends down to mold her lips to his again, he shifts his hips up to keep their rhythm as his hands settle on her back sides and hold her down to him. Who knows how many times they’ve done this and how many times they’ll do it in the future? It’s the past and present all at once, but he doesn’t care to be in any moment other than this one.

Damn is he glad that she’s not staying at the Nolans’ tonight. He can’t imagine her being anywhere else other than here with him.

When he wakes in the morning, it’s to the softness of Emma’s lips pressing against his chest, her mouth tracing his skin. Slowly, Killian blinks his eyes open, a smile curving on his lips, and while he expects Emma to be still be naked next to him in bed, she’s not. Instead she’s clothed in a button-down and a pair of shorts, her hair freshly washed and her face bare of makeup so he can see her freckles.

They come out more in the summer, and he’s rather fond of them.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He mumbles, reaching over for her and pulling her back to him. She easily falls into him, resting half on top of his leg while his hands reach out for her. “It’s not time for you to go yet.”

“We were up pretty late there, twenty-nine, and you slept in. So, yeah, it’s time to go. Elsa said she’s almost here to come get me.”

Killian juts his lower lip out. He knows Emma will find it ridiculous, which is exactly why he does it. “We’re technically already married. Want to play hooky?”

“No,” she laughs, getting up to lean back down over him so she can kiss him. “I’ll see you at the end of that aisle.”

“Well, technically you’ll see me for the pictures beforehand.”

“Semantics.” She kisses him again, lingering this time. “I love you. I will see you later. You’re going to be the most handsome man there tonight.”

“I better damn well be. I love you, Emma.”

And then she’s getting up and walking away, picking up a large tote bag, a backpack, and her dress before she’s walking out the bedroom door.

What a lucky son of a bitch he is.

Killian doesn’t have anywhere to be until noon. None of his friends or his brother are calling and texting and badgering him to do things, so he gets up and gets dressed to go for a run. It’ll be hot later, June in New York not exactly pleasant weather, but this morning, it’s nearly perfect, even if he has to avoid a few photographers as he makes his way to the park. They’ve been worse than usual lately, the wedding putting them into overdrive looking for gossip and exclusives, and Killian’s doing his best to ignore them. He always has, especially when people are trying to attack Emma.

He is not going to let them ruin is mood today, not when he’s got miles ahead of him and a damn big party to attend tonight.

He runs for almost an hour. Technically today should be a pitching practice day for him, but Al took him out of the rotation so he’s only missing one game while in Spain instead of the two he was slotted to. He’ll have to do some kind of practice, but how many times does a man get to have a honeymoon?

Well, considering all goes well and all that.

He stops for coffee before he goes home, drinking it on the walk back, and he slips in the back entrance of his apartment complex before taking the elevator up and hoping into the shower the moment he gets inside. It’s like it’s any other day.

Except it’s not.

“Where are you?”

Killian jumps at the sound of Liam’s voice, and he quickly turns off the water and grabs a towel to tie around his waist. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re not still asleep.”

“It’s almost noon. Have I ever slept in that late?”

“All the time.”

“Since I was a teenager then?”

“Eh, maybe. Not that I know about, though, unless you had a late travel day. You going to put some clothes on?”

“You come into my place, unannounced, and you’re going to complain that I don’t have clothes on?”

“I’m your brother. That’s what I do. Now, come on, Elsa told me I should take you out for lunch. I apparently didn’t think about that.”

“You’re a spectacular best man.”

He shrugs. “I do what I can, which has mostly been keeping Addy and Lucy out of their dresses so they don’t stain them before tonight. Who puts kids in white?”

“Your wife picked out those dresses.”

“Of course she did,” Liam chuckles. “But seriously, finish getting ready. Robin is getting us some food, and we’re going to eat at the venue.”

“What? I don’t deserve to dine in?”

“Do you want to?”

“No, I’d much rather sit on the couch and eat.”

“Exactly. Let’s go.”

When they get to the pier, Robin, Will, Eric, August, Kris, Graham, and David are already there, food and drinks spread out across the table in front of them. They’re in the middle of some debate about Thursday’s game, Will arguing with Robin about him misreading one of Will’s signs, and they don’t notice when Killian sits down and grabs a bowl of pasta from the center of the table.

“Pleasant, don’t you think?” Killian asks David.

“Exactly how I would want all of my friends to be acting on a day when we’re all supposed to get along.”

“It’s worse if they’re also your coworkers.”

David chuckles and takes a sip of his water. “Did Ruth break into your house in the middle of the night to try to separate the two of you?”

“God, no,” Killian laughs. “And if she did, I’m sure she would have been in for quite the sight.”

“Please remember that you’re talking to Emma’s brother when you speak to me.”

Killian shrugs and smiles. “What? You don’t want to be having this conversation?”

“I want to be having anything but this conversation.”

“Okay, we can talk about last year’s Christmas when you – ”

“Jones, shut the fuck up.”

Killian chuckles and pokes his pasta with his fork. “No, Ruth didn’t come and get Emma in the middle of the night. I was almost convinced she and Mary Margaret would, so I’m thankful that she didn’t. Emma left so damn early this morning, though, that she might as well have stayed somewhere else.”

“A lot goes into them getting ready for today. Though, honestly, I’m pretty sure Ruby has all of them getting drunk on mimosas.”

“Oh, I would bet on that.”

“What are we betting on?” Will interrupts. “Are we betting that Emma doesn’t walk down the aisle tonight? Is she going to be a runaway bride?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Scarlet,” Robin mutters. “You can’t say shit like that.”

“What? We all know I’m joking. Emma is far too good for the man, but she loves him. She’s definitely going to show up…probably.”

Killian flips up his finger at Will and keeps eating his pasta. “I feel like I was much more supportive on your wedding day.”

“Oh, you were, but I like to switch things up. I keep it interesting.”

They keep eating and jokingly arguing and not agreeing on a single thing, but then they turn on the game tapes that most of them are supposed to be watching for Monday’s game. It’s like it’s any other day, all of them messing around and groaning about mistakes, except after a few hours, they start changing out of their lounge clothes and into black tuxes with crisp white shirts that they’re under strict instructions not to spill anything on. Emma is just across the hall from him now, and Ariel keeps walking over to make sure that nothing has been ruined.

Between Ariel, Mary Margaret, and Ruth, none of them have any room for error.

Maybe those three should be their coach instead of Al.

The photographer comes and gets Killian and all of his groomsmen around four, they take all of the pictures on the list that he and Emma made up, and then Killian is told to walk out onto the large deck that’s just outside the ballroom. The Hudson is right below them, an expanse of sparkling blue water that makes a spectacular backdrop, and he tries to focus on it even though he knows that he’s standing out here so he and Emma can take their pictures.

She’s been texting him on and off all day, little updates about how things are going, and it’s been odd knowing she’s just around the corner but not with him. And he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t curious what her dress looked like. He never thought he would be a man who cared about something like that, who thought that a dress could make any difference in how he looks at the woman he loves, but he knows that Emma loves this dress. If she does, that’s enough for him to look at her that little bit differently.

Like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, because to him, she is.

What a day for some sentimental thoughts.

“Hey, handsome,” she sighs, and he immediately turns around at the sound of her voice. “I know you love the water, but I don’t think jumping in is really an option right now.”

“I mean, I could, but this was a bloody expensive tux.”

“Be a shame to ruin it and all that.”

Killian’s finally able to look away from her face and the bright smile there to look down at her dress. It’s not a bright white, exactly. It’s off a little bit, and it hugs her until it gets to her waist where it loosens and begins to flow until it hits the floor. Pearls cover it, a few at the top and then more and more as his eyes scan to the bottom of her dress. It’s different than what he expected, but it’s Emma.

This is Emma.

And she’s gorgeous and radiant, and while he’d marry her again in a courthouse with no pomp and circumstance, he’s glad they get to do this too.

“You look – ”

“I know,” she finishes for him. “We clean up pretty well, Jones.”

“Don’t I know it?” He leans in and brushes his lips over her cheek, lightly so he doesn’t mess up her makeup. “All of our friends are staring at us from inside.”

“Is it creepy?”

“It’s terrifying.”

“Addy and Lucy are very excited. Have you seen them yet?”

“I haven’t had the honor, but I have talked to them on the phone several times. They want to know if they get to tear up your flowers.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I obviously told them yes, so you best watch out for that.”

“I’ll be on the look-out. You want to take some pictures until our faces hurt?”

“Obviously. It’s what I’ve dreamed of since I was a young lad wondering just what this day would be like.”

She gently pushes at his chest. “You had anything to drink there, twenty-nine?”

“I had one small glass of rum, which is nothing compared to the mimosa fest you went on.”

“Hey, now, that was mostly Ruby and Elsa. I, too, only had one glass. Wanted to make sure I’d be able to recognize you. You’re wearing almost the exact same thing as Liam. Wouldn’t want to marry the wrong Jones.”

“Don’t even suggest that.”

“Are you two going to make out now or what?” Ruby yells from the entryway. “Because I need to know which parts of Emma’s makeup I have to fix!”

“She’ll never change, will she?” Emma laughs, her smile as radiant as he’s ever seen it.

“Never.”

They seem to take pictures for hours, pose after pose with just the two of them before they add in the bridal parties and family and have ticked off everything on the list. Emma wasn’t kidding when she said their faces would hurt from smiling so much, and he knows that she has heels on so he imagines her feet are killing her. But soon enough, he’s having to leave Emma back up in the bridal suite while he lines up at the front of the ballroom, ready for Emma to walk down the aisle with all of these people looking at the two of them.

What a weird tradition.

But hey, he gets to marry Emma twice, and he can’t really complain about that.

-/- -/-

“How drunk is Kris right now?”

“Well, he’s starting talking about how much he loves ice, so I think he’s at least five drinks in.”

“Is it six-drink Kris that gets a little frisky?”

“Babe, he’s a married man and a father of two now. His tolerance dipped, and it’s now drink two where he gets frisky.”

“That would explain why he tried to touch my ass earlier.”

Emma laughs and moves her hand to gently shove Killian. His eyes crinkle with his smile, his summer tan making everything seem brighter, and she idly wonders if his face still hurts from smiling for pictures from earlier. Or, well, still smiling now. It’s got to be getting close to ten, and it doesn’t seem like anyone has left the reception. She can’t even remember a time where her face didn’t hurt or where her feet weren’t killing her despite the fact that she chunked her heels at least an hour ago.

It’s been a good day.

Like, really good.

She’s never really had an idea of what her wedding day would be like. It’s not something she imagined in much detail. Maybe it would be a small crowd, just her closest friends and family. This isn’t some extravagant thing, but it’s definitely much bigger than any sane person would call a small crowd. That’s all thanks to Ariel and her constantly coming up with people they forgot or Ruth asking if they could invite some of her friends since they all wanted to see her daughter getting married.

Emma’s heart still flutters every time she thinks about Ruth calling Emma her daughter.

But the extra people and flowers and lights really just make it one better, bigger party, and despite the fact that for awhile she kept getting pulled away to talk to everyone, she really hasn’t had to have that much interaction with the people who aren’t in her close circle.

That’s been nice.

Being able to dance with Killian and eat in a hidden room and not constantly be pulled apart at the seams has been that way too. Half the reason they got married at the courthouse was for fear that they wouldn’t be able to enjoy their wedding day, but that’s not at all what’s happened.

She’s happy. That still, somehow, surprises her sometimes, and she doesn’t want to take it for granted.

“You’re ridiculous, Jones,” Emma laughs, her hand sliding back to rest around Killian’s neck. They’ve had two slow songs in a row, and she’s enjoying the change of pace. “How much longer until I can get you out of this tux?”

His brows raise, and his smile turns salacious. “Look who’s getting frisky now.”

“I mean, I am expecting to get lucky tonight.”

“As you should be. Though, I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to get you out of your dress. Are you sewn into it?”

“There’s a small zipper on the side. Don’t break it.”

“Why? You planning on wearing this thing again?”

“I am obviously going to lounge around the apartment in it. No more sweatpants for me. Only gowns.”

“Seems practical.”

“I am always practical.”

Killian dips down and tugs her close as his mouth closes over hers. She can taste rum and cake on his tongue, and she appreciates the mixture of sweet and spice. His kiss doesn’t linger for long, but the feeling of it settles somewhere deep in her belly.

“I love you, my wife.”

“You just love calling me your wife.”

“I do. It’s got a nice ring to it. Makes me feel far more responsible than I am.”

Emma chuckles and shakes her head. He’s an idiot.

“I love you, too. Do you want to – ”

“Hey,” David interrupts, “can I borrow Emma for a minute?”

“What, mate?” Killian laughs, already letting go of her. “Do you not want to dance with me?”

David winks. “We’ll have our time later.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“Never, love.” Killian winks and starts stepping away. “Do you want another glass of wine?”

“I do. Oh, and one of those popcorn bags. The – ”

“The cake flavored kind, I know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a popcorn bar at a wedding before,” David says as he takes Emma’s hands in his and pulls her close. The song is changing to something faster, more upbeat, and while everyone else is changing how they dance, they don’t. “That’s kind of ingenious. I’ve always thought most wedding food was stuffy.”

“Says the man who had the most classic wedding menu in existence.”

David shrugs. “I can’t help it that I didn’t know I could sneak in some classic stadium food but put a gourmet twist on it so we didn’t seem cheap.”

“Eh, screw wedding traditions. Most of them are outdated anyway.”

David smiles and then spins her around, gently letting her go before pulling her back in as laughter rumbles in her chest. Never let it be said that David Nolan doesn’t know how to dance.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way. I don’t remember if I got the chance to tell you that.”

“You did, but thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“What a roundabout way to say I am the most handsome man in this room.”

Emma rolls her eyes. Her brother is also an idiot.

“Maybe to Mary Margaret.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, “I guess I can allow you to think that your husband is the most handsome man in the room. How’s that feel, by the way? Any different?”

Emma hums and looks over David’s shoulder to see Killian already holding a glass of wine in one hand, some rum in the other, and a small bag of popcorn sticking out of his shirt as he talks to Will and Belle. He looks ridiculous, and she really should have thought more about having him carry three things.

“Not different,” she answers, trying to figure out what to say. She’s technically been married to Killian for over a month now, and she still hasn’t quite been able to articulate the feeling in her gut. “I don’t really know. I mean, we’ve been pretty much committed to each other from the beginning, and we’ve been living together for a year and a half. I feel like everything is the same, but it’s like…I don’t know. It’s like it feels more permanent that I get to have this family that I found.”

And that, she thinks, is exactly what she’s been trying to say this entire time.

Family.

She’s had David, Mary Margaret, and Ruth for a decade and a half now. She’s had Ruby and Graham for a little less time than that. Then came everyone from the team and all of their partners, including Liam and Elsa and their kids.

And Killian.

He’s her family. She’s known that for a long time now, but there’s something nice about it being official.

Mr. and Mrs. Killian and Emma Jones.

Some kind of official unit who pays joint taxes and argues over what’s for dinner and who has pictures of the two of them on the bookshelf and on the walls.

Never in a million years could she have imagined her life going this way, but it did.

And it really all started because David took her to a Yankees game when she was a teenager. It’s funny how life works like that.

“You deserve all of it and more, kid,” David whispers as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “Tell Killian I’ll steal him for a dance later.”

“Oh, I promise you he’ll somehow find you first.”

David lets go of her hands, and Emma maneuvers away from the dance floor to go get Killian. He’s still talking to Will and Belle, and when she walks up to him, he hands her the glass of wine, and she takes a sip while trying to figure out what the hell they’re talking about.

“He fucking misread my signal.”

Never mind. She knows exactly what they’re talking about.

“Scarlet,” Emma sighs, “just for tonight, let it go. You and Robin can keep having your lovers spat tomorrow when I am not in the country to hear about it.”

“I have an international plan. I can still call you.”

“He is not going to call you,” Belle promises. “I will make sure of it.”

“I know he still will, but maybe I won’t answer.”

“And after all the nice things I said about you today.”

“What nice things did you say about me today?”

“I said you looked beautiful and that you are definitely Killian’s better half.”

Emma smiles into her glass and glances over at Killian. He is simply shaking his head.

“That was last night,” Emma tells Will, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Emma,” Lucy interrupts, tugging on Emma’s elbow. She’s miraculously still got no stains on her dress, but her flower crown is a little worse for the wear. “Anna says that we can throw the confetti soon.”

“Yeah? Did she tell you what time, kid?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Well, I will be sure to be ready for you to throw the confetti at me in thirty minutes, okay? Make sure to get a little on your uncle.”

“That’s what Daddy said too.”

“Hey,” Killian grumbles, “tell your father he can – ”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Emma laughs, turning back to Killian. “Do you think we can get Ariel to pilfer us a few more bags of this popcorn and send them home with us before we leave?”

“I’ve already had it arranged.”

“Ah, you’re knocking it out of the ballpark already, babe.”

“I see the awful sports-related puns never stop.”

“Never.”

Emma’s not really sure where the time goes. One minute she’s talking to Killian, and then the next she’s being pulled away by Ruby and Mary Margaret for some pictures. Then there’s another bite of cake and half a glass of water, and she somehow talks to everyone she knows in half an hour before they’re all throwing little pieces of confetti up in the air as she and Killian walk down a hallway on their way to the car that’s going to take them back to the hotel they’re staying in tonight.

Even the ride to the hotel seems to go in the blink of an eye, like they’re carefully putting a seatbelt over her dress one minute and then trying to figure out how to get her out of the car without the material dragging against the concrete the next.

Time does seem to slow, though, when they get inside the room and Emma can feel Killian’s lips against her neck. They’re warm, much like he is, and a shiver runs down her spine until it settles deep in her belly so that she can have some of Killian’s warmth as well.

It seems to be never-ending.

“On the side, you said?” Killian whispers against her skin.

“What?”

“Your zipper? Where is your zipper?”

“Oh,” Emma laughs, craning her head back against the door, “yeah, it’s on the side. Don’t yank on it. We don’t want a pearl disaster in here.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Emma’s chest heaves with want and with laughter, and it makes it difficult for Killian to get her zipper down. There was some kind of complicated part, and she ends up helping him, cursing under her breath when it gets stuck before they both get it down.

Team works makes the dream work and all that.

She really has to stop with the sports puns tonight, but her brain seems to always have them now.

Consequences of her job and her husband’s job, she guesses.

After her dress is finally off and carefully draped over a chair, they easily get Killian’s tux off, Emma’s fingers fumbling with the few buttons that are remaining before she tugs his pants down so that everything is resting on the floor. The bed is soft when she lands against it, but she really doesn’t have that much time to think about it when Killian’s head is suddenly between her thighs and she’s reduced to having no thoughts at all.

Damn, he’s good at that.

He’s also good when he sinks into her, warm and steady, and his hands interlace with her above their heads. It’s a gentle rhythm, loving and slow, and she savors the push and the pull, the give and the take, the want and the need.

The way that they fit together in some kind of far too cheesy, puzzle-like kind of way.

And tonight, there’s no added meaning to the way Killian thrusts into her. It’s the same as it almost always is, as it was when they first got together, when they fell in love, when they got married for real. It’s got her gulping for air as Killian kisses her and her hands squeezing his to hold onto the feeling of him for as long as she possibly can.

They’ve got forever, though, so maybe she doesn’t have to hold on too tightly.

Then again, why wouldn’t she when this is everything she never allowed herself to wish for?

-/-

As always, if you have a prompt for this universe (or another kind), send it to my inbox!

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lady-griffin · 5 years ago

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Prince Geordo looked at Katarina as she stopped to smell some Ice Roses, smiling softly to herself.

It was just the two of them walking through the palace gardens and Geordo couldn’t have been more pleased.

Keith had to meet some daughters of several noble families, Alan and Mary were whisked away by Marquess Hunt, and Prime Minister Ascart had taken his family for a trip down south. Oh and of course Maria had gone home to her small village.

It was perfection.

Geordo smiled smugly to himself. The Ascart family’s vacation and Maria staying home were just good fortune on his part, but the other two. Well he was quite proud of himself to say the least.

A few mild comments about Keith’s lack of engagement had been enough to send Duchess Claes into action. As for his own brother and Lady Mary, well it was fortunate he had run into Marquess Hunt and expressed his sincerest disbelief that his own bother hadn’t performed for his fiancé’s family.

“Why are you smiling like that, Prince Geordo?”

“Are you saying there is something wrong with my smile?” He responded with his best charming smile.

But Katarina wasn’t thrown by his act. In fact, her eyes narrowed and he felt goosebumps gather on the back of his neck.

For as oblivious as his beloved fiancé could be, she seemed to have the uncanny ability to see right through him.

“I get to spend a lovely afternoon with my beautiful fiancé picking flowers, of course I’m smiling.” He said, feeling a bit sheepish for his half-lie. It wasn’t like he was unhappy to be spending the afternoon with her.

Katarina looked at him like she didn’t quite trust his answer, but nonetheless she returned back to the flowers.

“Do you like these ones?” He asked, pointing to the Ice Roses, hoping to move the conversation along.

Katarina nodded enthusiastically at him and Geordo held up the basket filled with flowers that he’d been holding for her. She carefully placed the newly cut roses among the others.

Katarina was planning on making several bouquets. She’d told him all about how she wanted to give one to Keith’s fiancée when she returned back to Claes Manor.

Geordo doubted that even the fearsome Duchess could get Keith to pick a girl to be his bride, but he didn’t tell Katarina that. He was glad that Katarina had cheered up and he didn’t want to ruin her good mood.

She’d been slightly put out when she’d been told it would be better for her to not be at the tea party.

While he was always going to suggest that to Duchess Claes, before he could even say anything, Katarina had already been told to stay away.

Geordo wasn’t sure if the Duke and Duchess were aware that Keith’s fondness for Katarina went beyond sibling affection. Though, at least, the two were aware enough to know that Keith would never give his full attention to other noble ladies if Katarina was around.

For that, Geordo could not fault the younger Claes sibling. All noble ladies fell to the background for him when Katarina was around. In fact, everyone did. How could they not?

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to take these?” Katarina asked unsure, carefully admiring some more flowers. Katarina’s questioning of her position in society was still something that fascinated him. It was endearing, but odd.

“Of course.” He answered simply.

She beamed at him and his heart stuttered. Katarina bent down, softly touching the petals of some Sword Lilies before cutting a few to add to her growing collection. Katarina moved forward.

“What flower do you like best, Prince Geordo?”

What kind of flowers do you like Miss Katarina?

Geordo blinked at the memory he had nearly forgotten.

It was from the day when he had first met Katarina.

He hadn’t actually forgotten about that day. How could he? The memory of Katarina falling and him being unable to do anything as the blood gushed out dominated his memories of that fateful day.

Though, the rest of his memories of that day had faded over the years. Geordo barely remembered the madness of servants and doctors rushing to Katarina’s aid, but the fear on their faces and his own feeling of uselessness had made their marks. He didn’t even recall who finally pulled him away from the bloody scene and walked him back to the palace.

It was no wonder he had forgotten the first part of the day, before Katarina fell. Or as it seemed, he had nearly forgotten.

Now those memories were rushing back to him.

Geordo remembered his selfish fears the following week, when Katarina was bedridden with a raging fever.

He was so concerned of what going to happen to him if Katarina didn’t recover. It wasn’t like he could explain to his parents that Katarina was to blame, not him. Because what would they even say to that? What would society say about the Third Prince refusing to take responsibility?

All of that fuss for some dull, spoiled, and vapid little girl.

“I don’t think I have a favorite flower.” He answered, trying to keep his smile as his stomach twisted in on itself. “I’m haven’t really given it much thought before. Do you think a certain flower would suit me best?”

Katarina turned away for him, listing off all kinds of different flowers that she could think of.

He had once thought Katarina was colorless and boring, that she was just like everyone else.

No.

He had once thought she was worse than everyone else. Even more boring than all other noble girls he’d been force to meet.

Panic seized Geordo as he watched Katarina walk further and further away for him as he stood there motionless, stuck in the garden of their childhood. The colors slowly fading away as she left him behind.

It was almost funny how he had forgotten what the first hour of their first meeting had actually been like. Almost, being the word.

Geordo had been so annoyed at being force to give her a tour. No one had bothered to even ask him if he wanted to do it. It was just presumed he would. But of course, they presumed that.

Geordo had been going along with the meetings and making pleasantries and smiling as every stupid girl he’d been force to meet. The idea that one of them would be his future wife hovered above all their interactions. A depressing cloud to remind him of all the boring years he had to look forward to.

It didn’t matter if it was Lady Catley, Lady Thorne, Lady Bennet or any of the others, because there weren’t any real differences between them. They were all as boring and uninteresting as the last one.

In an odd way, Katarina had stood out amongst the others. It had only been a few minutes of meeting her that he knew he absolutely did not want her to be his wife. Ever.

During their first walk through the gardens, Katarina had clung to his arm. Her fingernails felt like claws digging into his skin, trapping him in place.

All he could do was smile and be the charming prince they all thought he was as he suppressed the urge to push her away. He had wanted her to leave him alone, he didn’t want to spend another second with Katarina Claes.

How blind was he as a kid?

How stuck in his own spoiled thoughts that he had mischaracterized his beautiful Katarina to such a degree that all he saw was some stupid, vain girl with nothing of note about her?

A week after Katarina had fell, young Geordo was told about the scar that marred her once beautiful face. Though according to others, the scar was a few centimeters at most, if even that.

Still, the question of who would want to marry her now had been whispered throughout the palace halls.

At the time, Geordo thought it was ridiculous and beyond infuriating.

But it had given him an idea.

Maybe being engaged to Katarina could help him out in the following years to come. A shield to all the so-called important Lords and Ladies who shoved their daughters at him. If he was engaged, he wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore.

And if the reason for his engagement was just the matter of a silly scar, well surely, he could break it off for another silly matter. It wouldn’t be difficult to manipulate someone like Katarina.

True he would be stuck with an insufferable girl for the years to come, but it also meant freedom from the countless others.

With his plan set to go, Geordo arrived at the Claes Manor to officially check on Katarina’s progress.

Visiting her was the first step into his new future. He wasn’t going to propose to her right then and there, no that would be improper and unseemly for the Third Prince. Still he had to visit her once, so he could propose to her during his second visit. There couldn’t be a second visit, without a first.

But he had been wrong. That Geordo remembered clearly.

He had never really been wrong before and it almost seemed impossible, but yet…

Katarina had apologized to him of all things. She too thought all the fuss around her had been ridiculous and…and he was confused.

Smiling brightly at Geordo, Katarina showed him the scar on her forehead, assuring him that she was just fine. That she could just cover it up with her bangs and that there was no need for him to feel bad.

His eight-year-old self couldn’t even begin to wrap his small mind around Katarina throwing his carefully laid out plan out the window, like it was nothing. So, he quickly proposed to her right then and there.

Formality and properness followed his plan out the very same window.

At the time he hadn’t realize why he had even done that. Why he hadn’t stop to think of another plan, why he had been so impulsive.

But now Geordo did. It was clear that his younger self, with his set plan, had been desperate to enforce it. To ensure to all, no to himself, that he’d been right. That he couldn’t have been wrong about Katarina.

Geordo wanted to laugh at his younger self, but couldn’t find it in himself.

He remembered being confused when he returned to his room after visiting Katarina. Geordo had been able to see through almost everybody his entire life and even with the people he couldn’t, at least he knew he couldn’t.

But Katarina…

He had been so sure of exactly what kind of person she was.

Young Geordo shook his head. It didn’t matter that he was slightly off about Katarina. He had been right in the end, in a way…if one thought about it long enough.

He was still going to properly propose to her the second time he visited.

Everything was still going according to his plan. It had to.

Though it wouldn’t hurt to reconsider what he knew about one Katarina Claes, just so he’d be prepare for their next meeting.

And yet, even with his expectations of Katarina carefully modified for when he returned to properly propose to her, she had thrown him off once more.

Katarina smiled brightly without a care as she stood in the early beginnings of a field in dirty work-clothes, hoe in hand.

Creating a vegetable field to improve her earth magic was one of the most ridiculous and nonsensical things he had ever heard. He almost broke right there as he tried to contain his laughter.

But it was creative and wonderfully Katarina, to think of something no one else had and to go at it with so much determination and enthusiasm. Not caring if she was wrong or right. It was so different from how he approached everything. So wonderfully different.

That day Geordo remembered clearly.

Years of reflecting back on that day had solidify it in his memory. The dull, colorless world he had lived in for so long was marred by the bright and colorful Katarina in the most beautiful way.

That day was when he finally admitted to himself that he’d been wrong; he didn’t know the answer to the confusing puzzle that was Katarina.

That day spurred on Geordo’s countless efforts to figure Katarina out and understand everything about her. Because for the first time in his long eight years of life, he was finally interested in something, no, someone else.

That’s the day he met Katarina Claes.

The days and years that followed had led to him falling hard for her. His beautiful, lovely, and odd fiancé.

That’s what mattered. Who cares if he had misjudged Katarina in the beginning? It didn’t matter. Not now.

So why was he still standing frozen to the ground? Why couldn’t he let go of what he had first thought of Katarina? He was wrong and he had misjudged her, there was nothing more to it. Why couldn’t he let it go?

“Prince Geordo!” Katarina shouted, rushing back to his side and relief filled his body as he finally breathed out. “I’m so sorry. I got lost in talking about Mary’s lesson in proper flower arranging that I didn’t even realize that I had…”

Her face was flushed with a beautiful red and her bright aqua-blue eyes looked wild. His heart pounded at the sight, at the idea of her rushing back to him.

“Geordo?” Katarina asked. His eyes widened as he realized he hadn’t heard anything else she had said. “Are you feeling alright?”

Before he could respond, a cool hand was on his forehead, while the other held his cheek. He was so overwhelmed, that instead of doing the sane thing of assuring Katarina that he was fine, he hugged her tightly.

Because what if Katarina hadn’t hit her head? What if there had been no scar? What if…what if she had never been part of his life at all?

Geordo held Katarina tighter. Afraid that if he let her go, she would be gone.

At eight-years-old he was already bored and annoyed with everything. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what eight more years of that would’ve been like.

Katarina pulled away and he just stood there, embarrassed by his sudden rush of emotions and losing control like that. He tried not to blush as she stared back at him, her mouth agape.

She shook herself out of her daze and then quickly and very loudly began to call for one of the servants to take a look at him.

She grabbed his arm tightly and began dragging him back the palace. She was determined to have someone take a proper look at him, since clearly the sun had gotten to him.

Geordo went along happily, with no desire to escape the forceful grip on his arm.

As the two got closer to the palace, neither one took notice to a certain spot where a young nobly lady had hit her head all those years ago. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Archive of Our Own

I’m intrigued by the fact that Geordo is the only one of the main characters who met Katarina before she hit her head. He’s the only one who knew her before, even if very briefly.

So, I got to wondering if he thought Katarina had a major shift in personality or would he just presume the more logical (but not true) answer, that his opinion of Katarina before she hit her head was wrong.

And then my mind took off with that idea.

#Hamefura #Katarina Claes #Bakarina #Geordo Stuart #Otome game no hametsu flag #Gerald Stuart #destruction flag otome #my next life as a villainess #Jeord Stuart #archive of our own

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the-one-with-wings-blog · 5 years ago

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[Madelaine Petsch, female, She/her] [Olette "Lettie" Marie Voss] has been seen around Riverton lately. They are [Twenty Four] and work as a/an [Co-Owner of Cafe Bouquet]. One of their favorite activities is [Painting]. Some people say that they are [Positive], but others say they are [Airheaded]. How are they enjoying their stay in Riverton? (Megs ,25,est,she/her)

TW: Blood, Murder under the cut.

Name: Olette “Lettie” Marie Voss

Age: 24

Height: 5’5”

Eye Colour: Dark Brown

Hair Colour: Red

Tattoos: None

Scars: A deep scar on her left temple, mostly obscured by her hair.

Birthday: October 1st

Star Sign: Libra

Family

Lillian Lyrica Voss: Mother, fifty, deceased. Lillian was her business partner, by all accounts the two were very close and had a very good relationship. Some might have found it odd that they were as close as they were but most would chalk it up to a very normal loving relationship.

Bernard “Bernie” Voss: Father, fifty two, deceased. Bernie was a big man with a scary look, quite unlike the softness in his wife and daughter but he was, again, by all accounts a protective, doting father. He was a business man who dealt with real estate both within and outside of town.

Past

She was born on the first of October with much fanfare, after a rough pregnancy. She was an artistic, creative child and somewhat air headed but talented in many ways. The family home was, and still is, just outside of town, set in the woods. She went to school in Riverton and would have to walk down the long road up to the street the bus rout was on. She was never especially popular in school and she wasn’t quite sure why, people just seemed to avoid her. Still, despite all that, she did manage to make a few very good, brave friends who she doted on endlessly, bringing cookies and cupcakes for to lunch, attending every recital, soccer game, tennis match, whatever it was.

As she grew up she continued to bake and to paint, she did well in school, science especially, but her passions were in the arts so she decided against going to school for chemistry, opting for fine arts instead. After she graduated with her degree, she came home and made a few discoveries that sparked a lot of fighting with her parents. She got her own apartment, a crappy one and paid her own way for a few months in it before the family reconciled. No one quite knows exactly what was said but shortly after Bernie Voss purchased a building in downtown Riverton where Lillian and Lettie set up shop. Olette made a move into a much nicer apartment and once again, things seemed golden for the Voss family.

A few short weeks ago, there was a disturbance at the household, screaming and gunfire so loud, their closest neighbour who’s property was yards away called it in and only because they had been out in the woods that night. The police found the bloody bodies of Bernard and Lillian, both of whom were pronounced dead at the scene but they also found Lettie who was unconscious but alive. She was brought to the Riverton Hospital where she lay asleep, on tubes and wires…until she woke up one night, a brand new person…sort of.

Present

Olette Marie Voss has no recollection of her past or of the people she called family or friends, all she has are questions, some she wants answers to and some she doesn’t. The police continue to persist in their investigation but she wonders if maybe what happened to her was a blessing, if this is a box that is better left unopened, let the contents poison her and the town. She wants to know more about her family, about her home, her business. She is currently accepting applicants to the Bouquet Cafe and will be doing interviews which is a task she considers to be rather daunting. She is in the process of moving out of her apartment and into the family…

Connections I’d be interested in…

Friends from her childhood: Mostly girls, brave and spunky enough to hang out with her, a sailor senshi-esque assortment of people if you will.

Distant family: Cousins and uncles and aunts that have come back to Riverton to either help or hinder her, they may know a bit about what caused the fight between her and her parents.

Romantic Interest: ??? who knows, it’s an option on the table.

Fun Facts

Olette is a very nice dresser, sometimes in a way that’s a little intimidating to others.

She loves girly things but she’s also fond of nerdier things like Harry Potter, Anime (certain films and series), and video games.

Her twitter and insta handle is #the-one-with-wings, or variations of that.

She isn’t the best driver.

She can speak fluent French and English.

She has a hard time getting bottles opened.

Traits

Ditzy, Sweet, Naive, Wise (in some ways), Talented, Considerate, Privileged, Kind, Fearful, Indecisive, Obsessive.

#basics #rhintro #TW: murder #TW:blood #about

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wellhellotragic · 6 years ago

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Until the End

A/N: I’m in a mood, so you get angsty fic... A small little something to write out my frustrations. It’s a little on the sad side. You’ve been warned.

“And you’ll stay with me?”

“Until the end.”

No one had seen it coming. Only a mile away from his apartment. The sound of brakes squealing. The horn still blaring under the weight of the driver. He’d spent the last month cursing her name for not having fought harder, for not wanting to stay with him. But as the ringing in his ears faded to silence and his body became colder, he started to understand. It was dark out, and he was just so tired.

Nerves wracked his body as he tried to dress himself. His fingers shook so badly he’d been forced to leave the top three buttons undone, fancy restaurant dress code be damned. It had taken him ages to get his second chance. A year apart from his Swan had felt like an eternity.

She’d left after a misunderstanding. An unwanted advance from another woman. Emma had walked in just in time to see their lips meet, but she’d been gone again before she could witness the way he’d pushed back against Milah. The rum overflowing in his veins slowing down his reflexes. Two seconds. That was all it had taken to ruin his life.

He ran back to their shared apartment, but arrived too late. Her clothes and suitcases were gone already. She’d never been overly sentimental. In fact, there had only ever been two items that ever meant a damn to her.

The swan pendant given to her by an ex. A reminder that everyone left. That eventually everyone would break her heart. That she could never trust anyone.

And then there was the ring. A single square cut diamond. What should have been a reminder that he wasn’t Neal. He wasn't going to betray her. He wasn’t going to leave her. He wasn’t ever going to hurt her. Yet there it sat, left on his pillow.

He’d called everyone he could think of. None of them had seen or heard from her, or so they said. A cab ride to the hospital where she worked proved to be just as useless. If there was one thing he know about Emma Swan, it was that she didn’t want to be found.

Eleven bloody months. Life went on all around him. His friends tried to get him to date. They tried to get him to sleep around. They tried to get him to live, but without Emma, nothing was the same. The bed was too big. Too cold. Too empty. He made too many eggs for breakfast. Brewed too much coffee. He forgot to tell the chinese food place that he had a new usual so they always delivered twice as many egg rolls. He forgot to lock the door to their, no, his apartment, always forgetting she wasn’t coming home soon. He never turned off the lights in the kitchen.

And yet, life went on. He worked, went to set everyday. He went to the bar with everyone on the weekend. He put on his mask when fans stopped him in public for photographs and autographs. Eleven months of living a lie, and he was dying inside.

And then he’d seen her, first thinking her an illusion. He’d seen her everywhere in the beginning. Every glint of golden strands, every flash of porcelain skin, every hint of vanilla in the air. She’d been everywhere and nowhere. But in his double take, there was no denying it. It was Emma Swan, the woman who’d vanished off the face of the earth.

It was sneaky and underhanded. A bit stalkerish to be honest, but he needed something to grasp to. He needed more than a fleeting sight of her, a rushed argument. He needed more than two seconds with her. So he followed her. He followed her to the coffee shop where she’d bought a hot cocoa with cinnamon. He’d followed her to the drycleaners where she picked up her clothes. He’d found himself relax infantismaly at the fact that it all appeared to be hers and hers alone. And then he followed her to an apartment building. He wasn’t so bold as to follow her into the elevator, but it was enough for him to just know where she was.

He’d sent her flowers first. No card, no sender, no way for her to know they were from him. Just a simple bouquet to let her know someone was thinking of her. She looked happy as she emerged from her apartment while he hid at a cafe across the street.

Then he sent her chocolates. Her favorite. There were more flowers. Eventually there were cards, but still no signatures. It healed his heart to see her so happy everyday. It healed it right up until he realized that she was fine without him. She hadn’t been utterly devastated being alone.

But then again, she wasn’t alone. At least not when he’d run into her at a restaurant. He’d been there to meet a director, to discuss a vision for a project. She’d been seated near the door though, a man in a suit sat across from her with a look in his eye. A look that said he wanted to devour her. He’d been so stunned he’d walked into a waiter, causing a commotion when a tray full of drinks hit the floor. Shattered glass symbolic of his heart. Her eyes had met his in that instant and everything broke.

He’d been the one to run that time. He heard his name called out by people wanting his picture, but he just needed to get away. For the first time in eleven months a nineteen days, he wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and Emma Swan.

He drank. He drank himself into oblivion. David had found him in a pool of his own vomit on the couch after no one had heard from him. Three days of drinking and one shower. Somehow that was supposed to be enough for him to get over Emma Swan. Somehow he was supposed to know that since she had moved on, that he could now too.

Eleven months, twenty two days and forty seven minutes.

That’s how long it had been since they’d last spoken. But there she was, standing on the other side of his door, looking as beautiful as ever, while he’d barely managed to throw on some basketball shorts.

There were tears in her eyes and they both just stayed frozen, neither able to break the silence. Neither of them able to acknowledge that they were basically strangers now. Finally, he came to his senses, inviting her in.

It was weird and it was hard. Emma told her that David had found her that morning, had tracked her down at the hospital and explained everything. He’d told her about how Milah had kissed him, the he hadn’t wanted her to. That he’d gone after her that night.

She’s explained that she’d left that night. Left the city. Left the country. There had been an offer for Doctors Without Borders. They’d wanted her for her expertise with the small humans, her nickname for the children she treated. They’d asked a number of times, something about Zika and an epidemic. It was overwhelming and he’d only caught bits and pieces, lost in his own mind. She said she’d always turned them down, but when she saw him with Milah, she didn’t think she had a reason to stay.

Logically, it made sense. Neal had really hurt her and she had trust issues. But none of that helped. He had gone out of his way to prove himself to her, and it still hadn’t been enough. After everything, she still hadn’t trusted him.

She’d been gone nine months. When she moved back, her sabbatical ended, she returned to the hospital. Found a new apartment. Found a new boyfriend. Not that she’d labeled him as such. He was another doctor at the hospital. Someone who’d asked her out before. Someone who’d claimed credit for all of the anonymous gifts that Emma had been receiving. That night in the restaurant had been their second date.

Then she dropped the bomb. She wanted him back. She’d never stopped loving him and she made a horrible mistake. She’d made a snap judgement and ruined everything. That she’d do anything to make it up to him.

And he’d asked her to leave.

Only eleven months, twenty two days, one hour, and sixteen minutes before he would have been the one pleading. He would have been the one on his knees asking for a second chance. But now, well, now he was broken and he wasn’t sure if he had it in him to try again. He’d never even considered anyone else, but she had. Had he really loved her that much more than she’d loved him? Had he really been so wrong?

Eight more days. It had taken eight days of introspection. Eight days of David him reminding him of the fact that Emma had been his everything. Eight days of Mary Margaret texting him pictures of he and Emma together in happier times. Eight days of him thinking about how miserable he’d been without her.

Eleven months, thirty days, thirteen hours, and two minutes had passed since she’d walked out on him. And not another minute would pass without him fighting for her. He’d sent flowers to the hospital, leaving a card that time, asking her to meet him at their spot the next evening.

Twelve months to the day since they’d parted, and he’d been just as nervous now as he was on their first date, especially with her old ring weighing down his pocket. He’d hired a car, not wanting to deal with cabs or fans. He just wanted Emma.

The park was only a block away from the restaurant. It’s where they’d met. She’d been sitting on a bench reading a book and she’d been so stunning. He’d been helpless as his body slid down next to hers and he’d struck up a conversation. He’d also accidently spoiled the ending of the book she’d been reading, but he’d been so charming she was willing to overlook it just that once. Her words.

Fall had set in. The leaves had begun turning. The temperatures had cooled. And he was alone. The only sounds had been that of the winds whistling through the trees. He shouldn’t have left it the way he did. He should have called her. He should have gone to her apartment or to the hospital. He should have confirmed that she was coming. But he hadn’t, and now he was a bloody fool standing alone in a garden.

Then he heard the gunshot, and soon sirens followed. Red lights lit up the street as he made his way back to the world ready to get back into the car he’d hired so he could call it a night, having given up on Emma. There was yelling, a man upset that his kid was dead. Police screaming at him to put the gun down. Two more shots rang out and the man had gone down and that’s when Killian saw it.

That’s when he saw her .

That man had been the father of one of Emma’s patients. He’d been upset that his daughter had died while waiting for a new heart. He’d blamed Emma, followed her from the hospital and confrontedher as she got out of her cab. That’s why she hadn’t shown.

He’d knelt down beside her, holding her frail body against his own, begging her to hold on. He told her the ambulance was coming, that it would be there any minute now. He pulled the ring out of his pocket and slid in onto her finger where it should have always been. He told her that she just needed to fight.

She didn’t though. She just gave him a small smile and told him that it would be okay. And then she left him. His body wracked with sobs.

They’d buried her after the investigation was over. Hundreds of people had gone to pay their respects. People who had worked with her, people whose children she’d saved. People who’d just read about her life and come out to celebrate her. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever endured. Harder than when he’d lost her twelves months, three weeks, two days, seven hours, and four minutes before. This time there was no hope. She was really gone.

The studio had given him off as much time as possible to mourn, but it had reached the point where they were losing money and he was nearing a breach of contract. Not that he’d much cared about the last part though. He’d gone back to filming only because he couldn’t bare to stay in that apartment alone for one more minute. Even after all of that time, she was still everywhere.

The first day back, he’d immersed himself in his role. He’d given it his all trying to lose himself in something other than sorrow and grief. Everyone on set had given him a wide berth. Two more weeks passed in much the same way. Everyone worked grueling hours, often not leaving set until three or four in the morning. His manager had hired him a car to take him home each night, not wanted him to fall asleep behind the wheel.

Not that it mattered.

Even with a fully conscious driver, they’d been no match to the drunk driver that had crossed the yellow line, hitting them straight on. The car had rolled and he could smell gasoline. Everything hurt, even with the adrenaline pulsing through his body and he knew it was bad.

And then she’d appeared, sitting in the seat next to him with an angelic glow.

She’d whispered in his ear, telling him everything would be alright. That he’d be okay.

He asked her if she was real. She’d asked him if it mattered.

It didn’t.

She’d laid her hand over his own, lacing their fingers together. He swore he could actually feel her there with him, that he could smell her perfume.

“Help is coming my love.”

Her voice was steady and calming, even as his body became weaker. He heard the sirens in the distance, saw the lights coming closer. He heard the EMT pound on the glass. The muffled ‘hold tight.’

The car had been smashed though, and even with the jaws of life they were struggling to get to him. Through it all though, Emma was there with him. With him alone.

“Shhh, it’s going to be alright.”

He’d felt her breath on his cheek.

Yes, he’d spent a month cursing Emma for not fighting, but he was so tired and he almost understood. It was just too hard. Not when he didn’t have anything left to live for. Emma had though.

“Why didn’t you fight harder?”

He needed to know why he wasn’t enough, why she’d given up so easily.

“Oh sweetheart. I couldn’t live in a world without you.”

As she said it, she let her palm rest against his chest, over his heart. Hundreds of images flooded through his mind. His entire life had flashed before him in just a second and he knew, just as she must have, that this was always coming. They were never going to have forever. She’d seen all of this coming, knew he wasn’t long for this earth. He wasn’t going to live.

“And you’ll stay with me?”

“Until the end.”

#cs ff #Captain Swan #angst #wellhellotragic #Until the End

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nekojitachan · 7 years ago

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would you ever consider writing abram and stuart’s (and the rest of the hatford crew) meeting abram for the first time after he makes the call? i imagine it’ll take a while for abram to open up to stuart and he’d probably be rather skittish

*******

Haaa… hi! So, it appears that I’m in the mood for Armies prompt! (and just a note in general - I have everyone’s prompts and I try not to comment because I like keeping them ‘saved’ in my message box, that way I don’t lose them. So don’t worry if you send me something. If you think tumblr lost it, you can always resend, but I worry about losing prompts or forgetting them so I try to keep them until I can attach the fic).

That out of the way… all right, so this is partially done? Looking at it now I see we just get Stuart’s point of view, but it’s a start at least? And there’s a comment in Armies where Neil/Abram only met Henry once, and that would have been when Abram was a child, so no Henry pov, sorry. But! Stuart pov finally! And this is a prequel of sorts to Armies and I think I may expand upon it - though honestly, Jamie and Ally won’t ‘meet’ Abram until after the whole Popescu thing.

Which all of this is a lot of me rambling without posting the prompt?

TW: character death, mention of past abuse, brief thoughts of suicide

*******

Alex stood still as the cold water of the Pacific Oceanwashed over his ankles, as it rushed forth to cover the small cairn of rockswhich served as his mother’s anonymous grave. Mary Hatford deserved so muchmore, deserved a proper resting place surrounded by family and a coffin and atombstone so loved ones could visit over the years, and instead had herhalf-charred remains all but dumped into a wet hole in the ground which no onewould ever knowingly visit. In a few more minutes, Alex would turn around andwalk away, would discard his current name and leave her behind forever.

He might be joining her in an unmarked grave soon enough –Mary Hatford’s latest sacrifice all for nothing. Over six years on the run fornothing, all the pain and abuse suffered at Nathan Wesninski’s hands for nothing.

All because she refused to give Alex (Nathaniel) up to theMoriyamas.

He wanted to scream his rage and anguish and confusion intothe night sky, to deafen the sound of the endless waves and screeching seagullsas he thought about what his mother had confessed to him as they fled Seattleand his father and what he’d thought had just been yet another bout of terribleviolence and bloody near-miss. Instead, it had been his father landing a fatalblow on Alex’s mother at last, a long-overdue retribution for her taking hisson away, his son and five million dollars… and only increasing the Butcher’sdebt to the criminal syndicate he owed allegiance.

Alex knew that his mother had been born a Hatford, into acriminal empire of sorts in the UK, but he’d thought that his father had beenresponsible for his own business of death and drugs and intimidation on theEast Coast. It seemed that Nathan Wesninski was merely a subordinate, and hadpromised his son to his more powerful employers.

Which meant that Alex had four choices left to him at themoment; he could walk out into the ocean and end things right there, could stoprunning once and for all. He felt so tired, felt so worn down and battered, andit wasn’t just from the bruises littering his body from the fight earlier. Yethe could still hear his mother’s weak, raspy voice in his head telling him to run and never stop.

He could obey her like he always did, could grab his bagsitting on the beach and shed ‘Alex’, could pick a new identity and find one oftheir stashes and rest in city number twenty-three for a while, then move on.And on. And on… until his father or the Moriyamas caught up to him.

He could hand himself over to the Moriyamas and explain thathe hadn’t known the truth. For a moment he felt a faint thrill at the thoughtof playing Exy again, at being on the court at Castle Evermore with Riko andKevin and… and there had to be a reason whyhis mother had taken him and run, hadn’t there? Why she believed everythingthey’d suffered was better than him going on to play for one of the best Exyteams in existence.

Or… or as his final choice, he could retrieve his phone andcall his uncle Stuart, call the number that was to be used as a ‘last resort’.Alex’s mother had done her best to stay away from her family after they’dimmediately left Baltimore, to not rely upon them for help or return to thatlife… but Alex didn’t see any choice at the moment. It was either end up likeher or end up in his father’s hands.

He stared out over the fluid waves for a few more secondsbefore he turned around and had to blink his eyes at the remnants of the fire asit flickered low in the metal frame of the ruins of the car, and stumbledtoward his duffel bag.

He’d already thrown his mother’s belongings into the ocean,those which he hadn’t burned, and had almost gotten rid of his own phone sinceit was the same cheap, disposable model as his mother’s. He gazed at it for acouple of seconds before he forced himself to power it on and then dialed anumber long-memorized, aware that it would be early morning in London.

“Who the hell is this?” Stuart answered after a couple ofrings, his gruff voice thick with sleep. “Ally? This one of your tricks?”

Alex’s throat grew tight at the sound of his uncle’s voice,of the familiar accent. “Ah… it’s-“ he almost said ‘Nathaniel’ before he caughthimself. “It’s Abram,” he said, his voice falling into the same accent, the onehe always used when with his mother, and used the name his mother had alwayscalled him. “Uhm, Mary’s son.”

“Mary’s – fuck, kiddo, what’s going on? Where’s your mum?”Stuart didn’t sound so tired anymore. “Where’s she?”

Alex fought back a sob as he fell to his knees and rockedback and forth. “She… she’s not… I… your number.”

“Dammit. Dammit!”There was the sound of something loud clashing on the other end while Stuartyelled, which made Alex flinch and almost drop the phone. “Dammit, Mary! I –wait, are you okay, kiddo?”

Alex shook his head before he realized that Stuart couldn’tsee him. “I-“

“Are you safe? Is that fucker nearby? He did it, didn’t he?He got Mary.”

“Yu-yeah.” Alex forced himself to answer, even though hehuddled over at the sound of an angry adult male. “Yes, sir.” He recalled acurt man just a few inches taller than his mother, several years older than hismother with blond hair and grey eyes yet who always tried to bribe him with tartcandies to step away from Mary so he could ‘get a proper look at you, kiddo’.Stuart hadn’t seemed so bad, back in London.

“Fuck.” ThenStuart let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay. We need to focus on you, Abram,” hesaid in a quieter tone of voice. “Where are you? You’re all right, yeah?”

“I’m fine,” Alex told him. “Uhm… California, by the ocean,in the north.” He let out a shudderingbreath. “I… I buried her here. By the water. Burned the car.”

“Fuck,” Stuart breathed out as there was the sound of breakingglass. “Dammit. There a town nearby?”

“Uhm.” Alex scrubbed at his face as he thought about thedrive from Seattle, about his mother’s weak voice and bright eyes and heavywords, how it had been so hard to look away from her even to pay attention tothe road once he’d realized that something was wrong. “Eureka. It’s a few milesnorth.”

“Can you get there without any problems?”

“Yeah.” He was used to walking when they didn’t have a car,when they needed to fade into a city and lose people on crowded streets.

“All right, then you go there, and you find someplace publicyou can crash until I send someone to pick you up, do you understand? It’lljust be a couple of hours, tops, and they’ll get you to the nearest airportwith an international flight to London. I’d come get you myself but this’ll bequickest – I want you out of that hellhole of a country before the day’s out.”

“Okay.” Alex wanted out of the States, too; nothing goodever happened to him while he was there.

“Good boy. Now, give me a safe word or something so you’llknow the person I send to fetch you.”

Alex frowned as he attempted to think of something that hisfather’s people wouldn’t guess; anything related to Exy wouldn’t be a goodidea. “Ah… ‘poppies’,” he said after a couple of seconds, as he glanced over atthe still-smoldering wreck of a car.

It made his chest ache, the thought of how little he’d knownabout his mother (actually, everything to do with her made his chest ache), buthe’d caught her smiling fondly at the little fake flowers they handed out onRemembrance Day one year while in the UK and had learned that poppies were herfavorite flower. She’d never have a proper grave, would never have a placewhere he could leave a bouquet of them on her headstone each year to mark herpassing or birthday or anything like that, he realized.

“’Poppies’,” Stuart repeated, his voice thick once again butnot from sleep – something similar must have occurred to him. “Get going,Abram. Be careful, call as soon as you reach the town or if you need help. I’llsee you soon.” Then he hung up.

Alex held the phone clutched in his hand for a moment, hisfingers scraped raw from digging in the sand, then he forced himself to put thephone into the duffel bag and pull out a clean pair of clothes that didn’t reekof gasoline and smoke and burnt flesh. Once he was changed into them, he threwthe other pair into the flickering flames as he passed the remains of the carthen kept going, refusing to look back as he made his way to Eureka.

*******

“Are you sure about this, Stu? Miriam said that-“

“I’m sure,” Stuart argued for the eighth time as he cutshort his brother, tone a bit snippy but… eighthtime. He knew Will meant well, was stressed and still processing the fact that theirsister was dead, but they had to focus on her son right then. “Give me a day ortwo with him, a little time to get him settled in and then you and Miriam cancome over. But he sounded at his wit’s end the couple of times I talked to him,and if he’s anything like Mary,” dammit,he hated how he could barely say her name, “then you know how that’s gonna go.”

“Yeah.” Will was just as choked up; they should have beenprepared for this day, had thought they were, but Abram’s call had still been ashot to the guts. Mary was – had, dammit– been clever as fuck, been the strongest of the three of them in her own way,so damn stubborn and unwilling to bend. Stuart was amazed that she’d lasted solong on the run, had kept herself and her son free of the Moriyamas and that fucker Wesninski with so littleresources.

Had.

Dammit, keep it together, Hatford.

“Take all the time you need to settle Abram in, and call mefor anything, you hear?” Willordered, his voice back to stern and demanding. “Anything that boy needs. We’llfigure out what to do with him soon enough, the main thing is he’s home now.”

“Right, I’ll keep you updated,” Stuart promised his brotherthen went to pour himself some more coffee once the call ended. It had been along as hell day already and Abram would be there any minute, leaving Stuart todeal with Mary’s teenage son.

Mary… beautiful, stubborn, independent Mary, so certain thatshe always knew what was she was doing, that she didn’t need to listen toanyone, that people were trying to hold her back or treat her like a child ornot trust her to make her own choices. Foolish, fiery Mary who thought shecould do so much better than her brothers, who leapt before looking and marrieda psychopath leashed to the yakuza.

Stuart wanted whisky more than coffee, but he stuck with thecaffeine instead because the last thing poor Abram needed was being dropped offinto the custody of some drunk uncle he barely knew, right?

At least Will still had enough pull with some of theorganization in Vancouver and Arthur Boylen had been able to send one of hismen across the border to fetch Abram, take him to Sacramento and board a planewith him to ensure that he arrived in London in one piece. Cal had been sent to pick up the poor kid andbring him to Stuart’s home since they didn’t want to make it too obvious, thefact that Mary Hatford’s son had left the US to return to her family.

No, the less the Moriyamas found out about Abram’swhereabouts, the better; Stuart knew that Mary hadn’t wanted her son to becomeinvolved in the ‘family’ business, which was why she hadn’t stayed with themafter finally coming to her senses and leaving Nathan Wesninski. That meant heand Will needed to figure out what to do with Abram, what kind of life theycould offer him at last.

He was on his second cup of coffee when Cal finally showedup with an exhausted and wary Abram in tow; Cal was babbling away about takingthe kid down to Covent Gardens to pick pockets, of all things, while Abramslunk into the townhouse as if expecting to be yelled at (or worse) any moment,all defenses up and hunched shoulders.

“Ah, here he is! Your uncle Stuart, in the flesh. I’ll leavethe two of you at it, okay?” Cal nodded to Stuart before he smiled at Abram.“It was nice to meet you, kid. Let me know if you get bored and wanna hangout.”

Abram gave the enforcer a slight nod but didn’t sayanything, his attention flickered all around as he took in Stuart and thetownhouse in a hyperaware manner which Stuart recognized as someone doing hisbest to assess any and all potential threats – Stuart included. So Stuartdidn’t come too close as he did some assessing himself.

Mary’s son had obviously inherited the Hatford genes when itcame to height, or lack of it, since the kid (he’d be at least sixteen, ifStuart remembered correctly) was about 160 centimeters. He was scrawny as fuck,too, which wasn’t helped by the overlarge rags he wore, pale blue jeans and apale grey sweatshirt that had seen better days a long time ago. The red hairStuart remembered in the photos which Mary would send was gone, replaced bywhat he suspected was dark brown dye (it had been dyed a lighter shade duringhis visit years ago), and the kid wore brown contacts as well.

One could see that fucker Wesninski in the kid’s face, couldtell the two of them were related, but Abram’s cheeks were sharper, his facethinner and more refined, and there were bits of Mary in there as well (thefine eyebrows, that mouth). Stuart looked at his nephew and ached as he took inthe dark shadows around those masked eyes, the tightness lining the mouth, themissed years between the young child who’d last stood before him and now.

It occurred to him that he’d never seen Abram laugh – not inany of the pictures that Mary had sent, not in that week when she’d brought himhere, never. He’d rarely seen the kidsmile, either, and those had always been guarded things or falsehoods for thecamera.

“So, uhm, hi,” he said to his nephew, all of a sudden at aloss for words. Part of him wanted to wrap his arms around Mary’s child and hughim, to share in the grief between them, but he knew that Abram was too on edgefor that, too wary of him.

Abram started at the sound of his voice. “Ah, hi.” Hehitched the duffel bag hanging on his left shoulder a little higher. “Uhm…thank you,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and stress. “For… forthis.” He gave a slight wave of his right hand. “I can… I can be gone in a-“

“You’re staying here,” Stuart snapped, furious at thethought of Abram vanishing just like Mary had, of losing the last bit of hissister he had left, and then let out a slow breath when he caught Abram’sflinch. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, but you called me for help and thefamily’s here for you, kiddo. Don’t go running because you think you have to,all right? Rest for a while, we’ll help you figure things out. You’re safehere.” He waited for Abram to slowly relax and nod. “What do want right now?Something to eat? To sleep?” The kid looked ready to pass out.

“Uhm… bed be good,” Abram admitted in a quiet, slurred voiceas he rubbed at his eyes with a hand all scraped up for some reason.

“We can manage that,” Stuart said as he was cautious aboutstepping around his nephew to lead him up the stairs to the bedroom he’dprepared earlier in the day. Abram appeared mindful to stay just out of reach,to keep him in his sights at all time, and after getting over his shock of aroom with the large bed and attached bathroom, locked the door behind Stuart.

There might have been the sound of a chair or somethingbeing pushed against the door a minute later, as Stuart hovered in thestairwell. Mary obviously didn’t raise a naïve child, and Stuart would have hiswork cut out for him in gaining Abram’s trust, it seemed.

Stuart tried not to think about what Abram’s life must havebeen like, all those years on the run. He definitely didn’t want to think aboutwhat it had been like in Nathan Wesninski’s house.

He reheated the last of some take-away as he called Will tolet him know that Abram had arrived, and spent some time talking to hisbrother; Miriam was busy looking into schools for their nephew, possibly aboarding school where he could stay under an alias. Part of Stuart didn’t wantto even contemplate letting Abram being out of his sight, of letting go of Mary’sson after they’d gotten him back… but it would be whatever was best for theboy.

He made a few other calls to ensure that work wouldn’t betoo disrupted by him staying at home for a couple of days, Henry more than capableof stepping in for him (a good learning experience for the young man), andfinally gave in to the urge to grab the bottle of whisky before he tuckedhimself into the one comfortable chair in the living room with an old photoalbum.

They never knew if it had been deliberate or not, theirparents waiting so long to have Stuart and Mary after Will, but William was olderthan Stuart by ten years and Mary by almost another four. The age gap hadn’tbeen so bad between Will and Stuart, but then again they were brothers – he’dalways looked up to Will, had seen him as a mentor and an example and a hero ofsorts, someone to emulate. He’d annoyed Will a little for a few years with hisconstant tagging along and all, but Will had always taken his responsibilitiesto the family seriously, had looked after Stuart and taken the time to show himwhat to do and how to fight and everything else he’d felt was the duty of a bigbrother.

There was less of a gap between Stuart and Mary so they’dgotten along better, had understood each other and felt like it was themagainst their parents and the rest of the family often since they were the ‘youngones’. Still, Mary was the ‘baby’, was the only daughter and seemed to vacillatebetween spoiled/adored and coddled – the first she used to her advantage, thelatter she detested.

Stuart gazed at a picture of his sister - probably no morethan nine or ten years old, her hair pulled back and curled and dressed in someridiculously frilly outfit - glare at the camera with her hands in fists uponher hips and thought he remembered some party his mother had thrown where shewanted Mary to be a ‘proper’ little lady. A party which Stuart and Will didn’thave to attend, of course, which had only added to Mary’s ire.

She could cause one damn righteous scene she could, hissister. He found himself smiling at that memory, before he remembered aboutthat inner fire being snuffed out forever, snuffed out by some American prickwho’d hurt her for years. Hurt her and Abram while he’d been unable to do adamn thing about it.

Stuart began to drink in earnest.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the nextthing he knew was that his neck hurt and his head ached and there was a strangenoise in the house. Cursing beneath his breath, he shoved himself onto his feetand stumbled toward it as he fumbled for a weapon, which turned out to be the mostlyempty bottle which had been on his lap,and blinked as he found a wide-eyedAbram in his kitchen with a glass of water in his trembling hands.

“Ah… I was… I can-“ Abram fumbled to put down the glass ashe backed into the counter.

“No, no, just… jus’ forgot you were here,” Stuart tried to explainas he set the bottle aside. “What time izzit?” he asked as he rubbed at his blearyeyes.

“Ah… six am?” Abram sounded apologetic about that fact, eventhough he’d slept a good bit since he’d arrived the previous evening.

“Right.” Stuart gazed at his nephew who still looked tiredand was dressed in another oversized outfit which hung on his too-thin form. “Whenwas the last time you ate?”

Abram was quiet as he sipped at the water, his eyesdowncast. “There was food on the plane.”

That wasn’t an answer. “Tea or coffee?” Stuart asked as hewent over to start a pot of coffee for himself, mindful not to get too close tothe spooked kid.

“Ah, whatever you’re making,” Abram told him in a quietvoice as he glanced at Stuart from beneath his overlong bangs; Miriam wouldhave to take him to get it cut as well as buy some decent clothes.

Mary had always preferred tea in the morning, so Stuartfilled the electric kettle and pulled out some teabags, and noticed how thetension in Abram’s narrow shoulders eased a little. “All right, breakfast orsomething.” Fuck, he’d been so busy getting Abram out of the States that hehadn’t thought about food, had he? He went over to the refrigerator and frownedas he checked the contents. “Not so much breakfast, eh? Still, something toeat,” he reassured his nephew as he grabbed some cheese and butter. “Grilledcheese sandwiches all right?”

To his surprise, Abram graced him with a slight, sad smile,the first smile Stuart had yet to see from him since he’d arrived. “Yeah, that’sfine. Mum would… well, those are easy to make anywhere,” he finished in a weakvoice as if uncertain he should admit that.

Stuart paused in grabbing the loaf of bread as he thoughtabout being a child and sitting next to a grinning Mary as they fought over thelast grilled cheese sandwich. “She always liked ‘em when we were growing up,”he told his nephew, and felt a pang in his chest at Abram’s obvious surprise. ‘Whatthe hell, Mary’, he thought to himself over that fact, over Abram not knowingsuch a simple thing about his own mother.

Abram kept a too-careful watch as Stuart made thesandwiches, the mug of tea forgotten in his hands while Stuart wielded a knifeto slice the bread and cheese, and didn’t relax until it was discarded into thesink.

A million questions danced around in Stuart’s head,questions about what the hell the kid and Mary had done the last several years,what they’d been doing in Seattle, why she hadn’t called in so long… but heknew it was better not to press right away. Abram was as skittish as an abusedferal cat, distrustful of people and rightfully so after everything he’d beenthrough with his parents.

The important thing was that he’d come home at last, that he’dreturned to the Hatfords. He was blood and he was where he belonged, was wherehe’d be safe – Stuart and Will would make sure of that. They may have lostMary, but they wouldn’t lose Abram, Stuart swore to himself as he set a placeof sandwiches in front of the half-starved young man who clearly had to forcehimself to sit at the opposite side of the island from him.

He wouldn’t let Abram down.

*******

Hmm, trying to decide where to post this - at the start of Armies? Especially if it because a proper prequel/prologue?

#armiesfic #nekojitachanfics #abram hatford #neil josten #stuart hatford #family is all

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distant-rose · 7 years ago

Text

It Was Always You

Notes: I am a woman of my word and may the record reflect that. I promised @forestiyari a gift if she completed some productive tasks and that gift is this little one-shot here. I’ve taken some cues from the wonderful @katie-dub and started a policy of positive enforcement. Which is why she’ll get a ficlet too if she ever finishes her fic. It’s sappy but I know that Amy loves fuckstruck!Killian and cop AUs and this kinda has those elements. This is more bounty hunter!Emma and detective!Killian. I apologize for the Killian focus on this, Amy, but I love him as much as you love Emma. Forgive me. A special thank to @welllpthisishappening for always being my cheerleader. I am nothing without your support. Summary: Four words completely change Emma Swan’s frienship with her favorite police detective Killian Jones when she drops off one of her skips on Valentine’s Day. Rating: T Word Count: 2,300+

As a bounty hunter in a big city, Emma has her choice of police districts to drop scum off at, but she has a preference for District D-14. This preference was born of a variety of reasons but mainly because it was close to her apartment and the fact its employees could actually brew a decent pot of coffee. It had absolutely nothing to do with the detectives who worked there, despite popular belief.

“Brought us another winner, eh Swan?” Detective Killian Jones asked as she unceremoniously pushed her perp onto his desk. He didn’t blink at the action, merely leaning back in his chair and chewed on the end of his pen as he regarded her. The perp in question let out a groan and glared at her. She ignored him in favor of giving the detective a smirk.

“Thought you would enjoy a Valentine’s Day gift.”

He eyed the tight red dress she wore with a tiny smirk of his own. “And what a gift it is. You look quite ravishing in red.”

“I meant the perp, Casanova,” she retorted with a roll of her eyes. Her words were stern but lacked heat. Detective Jones loved to flirt, but he was relatively harmless. He always backed off when she asked.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but I prefer my gifts to be, well, less criminally inclined. What did this guy do?”

“Oh you know, my favorite - credit card fraud, insurance fraud and hasn’t paid child support in two years. He’s quite the catch.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as she listed off the perp’s less than stellar rap sheet. She had known Jones and his partner Nolan for three years and he always got this look whenever she brought in deadbeat dads. He seemed to have an intense hatred for them that Emma could only assume came stemmed from something personal.

“Right,” he sighed before he stood and yanked the man up by his collar. “Let me get Lover Boy here processed then I’ll get you the necessary paperwork, so you can finally pay your rent.”

“Actually rent is paid for this month. This guy is paying off my water bill.”

“I’ll make haste then. I would hate to deprive a lady of her hot water. It will only take a few moments. Make yourself at home,” he replied, nodding his head towards his swivel chair.

“Don’t mind if I do. New chair? Looks comfy.” She sat down in the chair in question, leaning back and grinning up at him.

“Only the best Ikea has to offer.”

Her eyes lit up at that. “You bought this yourself?”

“You really think BPD would spend money on the care and comfort of its detectives?” He snorted. “Come on, Swan, you know how it is. We had to pool the money ourselves for that bloody coffee machine you’re so fond of.”

“I know. I pitched.”

“Did you now?” He seemed surprised by this. She couldn’t imagine why. She was here all the time.

She shrugged, allowing herself to melt into the soft leather of the chair.

“I use it more than anyone else here, so I felt it was best that I threw in a few dollars.”

“You do seem to exist purely on coffee and poptarts, love.”

“Not true. I also feed on the tears of scumbags. They have great nutritional value.”

Detective Jones laughed at this. “Mercenary.”

“Bail bonds, actually. Get it right, Jones.”

“Can you please stop with the flirting and get on with the processing? I would like to be out of these cuffs now,” the perp gritted out through clenched teeth.

They both blinked, suddenly remembering Emma’s purpose for being at the station in the first place.

“Right,” Detective Jones said gruffly, pushing the man forward. “I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“I’ll be here,” she responded, picking up the stress ball on his desk and playing with it absently. She made a valiant effort not to watch his ass as he walked away with her perp. Jones had a swagger in his step that screamed confidence and Emma would be a liar if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

As the minutes ticked by, she finally noticed that Detective Nolan wasn’t present. She frowned. It wasn’t like him to not be on shift, especially during the week. Normally he made the wait more bearable by talking to her as he did his paperwork. She liked him a lot. He was like the big brother she never asked for and was always willing to lend an ear whenever she needed to vent about something, including his partner.

Along with her increasing boredom, she was beginning to regret wearing the thin jacket she had chosen to go along with her honey trap outfit. It looked great on her but didn’t do much against the bitter cold of Bostonian winter weather, even when she was indoors. Perhaps Jones wasn’t being glib when he said that BPD didn’t care much for the care and comfort of its officers. It was practically frigid.

She leaned back more in the chair, glancing up towards the ceiling. The back of her head made contact with Jones’s leather jacket - the same jacket that he had been offering and she had been refusing to use for the past three years. What she had seen as a symbol of Jones’s attempts of chivalry was suddenly a temptation.

He wouldn’t mind. That was the first thing that popped in her head. In fact, she was pretty sure he would like it. Perhaps too much. She bit her lip, mulling over what was more important getting warm or her pride.

She glanced around the station. No one was paying attention to her. It clenched her decision. She would wear the jacket, if only for a few moments to stave off the cold, then she would put it back and Jones would be none the wiser.

The smell of tobacco, rum and aftershave wafted up to her nose as she pulled the leather over her shoulders. She was shocked at how it seemed to swallow her person, especially since Jones wasn’t that tall. Unable to resist, she pulled the collar of the jacket to her nose and took a quick sniff.

“That’s a good look on you, love.”

She froze. Blood warmed her cheeks and a sense of mortification took hold. Taking advantage of the sliver of courage she still had, she glanced up at him, expecting to a teasing smirk or a flirty joke.

Jones wasn’t smirking. Or even smiling for that matter. He was looking at her like he had never seen her before; eyes watching her intently and shoulders tensed. She didn’t know exactly how to handle it.

Immediately, she pulled at the sleeves. His eyes widened when he realized what she was doing, and he stepped forward, raising a hand.

“Don’t.”

She paused, looking back up at him.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Leave it on. It looks like you need it more than I do. Please.”

“You sure? It’s fucking cold in here.”

He shrugged, dropping the processing documents in front of her and casually dropping back in Nolan’s chair. His eyes never lost their intensity, still focused on her. She was almost ashamed at the fact it made her squirm a bit in her seat.

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” he said after a moment. “I’m kinda used it.”

“Good for you, Elsa.”

He smiled at her response and the strange feeling in her chest lightened at the sight of it. Some of the odd tension that between them lifted alongside his lips, which she was grateful for.

“Where’s Nolan?” She asked, trying to further expel the weird energy between them.

“Ah. He’s out with the lovely Miss Mary Margaret. No doubt romancing her with a bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates and a very expensive meal at an overpriced restaurant.”

“Sucks that he took time off while you’re stuck here.”

“Actually, I wasn’t supposed to be on rotation. I volunteered to take this shift. My mate Will, or Detective Scarlet as you know him, was supposed to be working but I took it from him, so he could finally perform that half-baked proposal he’s been putting off for weeks.”

Emma’s jaw dropped.

“You seriously volunteered to work the Valentine’s Day shift? For real?”

“Of course,” he replied, giving her an odd look. “It’s not like I have someone to share it with.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. I mean, look at you. There has to be at least a dozen women who would want to lock you down,” she responded, gesturing towards him.

Jones tilted back in his seat, letting out the most boisterous laugh she had ever heard. When he glanced back at her, his amusement was still quite evident on his face.

“Did you just insinuate I’m attractive, Swan?”

“Oh please, cut the bullshit. You know you are.”

“You’re right. I’m quite devilishly handsome, aren’t I?” His eyes twinkled with mischief as he spoke.

“Don’t push it,” she snorted. “But seriously, there has to be someone you’re remotely interested in.”

He sobered at bit at her comment, the tension in his shoulders returning.

“Oh, I am.”

“And?”

“She’s turned me down. Multiple times.”

“She tell you why?”

“No, actually. I just assume she’s not interested, which is fine. She deserves much better than the likes of me,” he replied with a self-deprecating smile.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. She deserves the best.”

As he spoke, an odd emotion wormed itself into her chest and she was surprised with how uncomfortable she was about Jones being hung up on some unknown woman. It wasn’t like he was hers.

“Well, I think you’re pretty great. And maybe you should ask her again,” she responded with a tight smile.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Maybe, she’ll realize that she made a mistake.”

Jones regarded her intently for a moment, picking up the rubber band ball on Nolan’s desk and started toying with it in his palm. It was a nervous habit of his that she had long since picked up.

“Do you like Italian?”

She couldn’t hold back her surprise at the change in subject. She didn’t know where he was going with this, but she decided to humor him. “Yeah. Who doesn’t?”

“There’s a really nice Italian place three blocks from here. A bit on the expensive side but worth it. Family owned. Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

Her jaw dropped at the question. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to find words but failing.

“I’m sorry? What?”

“You. Me. Good Italian. Tonight.”

“I’m so confused right now. We were just talking about how you’re hung up on some woman and how you should ask her out again and now you’re asking me out. I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you know, Swan?” he asking, eyes softening alongside his voice. “It was always you.”

All air seemed to rush out of her lungs as he spoke. The stress ball fell from her fingers with a faint thud but she barely acknowledged it. Not once in their entire conversation had she suspected the woman he was so hung on to be her. She always knew he found her attractive and enjoyed talking to her but never had she realized that his feelings had beyond simple flirtation and friendship.

It was true in the past that she had turned him down. He had frequently asked her to go for drinks with him after his shift, but he had always taken her rejection with an air of nonchalance, as if it had meant nothing.

Obviously that wasn’t the case if this declaration was as sincere as it seemed. Emma was a suspicious creature by nature, something her ex had left her with alongside her son. Immediately she began reviewing all of her interactions with Jones in her mind. Little things that she had always seen as signs of loyal friendship now seemed major. He had offered to look after Henry when she went to New York. He had encouraged her to get her degree in Criminal Justice when she had all but written off going back to school as too expensive. He had walked her through filing her restraining order against Neal. He had done all of this with asking for anything in return.

“I’ve gone and scared you, haven’t I?”

“I…” She couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t believe she had been so blind.

Jones was watching her intently, lips pulled into a tight frown. She had never seen him look so nervous. He placed the rubber band ball back down on Nolan’s desk.

“Right…” He looked away, tugging on his ear. “Look, Swan, I wasn’t proposing…I’m not even asking for you to return my feelings. I was just hoping to have dinner with someone I have come to care about. Look, just forget I said anything. I don’t want to make this awkward and ruin the dynamic that we’ve made. I value your friendship and I would do anything to keep it, I just” - “Yes.”

He blinked at her, obviously not comprehending what she had said. “What?”

“Yes,” she repeated. “I’ll go to dinner with you. At the excellently expensive family Italian place. And we can talk. As long as there’s cannolis. There’s cannolis, right?”

He stared at her again for a few moments. Slowly, a blinding smile spread across his lips and if her breath hadn’t been stolen by his words, it would have been taken by his smile.

“Yes, love, there’s cannolis.”

“Excellent.” She leaned back in his chair, regarding him with a small smirk. “I also have another condition.”

“Anything.”

“I get to keep the jacket.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #my fic #my shit #it was always you

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megwritesfanfiction · 7 years ago

Text

The Lies We Told (Beast Boy/Raven , Chapter 10/??)

Author's Note: One more chapter after this… Huzzah!

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. This is a work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

Need to catch up? Can't say I don't love you guys! ;)

Past Chapters:

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter Ten: Marry Me

(I APOLOGIZE FOR THE LARGE BLOCK OF TEXT, THE KEEP READING BAR MAKES THE APOSTROPHES AND QUOTES TURN TO CRAZY CHARACTERS.)

At first, he thought it was a joke or at the very least some sort of real life example of an oxymoron. Gar stood for a few moments watching her in disbelief.

Rachel, the woman he'd known first as Raven, was kneeling in a pew praying.

Actual praying.

A red rosary clutched between her fingers as she moved along the beads reciting the prayer over and over again.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Rachel finished the last line in the Hail Mary before bothering to answer him. "Praying." She didn’t bother to look up at him as she moved to the next Hail Mary.

Gar rolled his eyes, biting back a comment about how he was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames yet. "You're not Catholic."

“Neither are you.” Rachel quipped. “Doesn’t mean I can’t atone for my sins.” She snapped as she looked down at her beads. “Fuck!”

“Yea pretty sure you’re gonna have to atone for that.” He commented, taking a seat in the pew.

“You made me lose count.” Rachel groaned, sliding back into the pew to sit. She tossed the rosary into the Bible nook in front of them.

“Did Toni put you up to this?”

“What?! No.” Rachel sighed, leaning back into her seat. She stared blankly at the altar in front of them. “We’re so going to hell.”

“Yep.” Gar nodded, wrapping an arm on the pew behind her.

“You’re okay with this?” Rachel questioned. She glanced around the church making sure no one would see his affection. There was an old woman in praying in the front row, but no one from the wedding party was expected to arrive until three. They had a couple hours.

He shrugged. “It’s really out of my control. If the big guy decides I’m not good enough to enter the pearly gates, then it’s the lake of fire for me.”

“Hell isn’t a vacation home.” Rachel warned him. “I should know. My afterlife destination is determined by birth not actions.”

“You’re not going to hell.” Gar told her softly.

“I am.” She confirmed. “Not just because I’m helping to commit adultery, but because I’m half demon. The adultery just adds a little something extra to my resume.” She opened her purse, pulling out a flask. “Drink?” She offered, exhaling loudly as she held the little container out to him.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a problem.” Gar chuckled, taking the flask from her and taking a swig. “Should you even be drinking? You know, with your, you know, delicate possible nature and…”

“I’m not pregnant.” Rachel sighed, taking the flask from him. “I gain five pounds and everyone panics.”

“You look great.”

“You thought I was pregnant, so you, too, are in the doghouse.”

His eyes narrowed. “That was a really bad joke.”

“I’m serious.” She took a swig. “You, sir, are in the doghouse on the last day of our relationship. What a shame.”

“Indeed.” He agreed with a casual nod. “And I was thinking we could take advantage of that empty confessional.” His eyes casually moved toward the confessional near the altar.

Rachel’s eyebrows raised with interest as she brought the flask to her lips. She was going to let him know that she was beginning to entertain the idea. “I am not about to have someone seeking redemption catch us in the act of adultery.”

“It’s not adultery until after the ceremony.”

“You all filed for the marriage license.”

“Yes,” Gar confirmed. “But, it’s not official until after the ceremony. Not to mention the fact that the priest is going to be in his office until it’s time for the ceremony.” He stood, straightening out his shirt. “So, that little booth will be at our disposal.”

“We’re going to hell.” Rachel murmured standing up.

Gar laced their fingers together as they walked toward the confessional. “We already established that.”

“I don’t want to know.” Toni decided walking up to her friend barefoot. Dressed in a silk gray dress, she held a bag in her hands and shook her head. “Hold unto this bag.” She insisted, pushing the bag in her arms.

“I’m not holding your shoes.” Rachel frowned as she looked at the bag in her arms. She just wanted to get to the back of the church, get her bridesmaid dress on, sip champagne, and survive this ceremony.

“Just hold the bloody bag.” Toni hissed angrily.

Rachel blinked staring at her friend. “What are we-“

“Just wait for it.” Toni told her holding up a finger as she closed her eyes. Her finger began to twitch to the sound of clicking heels echoing off the walls of the church.

The violet haired woman stood frozen with confusion as she looked to Toni and at the direction of the sound.

“Oh thank goodness.” Kori rounded the corner, picking up the bottom of her her dress as she jogged over to them. “Do you have the shoes?”

Rachel looked down at the bag in her hands. She cast a quick glance to Toni before looking at Kori. “Here you go.” Rachel spoke, smiling as she handed them over.

“You are the lifesaver.” Kori exhaled relieved.

“Indeed.” Toni agreed, bouncing lightly on her heels.

“I cannot believe Terra left them.” Kori shook her head.

“It’s a big day.” Toni defended. “I’m surprised she was so calm about it.”

“Yea!” Kori nodded. “I gotta get these to her. I’ll see you in a few for make-up, Rachel.” Kori turned, jogging away from them.

Rachel looked to Kori, waiting for the sound of her heels to get away from them. “Oh my goodness, you stole the bride’s shoes.”

“No.” Toni corrected. “No, no, no. I noticed they were sitting on the side, and I really wasn’t sure what they were so I figured I could find the owner.”

“Which you thought was me?”

“You never know.” Toni replied innocently.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re a fucking genius.”

“I know.” The dark haired woman placed a flattered hand against her chest as she looped their arms together. “So,” She started, leading her down the hall. “Where were you?”

“Confession.”

Toni eyed her suspiciously as they walked. “Do I even want to know what confession is code for?”

Rachel chuckled lightly. “Not at all.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I am indeed.” Rachel informed her unrepented.

“What am I going to do with you?” Toni questioned, softly.

Rachel shrugged, her lips twisting. “I don’t even know what do with myself at this point. I am just trying to get through today.”

“It will be okay.” Toni assured as they stepped into the room.

Liar.

The small room was a blur of activity.

Rachel swallowed the lump of emotion in throat and stepped into the room.

Pushing a smile to her face, she stepped into the roll of dutiful bridesmaid.

She sipped champagne.

She pretended to like the horrendous hairstyle Terra picked for her. An, in Rachel’s firm opinion, obnoxious bun with fresh pink flowers tucked into side.

She sat patiently as the make-up artist covered her face. And even smiled for the photographer taking candid shots of them getting ready. Rachel had even participated in wearing the matching floral robes Terra had gotten them.

She joined the other bridesmaids in helping Terra step into her wedding dress.

She “awwed” and “oooed” and expressed the proper sentiments of support.

She at least owed Terra that much.

“You okay?”

Rachel nodded, holding her bouquet tightly.

They were waiting outside of the doors to the church for the queue to walk.

“Yea.” She assured Garth, eyes rolling up to signal at the bun on her head. “Not used to my hair being pulled back so tight.” Rachel joked, half heartedly.

Garth laughed, placing his hands on either side of her. “You look beautiful.”

“I look like a piece of cotton candy.”

“Well,” He chuckled. “You are delicious.”

Why did he have to be so sincere and sweet? “Thank you.” She smiled, wrapping her hand around one of his hands on her shoulder.

“Hey lover boy!” Victor interrupted. “I’m her escort down the aisle.” He chuckled, gently pulling Rachel to him.

“Yes,” Garth laughed taking his place in line. He gave Rachel wink. “And next time you’ll be bringing her to me.”

“You all are the next for the marriage.” Kori squealed, linking arms with her husband. “You must be sure to catch the bouquet.”

Rachel fought the urge to cringe. She didn’t need this day to be any more awkward than it already was. “I would hate to interfere with Jinx-“

“Don’t even say my name, witch.”

Rachel chuckled as the conversation around her faded. The melody of the procession music burned her ears as she felt the sharp pang of nerves in her chest.

“You okay, dark girl?” Victor whispered as they took a step forward.

No. She wasn’t okay.

She was, not only, about to watch the love of her life marry one of her friends, but she was going to stand on the altar as a supportive witness to their union.

“Yea.” Rachel nodded, forcing an assuring smile as they stopped at the top of the altar. They were up next. “A lot of people here.” Seemed like a reasonable excuse for nerves.

“Think of it as practice for your big day.” He chuckled as they walked down the aisle.

Violet eyes drifted to the sea of people crowding the pews. She couldn’t imagine wanting this many people to witness her impending nuptials. It was bad enough Rachel had to be here as the maid of honor, she didn’t want to make a production out of a day she didn’t want.

Rachel unhooked her arm from Victor as the two of them stood, her eyes focused to the back of the church as the bride’s march started. At the very least, she could keep her eyes off the groom. She heard this shuffle of guests stand and the gasps of awe as Terra appeared. Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, as a hand went to her stomach.

She knew this was coming. So, what did it hurt so much?

Relaxing, Rachel gripped her bouquet.

She could do this.

She could marry Garth.

Be happy for Gar and Terra.

Move on.

Rachel inhaled sharply, watching Gar lift Terra’s veil. She could hear the antique baritone of the priest echo off the church walls, but she wasn’t listening. She fixed her eyes to the wall past the wedding ceremony.

She figured she had to pretend to look interested.

Rachel wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there. The priest’s voice suddenly paused, and Gar began to recite his vows. For a small moment, his automatic and empty tone comforted her.

“I promise to love, honor, and cherish…”

He should have been saying those words to her.

Violet eyes squeezed shut as she felt her eyes water.

She wasn’t the type to cry at weddings or at anything really. Rachel couldn’t let her emotions get the best of her in front of their friends.

She could cry later.

Preferably with a pizza and a bottle of liquor.

It was Terra’s turn to recite her vows. She spoke with tender emotion and optimism, and her eyes sparkled at her groom.

Gar deserved to be loved like that. Rachel could at least take comfort in the fact that Gar would be loved by someone who was determined to make him happy.

“Do you Terra Maria Markov take this man to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

Terra looked at Gar. Her red lipsticked smile beamed bright. “I do.”

The priest looked to Gar. “Garfield Mark Logan, do you take this woman to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

Rachel closed her eyes waiting for the two words that would seal the end of the their relationship. She could feel his eyes on her.

Terra cleared her throat. “Gar…”

Rachel’s head snapped up. He hadn’t said it.

“Answer him.” Terra whispered.

SIlently, Gar looked to the ground.

The guest began to murmur.

“Son,” The priest whispered as he shook the groom’s sleeve. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need some water?”

Terra moved closer to him. “What’s going on?” She whispered, feeling panicked.

Gar kept his eyes to the marble altar floor below them.

“All you have to do is say “I do”.” She told him, feeling her eyes water. Her hands went to his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes.

Gar looked at her shaking his head.

“Say it.”

Rachel left lightheaded as she watched the scene in front of her.

“Garfield!” Terra shouted.

Gar sighed. “I can’t.” He whispered, pleading.

#teen titans #teen titans fanfiction #beast boy #raven #bbrae

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cielizzydefencesquad · 7 years ago

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I don't know if you're still doing this or not. But! Because I like crack ships and all, how about Older!Lizzy and Joker?

Older!Lizzy x Joker (don’t worry, I have a thing for crack!pairings too XD)

Who is more likely to catch a cold? Joker—but he tries to hide it. He already considers himself way, way below Lizzy’s station and knows that she’s far too kind and good to ignore him so he’d make the job easier by avoiding her. He doesn’t expect Lizzy to be so hurt by it:

“Lizzy? Christ, whaddya doin’ here?” Joker hid beneath his rough woolen blanket, doing his best to hide his clammy skin and wheezing coughs.

Elizabeth, angelic in white with a cloak of rose pink, held a cream colored basket interwoven with ribbons and flowers in front of her. “I’ve brought you grandmama’s chicken noodle soup, lozenges, tea, and extra blankets. I—I would have come earlier only it was so difficult to locate these particular lozenges and I had to ask Sebastian for help so—“

“Why?” Joker was utterly baffled—why on god’s green earth would Lady Elizabeth Midford put herself through so much trouble? Surely her compassion for the pitiable and wretched had to end somewhere? Did she do this for every poor soul she encountered?

At that thought, a sinking, torturous weight fell on Joker’s chest, crushing both his lungs and heart. He knew it was impossible—knew he was being a right bloody idiot—but when he was with her she made him feel so light and free and happy that—

A gentle, starlight warmth spread through his skin causing Joker to finally look up, blanket falling to the wayside, before he felt the air leave his lungs. There Lizzy was, sitting right beside him with the loveliest, saddest smile on her rose-bloom mouth.

In that moment he felt, with absolute certainty, that this was as close to heaven as he would ever get.

“Don’t you know?” She murmured softly, gently intertwining their hands together. “I think I rather love you.”

Who hogs the blankets? Usually Joker would but whenever he’s sharing a bed with Lizzy he makes sure she’s warm and comfortable before even daring to sit on the bed XD

Who kills all the flowers? Joker. Despite his upbeat, quirky demeanor Joker’s actually downright cynical about some few things. Flowers being one of them…until Lizzy brought him a bouquet of pink magnolias she picked while on her way to see him:

“You…you really picked ‘em for me?” Joker’s eyes widened, arms full of fragrant pink blooms as Lizzy smiled at him, as bright and warm as the August sun.

“Of course I did!” She laughed joyously. “You never seem to have flowers anywhere and I wanted you to have the first bouquet of spring. Do you like them?”

Joker glanced at the flowers in his arms and then back up, only to be met by eyes as bright and green as the Sargasso Sea.

How can I not? He wanted to say. Ya thought of me when you didn’t have a single, damn reason to—

(Since then, pink magnolias have been his favorite flowers.)

Who eats all the candy before Halloween? Joker. Massive sweet tooth here. Lizzy has to hide the candy bowl in the darkest corner of the pantry and even then Joker still manages to find it.

Who takes the longest showers? Neither—Joker takes short, brief showers with ice-cold water. Lizzy likes long, luxurious baths.

Who goes to bed at 5am but wakes up at 8am? Joker. Sometimes he honest to goodness can’t believe his luck. After all, he’s a miserable bastard without home, name, or title and somehow, the most angelic girl in all of London wants to be with him? Joker just can’t believe it. He’ll stay up at night gazing at the stars, silently praying to whatever deity was out there that yes, you gave her to me but please—won’t you let me keep her too?

Who makes sure the other has a healthy breakfast? Lizzy! She’s learned a thing or two from Paula about feeding growing men. She won’t let Joker leave the table until he finishes his porridge, sausages, eggs, and orange juice. (Which Joker likes to savor because up until now, he’s never even tasted an orange before.)

What pets do they have? A pet peacock named Marie Antoinette.

Wedding

Who proposes? Joker does but he’s honestly expecting rejection. Sure, Lizzy might allow Joker to court her but marriage? That’s an entirely different story altogether. After all, Lizzy—the former fiancée of the Queen’s Watchdog marrying a circus freak? Unbelievable. —> In fact, Joker’s proposal was just a way for him to finally confess his feelings: to let Lizzy know just how much she means to him (which she knew anyway—Joker may not be good with words but he shows how much he cares for Lizzy with every action, no matter how small).

Who actually enjoyed the planning? Well, planning wasn’t exactly necessary because…

Would their wedding be small or grand? The two decided to elope :) after reassuring Joker that yes, she wants to be his wife and yes, she loves him even if he doesn’t have a title, the two run away to Verona to get married. (“In Verona fairest eh?” Joker chuckled. “Well, I suppose this’s alright. Romeo and Juliet didn’t get their happily ever after so we’ll just have to live that out for ‘em won’t we?”)

Which guest was happiest to see them get married? Lizzy wrote letters to her family and Ciel, informing them of her marriage. Both Ciel and Edward were ready to storm into Verona swords/guns blazing and demon butler in tow until Alexis stopped them. Of course he would have liked to walk his baby girl down the aisle and see her married to a duke or an earl but so long as she’s happy, then Alexis is fine too.

Children

How many children would they have? Around 4 or 5. Joker, who’d been abandoned as a child and alone for so long, always wanted a big family and Lizzy loves children.

Would they adopt or have them naturally? Naturally.

Who is the strictest parent? Lizzy. She makes sure they complete all their schoolwork, stay out of trouble, and eat all of their vegetables, even if they don’t like them. (“You want to grow tall and strong like your papa don’t you?” Elizabeth smoothed back her son’s auburn hair to press a kiss against his forehead. “Tell you what, if you eat all your vegetables tonight then we might just have enough time to go outside and work on your riposte, how about that? Won’t everyone at the fencing academy be surprised to see how you’ve improved!”)

Are their children in homeschool or public school? Private school—after running away to elope in Verona, Joker and Lizzy settled in Vienna, Austria where Joker slowly built up and became manager of one of Vienna’s most intriguing theater troupes. Lizzy, in turn, became one of the world’s first stunt coordinators at the Theatre an der Wien.

Who is the favorite parent? They’re equally loved. Both Joker and Lizzy encourage their children to pursue their own dreams and interests and never belittle them for what they might want to do.

Who checks on the kids in the middle of the night? They take turns��one week it’s Joker, the next it’s Lizzy.

Who decorated the nursery? They both did :) Joker hand carved a lot of the furniture they have and together they painted the walls a cheery and welcoming sky blue, installed new glass to the Romanesque windows, and put together a series of small bulbs that in modern-day might be termed “fairy lights.”

#I honestly love crack!ships so much lol #joker #elizabeth midford #book of circus #black butler #kuroshitsuji #edward midford #ciel phantomhive #alexis leon midford #asks #replies #mod Nina

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geminimoonbeamx · 7 years ago

Text

Naive: Part 6

A/N: In which Y/N helps Pepper loosen up and Bucky is ever the good guy.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: More cursing in this chapter because I have the mouth of a sailor. You’ll also probably gag at end, just sayin’

Summary: As the goddaughter of Tony Stark you were no stranger to the Avengers, but when you meet the newest member- you’re a little more then intrigued. Unfortunately for him, Bucky Barnes has caught your eye.

💘💘💘💘💘

You love Pepper.

You really do.

And you have repeated that notion to yourself, over and fucking over again as of late.

How many times had she gotten you out of trouble? Covered for you? Been there for you. The count was numberless. You literally couldn’t remember a time when she’d bailed on you or let you down.

Who were you to tell her to lower it down a notch with the wedding planning?

So, you had allowed her to drag you all over the city, from Queens to Brooklyn and thought the entirety of Manhattan. Running errands, non stop. Your brain was a little fried from the sensatory overload, from all of the white and lace. From the glaring lights of the many stores you frequent with her.

‘SOS, we’re at another bridal shop(gun emoji) (upside down face emoji)’

You send the text to Bucky. You’d definitely encouraged the senior citizen to start using his phone more, and the pages of text threads you had under his name on your phone made you smile. You were almost always talking to him, it was actually pretty lame the way you were constantly waiting for his next message. You couldn’t help it. He was really a funny fucker, when you got past that initial “I was tortured for decades, of course I have resting bitch face” surface.

'I’m sure you’ll survive, doll. If you need rescuing though, just holler. I’ll be there’ as usual you smile like a total loser at his message,

You follow a huffing Pepper out of the store. And into another.

You handle the near constant babble about table settings, what kind of china should she choose? Or maybe crystal? What about seating? Who should sit next to who? “We cant sit the Chinese ambassador next to Fury. They always go on about that damn gambling bet” And “The team shouldn’t be anywhere near Ross”

“Why are we inviting him again?” You’re in the fourth flower shop that you’d been to that day. On the hunt for the perfect shade of Larkspurs. Honestly, the hanging violet flowers all look the same to you but according to Pepper they’re “Too violet! I need lavender, you know like that powdery muted color”.

So with a pop of your lips, you keep your mouth closed. Wisely.

“Appearances. We’ve got to keep our rep nice and squeaky clean. Our public image has been under a lot of…stress. So the more keep it looking like everything is friendly between us and the government, the better” Pepper informs you, distracted, not looking up from the array of blossoms that lie between you.

“But things are better I thought” You implore, as a particularly fragrant array of peonies catch your eye. Their gorgeous, delicate and beautiful. You run your fingers along the lines of the petals, tracing them without touching.

“They are, for the most part”

That makes your eyebrow crook a little. What exactly did that mean? The team was back together, following rules(for all intents and purposes)… if Pepper didn’t look so distraught over the fact that you couldn’t find these fucking flowers, you probably would have pressed on about it. But you decide not to stress her out anymore, even from your place across the shop you could tell that she was wound tight.

You grab a couple of pictures of the peonies, posting them to your snapchat and other social media accounts quickly before making your way over to Pepper.

Slowly. Hesitantly. Like she was a bomb that might go off at anytime.

“Put the Irises down slowly and no one gets hurt” You instruct her with your arms held out in front of you melodramatically.

You really cant help being a smart ass. It was probably something you should work on.

She doesn’t even laugh, she just sets the bouquet down and sighs “We’re never going to find them, not in this city”

“Okay” You soothe, a little weirded out at the fact that the roles have dramatically changed and in this moment you are the parent “We’ll call the planner back and tell her that she was wrong. We’ll do some looking of our own and find where they do carry them, and we’ll have them shipped out”

Growing up is weird. Seeing your “elders” frazzled is weirder.

She takes a deep breath through her nose “I already looked, most places don’t ship because of how delicate they are”

“Fuck it, then we’ll go get them ourselves. We’ll take one of the quinjets” You’re completely serious. Even if you have to fly all the way to France, that’s what you’d be willing to do.

Pepper looks down at you, like everyone does because you’re a fucking mouse and everyone seems to dwarf you, and simpers at the promise in your voice. She could see that you were really making an effort, taking your “Maid of honor” duties extremely seriously. She knew she hadn’t been going easy on you, and yet you stayed resilient. Good natured. Keeping a cap on the complaints.

“Okay?” You conclude, giving her a look. Searching her face for acceptance.

“Okay” Pepper agrees. Thank fucking baby Jesus.

“Alright, can we do the rest of our planning at that bar across the street. I’m parched” Your feet hurt from the heeled booties you’d stupidly decided to wear and you knew the both of you could use a drank.

Well, Pepper could use more then one.

And that’s how you killed your soon to be officialized god mother from alcohol poisoning.

Again, you we’re being a dramatic asshole, but she was for all pretty much dead to the world as the two of you sat in the back of the sleek Lexus, en route of the tower. Her head was resting on your shoulder, her body slumped, her breathing coming out in soft wheezes. She smelled like a distillery, and you cant help but grin because somehow you’d managed to walk out of that bar, tipsy as hell, but still standing and Pepper was the one who was passed out drunk.

It had started innocently enough.

You two sitting at one of the booths, the tablet and Peppers wedding binder laid out in front of you as you went over the many checklists. You’d even ordered a platter of some kind of weird truffle nachos(that had actually ended up being super bomb) with your Mojito and Peppers Bloody Mary. But somehow one drink had turned to two, and two to three. After your third, you’d been smart enough to cut yourself off, knowing your tolerance level wasn’t very high. That, plus the daunting prospect of having to go and work at the Museum with a hangover the next morning had you pushing away a forth drink.

Even though Pepper kept insisting that you had another, that it would make her feel less bad if you drank as much as she did.

“I’m a horrible person” She had hiccupped, her face flushed pink from the warmth of the bar and the liquor “I shouldn’t be feeding you alcohol, I used take you shopping for school clothes. -another hiccup- Do you remember that dress you wore for your fifth grade school pictures. The one with the little monkey on it?”

“It was a koala” You defend yourself, trying not to be embarrassed at the memory of that hot mess of an outfit “And oh please, Virginia Potts, you’re the one that got me drunk for the first time”

“One. I gave you one Pina Colada at that party” She slurs before sipping the last of her Bloody Mary loudly, the ice clinging against the cup.

The party she was referring to was a fundraising Gala Stark Industries had thrown, raising money for some weird male pattern baldness charity. You had been twelve, and you had thrown up during Tony’s speech.

Not either of your’s greatest moment.

You just watched as she gets drunker and drunker, watch her inhibitions lift and the laughs that leave her. She looks more carefree then you’d seen her in…a long while. So even if you we’re technically getting her shitfaced in order to make sure she didn’t stroke out from the plethora of wedding planning stress, you felt you were doing a good thing here.

That you were gaining some major karmic points.

Although you weren’t nearly as inebriated as your copartner, you were tipsy. That kind of tipsy where you feel hot and brave and playful. Emboldend and stupid.

Really, there should be some kind of phone app that doesn’t allow you to send messages when your past a certain blood alcohol level.

'I should invent that’ you thought to yourself 'I’d be way richer then fucking Tony. Saving lives, left and right’

Unfortunately, there was no such thing.

And your texts to Bucky, well they just kept getting riskier and riskier. Your stomach clamping in anticipation every time you hit the send button.

-You having fun doll?

he’d asked when you’d told him you’d dragged Pepper to a bar in an attempt to sedate her with liquor.

-Not as much fun as Pepper is…I’d be having a lot more fun if you were here’

-That so? What would we be doing that would be so fun, mam?

-Mmhmm. And we could be doing whatever you wanted, sir.

He takes two minutes, literally to reply. More then the thirty seconds he usually does and you swear your teeth clench. You of course, send another message.

-I always have fun when your around(winky face emoji)

Why are you like this? You berate your self.

-I have always have a fun time with you too. You’re good company.

You roll your eyes. Was he not catching the fucking hint? Ugh, stupid super soldiers and their technologically handicapped brains. Ugh, them with their 40’s hardwired bullshit. Good company? What was that even supposed to mean? Who even talked like that anymore?

Screw it, you decide. If he wasn’t getting the hint, you’d have to be more straight forward.

-It’s only because you’re so cute.

You gnaw your lip as you send it. What more did you need to say to him. When would he get it?

-You just using me for my looks?

You bite a giggle at his reply. What an idiot.

-Maybe. Why, aren’t you using me for mine?

-Maybe

You swore, you could’ve scream at how this conversation was playing out. Why wouldn’t he just cave already?

-You know I think your gorgeous. Obviously.

See? Bold and stupid. And maybe a little bit desperate.

-Not nearly as gorgeous as you

Progress. Most guys would be sexting you up the wall by now, begging to see you. Pleading to “hang out”. But, you’d learned, Bucky wasn’t most guys. You had to try with him, work to figure him out.

-Well then do something about it

You sent that text, and then your attention was caught by the loud THUD of Peppers forehead hitting the table.

And those we’re the events that lead you to the present, where you we’re helping Pepper out of the back of the car, her arm around your shoulders as she tripped onto concrete floor of the garage.

“Do you need help, Ms. Y/N?” George, the driver, asks wearily and you wave him off.

“No, we’re okay, Georgie. Thanks for coming to get us, have a good rest of the night”

The little nap Pepper had during the ride home had sobered her up enough that she could walk again, leaning heavily against you for support, but she could put one foot in front of the other. She’s muttering incoherencies as you make your way to into the elevator.

“I just really want this to be special, you know?” you catch a full sentence.

“And it will be, don’t worry” You reassure her, trying not to laugh. You knew, all to well, what it was like to be the drunkest person in the room.

“You’re such a good human, you know that?”

“I try”

“I think you should start wearing your hair in pig tails again”

When you get to her and Tonys floor, the penthouse at the tip top of the building, your not expecting what greets you.

As the metal doors open, they reveal none other then Anthony Stark . In his robe, his arms folded across his chest. Of course he knew the two of you we’re coming up, he’d been watching the security cameras ever since Pepper had called him, clearly out of her mind. You’d both worried the shit out of him, even though he knew reasonably you were both capable enough to take care of yourselves.

How the hell was he not supposed to worry, at least a little bit, when it came to the two of you?

The look on his face so stern and parent like you really are almost scared again. He used to give you that look when you’d run off, when you’d get caught with boys…

When Pepper begins laughing, flat out cracking up so hard that it echos around the vast, quiet, tense space you cant help but put a hand on your mouth to stop from joining her. You fail, miserably.

Tony watches you, both of you, drunk and cackling and ridiculous. The smile that cracks across his face is involuntary.

“Come on, you lush” He urges Pepper, taking her arm, pulling her away from you. She kisses his cheek sloppily, cooing how much she missed him.

You look away. You weren’t one of those people who were like grossed out by your parental figures being affectionate…okay maybe you were a little grossed out.

“I’m going to- go. Goodnight guys” You excuse yourself, jutting your thumb back in the direction of the elevator.

“Thanks for this” Tony refers to the giggling, drunk mess of a redhead in his arms.

“Your welcome” You singsong, before the doors close again.

Its a little ridiculous, how much time you spend in elevators in this damn building, you utter to yourself. The liquor haze is starting to fade and intensify, all at once and you spin on your heels a little bit, reaching into your handbag or your phone.

The texts on the screen slap you in the face.

-You drive me fucking crazy, do you know that?

-Where are you now?

-When are you going to be back?

-Y/N

Giddy. You feel giddy and girlishly foolish at how electrified those texts leave you. Doesn’t he know that had always been the goal? Doesn’t he know he made you feel just as insane? You needed to see him, you unsober mind decides.

“FRIDAY?” You ask the nothingness around you, and she answers.

“Yes, Ms, Y/N?”

“Where exactly is Bucky’s room?” Because he was always coming to you. Your floor, seeking you out. You’d never actually been to his room before. You knew if you tried to find it on your own you’d get extremely lost.

“Mr. Barnes room is located on the 22nd floor. Along with Mr. Rogers’ and Mr. Wilsons” She answers back and you quickly press the corresponding button on the elevator control panel.

“And which unit is his?” Because you didn’t want to wake Steve or Sam up, all the damn doors looked the same in this place.

“The second on the right hand side”

You take a deep breath.

“Is there anything more I can help you with, Ms. Y/N? Would you like me to alert Mr. Barnes that you’re coming up?”

“No, thank you FRIDAY. That wont be necessary. If you could please keep this conversation between the two of us girls, though, I’d appreciate it” You inform her, knowing that in reality Tony never checked the logs…but still…

“Of course, I’ll ensure complete confidentiality of this exchange. Is there anything else?”

“Nope. Thank you FRIDAY Have a…umm goodnight?” Talking to an AI is hard sometimes. Did you come off as polite or completely idiotic?

It had been the struggle of your life. Growing up with all of these scientists. FRIDAY tells you to do the same and you wonder if she had eyes, would she be rolling them at you.

The elevator ride seems to drone on forever and your nerves have you all kind of twisted.

You rummage around and pull a compact out of your purse, checking yourself over. Reapplying your lipstick, fluffing your hair. Fixing your boobs, adjusting them in your bra to where your cleavage is perky and attention grabbing. Rollerballing the perfume-stick over your wrists, dabbing them on your chest in an attempt to make you reek less of bar smoke and gin.

Fuck, why did you look so…ugh. Your cheeks were too red. You looked too flushed, your eyes too wild. Your head is swimming with conflicting thoughts when your reach his floor.

You swear, you’re having literal heart palpitations. When was the last time a boy had made you this anxious? You compose yourself, or at least pretend to. Your chin rising as you flip your hair over your shoulder in an attempt to silence all of the chaos you were feeling. A true example of fake it til you make it. Of course you trip on your heels as you exit the elevator, barley managing to catch yourself. Yeah, real slick.

Slinking down the hallway, you hope your being as quiet and ninja like as you feel. You stalk, almost cat burglarish past the doors, the ones that Steve and Sam slept behind, and made your way to Bucky’s. Your heart was pounding in your throat and the anxious blanket that seemed to enfold you made the back of your neck perpetrate.

Be cool, this is fine. It’s fine. You’re fine. He is DAMN fine…

Your reciting this inner mantra to yourself as you rap, lightly enough that you hoped it wouldn’t catch anyone else’s attention, on Bucky’s door. Your knuckles tapping out a little rhythm.

You really think you might chew your bottom lip off, in those moments you wait for him to answer.

When the electrically operated door finally glides open, you spit out your lip, attempting to you know, not look like you were totally freaking out, and grin up at him.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s steely eyes are wide, eyebrows shot so high they near disappear into the fringe of loose hair that falls into his face… but, it’s not really his eyes that catch your attention.

Usually, Bucky’s donned in either his tactile gear, of one of his Henley’s. Hoodies maybe? Even a leather jacket or two thrown in there. He was always, for the most part, covered up. But he’s standing in the doorway of his room donning only a snug, gray t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. His arms we’re on full display, and you force yourself not to stare.

“Hey there, handsome” You hope you sound more confident then you feel.

After your little text messages, and the fact that you hadn’t replied to his own, Bucky had been tied in knots.

He didn’t know what to do. Did he text you again, he was still getting the hand of this whole texting all of the time thing but he didn’t want to seem…desperate. Did he call you? Nah, that would be even worse. So he sat, fidgeting on the end of his bed for the better portion of an hour. He couldn’t really go talk to Steve, not wanting to hear the disapproving tone he knew he’d receive.

He could go find you? Hunt you down, scower the streets of Manhattan until he located you? A bar across the street from a flower shop, there couldn’t be too many of those, right?

It’s pathetic, how long he’d debated that idea, before dismissing it. Too much, that would be too much.

He had just started to calm down, a bit, still reaching over to check his phone every two seconds, when there was a knock on his door. He grumbled as he’d risen, thinking it had to be Steve. Or maybe Sam. He really wasn’t in the best of moods, so he answers it intending on telling whichever man it may be to “kindly fuck off”. He feels gob smacked when he see’s you.

“Y/N?” He could only sputter as you gazed up at him, your arms folded over your chest. A coy, near sinful smile on your plump lips. You we’re the very last person he had expected to find outside of his room.

“Hey there handsome” Your voice is different. He’d gotten used to your affectionate nick-name and you called him it just as often, maybe more, then you called him Bucky. But there was intention behind it now. Your tone smoky. Your eyes near predatory.

“Hey doll” His eyes scan the dark hallway behind you. Had anyone seen you come in? “What are you doing here?”

Your lips pull into a little pout and he instantly regrets his choice of words.

“I mean if you don’t want me here…” You try not to visually deflate as you feel the first waves of rejection. “I could uh- I could just go”

You fail.

You’d messed up, you chide yourself mentally. You’d pushed at one of his boundaries, and you shouldn’t have.

“No! That’s not what I meant. I just- I wasn’t expecting you. You’ve never been up here, you surprised me a little bit, that’s all babydoll” Bucky can see it on your face, the hurt that had began to cloud your features and he tries to correct himself because why did his brain have to go so muddy with you? He couldn’t ever manage to say the right thing.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” You quip, that deviousness seeping back in and he cant help but grin.

“Definitely good” he doesn’t miss a beat and your flooded with warmth, with a gnawing need to touch him. There’s so much skin, so much that he usually kept covered. You ache to run your fingers along the exposed flesh, for him to allow him to touch him. For him to finally touch you the way you we’re dying for him to.

“Are you going to invite me in, Buck?” it’s a whisper. You want him to understand, that he doesn’t have to. That even though you want him to grab you, he could say no and you wouldn’t be mad(you’d be extremely disappointed, but not mad). You don’t want to push him. But as you gaze pleadingly upwards, through your surreally long eyelashes he doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to tell you no.

“Yeah, come in” He ushers you into the room and you slide past him in the narrow door frame, making sure to brush your self against him as you do, a feather light, barley noticeable touch.

He notices.

Bucky’s room is simple, you acknowledge as you look over it. Clean, the sharp modern décor that Tony had opted for, for the entire tower barley touched. There was a suede jacket thrown over the armchair near the large window like door that lead to the small, connecting. patio. There was a littering of papers and notebooks at his desk, and an open box of Oreo’s on his bedside table. Other then that- it didn’t really look like it was his. Like he’d settled into it, yet. Hadn’t he been here for nearly a year?

“What have you been up to tonight, Buck?” You start, innocently, as you toss your purse onto the armchair and take a seat on the foot of his bed.

He doesn’t know how to approach this. Well he knows, instinctually what he wants to do. What his body is yelling at his head to say. Seeing you there, perched on his bed was doing things to him. The way you were leaning back on your arms made your chest jut out, your heavy breasts on display. The thin material of your shirt not doing much to contain your ample cleavage.

You notice the way his eyes roam, it electrifies you. Thrills you.

“Nothing much, it was pretty routine. I aint got any grand stories for you, doll, sorry”

You chuckle, he’s just standing there. Looking so out of place. You cant have that, him being so obviously uncomfortable. In his own room of all places. You reach forward, your hand seeking his. The cool, prosthetic fingers are the ones you lace your own with. Tugging on them.

“Come 'ere” You urge him, voice pleading. Silvery. He obliges and sits next to you, your thighs touching you he’s so close.

He’s not nearly close enough.

Your fingers are still gripping his, and you pull his prosthetic arm into your lap slowly, gauging his reaction. He doesn’t stop you, not even when your fingertips begin to trail along the metal plates. You…he’d never given you the chance to really appreciate the appendage. It was an impressive piece of technology, the plates detailed and cutting edge. The science behind it-jeeze. Your mom would have been flipping her shit, you think to yourself. Would have been extremely fascinated by the vibranium panels. They way they moved, and reacted.

“Can you feel this?” You wonder, looking up to meet his eyes. He nods, gulping once.

“I can feel the heat, and the pressure of your touch…I cant feel the texture of your skin, though” Bucky had never had anyone handle his arm with such delicate care. With such child like curiosity. His heart was pounding in his ears.

You grab his other hand, then. The flesh one, and giving it a quick squeeze, and then flipping it, top open, so that you can trace his palm. With those same barley there touches. Your nails tickling his skin in a way that nearly had him twitching.

“Y/N” His voice betrays him. It’s something between a warning and a plea.

“Bucky” You tease back, giving him a challenging look. Challenging him to fucking finally take what he wanted.

…you could sense it would take a little more coaxing. Sigh. This man…

“I missed you all day” You confess to him, as you link your hands with both of his, holding them tight “All I could think about when I was at that bar was coming home and finding you”

His mouth goes dry, brain foggy.

You supplement his lack of words with your own. Still mojito fuled enough to continue on “And telling you that you drive me crazy too. That I want you to touch me so fucking badly, I think I might die sometimes. I want you, Bucky. I want you so bad” Your voice is cracking by the end, and you can barley look at him. So you bury your face in his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the sleeve covered vibranium.

“Tell me you want me, too” It’s an order.

It’s you begging.

Begging him to fucking stop this, to let you both out of your misery.

“I want you, Christ, you know I want you” Bucky croaks in admition as he watches you worship the physical part of himself that he hates the most. Kissing the arm he hid from the world, the one that had committed so many atrocities.

“How bad?” Your kisses are trailing upwards, over his collarbone, under his sharp jaw. Every inch of exposed skin that you can get.

“So bad” He breathes, harshly, as you nip on his earlobe. You tug it between your teeth.

“Then do something about it” you repeat your words from earlier. Hearing them, live, coming from your pretty mouth sends him spiraling and he turns his head, his lips capturing your own.

Finally.

Mystically.

Magically.

When you talk about this with him in the future you’ll tell him how kissing him made you feel like your soul was lurching our of your body, made your world spin and your nervous system scream at me; 'Bitch what are you doing to me’ as you sighed and moaned and knotted your fingers in his hair. Also, in the future Bucky will tell you that you nearly killed him. That you made him muster up every ounce of self control he had ever had.

When he’d pulled away, you’d just looked for other places you occupy your mouth. The cleft in his chin, his pretty jaw.

“Y/N” Bucky breathed, ragged, as he tried in what seemed like vein to get a hold of himself “you taste like a distillery”

You giggle at his assumption, railing upwards to his ear “What? You don’t like it?”

“No-it’s not that- We just cant do this tonight” His hands go to your shoulders, stilling you and you sigh, huffily and glare at him. Your face contorted in the most adorable pout he’d ever encountered.

“Why not?” you start “Don’t come at me with any of that chivalrous 1940’s bullshit, okay? I’m a grown woman, I know what I want and I don’t need you to think that I don’t”

He lets you rant, and he really does try to keep the smirk off of his face.

“Stop looking at me like that!”

“Look, you’re drunk and you have to be up bright and early” He tries to reason but heat fills your eyes “And I cant help the chivalrous bullshit. It’s the way my ma’ raised me and I know it aint right for us to do…anything else, not tonight”

His words are like a pick axe to your heard.

“You know, I’ve never really been rejected before” It’s a thought, that you’d intended to keep private- but your inebriated mouth had different plans.

“Hey” Bucky strokes your hair “You know that’s not what I’m doin’”

You cant meet his eyes though, you look anywhere but at him and he sighs and rests his nose against the side of your face. If you only knew how desperately he was trying to be the good guy in this situation.

“I can go” you tell him, even though you want to do anything but. No, you want to stay here forever, as cliché as that sounds. With his scruffy face pressed against your own.

“Or you can stay- I could use one of those cuddle sessions your so good at” His hand comes to your cheek, the one that his face isn’t pressed into and strokes the aple of it with a tenderness you’d never encountered. No one had ever been so soft with you before. It was always touching- grasping and needing. But not with Bucky.

Bucky was different.

You huff and turn to face him finally, running your nose against his for a moment “Fine. But you owe me”

And he did, you make a mental note of what he’d have to do to pay you back.

You fall asleep in Bucky’s bed, wrapped in his arms, the smell of him surrounding you. You sleep shitty-aly, as you always do when you’ve been drinking. But Bucky, he doesn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so much rest. He’s out like a light five minutes in- and once again, he thinks before the foggy haze of sleep envelopes his brain, he knows he’s in some deep shit when it comes to you.

———————–

Okay I know I keep promising smut and trust me guys it’s coming but every time I write these two I just see them holding each other. Like seriously this story gives me all the feels because I feel like Y/N is such a sexual character- except when it comes to Bucky. With him he brings out this whole other side to her. Okay, leave me some feedback! And again- the taglist for this story is open! Love you, babycakes!

@devenrenee @skeletoresinthebasement @kendallefire @mellifluousbabe @toniinhere @agentmstark @purplekitten30 @bellaballanda @yslbucky @arabellaaurorabarnes @prinxessofspace @supernaturally-lucky @sngforme @kyritha @the-strandedgypsy @teenagekixks @arabellaaurorabarnes @saysay125 @papi-chulo-bucky @iamwarrenspeace

#bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnesxreader #Bucky Barnes x reader #tony stark #tony stark daughter #plus size reader #poc reader #mcu smut #pepper potts #pining

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