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vamptizm · 4 months

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happiness is a butterfly — rafe cameron

summary — a series of events that finally lead you to leave rafe behind and pursue happiness (inspired by the lana del rey song)

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

genre — angst

word count — 3.1k

warnings — angst. mild? cheating. toxic relationship. bad language. suggestive themes (just the mention of it). rafe intimidates reader. not proof read. lowercase intended.

note — this is absolute dog shit in my opinion but it has been sitting in my drafts for a while and this is me ATTEMPTING to somewhat save it and not just scrap it completely

do you want me, or do you not? i heard one thing, now i’m hearing another.

it has always been a back and forth with the cameron boy. one day he was undeniably in love with you, buying you your favorite flowers, taking you on the fanciest of dates and showing you off like a gold trophy. another day, he suddenly decides that he doesn’t care about you all too much. no calls, no texts, he get’s mad, lashes out on you, flirts with others and then finds himself crying in your arms as he apologizes for the things he’s done.

you were tired and confused, anyone around you could tell how worn out and exhausted you were, yet nothing seemed to make you leave. in your mind, he was perfect for you. rich, a year older, he has a future, a nice family and you got along with his sister. what more could you wish for? being a low class “kook” was rougher than one could imagine. too poor for the kooks and too rich and spoiled for the pogues, and therefore, you found yourself not having any friends… not having anyone to rely on, anyone to help you realize your worth and leave the cameron boy.

“look, don’t make this any harder than it has to be right now and just go home” rafe advised in a harsh tone, hands coming up to run over his hair in frustration.

you didn’t understand why he was being so cruel, you hadn’t really done anything to upset him, except trying to figure out what had gotten him in such a sour mood.

“no.” you stated, voice less firm and shakier than wanted. walking closer towards his large figure, you stood merely a few inches away while looking up at his face. “you can’t just push me away and pull me in whenever you deem as fitting. i’m trying to help you and i’m trying to be there for you. just let me.”

rafe simply stared down at you, his eyes stripping you of confidence and composure. you could never predict how he would react this time. would he accept your sincerity and take you in his arms? or would he reject it and leave you in tears while he pushes you away more and more. you had hoped that throughout all of the time that you’ve known him, it would eventually become a tad bit easier to read his body language but as always, you’d be dead wrong.

a hand of his came up to place itself on the back of your head, eyes locked with your own before he spoke up again. “have you ever stopped to consider that i don’t want anything from you?”, he questioned harshly, that familiar squinting of his eyes and the furrow of his eyebrows told you exactly what his next words will be. “if i want someone to talk to, i’ll talk to a fucking therapist, okay? stick to being the good fuck you are and leave me alone for now”.

there it was. he never failed to knock the air out of you and leave your lips trembling with his harsh words. a good fuck? that one was new, considering the fact that you rarely allowed him your body.

you couldn’t help but bitterly grin as tears stung your eyes. with eyes still locked with his, you nodded and took a step back before turning around and exiting his room. walking down those stairs felt like an eternity, to you, more and more kept appearing until you finally made it downstairs.

on your way out, a worried sarah approached you hastily, “did he do something? are you okay?” she questioned sincerely, both her arms raising to place her warm hands on your arms.

with a forced smile, you nodded gently in response, whispering a light “yeah” and explaining to her how you had to go home, before leaving tanny hill.

there you were once again, sat on his lap in his car as your lips collided repeatedly, softly and eagerly fighting for dominance. your hands were cupping his face and his were firmly placed on your hips, gripping onto the soft flesh. it was two in the morning on a hot summer night. were you expecting to find yourself in this position? not really. but all it took was a few texts from a worried rafe and a few missed calls, for you to send him your location. he found you sitting close to the shore of the beach with a half empty beer bottle in your hand and all it took was some sweet talk and a little bit of convincing from his side, until you ended up sitting in the passenger seat of his car and eventually on top of him.

his lips disconnected from yours as they trailed down your jaw and then to your neck, littering the soft skin with kisses and whispering sweet nothings into the crook of your neck. desperately wanting his lips back on yours, you gently took a hold on his jaw and lifted it up to press another kiss onto him.

“i love you”, he breathlessly whispered against your lips, eyes heavy and sparkling.

saying that he had caught you off guard was the understatement of the year, as your body stiffened against him and you straightened up. after a few moments of agonizing silence between the both of you, you shakily sighed, before your eyes found his. what did he just say? did he mean that? was he trying to mess with you?

“what?” you questioned quietly, it was as if the volume of your voice could only go so high at that moment.

rafe was the complete opposite of you, his eyes intensely staring into yours and his voice booming with confidence. his hand lifted towards your face as he tucked the two strands of hair behind your ears. he couldn’t stand it being in the way, it was like a curtain draped over your eye and he wanted to inspect every inch of your beautiful face.

“i said i love you”, he repeated earnestly. if it hadn’t been for the confidence in his voice and the serious look in his eyes, you would have called him a liar right then and there.

millions of thoughts crossed your mind until you feared that they might overflow. did you love him? did you want to say it back? would you truly mean it? were you sure that he wasn’t just playing with you?

it was as if rafe had read your mind, his hands cupping your face the same way you had done it to him a few minutes ago, “you don’t have to say it back now, but i mean it.”

if he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst that can. happen to a girl who’s already hurt

“what did you do?!” you stormed towards the boy, pushing him back in anger, again and again.

a hysterical sarah had just told you about him shooting peterkin on the phone, killing the town’s sheriff and now he was outside your house. you should have been afraid, you should have called the police but you couldn’t. all you could do was stare at him in betrayal.

“listen, i-i had to save my dad, okay?” the stressed out boy stammered in a shaky tone, “i’m a proactive person, y/n, you know that! i couldn’t just let her hurt him!”

he had completely lost it, that you were sure of. the crazed look in his eyes that were stung by tears and trembling hands, you didn’t know whether to hit or hug him. your heart had been beating out of your chest, the realization that you were in the presence of someone who had taken a life suddenly hitting you like a truck and you unconsciously began to take a few steps backwards.

that didn’t go unnoticed. rafe’s demeanour had changed faster than you could blink as he stepped closer towards you, trapping you against the walls of your house and himself. your heart began to beat a thousand miles a minute and you were worried that he could hear it. you couldn’t let him know that you were afraid. he hovered over your smaller body, looking down at you like a hunter at it’s prey. no one spoke for what felt like hours, but was merely just short of a minute.

“you scared of me?” he interrogated bitterly. to him, it felt like you were betraying him, simply for being nervous and cautious around him. “are you going to try to get me in trouble?”, he took your jaw in between his thumb and pointer finger. “i’m the only one that can protect you, baby. i’ll be there for you. do you want that to change?”

glancing at him for a few more seconds, you eventually softly shook your head. it wasn’t just that you wanted to protect him, you also knew that if you went against him, the whole world would go against you until he’s proven guilty. precious rafe cameron. big house, good family, more money than he could ever dream of… he would never commit such cruel acts.

rafe tried to read your face, scanning it for any indication of a lie, before he grinned maliciously. he had you right where he wanted you. “that’s my good girl”, he pressed a kiss on your stiff lips.

“go back inside, it’s late” he advised after pulling back, making his way to his car and driving off.

finding yourself alone, you finally allowed yourself to breathe, sliding down the wall you had been pushed against. tears filled your eyes faster than you could comprehend and soon after that quiet sobs started to wreck your body. nothing would be the same anymore, nothing would be okay anymore, and you were painfully aware of that now.

i said don’t be a jerk, don’t call me a taxi. sitting in your sweatshirt crying in the backseat.

“i just don’t get what the big deal is”, rafe stated nonchalantly.

here you were, sitting in the passenger seat of his car with tears running down your face because of him and he didn’t get what the big deal was? you had just seen him with his arm draped over another girl’s shoulder not even 20 minutes ago, how could he be so dense? you would like to lie and say that it hadn’t been often that you got jealous or upset, but the truth is that those things affect you more than you’d ever like to admit.

with mascara stained cheeks, you slowly turned your head towards him, disbelief and annoyance sculpting your features now.

“you don’t get the big deal?” you repeated his audacious statement. you were seething but attempted to stay composed nonetheless as you picked at the nails of your fingers.

the boy’s face showed no empathy, let alone any indications of remorse. this caused you to scoff. you wanted to scream at him, to pour your heart out and make him understand how much it hurt, but instead you chose to leave. with a hand firmly on the door handle, you swiftly exited the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

rafe followed after you a few seconds after, “don’t be ridiculous and just get back in the car.” he scolded as he walked behind you, but you didn’t bother to listen, instead you continued to take fast steps in the opposite direction.

the boy sighed in annoyance and worry, not wanting you to roam the streets at that time of night all alone in this sweatshirt that barely covered your thighs.

“let me at least call a taxi to take you home!” he called after your retrieving figure.

you stopped in your tracks and for a moment it seemed like he had gotten through to you, but oh how wrong he was. “i don’t want you to call me a fucking taxi, you jerk! i don’t need anything from you.”

happiness is a butterfly. try to catch it, like every night.

it had finally been the last straw for you. you could not excuse his actions anymore and you couldn’t keep forgiving him. something had to change and that something was your relationship with rafe cameron. you wanted to be free, you wanted happiness and you wanted to feel butterflies that didn’t make you feel sick to your stomach. unfortunately, that meant you had to let go of what was holding you back. it’s in our human nature to chase things that hurt us, either for the thrill of it or to settle. we accept the love that we think we deserve and you knew that you deserved so much better than this.

you had been contemplating for days on whether to do it over the phone or in person, because you hated to admit that you were slightly scared of his reaction if you chose to break the news to him, face to face. eventually though, with the encouragement of sarah and your pogue friends, you had decided to not fear him anymore and thats how you found yourself standing in front of him as he sat on his bed.

“i think you know what i’m about to say” you began, attempting to hide that nervousness that was begging to shine through.

rafe simply shook his head and you weren’t sure if he was pretending to be clueless or if he was trying to stop the next few sentences that would escape your lips. “no, please enlighten me” he inquired a little too calmly.

it somehow felt like a trap to you, but you didn’t let that affect you. “i don’t think we’re good for each other… i want to end this”

rafe stared at you in silence for a couple of moments with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read, it was a mix of his furrowed brows and a look of disbelief. neither of you chose to speak up after that.

“you’re leaving me?” he finally broke the silence in a tone that had you wincing.

you didn’t want to hurt him and you surely did not want this to end on a bad note, but it was clear as day that rafe was anything but happy about your decision. not being able to find the words, you simply nodded your head in confirmation.

“after everything i did for you?” he stood up, his facial expression turning sour with the look of betrayal in his eyes.

rafe took a couple of steps towards your figure, causing you to take a couple of steps back in return. you knew he wasn’t trying to intimidate you on purpose, but even if he was, it wouldn’t work on you this time.

“what did you do for me?” you questioned bitterly. “the constant fighting? pushing me away and then pulling me back in? telling me how much you love me and then seeing you getting all touchy with another girl not even a week later?”

you were trying your best not the escalate the situation with your emotional state, but in the moment it was near to impossible.

“i deserve to be happy, you know?” you began, taking a step closer to him this time to show him just how fearless you were. “i deserve to be loved and cherished. i deserve someone who isn’t going to play me like a fiddle and use me to his advantage. i deserve something real and good and that’s just not something that you’ve been able to offer me, rafe. all you do is take and take and take some more and you never give anything in return. i’m fucking sick of being your little toy”.

rafe cameron had been speechless for the first time in a very long time. he had no idea what to say or do in that moment. should he drop on his knees and beg you for another chance? or should he accept that fact that everything you said was merely the cold hard truth that he did not want to hear. he knew you deserved better, he knew you could do better, yet he wanted to be that better for you. it can’t be too late, right?

“i’ll change.” rafe stated in a sincere tone, his eyes finally locking with yours. “i’ll be better for you, y/n. i promise”

you wanted to laugh. the fact that it had to come this far, was bitterly amusing to you. after all the pain he put you through, all the harsh words he shot at you, all the times he disappointed you, he really had the nerve to ask for another chance?. in all honesty, it had actually made you quite angry. why did he expect you to forgive him again? were you not clear enough? were you a joke to him?

“beg for it” you spoke, a dead serious look on your face while doing so.

to say that rafe had been caught off guard would be the understatement of the century, his breath hitched and he had to stop his eyes from widening in shock at your words. after a few moments of contemplating, the boy surprisingly lowered himself onto his knees and looking up at your shocked expression.

“please… please give me another chance. i know i don’t deserve you, i never have, but i truly love you despite being always failing to prove it to you. i cannot imagine my life without you in it, y/n… i promise to change. i’ll take better care of you, i’ll drop every other girl, i’ll be nicer and more understanding and i’ll do anything to make you happy if you just give me one more chance” he begged, his voice cracking a couple times and tears stinging his beautiful blue eyes as a few of them ran down his cheeks.

you had not expected this. in fact, you had expected him to scoff at you and show you just how cruel he could be. his words and tears had you almost dropping to your knees and embracing him into a bone crushing hug. key word being almost. once you had made a decision, it was impossible to talk you out of it or convince you otherwise, so instead of listening to your heart the way you always had, you chose to let your brain take control for once.

“not good enough”. with that, you turned on your heels and left through his door, while also exiting his life for what you hoped, would be forever.

#⋆𐙚 ₊ ♡ 🌷 yuko #⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks one shot #angst #rafe cameron angst

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amphxtrite · 3 years

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pietro maximoff x fem!reader

warnings: light angst (sad pietro).

summary: pietro has worries about potentially becoming a father, so you hep him realize everything will be alright.

a/n: my first marvel fic, sorry if I messed up the russian.

word count: 1.8k

enjoy <3

blyad’ - fuck, printsessa - princess, moya lyubov' - my love, krasivaya - beautiful, dorogoy - darling, ya tebya lyublyu - I love you, zhena - wife

__________________________________________

“I can’t believe the captain is making me practice physical combat like I can’t take someone down with my mind.” Wanda groans, holding her sore shoulder in her hand as the two of you exit the training room.

“You know he does it just in case Wanda, besides it’s good to know.” You smile, repeating the same line for what seemed like the tenth time today.

“It’s not like my powers are going to just disappear y/n, besides I strongly dislike sparring.”

“You just don’t like it when Steve calls you out for using your powers.” You smirk.

“That was one time!” Wanda groans, murmuring a couple curses under her breath.

“Anyways, I was talking to Fury about the next mission and—”

Your sentence is cut short as the wind is knocked out of your stomach and the air around you begins to blur, terrified you latch onto the person carrying you.

“Blyad’ Pietro steal your girlfriend at your own time!” Wanda seethes.

But you can barely hear her groan of annoyance as a soft chuckle brings your eyes up to meet a pair of blue ones.

“Hello Printsessa, coincidence bumping into you here.” A familiar sokovian accent greets you.

“We live in the same building Pietro, you can’t do this every time you see me—” You squeal as the blonde picks up the pace.

“You know you love it, moya lyubov'.” He sighs with a smirk, pressing a long kiss to your cheek.

“Besides, you look ever so beautiful in my arms.” Pietro teases, pausing for a moment to nuzzle his nose to yours and take in the sight of your breathless self clutching onto his neck for dear life.

“Don’t look at me like that I-I’m trying to be mad at you.” You groan, glancing away only to find Pietro still staring at you with soft eyes, like you were his world.

“Alright, you win Piet. You’re going to make me melt.” You mutter, covering your face with your hands to disguise your deep blush, but Pietro had already seen it.

Grinning proudly to himself, he paces down to the living room and drops you gently on the couch before running off again.

“So kiddo, how was training today?” Clint asks nonchalantly, gratefully turning away from his conversation with Tony.

“Well, we finally got Wanda to spar without her powers for once, so I see that as a win.” You shrug with a laugh as Pietro arrives again with a blanket to toss over you.

“That’s good, the kid needs to learn, she can’t always use her ‘mind thing.’” Clint shrugs.

“Try telling her that.” You smirk.

A voice clearing abruptly cuts off Clint’s next sentence.

“Hey speedy, anyone ever say you look like a suburban dad with those tousled locks.” Tony comments sarcastically, eyeing Pietro’s slightly overgrown hair.

“Oh leave him alone Tones, he’s been on a mission for the past couple weeks.” You sigh, playfully pushing the brunette.

“Just saying.” Tony murmurs quietly under his breath.

You roll your eyes, but smile fondly at the thought of Pietro as a father, cradling a small child in his arms.

Glancing up at Pietro, you smile, but you’re met with a different expression.

Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Pietro’s eyes cast away from you, as if he was trying to bore a hole in the wall.

“Is everything alright speedy?” You question softly, resting your hand on his arm.

Your heart clenches as he flinches slightly, turning his gaze back to you.

“Yes— yes of course krasivaya.” He smiles weakly, attempting to sound cheerful, but the break in his voice was evident.

“Um— I’m feeling kind of tired, I’ll see you guys later.” You excuse yourself, nodding to Clint and Tony as you take Pietro’s hand.

“Alright, but remember tonight’s movie night so don’t eat too much before nine, we’re ordering pizza.” Clint calls as you begin to walk away.

“Alright old man, we’ll keep it in mind.” You laugh, pulling Pietro out of the living room.

“Oh she’s getting it tonight.” Tony laughs as Clint rolls his eyes.

“Watch it, the kid looked kind of upset.” Clint sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, sorry Katniss.” Tony chuckles, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

Refusing to let go of Pietro’s hand, you reach the door to his room and pull him inside, finally releasing your grip and taking a deep breath.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s really up Piet?” You sigh, taking his hands into yours.

Pietro’s eyes are downcast at the floor beneath him, glancing from side to side. For a moment, no one moves, you practically hold your breath for a moment as Pietro fidgets with your fingers and mentally debates saying anything.

When Pietro finally lifts his head, he reveals blurry blue eyes with tears welled up in the corners. “Printssesa...”

Your heart drops to your stomach as the streams fall down his cheeks, you quickly lift your hand to dry them.

“Printsessa, how could I ever become a father?” He mumbles softly, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth as he tries to fight back his on-coming tears.

“Of course you could be a father Piet, you’d be an amazing dad!” You smile softly, lifting Pietro’s chin so he’s facing you again.

His lips pull up into a weak smile, but his downhearted eyes suggested there was more to it.

“Piet?” You whisper softly. “Please. You can trust me.” You murmur, lifting his hand to press a kiss to his fingers.

The blue eyed blonde takes a deep breath and shuffles around on his feet, avoiding eye contact as your gaze softens.

“I-I don’t know dorogoy. You shouldn’t have to see me like this I apologize.” Pietro sighs, slowly trying to turn himself away from you.

“W-What? No. Piet, you’re upset. Please as long as you’re willing to tell me, I’m here to listen and help.” You smile, taking Pietro’s calloused fingers into your hand and squeezing gently.

Pietro chuckles softly and squeezes back.

“Thank you krasivaya. I don’t know how I got so lucky.” Pietro mumbles, pulling you into his arms and sniffling against your head.

“Please Piet, I think I’m the one who got lucky. The cute speedster with the perfect smile.” You smirk, nuzzling your nose into his chest.

“Yes, I suppose you did.” He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Pietro clears his throat, letting out a long sigh and taking in a seep breath.

“What I mean, about being a father of course, is how could I possibly manage it.” he starts, clutching you closer to him.

“Y/n, I lost my father when I was ten, I hold onto any scrap of a memory I can hold of him but they’re slowly fading. Ever since I’ve been reckless, stupid, and childish. I almost died y/n, how could I possibly take care of children when I can barely take care of myself.” Pietro sighs and takes another deep breath.

“Truth be told I’m still much of a child myself, I couldn’t leave you with children because I died trying to prove something to myself. I couldn’t bear knowing I’d failed you and our children as a father.” Pietro finishes in a low murmur, allowing his tears to flow freely as he expressed his deepest fear and insecurity.

“Printsessa, you’ve helped me learn how to slow down and appreciate my life, but I’m still far from perfect. It’s hard for me to imagine being a father when I can see myself screwing everything up for the person who makes my life better.” He continues, gently pulling back from your arms to show the sincerity he held.

Your heart warms at the love Pietro held for you, but your stomach drops when learn his fear. Placing your hand on his cheek, you pull him towards you again, rest your forehead against his and gently clear your voice.

“Perhaps we’re not talking about the same Pietro love.” You comment softly, brushing the hair from your boyfriend’s confused eyes.

“Because my Pietro Django Maximoff, is the farthest from reckless, stupid or childish.” You begin, stroking his face with your thumb.

“My Pietro is selfless, ready at all times to help someone in need and save the day.” You smirk, watching his lips turn up as you press a peck to his nose.

“He’s brave, willing to do whatever it takes to help, but also smart enough to know when enough is enough.” You continue, kissing the tears off his cheeks.

“He’s fun, always knows how to make everyone smile.”

“y/n, I—”

“Pietro, you could never ‘fail’ me. We aren’t perfect, we’ll learn as we grow.” You smile, leaning into Pietro to press a butterfly kiss to his lips.

“Remember there’s no rush darling, and no matter what, ya tebya lyublyu.” You say as clearly as you can.

Pietro does his best to hide his laugh, but it’s futile as a low chuckle escapes.

“I butchered it didn’t I?” You sigh, shaking your head gently.

“Only a little krasivaya.” Pietro smiles, kissing your temple.

“Y-You know that’s the first time you’ve said that.” Pietro murmurs, holding you tightly against him, arms wound against your waist.

“I wanted to save it for sometime special… And I’ve been practicing.” You laugh.

“Aw I’m flattered dorogoy.” Pietro chuckles, falling onto the bed and pulling you down with him.

“Pietro!”

“You know you love it, moya lyubov.” He chuckles breathily, leaving a trail of kisses on the side of your neck.

“I love you too, printsessa. So very much.” Pietro sighs, his thick accent rolling smoothly off his tongue.

“So. Learn as we grow Piet?”

“With you beside me, anything y/n.” Pietro laughs, moulding your lips together in a soft kiss.

“Now c’mon, Nat’s picking the movie tonight.” You murmur against him.

“Oh, I love a good horror movie, Clint always screams.” Pietro laughs, standing again and pulling you bridal style into his arms, and running you to the living room.

————

“Shh, shh you’re going to wake up mama.”

You awake to the glow of a faint light and the sound of a soft cry. Squeezing your eyes together, you shift yourself to your side and attempt to drift off when a voice catches your attention.

Singing.

Coaxing your eyes open, you turn over again and glance to the other side of your bedroom where Pietro sat cradling your bundle of joy.

Pietro’s smooth voice had brought the cries to a happy coo, and you could see your daughter’s small hand reach up and touch her father’s face.

“Good morning Piet.” You smile, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

“It’s only three a.m dorogoy, go back to bed.” Pietro insists as you stand and make your way over to him.

“And let you become the favourite, I know your plans love.” You smirk, wrapping one arm around Pietro’s shoulder and using the other to caress his cheek.

“Alright, you caught me.” Pietro chuckles, gently rocking the baby in his arms.

“Hate to say I told you so.” You laugh in a sing-song voice.

“Oh I’m still terrified, zhena.” Pietro smiles nervously, glancing over at you and pausing as he takes in your beauty in the low light. His heart flutters at the sight of you smiling down at your baby, his train of thought getting lost as you look back at him.

“But?” You question when Pietro’s sentence drops.

“But— I must say my love for you and our little angel is... Much stronger.” He murmurs, kissing your baby’s forehead.

Your heart warms at the sight of your husband's smile that matches your little girl’s.

“Learn as we grow?” Pietro smiles, leaning forward with his eyes closed.

“With you by my side, anything Piet.” You smirk, taking his fingers in your chin and meeting him halfway.

Pietro tilts his chin to deepen the kiss, but the sound of high pitched coos pull you apart.

“ya tebya lyublyu, Piet.” You sigh, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your little girl’s forehead and then the corner of Pietro’s lip.

“I love you too, y/n.” He murmurs dreamily.

“Now come on, she’s practically fighting to keep her eyes open now.” You giggle glancing down at your child’s half closed eyes.

“Alright, alright.” Pietro chuckles, placing your daughter back in the crib and collapsing onto your mattress.

“You’re doing amazing my love.” You yawn as Pietro pulls you to his chest and leans into you for a slow kiss.

“You’re not too bad yourself, printsessa.” He murmurs against your lips.

It was all even better than you had imagined.

#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #marvel #pietro x you #pietro maximoff x you

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 3 years

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Please please please, may i please request a prussia/reader drabble (oneshot?? what ever is easier for you honestly) for the prompt: “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”?? thank you so much and i love your writings <3

Hello, Lovely~ Wanted to thank you for your patience. Couldn't quite get the perfect scene in mind till about 1:14 am this morning. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

In a world that never seemed to rest, tranquility had become an elusive mistress, an antiquated ideal that was valuable for its rarity alone. There were many who would never find such a thing, or would be cursed with just a brief glimpse before it slipped away once more, never to return.

Tranquility was a gift, and you had been blessed in multitudes.

A light breeze was rustling the pines towering above you, scents of the nearby stream, forget-me-nots, and the wisps of smoke from the campfire dancing with it.

So tucked away from everything, you couldn't hear any engines, noisy neighbors, or- most fortunately- the impatient pings from your cell demanding your attention.

It was quiet, as quiet as Nature could be when one is sitting near a babbling brook, their swing squeaking on hinges decades older than themselves, birds of all ages serenading the small patches of sunlight reaching the forest floor.

Your foot trailed along the ground beneath you, a path carving in the soil from the steady back-and-forth of the old wooden swing, your head resting comfortably against Gil's chest.

He had one arm loosely draped on the back of the swing, the other extended as he read his paperback, folded over itself to spare himself a little freedom.

You shifted slightly, just a little, and he instinctively followed, adjusting the blanket across your legs and shifting his own to accommodate your new position, all without once removing his attention from the page.

It was approaching midday, and while you had both agreed on a short hike to visit some waterfall or other, you were finding you had no desire to leave just yet, perfectly content and cozy as you were.

You let yourself relax further, eyes closing as you rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady refrain of his heartbeat.

The familiar, unconscious dance of fingers against your upper arm made you smile, his decision to shift his free arm almost as reflexive as your decision to open your palm and rest it directly over his heart.

In a time not so long ago, the very thought of being alone in the same room as him would have been laughable, and now you were alone together in some ancient hunting cabin, leagues away from civilization, and completely at peace.

It struck you in that moment just how ingrained he was into your life, your sphere, your thoughts. You never could have anticipated this level of intimacy, and the unexpected epiphany of just how vulnerable that made you left you reeling.

"It kind of scares me sometimes," the words slipped out in a sigh, a wisp of a murmur that faded as easily as woodsmoke. They hadn't even been loud enough to disturb a trio of hares near the truck, and when several moments passed, you were beginning to hope Gil hadn't heard them at all.

It was more a rumbling than a fully coherent query that finally answered you, his eyes still firmly affixed to the Greek text before him. "What's that?"

Without fully lifting your head, you shifted your angle, giving you the chance to study his features- the small indents on his nose from wearing his glasses so much the past week, the single, nearly invisible freckle just by his left eye, the patch of chapped skin on his lower lip, the intoxicating and inexplicable gradients of indigoes and crimsons in his irises.

He hid nothing from you, every perceived flaw and weakness completely at your mercy. And to know that he could see through all of your own barriers, knew you in-and-out more than you perhaps knew yourself-

But there was trust there, and something so strong that- even years after first naming it, after first defining it, exploring it, embracing it- still left you breathless, still rendered you speechless.

For a moment, it did exactly that, overwhelming you in a wave of emotion so strong that you could scarcely think in the face of it.

But it was a familiar feeling, one so commonplace that you simply sighed again, letting it settle over you like an additional blanket, warmth settling in your veins as you relaxed once more.

"It scares me sometimes how in love I am with you." You traced a pattern with your finger against his shirt, eyes focused on the lupine family enjoying vegetable scraps from the night before. "It scares me how vulnerable you make me feel."

But no. Scared wouldn't be quite the right word for how this vulnerability made you feel. Intimidated, perhaps?

Irregardless, it was such a good feeling, so freeing to be so fully exposed to someone, to know they saw the worst of you and still-

He was resting his head against your own, silence patiently resting between you, the quiet of the forest yet again remaining undisturbed. He had even ceased powering the swing, apart from a small movement with his toes that was likely from his muscle spasms than anything else. You let yourself relax fully, because no matter how suddenly and aggressively this wave of realization had swept you away in its riptide, he would always keep you safe, always anchor you in the face of whatever storms may come.

"You know it's a two-way street, right?"

As if further testament to his knowing you, the words went straight to the core of it all, exposing his own vulnerability to you, proving just how much he had placed his faith in you.

What a perilous place to be, putting so much faith and trust and hope and care and control in someone else's hands, wholeheartedly believing that they will never bring you any harm, that-

"You're not going to leave me, right?"

The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that you took yourself by surprise, not accounting for the deep, tired exhale of the man so gently holding you. "How could you even ask that?"

You started to try taking it back, wishing for all the world you could keep your thoughts more thoroughly reined in, but he was plowing ahead, the arm that had been resting on the swing coming around you, fingers slipping in between your own. "Do you really think I could leave you?"

By all accounts, yes. Yes he could.

His claim to immortality was shaky at best, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get bored of you, that someone pushing near 1,000 would wake up one morning and realise that-

"Where the Hell is all of this coming from anyway?"

You gave it a half a moment of thought, and soon found yourself melting in defeat. "I wish I had an answer, but I honestly have no idea."

He resumed his earlier motion, putting the swing back into a steady glide. When he spoke again, it was as if he were reaching across centuries, finding just the right words out of billions to try to comfort you. "To quote some book I read in some teahouse somewhere quite a long ass time ago: 'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own.'" Here he paused, a good six seconds of silence as he rooted himself once more to the present, voice lowering to a whisper. "Leaving you? Losing you? It would be like losing a part of myself, like losing the best parts of myself."

He paused again, a seriousness that was only just familiar to you making an appearance, a depth to his words that made your toes curl. "I was lost for centuries, Schatz, never realizing or accepting just how alone I was, how fucked up I was. I waited for you for ages, and didn't even know how badly I needed you until I finally met you. It was like everything I had done, everything I had gone through, suddenly made sense. You were- are- the very thing I was fighting so hard for."

For claiming to have not a hint of romance in him, he still always seemed to have the perfect strategy for disarming you, for charming you, for leaving you even more infatuated with him than you were mere minutes before.

But this pedestal that he had carved for you, these expectations-

"I'm only human, Gil."

"I know," he murmured.

"I could still get sick-"

"I know," he sighed.

"Or hurt-"

"I know," he growled.

"Or di-"

"I know!"

His exasperation was so unexpected that you swore the whole world had frozen around you, as if the tranquility of the forest had finally been disturbed.

But no-

Everything was still exactly as should be; it was only your surprise that had affected your perception.

In actuality, his interjection had been scarcely more than a rasp, so damaging to you alone as it cut straight through to your soul, piercing through what little armor you still had against him.

He squeezed your hand, an apology conveyed simply through touch, an armistice accepted and strengthened through reciprocation. "'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,'" came the quiet refrain, each syllable accented through the dance of his thumb against your palm, each syllable a soft breath that tickled your scalp. You expected him to stop there, his point well made, but soon enough he was murmuring again, words nearly a hum. "'In pain and sickness they would still be dear.'"

You couldn't place the words- who knew if a copy of that book even existed anymore- but it didn't matter. They were exactly what you had needed, the balm for a restiveness that you hadn't even known was plaguing you till a few moments ago. And what's more, you never knew Gilbert to exaggerate, not when it came to matters of the heart. He knew no other option than complete sincerity, maddening some days, endearing most others.

Thoughts shifting, comfort once more reestablished, you shifted slightly, turning your attention to the few clouds you could see through the canopy. "Every atom, huh?"

There was a huff of a laugh, an accentuated exhale that highlighted his exasperation, but the amusement in his reply was tempered by fondness, highlighted with a small kiss above your ear. "Every proton, neutron, electron... Every single quark, if you need me to get technical," he finished in a whisper, slowly, gently, reassuringly, practically an embrace on its own.

You melted against him, giving his hand a small squeeze of gratitude, thoroughly reminded now of exactly why it was okay to share your vulnerabilities, how lucky you were to have found him, to be found, to trust and fall and grow together.

Tranquility eventually, quietly, made her reappearance, bringing with her the blessing of the midday sun.

Thanks for reading!

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calpalirwin · 3 years

Text

35th Floor

Summary: You and Ashton run rival companies in the same building.

Word count: 4.7k

And away, and away we go!

You checked the time on your watch as you rounded the corner, the tall building looming a mere fifty feet away. 8:45 am. Perfect. As you lifted your gaze, your lips curled into a sneer as you watched a man approaching you from the opposite street corner. His suit lay perfectly flat against his body, just tight enough to show off how well-muscled he was underneath the crisp ensemble. In one hand, he held a cell phone pressed to his ear, and even from the distance you could hear his sharp tone. “Where the blame lies is of little interest to me, unless the problem is not fixed by noon today. Because then I will become interested, and rest assured, you do not wish to see me interested. Are we at an understanding?” As the man waited for an answer, he took a sip of the iced coffee in his other hand. “Good. My office. Noon. Not a minute later.”

He slid his phone into his jacket pocket, finally taking note of your appearance as you both walked up the steps to the building together. “Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted, a smirk on his lips as his fingers curled around one of the doors, pulling it open for you both.

“Mr. Irwin,” you responded icily, opening the other door for yourself. “I find that my employees are a lot more agreeable to do my bidding, and make less mistakes, when I don’t berate them before the work day has even begun,” you commented offhandedly as you both walked towards the elevator.

“Bold statement from the woman who can’t let a gentleman hold the door for her,” was the quip as he hit the button to call the elevator.

“Bold of you to assume you’re a gentleman, Mr. Irwin.”

“It’s Ashton, Y/N. Surely the basic pleasantries are beyond us now.”

“I wouldn’t call what we do ‘pleasant,’ Mr. Irwin. You are barely tolerable at best, and at worst a thorn in my side.”

“And you, a thorn in mine.”

“Am I at least a sharp thorn?” you inquired with a small smirk of your own.

“The sharpest.”

“Hmm. Pity. You’re a rather dull thorn. I thought we’d at least be matched. But it is clear you hold me in much higher esteem than I hold you.”

“You wound me,” he deadpanned as the elevator finally dinged and the silver mirrored doors slid open.

“Careful not to bleed all over your suit,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator, quickly hitting the button for your floor and the “close door” button. “The dry cleaning must cost a fortune,” you mused as the doors started to close, faster than Ashton could join you, much to his startled shock and your glee.

~~~

Thanks to leaving Ashton waiting for another elevator, you didn’t see the man again until you stepped out for lunch. “Mr. Irwin,” you flashed him a smile as you found him in the small elevator waiting area of the 35th floor where both your businesses were located.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he replied with a curt nod. “Pleasant morning?” he continued before taking a sip from the coffee in his hand.

“Very,” you answered, wondering why he was asking and just how much coffee this man drank. Come to think of it, in the four years you’ve shared the same building, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without a coffee in hand. So how he managed to be anything beyond constantly jittery was beyond you. “And yours?”

“Not nearly as much, I’m afraid. But, I’m hopeful my afternoon will prove to be better.”

“One can only hope,” you responded with a tight-lipped smile before tapping your foot impatiently. God, this elevator sure took its sweet time.

Sighing in his own agitation, Ashton reached across your shoulder to stab his index finger into the button. And promptly spilled his coffee down the front of your blouse in the process. “My apologies,” he ushered quickly. You were too busy gasping in shock as the coffee stain caused your blouse to cling to your skin, and the ice melting in your bra to tell if it was sincere or not. But you got your answer when he clicked his tongue, his eyes roaming your heaving chest. “The dry cleaning must cost a fortune,” he mused.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ll be sure to send you the bill.”

“Can’t wait.” He flashed you a charming smile that had dimples indenting his cheeks. And before either of you could get in another word, the elevator arrived, taking Ashton with it.

Alone, you let out a small growl of rage, stamping your foot for good measure before stalking back down to your offices. “Whoa, what happened to you?” Michael, your business partner asked, his green eyes glinting with slight amusement.

“I’ll give you two guesses,” you hissed through your teeth, moving past him into your personal office, grateful the main floor was empty with everyone off to lunch. Better for only your most trusted companion to see you in such a state.

Michael whistled low, following after you, shutting the door behind him more out of habit than necessity. “Did you really not expect him to get you back after leaving him on the ground floor this morning?”

“Yes. But in a similar fashion. Like closing the doors on me when we leave today. Not dumping his coffee on me,” you griped. You moved over to the small closet you had in your office, selecting out a new blouse, thankful Michael had had the foresight to put in a closet just for moments like this. “Seriously,” you continued, peeling off the fabric still clinging to your skin, the camisole you had underneath just sporting a wet spot that you could easily cover. “Do you think he just has one cup of coffee he just keeps drinking throughout the day? Or is it actually a new coffee every time? How has his heart not jumped out of his chest from that much caffeine?”

“Maybe it’s decaf,” Michael suggested, coughing uncomfortably and studying the floor as you dabbed at the melted ice in your cleavage.”

“Oh, relax,” you scoffed as you discarded the tissues in a small wicker wastebasket before pulling on your new blouse, and doing up the buttons. “I’m wearing an undershirt. Plus it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“You’re still my boss,” he pointed out with a soft chuckle.

“Barely,” you laughed. “You're my business partner, not my employee, Mike.”

“Just your business partner? I thought what we had was special…” he pouted rolling his eyes playfully, earning another laugh from you. Michael Clifford was easily your best friend in the entire world. And if you were to have your choice of who to run a business with, you would pick him every time without hesitation. Because in addition to being your best friend, Michael was wicked smart, and had a personality that made it hard not to like the man. An important attribute that set him apart from the more cutthroat breed of businessmen. “So, what are we doing for lunch, boss lady?”

“That Italian place on Fifth?” you suggested.

“Yes!” he agreed, his mouth watering.

“Perfect. The dry cleaner's next door, so I can drop this off,” you said, gathering your things.

“You should send him the bill,” Michael told you as you walked back out of the offices. “But make them do like one of those fancy ass super cleaning of it. Like the super deluxe version at a carwash. But for your shirt. Really stick it to him.”

“I like where your mind’s at.”

Fate seemed to agree with the plan of sticking Ashton with your dry cleaning bill, as when you walked into the Italian restaurant, you found the man of the hour standing beside the pick up counter. His focus was on the phone in his hand, taking slow sips from the coffee that you were sure was just a permanent feature of his left hand, his eyebrows furrowed together, his lips a tight line of displeasure. But his head snapped to attention as he heard your voice rattle off your order, his scowl changing to a friendly look. “Y/N. Gorgeous top, love. Although I must say, I liked the other one better,” he said as he crossed over to you.

“If you love it so much, then you shouldn’t have a problem collecting it for me,” you smiled sweetly, pressing the clothing ticket in his chest.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat as his hand curled around yours to grab at the scrap of paper. “It would be my pleasure,” he assured you, before releasing your hand.

Before you could think of a retort, one of the workers called out, “Order for Ashton.”

“That would be me,” Ashton smiled. “See you around, Y/N.”

“Okay…” Michael said after the man disappeared. “Remind me again why you hate him? Coffee incident aside. He doesn’t seem like that terrible of a guy.”

“It’s…” you started before blanking out. Why did you hate Ashton so much? After four years of holding disdain for him, it was hard to work out what had been the original offense that started the rivalry of the 35th floor. “He represents everything I hate about corporate America. He’s a male heading a company.”

“I’m a male heading a company in corporate America…” Michael pointed out. “Well… co-heading. As is Ashton. Calum Hood is as much his business partner as I’m yours.”

“Yes, but you never called me a secretary,” you remembered suddenly.

“Ashton called you a secretary?! When was this?”

You waved a hand in a dismissive fashion, not wanting to relive the memory that had crept up unwanted. “It must have been years ago. And it’s stupid for me to still be offended. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with being a secretary, mind you. You know I don’t think that way. But it was the insinuation that because I was a woman, I couldn’t possibly be interviewing for any other position.”

“Oh, shit… I always forget you interviewed with him before starting our company. But I didn’t realize that had been the reason.”

“I never got to the interview, actually. I got too mad and walked out.”

“And you never looked back,” Michael beamed proudly, trying to cheer you up.

“And I never looked back,” you agreed with a wide smile. “Best decision I ever made was storming out of his office.”

~~~

The next few days passed without incident. Whether it was just mere coincidence or divine intervention, you always managed to be just enough ahead or behind Ashton to avoid having to share an elevator without it being a confrontational power move of who could leave whom stranded and waiting.

On the eighth day of this happening, you began to wonder if Ashton was purposefully avoiding you as you always arrived and left the office at the same time day in and day out. The answer came in the form of a note on your desk after lunch. Mr. Irwin said he had a package delivered to his office that’s yours????

You poked your head out of your office, spotting your assistant at his desk. “Alejandro, did Mr. Irwin happen to mention what the package was?”

“No ma’am. Just that he wanted to know when you’d be by to pick it up. I asked if I could just stop by or if one of his associates could drop it off, but he seemed insistent that it was you who came to get it.”

You clicked your tongue in your cheek. That man… “Alright. Thank you, Alejandro.”

“Not a problem, ma’am. Oh! Also your 2:30 appointment was canceled. Thomas Fletcher. Didn’t give a reason.”

Your tongue clicked again in annoyance. Now your afternoon was completely free. A concept you didn’t like at all.

“You alright, ma’am?”

You forced a smile. “Just dandy,” you replied before taking a few quick steps to Michael’s office next door to yours. “Hey, Mike. Could I bother you for a quick sec?” you asked, rapping your knuckles against his open door before shutting it behind you.

“Course,” he said, rising from his desk chair. “What’s up? You look mad.”

“I’m gonna kill him…” you muttered darkly.

“What did Ashton do now?”

“I don’t know. But he has a ‘package’ for me,” you said, using finger quotes. “And he can’t be bothered to send an associate to send it over, nor will he accept any of mine retrieving it. He’s requesting that I come specifically. And my appointment for this afternoon magically canceled itself. They were so adamant on seeing me as soon as possible yesterday that I shifted things around to be accommodating, and then they canceled. And the name they gave too. Thomas Fletcher? Something’s not adding up. And I’ll bet it’s Ashton’s doing.”

Michael scratched at his jawline in thought. “Hmm… maybe it’s an olive branch. Inviting you over to clear the air, make a truce.”

You scoffed. “Please. What does Ashton know about making peace?”

Michael laughed. “So, you going over there?”

“God, no! If he wants me to be the recipient of whatever this package is personally, he can come here. If he thinks I’m coming to him, he’s sorely mistaken.”

“So go tell him that.”

“I will!” you stated, before retreating out of Michael’s office and back into yours. You took a brief pause to collect the anger coursing through you before picking up your phone and dialing.

“Irwin Industries, how may I direct your call?” a receptionist asked on the second ring.

“Put me through to Ashton directly, please.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“He’ll know.”

“Uh… yes ma’am…” was the confused reply before the line trilled again as you were connected to what you hoped was Ashton himself.

One ring. Two. Three. He was testing your patience. Four, then finally, “This is Ashton.”

“A package?” you asked, cutting straight to the chase.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N. I was hoping this was you. My schedule is a bit cramped this afternoon, but I’m certain I can set aside a few moments for you. What time works for you?”

“You know, it’s complimentary to drop the package off at the right offices if it’s not yours. Not ask the recipient to come collect.”

“Hmm…” he mulled it over, drawing it out. “That would require more of my time… But I suppose I could manage to drop by, yes. Are you available at 2:30?”

“Funnily enough, I am actually.”

“My, that’s quite the coincidence. I’ll see you at 2:30 then.”

“Bring my package, Ashton.”

“Wouldn’t dream of coming without it, darling.”

If you could, you would have ripped your phone from its cords and thrown it right at him, but something told you that might be deemed unprofessional. You settled for a quiet scream instead. And then, you straightened your jacket and set to work. If Ashton was dropping by, you were going to make sure this was the most pristine set of offices he’d ever seen.

~~~

At 2:30 on the nose, the door to your offices opened to reveal Ashton in a black blazer over a red button up with white polka dots on it. The bright red of the shirt with the top buttons undone revealing part of his chest matched the red he had dyed his hair. You hated the perfectly slicked back red locks fit him just as much as his natural brown curls did. He had everything he could possibly want in life that it seemed to be a grave injustice that he could also pull off any hair color. God had favorites and Ashton was one of them, of that you were certain.

From your hidden-from-view vantage point (peeking through your blinds out at the main floor), you watched as Ashton talked in hushed tones to your receptionist before nodding. As he walked confidently amongst the cubicles, you rushed back to sit at your desk, trying your best to look busy. “Hello,” you heard Ashton greeted politely. “I’m here to see Miss Y/L/N. Is she in?”

“Mr. Irwin,” Alejandro gulped. “Let me see if she’s free. I’ll only be a moment,” Alejandro lied for you, and you smiled proudly. There was a reason you’d chosen him for your assistant. There was a knock on your door before it opened to reveal Alejandro. “Miss, a Mr. Irwin is here to see you.”

“Send him in, thank you,” you nodded, rising from your chair and smoothing out your skirt, your hands feeling clammy.

“Of course, miss. Mr. Irwin, she can see you now.”

Alejandro got replaced by Ashton filling your doorway and what appeared to be a dry cleaning garment bag he held over his shoulder by the crook of his index finger. “Miss Y/L/N,” Ashton said, stepping forward to offer you the bag. “I believe this is yours.”

“Oh!” you said in surprise, a wave of shame washing over you. Maybe Michael had been right after all… You came out from behind your desk to shut your office door. “Thank you,” you added as you then took the bag from him, and sure enough, your blouse from last week was there. You moved about the room again to place your blouse on the surface of your desk before turning around to return your attention to Ashton who had taken up residence squarely between the two chairs you had set up before your desk. A standing meeting. How pleasant… Hopefully that meant this would be quick.

“Of course. And again, my sincerest apologies. It actually was an accident. And since I’m apologizing, I might as well apologize for your meeting getting canceled this afternoon. That may or may not have been my doing. Rest assured, it was a joke appointment. Lovely office by the way. I remember what it used to look like before you got here. Was a dump. And you made it… not that way.”

“I thought the name Thomas Fletcher was familiar,” you admitted with a sly smile. “And thank you, again. Both for the blouse and the compliment.”

“Of course. I, uh… Forgive me for asking, but have I done something to offend you? Either now or in the past?”

“Do you seriously not remember?” you questioned, swallowing the hypocrisy that was you having forgotten yourself until only last week. But the memory had resurfaced, and with it your red hot anger on the matter.

“No, I don’t believe I do…”

“You called me a secretary!” you hissed.

~~~

You smoothed down the front of your skirt, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves before pushing open the door to the offices. Telephones rang and people typed away at keyboards. You could see a row of private offices, and a large conference room behind the layout maze of cubicles. But your first focus was the wide wooden desk marked “Reception” with the words “Irwin Industries” on the wall behind the desk in a golden calligraphy script. You had the sinking feeling of being underqualified for the job you were interviewing for, but quickly shook away that feeling. If Ashton Irwin himself had chosen you to interview with out of countless other candidates, there had to be a reason. “Hello,” you smiled at the receptionist. “I’m here for an interview. Y/N Y/L/N.”

The receptionist barely looked at you as they typed in the information. “Yes, he’ll be out shortly.”

“Thank you,” you said, still smiling. Maybe they were just busy. No telling how many interviews they had to keep track of. Curt professionalism over amiable politeness. A willing sacrifice you yourself were just as guilty of every now and then.

The sound of shoes purposefully towards you had you glancing your head towards the sound. The man was uncuffing the sleeves of his white button down, rolling them up his strong forearms. A stubborn curl of brown lay flat across his forehead, and when he raised a finger to push it back with the rest, it fell right back into place. “You must be here for the secretary position. I’m Ashton, I’ll be conducting your interview this morning. If you’ll follow me,” he said, not even bothering to come to a full stop as he started turning around to walk back the way he’d just come from.

“I-” you started, anger coursing through your entire body, warming you from head to toe. A secretary?! Surely if he had the gall to schedule and conduct the interviews himself, he had the character to keep them straight. And the assumption that you were here to interview for the secretary position based on what?! That you were a woman?! Ashton Irwin, you decided in that moment, was everything wrong with corporate America. Which perhaps was too bold a statement for him to bear the weight of alone, but perhaps it was his fault for not checking his callousness at the door. You cleared your throat, not following after him. When he turned, arching an eyebrow in silent question, you shook your head. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, Mr. Irwin. I- Apologies for wasting your time. Best of luck to the other candidates.”

As you made your exit, you caught sight of a sign on the offices across the hallway from Irwin Industries that read “For Lease” in big red letters. Pulling out your phone, you quickly dialed your closest friend. “Hey, Y/N!” Michael chirped, “How’d the interview go?!”

“Were you serious about starting a business with me?”

“That bad, huh?”

~~~

“I-” Ashton stammered, the memory as fresh in his mind now as it was yours. “I hadn’t meant it in a rude way,” he went to amend.

“No, you meant it in an assuming way,” you corrected. “Which is far worse. Do you know how many men I’ve dealt with who made that same assumption in the course of my career? Or the fact that I sign all my emails with my partner’s signature along with it so I don’t have to waste precious time proving my worth before I land a client? I have to make sure my credentials look far more impressive than the ones hanging on your wall, because I have to work twice as hard to prove myself to you and everyone else to even attempt at leveling the playing field! And the fact that you, or any man, would dare assume-”

“I didn’t assume,” Ashton cut you off. “I made a mistake. One that I didn’t realize until you had already left. One I didn’t get the chance to apologize for because y- because I found it difficult to find a way to contact you. Until you moved in across the hall a few weeks later, and by then I figured it was too little too late. And that is where I made mistake number two, apparently.”

You blinked, your attack stuck in your throat at his interruption and subsequent confession. “I- Sorry?”

He rolled his eyes as he gave a soft chuckle. “I made a mistake, Y/N. That morning… I had a million other things on my mind, and had been interviewing actual secretaries all morning. And I didn’t realize my error until I looked at your file in my office. Your credentials and resume had impressed me beyond anything I’d ever seen, and honestly the interview was just meant to be a formality because I had already made up my mind about offering you the job. But in my rush, I clumped you in a category that was well beneath your skill set. And believe me, that is a reflection of a frazzled brain, and not my actual opinion of women.”

“I’ve held a grudge against you for four year because of an oversight?” you questioned out loud. This had to be a dream. A very bad, terrible dream. How much time had you wasted hating a man who turned out to not be deserving of your hatred at all?

He giggled, a boyish sound that shocked you. “It would appear so, yes. But, I suppose that’s on me for not clearing the air sooner. Although,” he said, his voice taking on a low rasp that sent good shivers down your spine. “Perhaps it’s for the best that things worked out the way they did. Otherwise we would have run the risk of becoming HR’s worst nightmare.”

You gulped, taking a stumbling step backwards, your hand landing hard on the top of your desk to steady yourself. “Y-you do?” you gasped.

“Mhm,” he said, taking a step forward, his hand landing on top of yours, engulfing it entirely. “I’ve always held a deep admiration for women in positions of power. Much respect, too.” The words were hot on your neck as they filtered in your ears slowly.

You let out a small moan without meaning to, as your eyes fluttered shut. “Well,” you answered airly, your breathing growing heavy. “I’d be happy to reconsider my own opinion of you. If you don’t have other engagements, that is.”

“Hmm, I’d have to check my calendar…” he teased.

“Mmm, yes of course. And I, mine.”

“Hmm…” He peered over your shoulder at the calendar that was upside down at his angle. “Would you look at that,” he marveled before his hands were hot on your hips as he lifted you to sit on the desk, sending your sparse decor-- a placard with your name engraved on it, a steel cup filled with pens, your freshly returned blouse, and the aforementioned desk calendar-- skittering across the desk. “My afternoon just cleared up.”

“Mine did too,” you answered, hooking your finger down the front of his shirt to pull him closer to you, but you only ended up undoing more buttons. But it didn’t matter. Ashton got the memo as his lips crashed into yours, hot and needy.

~~~

Two Years Later

You checked the time on your watch as you rounded the corner, the tall building looming a mere fifty feet away. 8:45 am. Perfect. As you lifted your gaze, your lips curled into a smile as you watched a man walking towards you from the other street corner. His suit lay perfectly flat against his body, just tight enough to show off how well-muscled he was underneath the crisp ensemble. In one hand, he held a cell phone pressed to his ear, and even from the distance you could hear his sharp tone. “How many times do we need to go over this? I am unreachable between 2:30 and 3:15. I have an appointment at that time at which I am not to be disturbed from.” As the man waited for an answer, he managed to take a sip from one of the iced coffees he held balanced on a take out tray in his other hand. “No, Miss Y/L/N is not to be bothered during that time either. Find another associate to schedule them with-- perhaps Mr. Clifford, or Mr. Hood-- or tell the client they need to make themselves available at a different time of day. Thank you.”

“Mr. Irwin,” you smiled back, plucking the other iced coffee from the tray and taking a deep sip. “I find that my employees are a lot more agreeable to do my bidding, and make less mistakes, when I don’t berate them before the work day has even begun,” you commented offhandedly as you both walked towards the elevator.

“Now, pray tell, where have I heard that one before?” he pondered aloud with a bemused look as he hit the button to call the elevator.

“Probably from the smartest woman to ever grace you with her presence.”

“Yes, that must be it,” he agreed as the elevator dinged and the silver mirrored doors opened. “After you,” he gestured, sticking out his arm to hold the doors open. “But, please, don’t leave me behind this time.”

With a giggle, you wrapped your fingers around the knot of his tie, pulling you into the elevator with you, and kissed him the whole ride up to the combined offices of Irwin Y/L/N Corporate on the 35th floor.

Tag List

@aquarius-hood1996 @creator-appreciator @philthepegacorn @myfavfanficsever @cxddlyash @youngblood199456 @stormrider505 @tarltongrl96 @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @hoodhoran @metalandboybands @maybeememez @jlm132xo

#35th floor #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

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maple-writes · 3 years

Text

Dissidia March 2021: Week 3

Ignore that I’m posting this at midnight

Thanks again @onmywaytobe for working with me on this one, and @dissidia-writeblr for working with me too and hosting!

###

Seemingly pleased with their agreement, Tidis led Warren and Leo through the maze-like hallways of the building without a word. This hall looked just the same as any other, boring and grey. They looked away from Tidis’ back and very real wings to Leo, walking without a word beside them. He sure had agreed to this deal quickly, hadn’t he? Leo must not have thought anything seemed off, not with the soldiers, or what Tidis said in the office. Or maybe…

“Feel free to ignore me if you want,” they paused a second as Leo turned. “But is there something you’re hoping they can help you with?”

Leo stumbled, frozen mid step before regaining his stride. “I’ve been sick my whole life. I want to know what it would be like if I wasn’t.”

“Really?” His whole life huh. “That’s tough.”

A couple workers passed by, lowering their heads as they passed. Warren frowned. Everyone they passed seemed to do that. None dared look directly at the three of them. Even if Tidis was pretty high up here, did it really make sense for everyone else to avert their eyes? They’d been to a few conferences and events with some very high ranking officials and they’d never felt the need to hide their face. Sure they weren’t super keen to be friends with all of them but still, never avoided them like this. Even when Indigo brought him to parliament once to assist her on some proposal and they ended up running into the prime minister while Indigo was occupied she’d acknowledged them. She probably forgot their name soon after they’d met but she’d been cordial.

They pushed the thought away. Leo didn’t seem to notice anything wrong after all. “I hope this works then.” For his sake they hoped they were just overthinking things.

“Yeah. Me too.” Leo mumbled. They paused, footsteps echoing a moment before he spoke again. “Why are you going with this guy? Are you sick too?”

They shrugged. “Not really.” At this point there wasn’t much they could think of changing. These last few years they’d felt better than ever. “But I don’t like the idea of wandering alone until whenever it is we end up going home.”

“Fair enough.” Leo nodded, then fell quiet as they approached a heavy looking door at the end of the hall.

The door opened up to a hanger, tall and wide with a good-sized ship sitting in the center, one that looked equipped for travel outside the atmosphere. Maybe. Volt said something once about that kind of patterning on the exterior panels having something to do with the conditions out in space, but most of it hadn’t stuck. Tidis led them to the entry ramp and gestured for the both of them to enter, hanging back to say something to one of the many soldiers milling about the hanger. Two stood talking near the ramp, turning away when Warren and Leo got close.

The soldiers hadn’t seemed to notice them, startling and bumping into the both of them, apologizing profusely and hurrying away. Warren glanced back at them as they disappeared into some other part of the hanger. Maybe they were new.

“Did you feel that?” Leo hissed.

“Feel what?”

Leo lowered his voice, private between the two of them. “Those guys just put something in my pocket.”

He fished out a piece of paper and Warren followed. Something brushed the tips of their fingers. Another piece of paper, identical to Leo’s. They unfolded it and read the note scribbled on the scrap of paper.

We will help you out when we can.

Shit. “This doesn’t seem good.”

Leo looked up from his own note, but neither dared say another word as Tidis came up behind them, ushering them up the ramp and into the ship.

Inside the ship was clean, well lit and roomy, a far cry from Volt’s ship with it’s narrow halls and clear leaning for functionality over looks. Compared to the Lord of Chaos this ship felt far more streamlined and coordinated, but the note in their pocket seemed to burn against their leg. We will help you out when we can. The war, Tidis’ talk of letting them go home, the way no one dared look him in the eyes… He didn’t leave them, hovering behind both their backs and sending chills crawling up and down their back.

He brought them further into the ship as it took off, a low rumble coursing faint from the engines. “This is the moon we live on.”

Warren looked up from their shoes to where Tidis gestured out a little window. It grew larger every second. Every second further away from whatever planet they’d just left and the two soldiers claiming to be coming to help them.

Tidis didn’t seem to notice either their or Leo’s silence. “We study the magic up here. We’re the only ones who have gotten the magic of this world. At least from what we know.” He smiled, all polite without sincerity. “We’ll be separating you to ask questions. I hope you don’t mind.”

He nodded at someone else, a woman with the same kind of wings who gently turned Leo to follow her. Tidis himself waved Warren after him. They glanced back at Leo but he was already gone.

Warren’s stomach twisted, but they kept their head down and did as Tidis wanted. Whoever those two soldiers were, they’d promised they weren’t alone up here, whatever that meant. Whatever happened it would probably be best if Tidis didn’t know. If he didn’t think they knew anything.

The ship landed and Warren followed Tidis into a little room off the side of the main hanger. He shut the door behind him, turning to face them with a smile.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Tidis paused a moment, opening a drawer and taking out black chains. “We will not actually be letting you go back. We have other plans for you.”

Warren’s breath caught and they ran back, dropping their mug to clang loud on the ground. Their back hit the wall and they stared, eyes locked on the chains in his hands. This was worse than they thought. “What are you talking about?” They glanced at the door shut and blocked by Tidis and his wings that suddenly seemed very, very broad.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good.

Tidis laughed, sharp and villainous. “In summary, I lied to you. This world’s magical balance has been ruined, and the only way we can fix it is to find people who can take the magic. Mostly people who have been summoned.” His eyes sharpened with his grin down at Warren. “So, we’ll use you for our own ends.”

Shit. They eyed the chains in Tidis’ hands, dark and heavy looking. Those were for them. For them. Their heart ran faster, too loud in their ears. Whatever he meant for them if he thought he’d need to use those to restrain them—

“No, no, I…” Horror rose in their throat, cutting off their air and blocking their thoughts. “I don’t want to.” They swallowed. “Don’t.”

But Tidis didn’t seem to care, approaching with a too-casual step and a fake-soothing voice. “This won’t hurt a bit. These chains just negate anything from your own world, be it magic or tech. We will be keeping you until the procedure is ready.”

Procedure. Chills ran down their back and their blood ran cold. What did he mean by procedure?

Tidis cocked his head. “Do you have anyone from your world who you’d like to have to keep you company? We wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”

No. They pressed themself against the wall, clenching their jaw. No way they were going to tell him anything.

“Unfortunate.” Tidis lamented. “Maybe we’ll hear you crying out for them later.”

Warren glared. Over their dead body they’d give him anything. But they bit back the retort, lowered their head and stood still as Tidis chained their hands and led them out of the room. They followed along with what Tidis wanted, pliant and quiet. Whatever he was planning to do to them they didn’t to give him any reason to make it worse.

Tidis brought them to a little cell and left them there with an insecure suggestion to make themselves at home. Slowly, Warren backed into the cell and settled down as best they could.

How long until he came back? Warren bunched their shoulders and stared out at the far wall. Whoever those soldiers were, the ones that planted that note, how long would they take? If they came at all. Shit. How had they been so stupid? Of course this was a set up. Of course it was. Why would anyone just trust two unknowns arriving out of nowhere in a war zone? Why hadn’t they said anything when Tidis said he’d let them go home if they helped him? Or anything about the way everyone seemed scared of him? Shit. Shit. Had they been lying even about how they could help Leo? Bastards.

They wanted to go home. If only this was a dream. If only.

No one would know what happened to them back home. They’d just have vanished into thin air never to be seen again. Warren swallowed against the lump rising sharp in their throat. Volt, Skyler, how would they find out? Their parents would know they were missing when they didn’t show up for their weekly lunch together at the very least, but Volt? All she’d have would be missed calls and no idea what happened.

They sighed, shifting around in attempt to get comfortable. Not like there was anything to do but wait and hope whoever those two soldiers were really went through with their promise. Hopefully they got here soon.

#dissidia march 2021 #this may not be super quality writing #but i had a good time with it #so that's what's important lol

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elizabeth-234 · 4 years

Text

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Nine: Progress

Summary: Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

Chapter Ten: Fast-forward

Beginning of February

“I think we might be able to start the full-scale model soon.”

Peter looked up from his phone, which he was reading his notes he doodled in class off of. Mr. Stark offered multiple times to get him a new phone but he preferred the simplicity of this. When he told Mr. Stark it was easier to use the man acted all offended under his smile. Teasing Peter about his inability to figure out a simple phone when they were working on building a full-scale code and model of tech for cars. It was also easier to understand his thoughts written down. While they didn’t look particularly neat on the page it made more sense to him. Mr. Stark seemed to understand that.

He snapped his jaw shut when he realized it was hanging wide open.

“Really?” He said, dropping his eyes back down ignoring the sinking feel in his chest.

Mr. Stark chuckled and went back to scanning the algorithms.

“We can get a full team in here to work on it. Whatever we need.”

A whole team? Someone to take over what they were doing? Peter flinched.

Their work had come so far. From car models went from mere imaginations, to metal models, and back to hologram full scale models. Their protocol were written in C++ after debating between the Python coding.

Peter found the time… soothing to his mind. Sometimes coming in late at night to work by himself even if Mr. Stark wasn’t there. Friday always let him in with a kind word.

He remembered the first couple of times they worked together Mr. Stark would get into a kind of trance, rock music blaring in the background. While Peter liked the music – he made his own playlist to all the songs they listened to – his head rang after an hour or so.

His expression must have revealed more than he wanted to because without comment the next time Peter arrived the music was quieter.

It was little things like that and the temperature which had Peter settling into their work focusing more on Mr. Stark and less on Tony Stark.

With summer coming up in less months than he thought Peter was sure their time would be cut short.

What he wanted to do was ask the man himself. To beg him to continue working through the summer and next year and the next even if it meant bringing in fifty other people to work on it. He wanted to finish their project, to see their models turn into something real. Something that could help people. The selfish part of his brain suggested that what he really wanted was to continue working with Mr. Stark even if it didn’t end up helping anyone.

Instead what Peter did was stay silent and hum slightly to the music nothing about his appearance gave his thoughts away besides the fists he made every so often looking at Mr. Stark working.

Would he even want to continue working with Peter?

End of February

Julia sat next time him while the subway rumbled forward. He kept his legs folded in front of him, fingers grasping backpack which rested on his knees in order to take up less space.

They already passed his stop but he stayed on like he always did riding with Julia.

“Do you really think the permission will go through?” She asked quietly. Julia had fidgeted today in the lab. Her eyes scanned the paperwork over and over making sure they filled out every form correctly. Their whole team practically had their proposal memorized with the amount of times they’d reworked it.

“I’m sure they will.” He said but continued when her expression didn’t change. “It was really good, Julia. You did a great job.”

Peter stared at the glass window on the other side of the subway. Their reflections looked back and he saw her head duck down.

The subway came to a stop and she stood to leave. She ran her hand through her hair and looked at him.

“Thanks for riding the rest of the way with me. Text me when you get home?” Her tone was quiet and it was Peter’s turn to drop his head. “You’re a great friend, Peter.”

He mumbled something and she smiled over her shoulder walking onto the platform. The doors closed behind her but he didn’t lift his head.

Peter switched trains but couldn’t stop the smile from coming over his face.

She thought they were friends.

Beginning of March

“Kid… Peter?”

He blinked. Mr. Stark’s hand landed on his shoulder. His muscles tensed under the sudden intrusion but Mr. Stark’s eyes never left his face. Slowly, he squeezed, calming Peter’s pulse, and stepped back.

Mr. Stark ran his hand through his hair.

“Time for food.” He said and waited for Peter to put all his notes away.

“I can just go home, Mr. Stark. It’s no problem.”

The man chuckled and Peter flushed knowing he said that every time.

“I already ordered your favorite from that Korean place down the street.”

Peter stopped walking before hurrying to catch up. They settled around the table piled with way more boxes of food they could ever finish. Sure enough a container of Bibimbap with all tofu, no eggs, and spicy sauce was waiting for him.

Mr. Stark began telling him some gossip he’d heard around the office.

“And how do you know about poor Mr. Singer?” He said, scrapping the crispy rice off of the bottom of the takeout box.

The man didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when he spoke. “Oh, I just happened to be walking by when his wife came storming in.”

Peter snorted. “Friday told you. Didn’t you, Friday?” He asked over Mr. Stark’s copious denials.

“That is correct, Peter.” He smiled upward at Friday and failed to notice the soft look Mr. Stark was giving him.

“You caught me, kid.”

End of March

It would have been easier to accept if the letters were stamped permanently in red across the whole paper. It would have made since in a way – been final. Instead they received a formal reply. One with fancy wording and apologies that had the vague pretense of sounding sincere and apologetic.

This made the news so much worse.

Their proposal had been rejected or as the letter said: “at this time we are not allowing student groups access to our facilities.”

Julia’s face crumpled while Frank swore. Monica began typing frantically but through it all Peter just sat there.

What would they do now?

Beginning of April

“You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There’s still a lot of good in the world."

They were watching The Outsiders while he waited. Peter had read it the year before in English but had missed the movie day because he had been sick.

The rain pelted down against the glass windows. Thunder and lightning battled in the sky only an arm’s length away from where they sat. He’d watched many storms pass through from his fire escape but here, this high up, Peter felt like he was inside it. Every clap of noise sent a pulse into his bloodstream pumping the blood through his veins. It didn’t key him up like it did in the apartment. The sounds were loud enough to sooth his racing thoughts enough so he could focus on the movie playing in the background and the soft sounds of response Mr. Stark was making to the movie. He felt safe there in the storm.

Of course, Peter had put up a mild protest. He’d been fine to go home, he told Mr. Stark. But the man took one look outside and suggested the movie. Food was involved, too.

It took Peter exactly thirty-two seconds to decide he could wait for the rain to pass.

An hour later, laden with stir-fry and popcorn Peter was boneless on the couch. He smiled as Mr. Stark leaned forward, his eyes focused on the screen. It was the man’s first time watching it as well and though Peter knew the ending, it didn’t stop his enjoyment.

He yawned and sank deeper into the cushions.

The day had seemed unending and filled with busywork assignments. Things that weren’t teaching him anything but would take all night to do. Ned was gone so he spent all lunch listening to Mike debate the pros of anarchy with everyone at the table. He stared at MJ until she caught him and he ran away to the library. It wasn’t until he got to the lab that he had a moment to breath.

Something touched his shoulder and then with more force he was pulled away from the couch.

The sound of the credits rolled. He didn’t realize his eyes had shut.

Peter could hear Mr. Stark’s voice whispering something and a feminine answer but his eyes stayed closed, blessedly on the brink of sleep.

His head was against a hard surface, a chest, and Peter was lulled deeper by the heartbeat within. A hand brushed back his hair after he was placed on something soft and he could swear the voice said something important but Peter was too asleep to make sense of it.

Ned leaned across the lunch table. His hands bordered their lunchboxes in a protective frame as Peter relayed the news from his meeting the previous week.

“I just feel so bad for those Frank and Monica. I mean they’re graduating and everything. This was their final hurrah.” He said, nibbling on a carrot.

“Dude, that sucks. What are you going to do?”

Peter nodded at the question. As it was they weren’t sure.

The prototype of the machine was necessary for them to see before they could come up with a model for themselves. He had thought about going to Mr. Stark and asking him for advice, but he decided not to in the end. It was an unfair advantage that the other teams couldn’t use. If no one else could go to the owner of Stark Industries for help, why should he?

Peter was also proud of the work they accomplished so far. Sometimes he forgot how young they all were, given the amount and quality of work they completed.

The whole experience had changed him more than that though and he was loathe to sit there and do nothing.

“I don’t know, Ned. We’ll figure something out though.”

He could only hope.

“Look, Peter. Mr. Stark will understand if you can’t make it today.” May spoke with an edge to her voice. “I forbid you from going.”

“May, I have to go. This is important.”

“Peter, you’re sick. It’s okay.”

He coughed into his elbow, sniffling and meagerly taking a tissue May was holding out to him with pouting lips.

Peter whispered something to her. Something he was too afraid to think but needed to say.

“What sweetheart?” She said and even though he was sick and had a fever May sat on the edge of his bed.

“It’s just,” he licked his chapped lips. “What if he finds someone else to help out?”

He thought of the team Mr. Stark mentioned before. Peter looked away from the piercing glance. His fingers fidgeted with the blanket wrapped around him.

“Peter, he would never do that. You know he wouldn’t.”

She said it with such conviction but his stomach sank. Did he know that?

May kept talking, running a reassuring thumb over his knuckles but Peter was too wrapped up in his thoughts. He went through cataloging every interaction and every word spoken between them.

Peter thought of the way Mr. Stark smiled when he came into the lab and how he would always check the temperature to make sure it was warm enough. The man practically bought the whole menu at a restaurant when Peter stayed for food and it was getting more common for him to stay after a work day. Sometimes they would watch a movie but most times he would just work on homework as Mr. Stark continued with business. But were those concrete signs? It certainly didn’t mean he would abstain from finding a replacement if the work needed to be done. Peter sighed into his hoodie, wincing at the way his stomach was cramping.

It was with the image of Frank helping Mr. Stark in the lab that Peter made his decision.

He realized May had left when she popped her head back into the room.

“Stay home, Peter. Okay? I’m sorry I have to go to work.”

His cough wracked his chest but he managed to tell her he loved her. She gave him one last searching look before she left for work.

After he heard the door shut with limbs groaning Peter got out of bed. He toggled back and forth as the blood ran to his head but with careful steps made it out of his room. His hand swept across the length of the highest cabinet and found the last packet of powdered vitamin C before mixing it in his water bottle.

There was sweat seeping into his sweatshirt and on his forehead by the time he made it to the subway platform and he shivered into it. His breath shuddered when he finally sank down into one of the empty seats, making sure to touch as little as possible. He kept his hoodie up and took small sips of the vitamin infused water, praying for an instant cure.

Friday greeted him when he got into the elevator but he didn’t lift his head up to the lights like he normally would. They burned his eyes.

“Hey, Friday.” He said rubbing his hand along his chest to stop a cough. Even to his own ears his voice sounded tired.

“Are you alright, Peter?” Friday said, softer than normal.

“I’m fine, just a cough.”

Friday said nothing but the elevators opened.

The room was void of people and Peter sat down with a heavy breath. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him. Thankfully Friday must have forgotten to put the lights on so it was dark in the room.

Every minute he sat there, Peter shrunk down until his head came to rest on his arms. Wet coughs racked his chest and he shivered again. It was cold in the room but he didn’t want to bother Friday. The curt tone he used earlier with Friday sent a guilty tendril tightening along his spine.

The doors swept open and bursting into the room with wide eyes was Mr. Stark. Peter tried to smile but from the furrow in the man’s mouth, it wasn’t as reassuring as he meant it to be.

“Kid, what’s wrong? You okay?”

Peter sat up trying to relax the ache in his muscles. He flinched back when rough hands touched his cheek before moving to rest against his forehead.

He felt silly to realize Mr. Stark had moved across the room and was now kneeling beside him. Peter concentrated on the small lines forming lightly in the corner of his eyes. For a moment he imaged being younger and being sick at home, but instead of Ben kneeling in front of him it was Mr. Stark making sure he was okay.

With a shake of Peter’s head Mr. Stark removed his hands and walked away. His voice rung out as he barked orders to Friday and then he was on the phone.

Peter gripped the edges of the counter, tears blurring in his eyes. How could he even think that? The betrayal of his thoughts sent a tear over the edge and down his hot cheek. Worse than that though was the longing he’d felt – still felt - when Mr. Stark looked at him with such concern.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t his to want.

Mr. Stark came back and led Peter into the elevator. His tone was quiet, soothing, and Peter weakly followed him after brushing his tear away. Friday chimed in to give reports on his temperature. His brain felt fuzzy.

There was an arm, guiding him, warm across his back.

“Come on, Kid.”  

They arrived into a bedroom and dimly Peter realized this is where he fell asleep the previous month. He stopped short at the door.

“Peter?” The man spoke softly and the back of Peter’s throat itched.

“But… we have the meeting. We were going to work on …” His brain failed him at the end.

“Hey, kid. You’re in no position to be working. Hell, you’re burning up.”

He sent Peter to the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Peter sat at the very end of the mattress, his butt halfway off the edge. It wasn’t his bedroom, just one for guests. There was nothing in there that was his, but Peter noticed that the lamp was where he moved it before when he tried to get some reading in the morning when was there.

He moved closer to the headboard, eyes on the light in the bathroom, and switched it on.

Peter could still convince Mr. Stark they could work today. It would be fine. Mr. Stark wouldn’t have replaced him then as long as he remained useful.

“The work will still be there later.” Mr. Stark said emerging from the bathroom as if he read Peter’s thoughts. “Drink this while you take this.” He gestured to the water and Tylenol in his hand.

Peter’s protest died on his tongue and Mr. Stark spoke again.

“I’m not in any hurry to finish the project. As long as you get better.”

He blanched at the implication of the words.

There was no anger in the man’s face. Something uncurled in his chest when all he saw was concern. Ben used to wear that face well.

Peter’s eyes dragged on his cheek. Another cough stormed through his chest.

“I’ll go fill this up again. There’s sweatpants and t-shirts in the dresser.”

Peter stood up, feeling red on his cheeks. There were clothes there?

He browsed the drawers looking at the various t-shirts - all avengers themed. Quickly he got into sweatpants and sweatshirt glancing at the door back and forth.

With a speed he used when changing after gym class he shucked his shirt and pants off and into his chosen clothes, grey sweats and Stark Industries shirt. His hand brushed over the ironman one but he couldn’t quite make himself put it in.

He settled on the bed again just before there was a knock on the door. Dizziness wavered through him and Peter grasped the bedside table for support.

Mr. Stark came in carrying the glass. The covers were pushed back and Peter found himself lying down. The man hovered for a moment, his hand came up from his side reaching out before dropping back.

“Get some rest, Kid. Friday will be here if you need anything and I will just be in the living room outside.”

Peter’s eyes closed of their own accord and he nodded. Footsteps swept across the room but before the door could close Peter thanked Mr. Stark, wishing he had the right to say more.

“Of course, Peter.” Peter’s throat went tight. The door shut and Peter spun around. He didn’t want to look at the lights shining through the cracks in the door.

Of course, he said like he would look after Peter. As he would have if Peter’s mind conjured up sound for his imagination. Like he cared.

The knot loosened in his throat and Peter locked the guilt away for a moment, instead basking in the knowing someone was waiting up in case he needed them right outside this room that wasn’t technically his.

He reached up, adjusting the pillow under his head and closed his eyes.

Middle of April

Peter’s stomach protested as the smell of leftovers wafted from the lid he opened. The nausea from being sick still lingered and Peter found his appetite was suffering because of it.

The cafeteria, loud as ever, raged around him. He pushed the container of food away with a grimace.

Something nudged him from the side and he saw Ned’s profile looking straight ahead. He shrugged and went back to staring at his lunch. Ned’s elbow dug into his upper arm and Peter looked over while rubbing the spot of impact. Narrowly dodging another nudge, he got the hint and followed the boy’s gaze.

Peter blinked at the figure coming forward.

Flash waded through the crowds and tables. His gaze was fixed forward and now that they weren’t precisely enemies Peter let himself feel intrigued by how people just seemed to get out of Flash’s way.

He wondered why Ned was so interested in Flash until the boy in questions eyes moved and landed on Peter.

He was making his way in their direction.

Peter knew from the previous eight months how rare this was and his stomach cramped in response. His eyes flounced back to the Tupperware.

“I wonder where he’s off to,” Ned said.

Peter watched Ned in his observations not wanting to be caught blatantly staring at Flash himself. Despite the itching feeling crawling through his limbs Peter smiled at his friend and the way he moved forward so Flash’s view of Peter would be limited.

Under his lashes he looked up to see Flash continued the straight path to them. Peter held his breath and watched his legs, which seemed much safer than his face.

Flash continued forward until he was a table away. Peter finally looked up at a sound from Ned and met his eyes. The boy stared straight at him and Peter forced himself to maintain contact. Flash glanced toward the doors and back at Peter, his brow quirked when Peter’s face remained in ignorance. He did it again before veering off toward the exit.

The doors closed behind him blocking Peter’s curious gaze, food dilemma forgotten.

Should he follow?

Ned began talking about how weird Flash had been lately and Peter nodded along. His hands twisted in his lap, bouncing in time to the rise and fall of his foot against the ground.

Without breaking eye contact with the door, he stood up, murmuring something to Ned whose eyes flickered to the door. Ned nodded without missing a beat.

As Peter was passing toward the door he briefly reached out to touch Ned on the shoulder before hurrying away. Ned was such a good person…. A good friend.

Backpack slung over his shoulder Peter followed the path his eyes traced before and saw Flash leaning against the lockers down the hallway from the cafeteria.

“Flash. Hey.” He said trying to keep the weary tone out of his voice. They’d seen each other off and on at their time at the Tower but hadn’t seen much of each other at school. In fact, the last time they talked was when Peter had a meltdown in front of him, which was slightly awkward to realize how Peter yelled at him before. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

The boy’s arms were crossed in front of him. Peter could see his shoulder’s tensing and he held his body still. Peter forced his hands to stop fidgeting by shoving them in his pockets. A blush worked its way onto his cheeks when neither of them spoke. Was he wrong? Was he supposed to follow Flash?

“So, I hear you need a connection at Oscorp?” Flash said uncrossing his arms and casually raising his eyebrow at Peter.

His jaw dropped. This was not what he expected.

“Uh… How did you hear that?” He said trying to find a semblance of rational thought.

Flash had the decency to look embarrassed but he answered anyway, if a little cautiously. “That Mike kid is loud as shit. Anyway, do you?”

“Why?”

Flash sighed and crossed his arms again.

“Listen, I’m trying to be... decent. My dad has connections there and I could see if something could come of it.”

“Why?”

Was that all he could say?

“Is that all you can say?” Flash snapped.

Peter shut his mouth and thought about the options. He could lie. Say that they didn’t need this. Then he wouldn’t need to repay Flash for anything. But the image of Julia’s clenched hands and the hours they spent working came to mind. And he decided he didn’t care if he was put in Flash’s debt or that he didn’t know the motivations behind this act of supposed kindness.

Plus, Flash proved changed – sort of – mostly. If he wanted help, well, Peter wasn’t going to say no.

“Yeah, Flash. We do need help, if you’re willing to offer it.”

They nodded at one another before walking down the hallway too close to be considered friends but too far away for anyone to perceive them as enemies.

“Sorry, Monica couldn’t make it today but she said as long as we take notes it should be fine.”

Flash stood shuffling on the balls of his feet in the doorway. Julia and Frank were clearing off a spot for him to sit at the table while Peter motioned him forward.

Frank clapped Flash on the back in greeting and welcomed him.

“Thanks man. This is going to be a great help.”

When Flash sat down, moving his backpack to rest against the leg of the table, everyone stared at him. It was the first time after their sandwich fiasco that Peter had seen him look so embarrassed and out of place. He withheld a smile.

Flash got straight down to business, explain the security and how his father got them a tour and question time with the person in charge of the prototype. Julia’s hand flew over the paper trying to write every word he spoke. Without breaking his speech Flash slight a typed-out sheet of all the information. Her hand shook slightly and thought she thanked him, Peter noticed she didn’t look him in the eye.

The meeting passed quick and Peter was pleased with how much Flash got along with everyone. He and Frank spent a bunch of time talking about sports and the playoffs. After some cajoling he even got Julia to talk about their new kittens at home. In turn, Flash smiled as she told him how BOGO would steal all of Free’s food.

Flash smiled at the story. A real, teeth-baring smile.

Peter was used to things happening slowly in his life.

It took him almost half a school year to decide to participate in the S.T.A.R.K competition. Days avoiding the sign in sheet until finally he took the plunge. Months after dreading nearly everything he settled into a routine. He was opening up to the people around him.

He thought back to how scary it was considering Ned’s offer to sit with him at lunch. It was weeks until he was able to go more than once a week. He even went over to Ned’s house over break.

But all these things took time and much thinking on Peter’s part. He weighed the consequences of everything before stepping forward and rarely out of his comfort zone. That was safe. That was good.

Things happening quickly were never good in Peter’s opinion. Ben’s funeral came and went so fast. The whole thing sped up like someone was pressing fast-forward. Though he was careful and took his time letting Sam into his life; it took but a second for her to break his heart.

That’s why when Flash sat at their lunch table at the end of the week, Peter’s stomach turned sour. He knew to expect the worse. He foresaw the worst. But there was nothing he could do or say in the moment.

Ned, after a moment of scrutiny, looked between Flash and Peter, then stuck out his hand for the two of them to shake, forever reminding Peter how forgiving Ned was.

How many second chances had Ned given him?

Just like that Flash began to eat lunch with them sometimes. Not every day, but throughout the week he would stop by and join an argument between Mike and Midge before wandering off again. Somedays he would even find Peter in the library when the cafeteria was too much for him to get through.

Flash was quieter than Ned. He would hold himself still, aware of his space at any given time and there was still tension between them sometimes. But it was nice all the same.

Peter didn’t find it so strange that Flash and him became friends so quick this time.

End of April

Peter looked around the lab. Scattered on the tables were scraps of paper, all smudged with crunched writing, and metal shavings discarded from the models they had built. His backpack was folded over itself on the floor by the door on top of which his jacket was crumpled.

Mr. Stark stood beside him and if Peter turned his shoulders slightly to the left he could see the slight furrow in his brow. How his hand would come up and rest under his chin while his finger traced his goatee every five minutes or so.

It was his thinking face, Peter knew.

Months of working together and Peter’s steady heartbeat was proof he was relaxed. Content.

He didn’t think about the fact this would all be ending come summer. And he absolutely ignored the itch in the back of his throat thinking about the possibility of never seeing Mr. Stark again.

“I’m still thinking we are going to totally have to overhaul the thrust mechanisms on this side, Mr. Stark. It’s working now, but barely, and it could be so much better.” He said breaking the silence.

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rose in response but he didn’t say anything. His eyes stayed trained on the new schematics displayed in front of him. He grumbled something under his breath and Peter cracked a smile knowing he was right.

The lab settled under the silence again. Peter moved around to Mr. Stark’s other side and grabbed a Stark pad off the table. Easily Mr. Stark stepped to the side to accommodate his reach and giving Peter enough room to work at the table.

Peter yawned as he opened the door to the apartment. He grabbed a box of Chex mix and sank into the couch. His phone vibrated again and shoving his hand into the box checked his messages. The group chat between everyone went off with a near consistency putting his flip phone into overdrive.

There had been time of the subway to look at it but he ended up falling asleep, waking only to find drool gathering on his sleeve where his head rested and to hear he missed one his stop.

Even though he was barely awake now, Peter considered the walk home beneficial. The moon hung in the middle of the sky decorated by a vague face and stars all around.

It let him think, at least.

His third handful came away as the rest, only the little breadsticks and the occasional rye chip. May must have eaten her way through the bag first. He set it aside feeling a cramping in his stomach. Maybe he was still sick.

He yawned again and sank further into the couch knowing he should go to bed, but his bones felt too brittle to get up.

Everything was coming to a head soon. Midterms, Mr. Stark and their work, and the tour were compounding at an exponential rate.

It was all amazing. Peter knew he was so lucky and at times thought he dreamed it all.

But it was sometimes too much.

He wasn’t used to having so many people in his life or having to check his phone throughout the day to see who was texting him.

Who would have thought at the beginning of the year Ned and Flash would send each other memes? Or that Julia would come out and lead one of their group meetings?

Peter smiled remembering how Monica’s jaw dropped when Julia, gently, corrected her on some of the analytics. Or how she gave everyone in their group, Flash included, a newer version of the pen that landed her in the internship program.

He felt so full of life, something he’d never thought possible for someone like him.

And right now, it hurt that all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep for the weekend. He wondered what would happen if he told them. If he just needed some time to disconnect for a bit.

He knew he couldn’t do that though. They would be fine without him, they would move on and continue texting minus his phone number, and Peter wasn’t ready to get rid of them so soon. They deserved someone who was normal, who could sit in the cafeteria for the whole week without feeling bone tired, or someone who could be fully present without worry about sneezing the wrong way.

Peter would get through it and soak everything up. Every laugh, and debate at lunch. Flash’s and his new acquaintanceship. And especially any time Mr. Stark was willing to work together. He could push through it for now.

It would be fine.

He groaned against the couch pillow thinking about everything he had to do and after looking at the calendar on the way he realized something.

It was only a week until they would tour Oscorp.

It's always one step forward and two steps back for our Peter isn't it?

a/n: Hi sweet friends. I hope you are all doing well and you and your loved ones are staying safe. This semester has been crazy, as things get in real life. My classes have been moved online so I can finally start writing again which makes me so happy. I also just wanted to say thank you for continuing to read this story. Every comment and kudos make my week so bright.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts.

Taglist: @verdonafrost @demi-starzak @whatisthou

Next Chapter Eleven: Welcome to Oscorp

#Ironman fanfiction #MCU #pre-powers #spiderman fanfiction #Shy peter parker #the supplejack #my writing #ao3 fic #tony stark #ned leeds #Flash Thompson #marvel fanfiction #Peter parker #writing

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i-like-cookiez · 5 years

Text

Miraculous Gaydybug

Shrunken!Nathaniel x Marc

Miraculous Ladybug g/t...yes. Especially with my gay boys...🥰

Story takes place a day or two after the events of Reverser.

Marc practically threw his front door open. Resizer, the newest akumatized villain's attack had only just begun, and he was already shielding his shrunken classmate from the world in his red hoodie pocket.

Nathaniel had been hit by one of her blasters, shrinking him down. Marc remembered the way Nath had frozen up as he got smaller, eyes growing wider as he watched his classmates begin to loom over him. The way he seemed to look at everyone in a silent, desperate plea for help. After realizing Nathaniel was frozen in shock and fear, Marc has rushed out and scooped the boy up, depositing him into the relative safety of his hoodie pocket. Ladybug ordered Marc to keep him safe while her and Chat Noir dealt with the akuma, and he promised he would.

His fingerless gloved hands were loosely cocooned over the tiny scarlet redheaded boy's body. He could just barely feel the trembling against his hands. Nathaniel was terrified, and rightfully so. First, they'd all watched as Chat was grown to probably half the size of the Eiffel Tower, and then Nathaniel had to feel and see himself grow smaller and smaller. Marc could only imagine the fear he was feeling.

The two boys had been distant past few days, ever since a misunderstanding between them and Marinette has caused Marc to be akumatized, Marc had been confiding in Marinette after his akumatization, worrying that Nathaniel hated him, sure they did that comic book together, but who’s to say that the artist had really been sincere? Marinette had told him that he's probably reading it wrong, and maybe Nathaniel feels guilty, but Marc was sure of his former assumption.

He went up to his bedroom and surveyed his somewhat messy room, ripped and crumpled up pieces of paper from scrapped story ideas he'd written lying all over the floor and his desk. With one swipe of his free arm, he pushed the papers from the desk onto the floor, he could pick them up later. Then, ever so gently, he wrapped his other hand around Nathaniel in a firm but careful manner. He was met with small squeaks of protest, and a lot of struggling, but Marc's hand easily overpowered the shrunken teen. As soon as Nathaniel was removed from the pocket, he went still and silent, eyes screwed shut, refusing to look at the giant boy that had his life in his palm. Marc stared down at him, getting a clear look at him for the first time, in utter awe.

He's so small... Marc thought. So fragile and helpless. Mylène must feel like that because of Chloé, and now her akuma is making it so she can pass that feeling onto others... Nathaniel made a small noise, something between a whimper and a squeak, and Marc's heart almost burst with pity. He gingerly set Nathaniel down on the desk, and crouched down. He noticed that Nathaniel had his eyes squeezed closed, and sighed. Maybe if he gave the little guy some time alone, he'd feel a little better.

"Stay here, alright? I-I'll be right back." Marc said in a hushed voice, trying not to stutter. His pity for his classmate only grew when he saw him flinch at his words. Marc slowly stood up and exited the room quietly. The small boy's terrified form made eyes well up with tears. Nathaniel never truly meant any harm, he'd just been conflicted, always insecure about people humiliating him for his drawings - again, Chloé's fault... - He didn't deserve to feel so vulnerable and powerless. The raven haired boy ambled into the kitchen, getting an idea. He still had some apology macaroons left over from Marinette, he'd tried to refuse them because in the end, neither boy blamed her, but she insisted, and so Marc and Nathaniel had both taken home a box of macaroons.

Marc came back upstairs with a small plate of macaroons. He knocked softly on the doorframe to his room and walked in carefully.

"H-Hey, uh...I brought up some m-macaroons if you're, uh, hungry..." He set the plate down on the bed, and trailed off when he realized he couldn't see Nathaniel on his desk anywhere. "Oh no..." He whispered to himself.

"Um, Nath...? N-Nathaniel?" Marc called out softly, taking a few steps forward. He looked to the ground and froze in his tracks. He could be on the ground! I could've just... Marc shooed off those thoughts, and slipped off his boots, tossing them to the other side of the room, that way he wouldn't accidentally crush his classmate. Marc crouched at the desk again, and listened.

"Nath...please, come out. I-I don't want to hurt you." He said slowly and quietly. No reply. Marc was about to check the floor, when he heard some sniffling from behind his mug of pencils. Marc was about to move the mug away, when he froze.

"N-No! Stop!" A sudden voice cried out. It had been a yell, but it was barely even loud as Nathaniel was so small. Marc retracted his hand, but didn't move away.

"Okay! Okay! I-I'm not gonna move the cup!" Marc promised, "but I'll only keep that promise if you'll talk to me." He coaxed. There was silence for a second, until:

"F-Fine."

Marc managed a small smile. He looked at the cup where Nathaniel was hiding behind. He took a breath and started talking.

"So...How are you holding up, Nath?" He asked in a calm, low tone. Another few seconds of silence.

"E-Everything is huge a-and scary...T-The people, the places, the o-objects...You." Marc physically recoiled. He was scary?

"M-Me? Why...Why am I scary? It's me, Marc! The boy who literally couldn't hurt a fly!" He said in a hushed but raised voice, "you know me, Nathaniel. I'm not scary."

"Y-You're lying..." The tiny boy whimpered, "you j-just want me to feel safe so I'll c-come out, a-and then you'll take your r-r-revenge..." Marc was confused.

"Revenge? Nath, why on earth would I want 'revenge' against you?!" Marc has to stop himself from shouting in disbelief.

"B-Because I'm why you became R-Reverser..."

Oh... Marc thought, everything clicked in his brain and it all made sense. Nathaniel's awkwardness, why he's hiding now, why they haven't been speaking.

He blames himself.

"I-I insulted you...I ripped your notebook - you w-watched me do it! - and I didn't even g-give you a chance to explain yourself..."

"You must hate me."

"No...No Nath, wait-" Marc wanted to reassure his classmate that he didn't hate him. Without thinking, he moved the cup aside, revealing the wide eyed tiny staring back.

"N-No...please stay back...!" Nathaniel squeaked out quietly, scurrying backwards. Marc was slowly inching his hands closer.

"Nath, please...d-don't run. Just let me explain, you don't have to be afraid." Marc looked last Nathaniel and saw that he was running out of room to go back. "Nathaniel, wait!" He said suddenly.

"No! N-No!" Nath's body was in a trembling frenzy. Marc reached out suddenly and Nathaniel jumped back in terror.

"I-I won't let you t-take me-!" Nathaniel was cut off as he backed right off the desk. Marc was quick to act.

"Watch out!" He exclaimed, cupping his hands under his classmate. He felt the small weight of Nathaniel collide into his palms. Marc inhaled sharply as it happened. He watched as Nathaniel sat up slowly and became aware of where he was.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, are you okay?! Are you hurt?!" Marc began to panic, he gingerly brushed a finger over Nathaniel's limbs to check for any injury.

"I'm...fine?" Nathaniel replied slowly and hesitantly, "are...are you n-not-?"

"Not mad? Of course not." Marc lifted Nathaniel up to eye level, "that wasn't your fault. It was just a misunderstanding. You'd been manipulated and bullied before for your art, and I get it, I have too. And you should know that even though we haven't been talking, I-I had been hoping we would be again, e-eventually. Anyway! I don't blame you for anything, and there's no 'revenge' I want on you. All I want for you is for you to feel safe with me, u-until Ladybug and Chat Noir fix...this." Marc said, using a single finger to move some hair out of Nathaniel's eyes. Nathaniel grabbed onto the finger softly and touched it, feeling the enlarged grooves of skin. Still clutching it, he nervously looked up, tiny turquoise eyes staring up at Marc's giant green ones.

"Th-Thank you." Nathaniel stuttered out. Then he gave his best attempt at a friendly smile while trying to push down his fear. Marc's cheeks went a light shade of pink and he smiled back. His brain was thinking just one thing.

Shoot, that was really cute...how is he so cute?

"U-Um...you're welcome." Marc stammered, cheeks shading into a deeper pink. He walked slowly over to his bed and sat down next to his plate of macaroons. He put his hands onto the bed and let Nathaniel stumble off onto the plushy surface.

"So...are you hungry, or..?" Marc trailed off awkwardly, breaking off a piece of the macaroons and extending it towards Nathaniel. The tiny boy eagerly grabbed it and took a bite. His eyes lit up.

"More of Mari's macaroons! I ran out the same day she gave them to us! They taste so good..." He said in a fake hypnotized voice. Marc smiles fondly at his small friend. Nathaniel looked up from his sweet treat, and saw Marc's face. Now Nathaniel was going his own shade of red.

Marc's kinda cute when you talk to him for a little bit...he's also a pretty good writer, we should make a comic together... Nathaniel thought, then realized what exactly he'd just thought. Both boys ate their macaroons in comfortable silence, each occasionally sneaking a glance at the other and smiling cheekily.

Both of them have it baaaaad...

Good lord I love them so much if you want more of these two in size antics let me knowwww!

#miraculous ladybug #marc anciel #nathaniel kurtzberg #nathaniel x marc #marthaniel #tiny!nathaniel #shrunken!nathaniel #giant/tiny #gt #giant #tiny #shrunk #shrinking #g/t #g/t fluff #g/t angst #gt fluff #gt angst

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a-seed-in-need-blog · 6 years

Text

Emotions (Seed Family Head-canons)

I’m just covered the general emotions from the movie “Inside Out” because those 5 seem to be a pretty good spectrum of feelings. Might do another installment with more specific emotional subsets later. A little nsfw but nothing explicitly so. (:

John:

Happiness: John’s actions are heavily loaded by emotion, and believe me, you absolutely want to catch this boy on a good day. Finds joy in order, power, and adoration; when the world is smiling down on John, John smiles back. Is more likely to let you get away with things when he’s happy (little sins like indulgence in alcohol, irresponsible impulse purchases, lazing about the compound, etc.) Is more patient in The Atonement when he’s in a good mood, isn’t as quick to jump to torturous means, trying to gently coax your shame out of you. John’s happiness is feather-light however, one wrong move and it can be gone as quickly as it came.

Sadness: Does NOT like to be sad. Does not ALLOW himself to become sad. John’s mind is a hard-wired factory, converting all sorrows immediately into rage. Anger is easier to control for him, anger makes you react, you can scream, you can maim, you can fight. Melancholy leaves the little brother feeling helpless and out-of-touch with his own mind; something that brings him back to his childhood trauma. He refuses to relive those emotions. Needs an honest-to-God good cry, but will never willingly allow it to happen.

Anger: Yes, YES, YES. Anger is a near-penultimate emotion for The Baptist. Almost loves being angry as much as he loves to be happy; it’s a sensual emotion for him, it enhances him, makes him powerful. Having an excuse to indulge in his rage gives him a reason to do what he loves: inflict pain and get chaotic. Salivates, with what could only be described as a perversion, when the first bubbling of wrath begin to tickle his belly. John says he likes willing participants in The Cleansing, but the truth is, he loves the fighters (*coughDepcough*) He loves the ones that give him the reason to release the demons of rage inside of him. Go on, test his patience, in the end it will all be the same for you, he will use your body as an outlet for his carnage.

Disgust: Oh, John has seen and heard it all. In fact, he’s not even certain he’s capable of feeling this emotion anymore. He’s seen people’s most horrific and repulsive sins laid bare before him, and he casts no judgement; nothing takes him by surprise anymore. He knows that humanity is inherently disgusting, himself included; we are always doing heinous and wretched things. He finds some modicum of relief in knowing there are others out there, others with him, who are just as revolting as he is. However, in the seldom times when he IS caught off guard, he rather enjoys this emotion, likes knowing there are still new lows in world for him to cleanse.

Fear: Fear is the Big Bad Mood for John, but unlike with sadness, he lets his fear drive his actions and motivate his performance. The youngest Seed is terrified of many things; rejection, isolation, vilification, and he will do anything to make sure his fears are never actualized. Is sometimes held up into the late hours of the night, crippled with anxiety, that he may fail in his tasks, that he will fail his brother, that he will not live to see the New Eden. Thinks about these things almost obsessively, is living in a shallow pool of disquiet almost 24/7. Is honestly always trying to find ways to distract himself from the torrent of “what if’s” that plague his mind.

Jacob:

Happiness: Often wonders when the last time he felt true happiness was, or if ever has at all. Jacob’s joy could be described as “mild” at best, never excited about things anymore, never optimistic about situations, the best you can hope for with this solider is “contentment.” Is happiest when he’s busy, doesn’t know how to relax anymore, feels guilty letting himself enjoy things, just wants to be useful. He takes pride in his work with his soldiers, finding some scrap of pleasure in watching their fruitful results. Enjoys occasional drinking because it makes smiling easier, numbing his mind, letting him see things through rose colored glasses, if only for a moment.

Sadness: There is always some sorrow running in the background of Jacob’s programming. He has guilt, doubt, shame; weaknesses he would never attest to in the light of day. They told him being in the army might mess up his mind, but not like this. Some days its hard for him just to get out of bed, to find a reason to continue his fight in a hopeless world, but he remembers his brothers, his vows to them, and he pushes forward like the true solider he is. Would honestly not know how to function without his sadness any longer, it’s just become an inherent part of him now.

Anger: Despite what you may think, Jacob is patient. Not quick to anger, knows how to handle unideal situations and less-than-optimal circumstances, so he is always in control of his aggression. Sure, sometimes he gets “annoyed” or “displeased” but anger is just something that doesn’t come easily to the Eldest Seed. He understands why things happen, and he knows how to prevent and combatant them, so in his mind, there is little use for rage and chaos. He feels that using anger as fuel is a tactic unsustainable, bound for disaster; which often leads to him worrying about John’s mental fortitude. However, if Jacob were to ever become full-on angry, you wouldn’t be able to tell without close inspection, he’s cool as a cucumber like always. Just thinking, biding his time until he can rationalize that madness.

Disgust: Very similar to his little brother in this department; not much surprises Jacob anymore. Has had to do disgusting things in the past, so he acknowledges this emotion as a necessary one, a part of life --sometimes you have to do gruesome things to survive. Loves to see how far he can push his men; how vile can he get them to become? How far can he force them down the rabbit-hole of abominable behavior? Disgust and foulness are to be embraced, not feared, as they are the tool that separates the weak men from the strong. It weeds out those that need to be culled. He does not care if he is disgusting, he is strong.

Fear: The solider fears nothing any longer. Loss? Torture? Failure? He’s experienced them all. Even the concept of death itself is a welcome one, something natural and inevitable. Jacob won’t be held back by something as foolish as fear, he is confident in his abilities to succeed in almost everything he does, and if he doesn’t? Well, what does he have to lose at this point, really? His only true fear is losing his brothers, but he won’t allow himself to muddle his mind with thoughts like that.

Faith:

Happiness: Ah yes, the emotion Faith lives for. This is her default state (whether that’s due to The Bliss or if it’s truly her is indistinguishable.) Is a firm believer that there are numerous things to be joyous about: the beauty of nature, the wonder of life, the blessing of song and dance. Wants to live the majority of her life lacquered in pleasure. She spent so much of her life living in fear and sorrow, she is resigned not to waste any more of her time feeling things that aren’t pleasant (even if it isn’t healthy for her.) Is a harbinger of joy, doing everything she can to spread cheer and love to those around her when she is feeling particularly happy. Don’t ruin her mood, please, she’s not sure she can handle it.

Sadness: Acknowledges it as a prime factor of her past, but that’s all it is: her past. Refuses to entertain sorrow any longer, her pain and miseries died along with Rachel Jessop, and Faith is not going to sink back into the tar-pit of depression, refusing to fall victim to it again. Will repress any grief at the drop of a dime, because it’s easier for her to bury the sadness than it is to embrace it. The Bliss helps greatly with this, it is a special friend that holds her hand in her darkest hours, reassuring her that the world is golden, that her life is beautiful. There is no misery in her garden, she will make certain of this.

Anger: It takes a lot to get Faith to the breaking point of anger, but it can be done. Becoming irritated with particularly frustrating angels, with those who try to accuse her of being disillusioned. She is merciless with her anger; shouting, shaking, pointing fingers of accusation...when she is pushed to this point, Faith will stew in her malcontent until a resolution is found, becoming more vehement with every passing hour. There is no “waiting it out” or “sleeping on it.” Faith will hold a mean grudge until the source of her anger is terminated. If you have angered The Siren, however, and apologize sincerely, she becomes eerily calm. Forgives you immediately and resumes her natural cheery self, relieved to be back in the arms of joy. (But she will NOT forget whatever it is you’ve done, watch out.)

Disgust: This one makes the Seed sister uneasy. Would like to avoid this emotion at all costs, as she isn’t certain how to deal with it; should she bury it? Embrace it? Repent? Feelings of disgust are confusing, as they are generally unpleasant...but sometimes not? Intrigue can sometimes be stimulating, but it’s hard for Faith not to cross the line into perversion, she cannot always trust herself to make the right choices when she is not directly beside The Father, so the best method of action is to abstain from the abnormal and hideous. Who knows what other kinds of thoughts and feelings revulsion will snowball into? Yes, best to just avoid that little bucket of worms entirely.

Fear: Faith knows this feeling intimately. Her life was a constant rollercoaster of fear and confusion, fueled by drugs and the judgement of others. Is mostly fearful of herself: letting her family down, failing in her holy tasks, becoming another martyr of “Faith.” Her contemplation of fear is done in private, in the darkness of night, when she is alone to bare her heart to the open. Occasionally her anxieties have brought her to tears; she holds herself in the cold night-air, trying to reassure her mind that everything is fine, she is loved, she’s not a failure, she’s not going to be abandoned.

Joseph:

Happiness: Much like Sister Faith, Joseph has a default setting for contentedness and peaceful contemplation. There is much on this Earth to be joyous about, and he wants to spread the good word of love to all of his children. Is very physical when he’s happy; holding hands with others, a gentle shoulder pat, the iconic Forehead Touch... all very good signs of The Father’s upbeat mood (because it’s very hard to distinguish emotions on Joseph’s face, you have to rely more on watching his behavior.) Will walk the church grounds with a gentle smile, humming choir tunes with a jaunty grace, basking in the sun like a sleepy cat.

Sadness: Joseph has known sadness since infancy, is almost in a sort of romantic relationship with his own sorrow. Embraces the melancholy, it wraps its delicate tendrils around his soul, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reminding him of the worlds pain. He needs these constant reminders, needs to stay vigilant in his cause, how can he help cast away the misery of the Earth if he does not understand misery himself? Crying is cathartic for The Father, isn’t afraid to openly weep, opening his heart and spirit for the world to see. There is no shame in crying, no shame in sadness, it is only a stepping stone to peace.

Anger: You’ll be hard-pressed to an ounce of anger in Joseph’s soul (it seems John got all of the Seed-family rage.) He is kind, tolerant, understanding of those that do things he does not approve of. His children are small, confused, fragile beings, and he will accomplish nothing if he is a angry, vengeful father. He needs to be better than his own father. He needs to be someone his flock can depend on. When he is angry, you better believe it is justified, and he will act with the swift judgement of a righteous angel, matching any punishment to fit the crime.

Disgust: Is usually just...saddened by this emotion. Understands that disgust is just a form of confusion, something he doesn't understand. But he wants to understand, he does not want to recoil from the most vile of his flock and their actions, he wants to help them, bless them with tender touches. He has felt this emotion many times, but it never gets any easier, what is the right course of action when dealing with this? He isn’t sure. But he is a learned man, and he will learn.

Fear: Knows fear. Embraces it with the same feverishness as sadness. He must understand and love his fear if he is to use it to his advantage. Knows that everyone is afraid, nobody is free of terror and doubt; himself included. However, he has resigned himself to be the soothing voice in the darkness, the song that sings “everything is ok, I am here, and we will triumph through this madness together.” Sometimes he wishes he had a voice of his own like that to depend on, but then remembers that he does; it’s just one only he can hear. Is level headed in the face of his fears, will not be consumed by them, will conquer them with grace and emboldened love.

#John seed #joseph seed #faith seed #jacob seed #far cry 5 #FC5 #far cry 5 headcanons #my writings

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mayor-crumblepot · 6 years

Note

Hello!! Would you be open to making a fanfiction about 514A/ either of the valeska twins? It's never been done and i think it could be really good !!

hello, anon!

i’ve actually been thinking about this concept a lot, so i’m happy to do this. i’m gonna write it in my teen rogues au, if ya don’t mind

As much animosity as there could be between them, Bruce and Five have taken a liking to each other. Something about having the same face creates a bond between people; and Bruce’s desperation to see the good in everyone leaves him with Five as the closest thing to a sibling he’s ever had.

It isn’t awful— Five adopts plenty of routines that Bruce himself has, makes a solid attempt to be just as remarkably put together as Bruce is. There’s just something a little off about him.

His hair never goes quite the right way. Five always looks like he styled his hair with shaking hands, a messy head of waves that he has to hold out of his eyes. Even with help from Bruce, he can’t quite get the impeccable fashion sense down, instead opting for things that swallow him up and make him feel safe. Above it all, he’s strange.

Not rude, not scary, not cruel— just strange. He mumbles to himself, he looks through people on occasion, and everything he writes in his notebooks is accompanied by strangely harsh doodles and designs, little schematics that make less sense than he seems to think they do.

People don’t like Five that much. It doesn’t bother him, not as much as he figures it should, but he can’t help but try and figure out ways to make himself more palatable.

He can get a haircut, he can dress nicely, he can keep his mouth pressed shut; these things will last for a week, at most, but it doesn’t change anything. Five is conceded to his comfortable invisibility, and the most he can figure is that it could be worse.

He could be Jonathan Crane. Now that’s a nightmare.

No matter how often Bruce invites Five to eat lunch with him, he politely declines. Eating around other people feels like a death sentence, to him, and he’s always got something he could be working on. Instead, he spends his lunchtime in the library, secretly nursing a bag of crackers as he travels from aisle to aisle.

Normally, the library is empty during lunch, except for a handful of people trying to finish assignments before their next class. Rarely ever do any of them venture into the bookshelves, instead hovering near the computers at the entrance— Five always feels alone. That is, until another hand tries to take the book he’s reaching for.

The first thing Five thinks about is if this is going to be a fight or flight situation. Unlike some of the other students, he hasn’t been in too many fights, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t prepared.

“Sorry,” and it sounds mostly sincere, so Five lets the muscles in his arms loosen up just a little, “what a coincidence.”

“Coincidence,” when Five looks up at the other person, he’s met with a version of a face that he knows. How strange. Is this is how people feel when they look at him? Do they really just see his face as a butchered version of Bruce’s? That’s so sad.

The both of them are still holding the book, a collection of poetry that Five can’t even remember why he wanted in the first place. “If you need it,” the boy, Jeremiah, if Five remembers properly (which is a toss up as it is), says, “I don’t really—”

“No,” Five immediately drops his hand, takes two steps back, and turns around. He walks straight out of the library, down the stairs, and into the smallest bathroom on campus. That’s where he hides, until the bell rings and he walks to class with his head down.

The next time Five sees Jeremiah, the boy is fighting with his brother. Maybe the proper word is scrapping, because whatever it is they’re doing, barely anyone is all that concerned about it.

Jerome has his arm wrapped around Jeremiah’s neck, loosely holding him in a headlock, talking on and on. Five has come in too late to truly understand what’s being talked about, and with Jerome, it’s truly imperative to have been around since the beginning of a tirade. He watches as Jeremiah tilts his head back, then bites down harshly on the soft part of Jerome’s arm. When he pulls away, he has blood on his lips and Jerome is yelling, then laughing. Of course.

By the time the two of them separate, neither of them seems very angry.

When Jeremiah passes Five in the hallway, just afterward, there’s still blood on his mouth when he smiles. It feels like he’s been thrown off the edge of the cliff, like he’s stuck in a constant free fall, and Five knows exactly where this is going.

What a terrible development.

“Are you trying to get close to Bruce by talking to me?” Five is in the library again, sitting at one of the tables in the back, papers and library books spread out in front of him, disorganized. At the opposite side of the table, Jeremiah stands there, notebook held closely against his chest. “Because it’s not going to work. That’s not how it works.”

“I imagine the best way to get close to Bruce would be by talking to him,” Jeremiah is reserved, and Five can’t help but realize that he isn’t quite as talkative as his brother— it’s a shame, his voice is so much less obnoxious, “which would explain why I’m not talking to him. Because I’m not trying to get close to him.” He puts his notebook down on the table, and Five can’t help but marvel at the fact that the thing is pristine. Perfectly clean, no dents or bends, no scribbled down notes on the cover— he feels like a mess in comparison.

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Get to know you,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing, “would you rather I didn’t?”

On instinct, Five almost says yes. He almost tosses a book from the tabletop at the perfect center of Jeremiah’s face, at the place where his glasses sit on his nose. “People don’t usually do that,” he admits, pushing a few things out of the way so that Jeremiah can sit down, “that’s all.”

“It’s fine,” Jeremiah drops his backpack on the floor, leans heavily on the table to see what Five is doing, “what’s that you’re working on?”

It becomes a routine, Jeremiah meeting Five in the library during lunch to go over whatever he’s working on. Five is as imaginative as they come, but he lacks a confidence in his own mind, lacks the ability to commit to a single concept long enough to find out if it will actually work. Alternatively, Jeremiah is committed to a fault. If something isn’t working, it isn’t his fault, but rather the item itself— it’s a can of worms Five doesn’t really care to open.

And then, one day, Jeremiah is late. Not only is Jeremiah late, but when he does show up, his nose is dripping blood onto the floor and his eye is swollen. It’s obvious he’s tried to rub a stain out of his shirt in the bathroom, leaving the neckline rumpled; what bothers Five the most is how his stomach flips at the sight, how it keeps him rooted to the chair, lest he seem over eager to help.

“What’s all that about?” Five gestures vaguely at Jeremiah’s face, following a drop of blood as it drips from Jeremiah’s chin, down into the carpet beneath his feet.

“Sharing my brother’s face comes with consequences,” he says cryptically, grabbing an entire box of tissues from the librarian’s empty desk before making himself comfortable at their usual table, “they apologized, though. Doesn’t exactly fix anything, but—”

“Why do you refer to your face as your brother’s?”

“What?”

“’Sharing my brother’s face,’” it takes some effort, but Five closes all of his books and sets them aside, “Why do you say it like that?” The question seems to surprise Jeremiah, and faintly, he wonders if he’s been assuming Five to be a bit less intelligent than he really is.

“Jerome uses his looks as a tool. Because of that, people identify him very heavily by his looks,” Jeremiah smooths his hair back, unaware that it’s been irreparably dislodged, “and that’s fine. He’s made a use of our face— it’s his, more than it is mine.”

“That seems like a very lonely way to think about it.” At this point, Five doesn’t try to make it seem like he isn’t staring— he watches as the swelling in Jeremiah’s eye seems to take on life, take on a pulsing and beating as time passes. It looks terrible.

“Don’t you feel the same way about Bruce?”

“We’re not twins,” he waves his hand passively, “it’s not the same. Nobody mistakes us unless we want them to. At worst, he’s Bruce, and I’m Not-Bruce.”

“I’d say that sounds very lonely, as well,” Jeremiah dabs another tissue at his nose, eventually giving up and tilting his head back. All Five can do is shrug at him, feeling a little bit exposed. The two of them sit in silence, Five staring as Jeremiah attempts to not choke on the blood going down his throat, until it finally trickles to a stop. He gives his nose another harsh rub with a tissue, “How does it look? Is there any blood left?”

“Oh, lots. It looks great.”

In a surprising development to the both of them, it’s Five who initiates something. On the side of the building, as Five waits for his bus, he listens as Jeremiah goes on and on about something he’s trying to build. It’s hard for him to follow, most of the time, considering how often he finds himself spacing out, but he does try his hardest. Even Jeremiah can see that, and he’s willing to repeat himself— something he’s very rarely seen doing.

“There’s got to be an issue with the wiring between the fan and the motor, but every time I look at it, everything seems right, and I don’t want to dismantle it because it looks so good right now, and I just—” Five pulls Jeremiah down by the arm and plants a kiss on his cheek. Immediately, he disengages and heads toward his bus as it idles in the pickup lane.

“You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.”

And of course, Jeremiah can’t even be bothered to think about the fan and motor and wiring, because he’s too busy trying to figure out why Five would kiss him. He writes flow charts, he tries to create premises and build arguments, all of it eludes him.

When he asks Jerome, something he knows is a mistake from the moment he steps foot in his brother’s room, all Jerome does is laugh. “Man, you’re fucking stupid,” he says, not getting up from the strange position he’s taken up on his bed, “either he’s into you or he’s making fun of you. Hopefully, he’s making fun of you.” Jeremiah throws a pillow at Jerome before leaving his room, shutting the door harshly behind him. From behind the door, Jerome yells, “Are you guys gonna fuck? That’s so gross! You’d better not!” All Jerome has done is make things harder to understand— and he has the audacity to call Jeremiah stupid. As if.

The last thing Jeremiah wants to do is show that he’s confused, though, so when he goes into school the next day, he’s as confident as ever. He’s even wearing a tie; the one that Jerome absolutely can’t stand. Jeremiah goes right up to Five at his locker, stares him down as if the extended attention is going to give him every answer he wants. It doesn’t, of course.

“Hi,” Five says, amidst his effort to declutter his locker just enough to fit his books inside of it, “why are you staring at me?”

“Why did you kiss me?” Jeremiah thinks he’s won something when Five goes still, arms suspended in the landfill that is his locker.

“Does it bother you that much?”

“It bothers me that I don’t know why.”

“I like you,” he says flatly, and then, a smirk threatens at the edges of his mouth, “would you rather I didn’t?”

Jeremiah wants to come up with something witty to say, something clever and reflective of his massive intellect— instead he leans down and kisses Five. When he tries to straighten up, Five pulls him back down by his tie, and Jeremiah feels like his heart might come out of his chest.

From somewhere down the hallway, Jerome shuts his locker harshly. “Get a room,” he says, loudly, and Jeremiah is so busy that he doesn’t even notice.

#answered #fills #fiveleska #five/jeremiah valeska #514a/jeremiah valeska #were gonna start a fucking movement kids #me? rewriting my tags after getting a little validation? it's more likely than you think #im still very unsure about how people are gonna feel about my five but....#i love him and it would be wrong of me not to defend him wholeheartedly #so!! that's my baby!! my weird almost wednesday addamsy baby boy!#and ummm THANK YOU for requesting this #because ive been tossing the idea around for a really long time #and its nice to have a chance to bring it up! and do it! and put it out there!#i'll reblog this later today for the rest of the weekend crowd but like #we're doing stuff here yall

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ernmark · 6 years

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hey so I am v much Not a writer but I got this plot bunny and I shall donate it to u in case it tickles ur fancies, so if ur in the mood for some Sad Nureyev: Ramses O'Flaherty being informed (by Strong?) of Juno's assumed post Martian desert death while at a post election fancy party, then being distracted by a clatter nearby, as a tall, extremely beautiful, and only sliiightly suspicious waiter drops his tray in shock... Nureyev's subsequent actions/reactions up to you :p

I’ve already mentioned to you how much I love the idea of this prompt. Ramses and Peter are two incredibly dangerous people who I would just love to put in the same room together.

Mayor Ramses O’Flaherty hasn’t gotten this far by getting caught off guard.

He knows the name of the woman who marches past security with all the inevitable gravity and force of a star going supernova. He knows her name, her living situation, and the promise that Steel made her on his behalf. And so he knows that trying to stop her would accomplish nothing except to draw out the inevitable.

“Tell security to let her through,” he says to his personal assistant. “And wire a hundred and fifty thousand credits into her account. She’s an employee, and I intend to see her paid.”

He signals for his water to be refilled and continues his dinner. It’s one of the few indulgences he allows himself, but even this would seem paltry compared to his predecessors– fish and steamed vegetables, dark bread and butter. He will do many things, but he won’t feast on taxpayer credits.

His personal assistant sends feeds from the security cameras to track the woman’s progress. The mayoral mansion is enormous, but she makes good time; he only manages to catch a few glimpses of her in any detail before she moves out of focus.

Her hand is expertly bandaged, but the dressing is old and dirty, all but entirely bled through. She looks like she hasn’t bathed in a week, though there’s a sheen of gloss uneven on her lips. She didn’t come here directly, it seems– no, first she made a stop elsewhere, to reassure someone who kissed her thoroughly when they saw her. Her fiancee, if Ramses had to guess.

A well-meaning member of the staff steps into her path.

“Ma’am, do you have an appointment? I’m afraid the mayor is very busy at the moment, but if you could just–”

“I don’t give a shit how busy he is,” she snarls. “There are lives on his hands, and he’s not walking away from this. Pilot Pereyra is dead because of him. Juno Steel is dead–”

She’s still shouting, but Ramses’ attention is diverted by the crack of broken glass.

One of the waiters stands frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging half open. For a moment, he doesn’t even seem to notice the shattered pitcher at his feet or the cold water soaking into his shoes. Then the moment passes, and he scrambles to clean it up.

“My apologies,” he says quickly. “My grip must have slipped. I’ll just fetch a dustpan–”

He isn’t even at the door before Ramses signals his personal assistant. “Zaynab, make sure that young man is alright.” He gives Zaynab a meaningful glance, and she understands it intrinsically: don’t let him leave.

The waiter will be dealt with later. For now, he must see to Alessandra Strong.

The moment Strong is sent on her way, Ramses has Zaynab’s report in his hands. Once again, he isn’t surprised: on closer examination, the waiter who dropped the pitcher isn’t the same one who was vetted by the security team. He’s tried to sneak away twice since he was detained, but security has been watching him like a Mercurian falcon. He hasn’t had a chance to properly escape by the time Ramses returns to his office.

The stranger looks up when Ramses arrives– frightened and chagrined, not like a thief who’s been caught in the act, but like a busboy about to be disciplined for a job poorly done. “Mayor O’Flaherty, sir. You wanted to see me, sir?”

He’s even trembling. That’s a nice touch.

“I did.” Ramses strides across the office and sits in his chair. “It was Mister Ivy, wasn’t it? Richard?”

“Yes, sir.” The words tumble out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry about the pitcher, sir. I promise I didn’t mean to break it, sir. I’ll take it out of my pay, I swear, just please, I need this job–”

Ramses raises a hand in reassurance. “I’m not angry with you, Richard. I only wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked shaken.”

“I appreciate your worrying about me, but it’s nothing, really,” the man says too quickly. That’s his strategy of choice, it seems– talk fast enough to sweep away his mark with the flow of the conversation. The only way to control the course is to stop him from talking. “Loud noises have always had that effect on me, and–”

“I’m sure they do,” Ramses says. “But that isn’t the reason why you dropped it, is it?”

“My mother always did say I had butterfingers.”

Ramses continues over him. “You know Juno Steel, don’t you?”

For a fraction of a second, Richard Ivy looks like he’s stepped barefoot on broken glass, and then his face rights itself into a look of sincere confusion. “Who?”

Ramses can’t help the smile that quirks his lips. “You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that. Not half bad looking, either. You’re wasted in a waiter’s uniform; have you ever considered the silver screen?”

The change of direction is abrupt, but it’s not enough to make him break character. Richard Ivy ducks his head, a flustered blush coloring his cheeks, every inch the ingenue who was just handed his big break on a silver platter. “Oh, I’m not– I couldn’t–”

Ramses jumps tracks again. “So tell me, how do you know Juno Steel?”

“I– I–” Ivy lowers his eyes and he bows his head in a pantomime of surrender. “I don’t know him. Not well. Last year there was a murder where I worked; I helped him solve the case.” He lets the words linger in the air, carrying the suggestion of other ways he might have helped the detective. “Last I heard, he was working for you. And I thought, if I got a job here, maybe I could see him again.”

Ramses rises from his desk, walking toward the younger man with all the gravity of grief and age.

Richard Ivy looks up at him from under a heavy brow. “Is he… really gone?”

Ramses wasn’t exaggerating about the man’s skill as an actor. The cast of his eyes, the tremor in his voice, the slump of his shoulders– every detail is perfect. Ramses knows it’s a lie, but it’s so expertly spun that he wants to believe it. He’s good.

It makes it that much easier for Ramses to slip into his own part. He lays a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Juno’s a stubborn one. If there’s a way to survive, he’ll find it, just for spite.”

“But that woman said he– she said–” His voice catches perfectly.

“Miss Strong has every reason to be upset with me,” Ramses sighs. “The last time she saw Juno, he was alone in the desert. There aren’t many people who could come out of that alive. But Juno…” He lets the sentence hang in the air, inviting the other man to make the next move.

And he does, all bright and sparkling with teary-eyed hope. “So there’s still a chance? You’re going to go looking for him?”

That’s not what he wants; he’s fishing for more information. Ramses takes a chance and offers him another nibble. “As much as I want to, I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. Based on where he was last seen alive, his best chance is to head to the Cerberus Province. If he’s alive, that’s where I’ll find him. But you have to understand the position that puts me in. If I send a car to look for him, it’ll be stripped down to the screws and sold for scrap before it’s in sight of that lighthouse. If they find out the mayor of Hyperion City wants Juno back, he’s just as likely to be taken hostage and ransomed back, possibly in pieces. As much as I want to rescue him, I would only be putting him in more danger. My hands are tied.”

There’s a calculating gleam in the man’s eye. He’s already got what he needs, and that’s got him confident. He’s willing to push his luck. “What if… what if it wasn’t you?”

“Exactly what are you saying?” Ramses asks, because these things only work if the mark thinks it’s his idea.

“I could go,” he says, his voice growing more certain with every syllable. “There would be no point of ransoming him off to me. I’m nobody.”

That much, at least, is true. Zaynab’s preliminary background check has found half a dozen identities tied to this man, all of them less than a decade old. He would have an easier time than most navigating the back alleys of the Cerberus Province.

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” Ramses asks unnecessarily. “That would be incredibly dangerous.”

“I could do it.” His voice is cracked with stifled fear, but it’s heavy with determination. “For Juno, I could do it.”

This Richard Ivy, or Perseus Shah, or Duke Rose, or whoever he is– he’s probably fairly proud of himself right now, thinking that he’s broken in here and convinced Ramses to give him all the information he needs to get what he wants. And while he goes off playing hero for his leading lady, Ramses will get his bodyguard back– all without any paper trail, any expenses, any official orders, anything whatsoever to tie him to the staining corruption of the Cerberus province.

It’s like that ancient Earth proverb: diplomacy is the art of letting everyone have your way.

#that-figures #the penumbra podcast #writing prompt #fanfiction #100

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marveling-cg · 6 years

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A Bit of Beyond Series Fic (that no one asked for)

Maricela cried between the ceremony and reception. It’s not that she regretted what she’d done.

Marrying Alexei had been the best shot that either of them had at freedom.

It was just that she’d always hoped to be able to marry for the sort of passionate love that everyone worshiped in Sector One. But the granddaughter of the prophet had other responsibilities. And, as long as she remained unwed, scheming mothers and ambitious sons would constantly be conspiring to keep her from the duties that truly mattered.

No, marrying Alexei had been the right thing to do. He’d only confirmed it when he’d stumbled upon her in the gardens before their reception, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to carefully wipe away her tears before using it to dry his own eyes.

“This isn’t the end of love,” he’d sniffed as he turned his face toward the setting sun.

“No. Especially not for you. You know I won’t stand between you and Hugo.” “No, I know that. It’s just a matter of getting to him to believe me. Or look me in the eye.” His jaw had clenched, but he’d cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and curled his mouth into his wry smile. “But for now, we should dance. The whole Sector waits.”

And so they danced.

“You’re either an asshole or you greatly undervalue your own worth. I’ve been having trouble deciding.” The man before her jumped and turned. When he saw her face, he bowed lowly. “Princess, I’m sorry - whatever I’ve done --” “It’s more what you haven’t done.” “I’m sorry, your--” “He loves you.”

Broad shoulders snapped back and a brow previously furrowed in concern smooths into a darkly shuttered expression.

“With all due respect, Your Highness --” “It’s not my business, I know. Not really, but --” “As Alexei’s wife, it’s certainly your business, but it’s no longer mine.” “Which is a shame. Because it breaks my heart to know that my friend’s happy ending is actually possible, but he won’t get it anyway.” “I may only be a gardener, but that doesn’t mean I want to sit at the edge of the table begging for scraps. I won’t be a dirty secret.”

At that, Maricela reached out. Hugo was as large as Alexei had said he was. But, he stopped at Maricela’s touch.

“No one’s asking you to be. He did this for you.” “Because the husband of a Rios is even more attainable than a minor noble’s son? Right.”

“Because my grandfather taught that love was above all - above class and wealth and power. The nobles in this Sector may have forgotten that, but I haven’t. And neither has Alexei. Just. Just talk to him.”

It took a couple of weeks, but Hugo did reach out.

Which Maricela found out only after inquiring with the palace guards when Alexei missed dinner two nights in a row.

“Marry me, Nita.”

“What?”

The temple gardens were uncommonly quiet. In the distance, Alexei sat on a bench, book in hand, as Hugo bent to his work. Alexei laughed at some something on his page and called out to share it with Hugo. Nita and Maricela were too far away to hear the specifics, but Hugo blushed prettily, and Alexei’s smile softened into something unbearably gentle.

“Marry me, Nita.”

“Maricela--”

“No, you’ve waited for -- you’ve waited long enough Nita. And I know your mom’s been coming down on you harder.” “I’m not looking for your pity, Maricela.”

“I’m not looking to give you any. I just want to see you happy again. You used to smile. I used to smile. Maybe not like that,” she pointed toward Hugo and Alexei, “but it’d make me happy to see you free to help your siblings.”

“But bound in a marriage.”

“That look bound to you? Nita, you know he --” Maricela catches herself. They have a code, a sacred code, that one’s impossible love isn’t talked about. “If you ever -- I wouldn’t stop you.”

Nita paused, seemed to take a moment to actually think about the offer on the table.

“I hate to give my mom a victory,” she laughed finally. “Marrying a damned Rios.” Maricela chuckled. “Sure, but you’ll only be my second spouse. And, if I want my new baby sisters and brothers to become little designers and gardeners or marry their kitchen staff, she’ll hardly be able to argue.”

“Oh man, who could argue with a damned Rios!” Nita laughed. “Okay, honey, let’s get married.”

They married quietly, another message to Estela Reyes that Nita’s life would no longer be hers to control. She’d exchanged vows with Nita as Hugo exchanged vows with Alexei.

Nita’d signed the papers after Hugo making her Maricela’s third. The smile on her face when she did so, it made it all worth it.

As a concession to the powerful Reyes family, though, they’d scheduled the wedding for the week before the Reyes’ annual party. They kept the nuptials quiet until they arrived at the Reyes compound and gave her the opportunity to announce to the world that the Reyes and Rios families were combined at last.

Of course, Hunter decided to get his head out of his ass after Maricela had gotten Nita to marry her.

It was fine. Her vision of sharing quiet morning with Nita in bed, huddled together against the cool air, even if it was just as friends, wouldn’t come to pass.

But, she wouldn’t trade Nita’s smile for anything.

Marrying Hunter in an unseemly spectacle at the Reyes’ party the next year was the gift that finally seemed to earn Estela Reyes’s forgiveness, even if the woman couldn’t quite bring herself to say Hunter’s name without the creases around her eyes tightening.

The night was warm, and the press of the crowd had become unbearable. She’d normally find her way to Nita when she needed a moment away, but, tonight, Nita belonged to no one but Hunter.

She glowed in his arms, and he’d hardly let her go save for an obligatory dance with his other new spouses. She’d been sure to keep her dance with him short and to talk only of Nita’s beauty. He’d picked up on it shortly before the music came to an end and was clearly embarrassed.

“Forgive me, little Mari,” he’d whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“For what? She’s glorious.”

And then she’d made her way to the gardens. For a breath. For a moment away from her glowing spouses. A moment to wrestle her wretched heart into place.

“Princess.”

Maricela gasped, and then relaxed as Ivan stepped forward hands raised in silent apology.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” “Which is why you approached without sound from the shadowed maze,” she huffed.

His lips tilted in the whisper of a smile.

“It’s hard to break training.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been consciously resisting training since I was a little girl.”

“Which is why you’ve dutifully married not once, not twice, but four times.”

“One a gardener, the other a Rider. I’m a walking scandal.”

“And for all that rebellion, you never smile.”

“Of course I do.”

He shook his head. In the moonlight, his hair shown silver, and his blue eyes were dark. He looked as she imagined a knight would, one from the tales of old about a round table served by faithful warriors.

It hurt to look at him.

“I’ve beautiful spouses, kind ones. My people flourish, and I’ve finally been able to renovate and expand our refugee housing. I’ve got everything to smile about.”

“Like I said: you’ve been dutiful.”

“I don’t serve my people out of duty.”

“That’s not - I didn’t mean - just because it’s your duty doesn’t mean it’s wrong. And it doesn’t mean you didn’t do it because you cared. I just meant.” He paused, clearly at a loss.

And in all the years that Maricela had known Ivan, in all the years she’d quietly watched him and tried not to watch him, this was the most he’d ever said to her at one time.

His sincerity was clear.

“I just meant that you spend so much of yourself serving others. But, who serves you?”

“Ivan. I have more than enough of people looking to serve the Prophet’s granddaughter. I don’t--”

“I’m not talking about serving Maricela Rios. Who takes care of you, Mari?”

There were any number of correct answers that come to mind:

She and Alexei share breakfast together every morning, no matter how late a night he has. She and Hugo have exchanged books every week for the last year and a half. Nita, as ever, has remained her best friend and partner in work and fun. Even Hunter had become a friend.

But there was no room in Ivan’s gaze for anything less than complete honesty.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “It wasn’t in our terns & agreements.”

“You weren’t supposed to have contracts when you married.”

“Oh no?”

“No. No, I --”

“You what, Ivan?”

“I stayed away, so you could have something real, something forever.”

“Well, I’ve got that, friendships and contracts, and I’m sure kids that will come.”

“And what about passion?”

“Dammit, Ivan, what do you want me to say? You stayed away!” It comes out more of a sob than she intended, but it’d been so long.

She’d spent years second guessing whether the heat between them had been one-sided, whether the intensity in his gaze was hers alone or just the wishful longing of an infatuated mind. Whether the quiet glimpses into his life were shared intentionally in a show of trust or were merely the work of convenient timing and fatigue.

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? Why wouldn’t you matter?”

“I’m just a Rider.”

“A servant to your people just like me.”

She hadn’t intentionally moved closer. She wasn’t sure if she had or if it was he who moved. But he was there, pushing hair away from her face all the same.

“And it’s exhausting sometimes isn’t it.”

The look in his eyes was tender and kind, and Maricela leaned into the broad expanse of his chest.

“Let me take care of you, Mari.”

“Please.”

#gideon's riders #maricela rios #alexei petrov #hugo #nita reyes #hunter west #cg writes #kit rocha #sector one

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chalantness · 6 years

Text

Let It Snow - day four

(for my “season of shipping” giveaway)

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~1,900 Characters: Steve/Natasha Prompt: “one is a bell ringer for a charitable organization and the other slips their phone number in the donation bucket along with some money at Christmas” au (I hope this prompt is okay! Feel free to add smut if the occasion calls for it *winks*)”

For:@xo-stardust720

A/N: If this trope seems vaguely familiar, it’s because it is, and that’s because I wanted to give a smuttier crack at it. Because duh. Also, I ended up filling your prompt backwards, if that makes sense. Hope you don’t mind!

Read on: [ ao3 ]

She’ll blame the eggnog.

Well, the eggnog, and the amount of rum Tony deemed appropriate to spike it with. She’s willing to bet that he mixed that shit with more than just rum, too, because not even the four back-to-back rounds of shots had hit her this quickly. She’s drunk. Coherent (or, as coherent as you can expect, and even then, just barely) but definitely drunk.

Otherwise, she’d be disciplined enough to keep her hands to herself, and she’d definitely be more disciplined enough to not need Tony’s long lost friend or whoever he is to stumble her down one of the many winding hallways of the Stark house. His steps are a little clumsy, and he fumbles to catch her by her hips a couple of times as he leads her up the staircase. He maneuvers them into a guest bedroom in the right wing of the house – her favorite guest bedroom, actually, because it has the best view and the softest sheets and Maria had the door painted red because it’s her signature color – and she giggles, tugging him to the bed. He murmurs a curse as they tumble forward, bracing himself above her on his forearms.

His shoulders are broad, and she smooths her hands up his back, over the material of his dress shirt to press her palms over his shoulder blades, pressing him closer.

Fuck, he smells good. How does a man smell so fucking good?

“That’s the eggnog talking,” he answers, sounding amused. Had she said that out loud? Well, shit.

She’d been thinking some pretty explicit things on their stumble here. She wonders if she’d blurted any of that out, too.

“I don’t usually get like this.” Her voice comes out deceptively steady considering how fuzzy her mind is. Except, she knows she’s not that far gone. Not at all. Not if she can stare up into his eyes and count how many shades of blue are in the flecks, count every one of his ridiculously long eyelashes. Which she kind of wants to do right now.

“I know,” he says, lips quirking into a dangerously sexy kind of smile. “You kept insisting it when you wanted us to leave the party. And funny enough, I think I believe you.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Funny enough?”

He laughs, and the sound of it makes her stomach flip, makes her skin flush. Oh. She’ll definitely be blaming the eggnog for how her body is reacting to the sound of his voice. “Well, you did manage to get my glass of eggnog all over the front of your dress. So you’re either drunk or clumsy.” He grins. “Since you seem graceful, I’m going to go with the first one.”

She slips her hands around his torso, runs her hands up his chest to grasp as his collars. “How do you know I’m graceful?”

“Tony mentioned you’re a dancer,” Steve answers indulgently, his eyes sparkling in amusement. But, after a moment, there’s a shift in his gaze, and suddenly she can feel the very weight of it against her skin. “And I’ve been drawn to the way you’ve moved all night.”

She feels her lips part ever so slightly, a warmth unfurling low in her stomach. He’d been drawn, not to her body, nor to the tasteful bits of skin that her dress teases, but to the way that she moved? She knows hadn’t danced at all at night. She hadn’t moved much at all, really, except for flitting from person to person, slowly making conversation with everyone in the room. And yet, he’d been drawn to her. He’d remembered some small, passing fact Tony had given out during their introduction, and he remembered it as he watched her move.

“Kiss me,” she rasps, the words coming out in a burst of breath, like she can’t get them out fast enough.

His eyes darken, his desire clear through the haze in his eyes. But there’s a little bit of concern sobering his expression at the edges. “Are you still okay with this?” he asks.

She nods, but he still hesitates, so she tips her head up, pressing a soft, slow, sweet kiss to his lips. She makes this pathetic little sound at the feel of them at the same moment he lets out a low, rumbling groan, pressing her a little harder against the mattress. “If you ask me this tomorrow, I’ll still be okay with it,” she promises.

Because she is. She may be drunk, and he’s definitely not sober, either. But she knows that she wants this. She wanted this sober, when Tony was fumbling out half-assed introductions.

She knows he believes her, too, because his expression relaxes entirely, his eyes swirling and storming with hunger. He smirks – he smirks – and practically growls out, “good,” and covers her mouth with his, kissing her harder, deeper, rougher, his hands coming into her hair. And she swears that kissing has never felt as wild as it does right now.

He kisses her until her lungs start to burn, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, until she get frustrated and starts ripping him out of it. He doesn’t even blink, his hands sliding down her body and grabbing the hem of her dress and pushing it up her body in one fluid motion. He dips his head down, kissing the curve of her hip, the flat of her stomach, the dip of her breasts, until he’s gotten her dress over her head and off entirely, tossing it aside. She’d gone braless because of the cut of her dress, and she’d worn a scrap of lace that’s considered panties because it matched the stockings she wanted to wear with her dress, and his eyes slide down her body, as if taking in every inch of her bared, flushed skin.

His gaze fixes between her legs, she knows that she must look as wet as she feels. Because she feels like she’s dripping.

He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing almost adorably, but just as she’s about to ask what’s wrong, he mutters a broken, “I need to—” and then just dips his head down and closes his mouth around her through the damp lace.

She moans, grasping onto the comforter and twisting it between her fingers as his tongue laps her wet folds. It’s slow at first, almost leisurely, with the kind of pace of a man who wants to savor every second. His forehead is still wrinkled adorably in concentration, and he wraps a hand around one of her ankles, still strapped in her stilettos, and slides it higher, bending her at her knee as his tongue slides inside. She lets out a whimper, her hips rolling up, but he lifts his free arm and lays it over her hips, pinning her to the mattress as he sucks her clit.

Oh, oh, oh.

She’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the pure pleasure, or maybe both, but she can’t tell if it takes minutes or seconds to get her to the edge. All she knows is that all of sudden she’s right there when his tongue eases off of her, and she’s barely able to let out a protest when he pulls his arm off of her and slides two fingers into her, curling and curling.

“S-Steve,” she breathes out, and he glances up at her, his expression positively wicked as he pauses entirely. And then he pulls away.

Her eyelashes flutter closed, grasping onto the comforter so tightly she swears she feels the stitching stretch under her grip. She hears him fumble with his belt and his pants, hears him yank the bedside drawer open, fumbling for a condom. Somewhere in the back of her head, she’ll remember to ask him how he knew those would be there.

(Though, if he’s known Tony for so long, she shouldn’t be surprised.)

The bed dips as he climbs over her again, except this time she can feel how hard he is against the inside of her thigh. She blinks her eyes open to find him gazing down at her, his expression rather tender considering how incredibly wild he’d been only moments ago.

“What?” she asks, voice breathy and raspy. Fuck, she already sounds wrecked, and they’ve barely just started.

He grins. “Just glad we met tonight, is all,” he says, guiding himself between her legs. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as he teases himself against her, sliding through her folds once, twice, three times, and then he lines up at her entrance.

She thinks it’s rather a miracle that she can pay attention to anything right now. Even more of a miracle that she answers with a steady, entirely sincere, “Me, too.”

He smiles, dimpled and boyish, and then pushes into her with a slow roll of his hips, filling her up, and she digs her nails into the muscles of his back as her spine arches and her lips part in a moan.

... ...

She wakes up the next morning in that bed, alone and tangled in the sheets, and honestly, her hangover isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be. Especially when she glances at the nightstand to find a bottled water already waiting for her, along with Ibuprofen and a note scrawled in Steve’s handwriting, giving her his phone number and apologizing for leaving so quickly to get to work. She wonders if it is intuition or maybe the fact that he coaxed four orgasms out of her last night, but she believes him, and she finds the gesture rather cute.

Besides, it’s not like she won’t be seeing him again. Tony had said last night that Steve moved back to the city for good.

It takes a few minutes for her to warm up to the idea of actually leaving her bed, but she needs coffee, and she doesn’t really feel like messing with the ridiculously complicated coffee maker that the Starks have in their kitchen. So she takes the Ibuprofen, changes into the leggings and sweater she’d stashed in this room for after the party, and heads outside.

There’s a coffeehouse only a few blocks away, and she feels a wide, ridiculous smile pulling at her lips as she approaches. Because there’s someone set up in front halfway down the street from the coffeehouse with a holiday charity bucket and a bell, smiling as he makes conversation with an elderly couple offering him coffee and a pastry.

Steve.

Somehow she isn’t surprised.

She ducks into the coffeehouse, orders her usual at the register and asks to borrow a pen. She scrawls her number on a napkin, tucking half of her change into it and dropping the rest into the tip jar. She cradles it in her hand as she holds her latte in the other, stepping outside and walking toward for Steve.

He glances her way as she approaches, pausing as he sees her. And that bright, boyish smile brightens his expression, warming her from the inside far more quickly than her drink.

She hands him the napkin, letting it fall open a little in his hands, so that he can see her number written on one of the corners. His eyes are twinkling as he meets her gaze, dropping the change into the bucket, then carefully folding the napkin and tucking into his jacket pocket. “Think this breaks my promise of not taking from the donations?” he teases.

“I’m sure you can convince them to overlook it.” Grinning, she adds, “You’ve got a rather skilled tongue, after all,” and he licks his lips and laughs.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #chanty's smut #chanty's holiday 2017 #xo stardust720

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nellyhasnolife · 6 years

Text

Moxrider fic I still need to re-do and complete~

Elena took off the leather gloves and let the flame warm her frozen hands. How long has it been since she last felt this life-giving warmth? For as long as she remembered, the fire had always been a part of her being: it saved her during the severe weather, gave a chance to be saturated with some delicious meat, dispersed the dense forest twilight. Elena even closed her eyes, giving in to the forgotten feelings. Of course, life aboard the Avenger was full of amenities, but nothing could ever compare with the closeness to nature. Even the ruins of once majestic cities, in which their faction found temporary shelter. Elena bent down to throw an armful of brushwood into the fire. The cracking of dry boughs caused her to smile slightly. And it was extremely rare for her to smile. The war had turned a cheerful girl into a strong-filled and fierce woman. A cold-blooded killer, capable of ruthlessly destroying aliens one after another. Elena loved being alone. It was still unusual for her to share a small room with other soldiers, so she sometimes asked for a permission to leave the Avenger for a few hours. It was more than enough to ponder and enjoy the night scenery. To remember that she was a Reaper. A sudden rustle of withered leaves made Elena cling to her rifle instinctively. Her muscles tensed in an anticipation of an enemy. She didn’t have a mask with a built-in night vision on, so she couldn’t really tell where the sound came from. Squinting, Elena looked around the forest thicket with an attentive glance. The rustle repeated somewhere nearby. The shot followed immediately. “Who is there?” She was ready for battle. Almost no one could compare with her neither in marksmanship, neither in dexterity. "There's no need for weapons. I didn’t come here to fight.” Elena lowered the 'Vector', recognizing the voice of someone who would have shot immediately a couple of weeks ago. Mox. Pratal Mox. She noticed a torn scrap of fur on his collar. The bullet flew only a couple of centimeters away from his neck. "I'm sorry," Elena lowered the rifle, allowing herself to relax a bit. “I didn’t expect a company... Yours especially.” “I understand. We have been sworn enemies until now, so I cannot judge your caution.” Mox spoke slowly and insinuatingly, trying his best to show that he meant no harm. "After so many years of continuous enmity it's hard not to want to gnaw your throats," she snorted. “I would be glad to prevent all those bloody massacres that I committed under the Elder’s control. I don’t blame you for hating my kind.” Mox approached cautiously, as if testing the waters. Even though they allied forces against the common enemy, it didn’t mean that all the past grievances had been forgiven and forgotten.

Reapers have long memory.

“Unfortunately, it’s not possible. You can’t resurrect the dead," she stated drily. "Your death squads took lives of an innumerable number of my people."

"I'm sorry," Mox said sympathetically, sitting down beside her. “Each of us, skirmishers, constantly struggles with the blame for our crimes. Believe me, we would never wish anyone such a terrible fate in our right minds.”

Mox understood that his apologies were just an empty sound to Elena. He couldn’t resurrect her dead comrades. He could only offer his sincere repentance in return. Elena pursed her lips. "Pity can’t fill the bottomless abyss that your people left in the heart of every reaper," she said in an almost icy tone. “Every day I struggle with anger. Every day I force myself not to see you as an enemy.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Mox had no idea what to say.

"I ... just hope that one day you will be able to forgive me. See me as an ally again," he admitted honestly. "You're an excellent fighter, Elena. You were not afraid to stand your ground against Vox Prima, and it is admirable. It is much better to have you as a partner than an enemy.”

For a moment Elena hesitated. It didn’t look like Mox was lying. The boiling anger began to subside slowly but surely.

"I'm sorry," she breathed after a while. "I always feel like people are trying to trick me. I am incredulous and skeptical towards everyone who doesn’t belong to my faction. It’s too reckless to trust others blindly. Once I got burned, and this lesson cost me too much.” A cold gust of wind made Elena pull on the hood and shiver a little.

"If you're cold, I can lend you my cloak," Mox suggested, watching her body quiver.

“There is no need,” Elena refused. "It's nothing compared to the winters of my childhood. I have survived conditions much more severe than you can possibly imagine.”

Still, Mox couldn’t help, but admire Elena’s spirit and lack of fear. He didn’t know anything about her, but for some reason he was sure that Elena had been on the verge of death more than once. And yet she was ready to face it at any time.

"Maybe so, but right now you're shaking," Mox insisted softly, throwing a red cloth over her shoulders. “This is the least I can do to thank you for rescuing me from captivity.”

Elena tensed again, but forced herself to calm down. It was just a cloak. Mox was only trying to be polite.

"Thank you," Elena nodded, wrapping it around her arms. "But I just returned the debt. You gave me a chance to escape from the hordes of lost. Reapers repay good with good.”

"But you did it on your own will," he retorted, allowing himself a smile. "Nobody ordered you to save me. That's why I want to believe that you can trust me one day.”

Elena wanted to protest, but she knew that Mox was right. Nor Volk, nor the commander gave her such instructions. She volunteered to join the squad to save him.

“I just don’t like being in debt.”

It was only half true. Elena didn’t want to admit that for a while she had allowed herself to forget about the enmity that had existed almost all her life. That due to the feeling of gratitude she had been ready to sacrifice her own skin to get no one else, but a skirmisher out from the Assassin’s clutches. Mox shook his head slightly, but didn’t object. He could guess that Elena was afraid of getting stabbed in the back. Her reluctance to share details and overly personal experiences was justified and understandable. "If you want me to leave, I’ll leave," he suggested quietly a minute later. "I don’t want you to be in constant stress because of my presence." Elena wanted to agree to such a tempting offer, but eventually changed her mind to send Mox away. "It's all right," she breathed out, turning around to face him. "Since I agreed to join XCOM, we will have to work together, regardless of my opinion." Though you are the last one I’d trust my life with. "You really are an amazing woman," Mox said admiringly. "You hate me, but due to a sense of duty and responsibility, you do everything to overcome yourself." Elena just grinned, squeezing the edges of the red cloak. It was funny. She could almost call Mox a gentleman: he was doing everything to win her respect and friendship. “I have no choice. If we don’t unite our efforts, we won’t have any chance of success. We almost went to the underworld when we met this ... "Dragunova hesitated, choosing the most suitable word, "this thing." "If not for you, Vox Prima would have cut me in half," Mox slid a hand down his chest, looking for a layer of bandages. "Her sword never misses. She is an ideal fighter, one of a kind.” Elena clearly remembered the deepest wound left by the Assassin on his body. She was deft, elusive and merciless. Like death itself. "The same can be said about her brother," Elena noted, recalling how Hunter mocked her people, shooting one after another with an unprecedented ease. "You've probably heard that there are three of them serving the Elders altogether. One of them has been causing us many problems. His rifle can hit targets at the unprecedented distances. He can predict your actions before you even think about them. You never know whence this instant death will reach you. He...They all are monsters created to hunt us down and eliminate like some livestock.”

Suddenly Elena felt his hand on her shoulder. Mox still felt pain from any arm movement, but wanted to support her nevertheless.

"I know how you feel. Vox Prima slaughtered so many of my brothers and sisters that I cannot even count them all," he said sadly. "But I believe that together we can put an end to the rule of the Elders. Please...Believe me. I would never want to harm you, not after everything you’ve done for me.”

Elena nodded in confusion, forcing the conscience to remain silent. She would never become a true member of XCOM, if she can’t let go of her past grievances. But every time she looked at Mox, she recalled those who took her home from her involuntarily.

"How can I earn your trust?"

"I would like to know that either..." Elena almost answered, but glanced at the muton meat getting roasted on the skewers instead. The meat of these aliens had a specific taste, but it was the best kind of food to ease the hunger. Not to mention, she hated anything that contained CORE, so-called restored protein.

"The reapers believe that the first step towards trust is sharing a meal together," she reached for the almost cooked dish. “It shows that you respect your interlocutor and want to earn their sympathy.”

Mox frowned slightly when the pungent smell of the fried flesh hit his nose. For him, such food was beyond any understanding.

"Do you want me to... eat this?"

Elena sniffed, and then cut off a piece with a pocket knife. The meat was juicy and looked quite appetizing. However, she didn’t have enough time to give it to Mox, because suddenly a strange, unholy sound echoed in the air. The sound of the alien. Elena jerked immediately, grabbing her ‘Vector’. The prepared dish fell to the ground with a savory slap. They were not alone.

"Watch out," she ordered Mox, moving toward the thicket cautiously. The instincts told her that the enemy was hiding somewhere nearby, tracing them like some prey. Perhaps, they have been observed for a long time. Mox was unarmed, as he hadn’t dared to come to Elena in a full combat gear. Even his beloved Bullpup had been left on the bedside table. Now he felt useless. Grabbing the knife that fell from Elena’s hands, Mox followed her lead.

The animal like sound repeated.

"It sounds very similar to a cryssalid, so we ought to move slowly and carefully. If this thing gets us, we won’t get out alive. Their poison is very powerful.”

Mox nodded, peering into the darkness. His gaze stumbled upon a faint yellowish glow. It was static, but then it shifted sharply to the left.

When a cryssalid emerged from the forest, Mox didn’t even have time to publish a sound. The creature reached Elena in the blink of an eye. The speed was beyond comparison. It was impossible to escape even if you wanted.

"Damn," she cursed, hastily trying to dodge the deadly claws. A shot from the rifle didn’t cause any effect. The bullet whizzed through the air, not touching the insect-like alien.

Mox lunged, but way too late to change anything: the cryssalid was more adroit. His sharp limbs twirled in the air, forcing Elena to stagger from the sharp pain in her thigh.

"What a bastard," she hissed through the clenched teeth. I'll tear you apart and prepare some meatballs from your disgusting flesh."

Elena exhaled, feeling her leg getting paralyzed. The poison had an instantaneous effect.

"Don’t touch her," Mox snarled, thrusting the knife into its head and trying to hurt it as hard as possible. The alien jerked, making terrible, boiling sounds. Apparently, the blade hurt some vital organs.

"Run, Elena," he shouted, dodging the awkward attacks. "I won’t keep it away for long!”

Elena cursed again: her body did not obey. The poison had already begun to spread, clouding the mind. Cryssalids never walked alone. Where was one, were the others.

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nny11writes · 7 years

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Fictober 30- Peace

Fall not to emotion, but to peace. Spread not ignorance, but knowledge. Find passion within your serenity. Create not chaos, create harmony. Fear not death, there is the force.

That was the path of a Jedi.

Of course when Ahsoka thought of it, her mind always whispered to her, “Path of a Jedi, this is.”

That voice, warm and heavy and full of wisdom shattered her attempts peace each time. A feedback loop of the worst kind. I am emotional, I must find peace, path of a Jedi this is, I am emotional, I must fall into peace, path of a Jedi this is-on and on. It hurt.

Even when she could have claimed the title of Jedi, back when she’d deserved it, wanted it, Ahsoka had always struggled to not love. Or at least not love in the way Jedi weren’t supposed to love. Love without dependance, love without jealousy, love without fear. She’d probably had so much love stuffed into her body that the force itself had been at odds of what to do. Ahsoka loved every single person she thought of as a friend or as family. Secretly harbouring them, knowing that by having them be her friends and her family that she was failing. Fear blossoming from each bout of awareness. Afraid that she wanted to possess them, afraid because she was afraid. Most Padawans would have simply turned to their Masters and asked for help.

That was a lot harder to do when your Master was Master Yoda.

By the time Ahsoka had been concerned that she’d discovered a bad habit, the war had been in full swing. She’d been so happy to see him that she’d stuffed it down, down, down. Was it more important that she release her emotions or more important that she learn what her Master deemed important for her survival in this conflict? It was a weak argument. She sat and listened at his feet, letting the tone of his voice sooth her. Letting the authority of his position calm her. Loving him because he was her Master, he was Master Yoda.

For years after leaving the Order and leaving his side, Ahsoka had tried to avoid her Jediness. She buried the proverbs, the songs, the codes that had centered her for so long. She’d refused to observe holidays and memorials. She shunned anything that even looked like it should be used by a Jedi. Ahsoka felt desperate to be free of it. So she hacked at every grounding tether until she was left with nothing left to stand on. It had been terrifying to feel so unbalanced but she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t be like them. Ahsoka didn’t hate, no, she didn’t hate, but she was angry. She was hurt. She was scared. She felt stupid and small and foolish. She was confused.

She could solve much of that last one with a single comm call. The handwritten request to talk from her (former) Master was still tucked away in her bedside drawer. Something she’d pull out at night when the weight of it all threatened to drown her, something she’d stare at convincing herself that she shouldn’t call. That if she did she was forgiving him. If she did she was condoning the Jedi’s actions. That she’d be perpetuating a cycle. That if she did she was weak.

For years she tucked it away.

Slowly Ahsoka had allowed parts to come back to her. The stories that she’d always loved, the songs that had filled her heart, and a code that could help ground her. It was still terrifying some days-most days. She wasn’t alone but Anakin had never felt the way she did. When Ahsoka spent her name day meditating and fasting, reflecting on where she had come from and where she was going, Anakin spent his celebrating twice as hard to make up for hers. In so many ways he was fearless now, truly fearless now. Even with the little shards she’d pieced together, Ahsoka was still afraid.

It had been a bad month. Everything seemed to go wrong. Half the days she lived in dread and the other half she lived in a haze. Ahsoka found herself sitting more and more with that scrap of flimsi, looking at all the little swirls in his writing. A promise to speak, but only if she wanted to. Did she want to?

Her stomach was lodged somewhere in her throat as she bounced her legs up and down. Waiting for the call to connect. Fall into peace, path of a Jedi this is. Ahsoka swallowed thickly. Was she a Jedi? She didn’t know, she worried that maybe she’d never know again. This was one last tether to cut away. One last connection to the Order she could scrub clean. Peace through closure. Or it was something she could chose to nurture again, on her own terms. To find answers and prove to herself that she was growing again. Peace through knowledge and action. If she didn’t get an answer, and some peace real soon, Ahsoka thought she might end up calming her stomach by throwing up. Her mind was another issue that she honestly couldn’t handle thinking on.

There was a click, a flashing light warning her that the call had connected and her cheap holographic unit was doing it’s utmost to synchronize with Yoda’s unit in the Temple.

She could still hang up. She could end the call before it started, right now.

Ahsoka took a slow breath in, held it for a moment, and released it. Letting her fear float on her breath like individual strands of spider silk. The light stopped blinking and the small holographic image of her Master was there.

Master Yoda looked...he looked so old and frail. He had always been ancient, already closing in on 900 years old when she’d become his Padawan. Maybe time away allowed her to see it for the first time. Ahsoka clutched at her knees even as she stared. To be fair, Master Yoda only stared back as well, his ears pulled high and tight in surprise and his eyes wide. She was terrified of him. She was terrified he’d end the call. She loved him. Ahsoka latched onto that with all her might. For all she was angry with him, she’d missed him. She’d missed him.

“Hello Ahsoka,” Master Yoda finally broke the silence, his voice was rough and soft.

There, in the Force, she felt the smallest tap. Not a demand, not a request. A greeting.

“ ‘lo Master.” Ahsoka cringed. Former Master. Not her Master. What was she even supposed to call him now? Everyone called him Master Yoda.

His smile was warm and infinitely kind. It helped to banish some of her fear, and doing the rash thing, Ahsoka reached for him in the Force. Though she hadn’t travelled that path in nearly a decade, Ahsoka moved with confidence. It wove one way and another, branched and overgrown as it ended at the stone door to his mind. Open. It was open. He didn’t have it closed. He would let her in if she wanted to enter. It was open. Ahsoka padded softly to it, peeking through into the wild jungles and finding a path cleared just for her. Slowly, slowly she put her hand on the door frame.

Waves rippled from where she touched, low pitched echoes racing into him, bouncing back to her. Disappearing into the vastness of the Force. It returned gently, in a puff of humid air. Ahsoka’s nose twitched as she took another deep breath. Fire blooms, moon lilies, and soil. Safety. Her greeting returned with a welcome. Ahsoka grinned, a literally warm welcome that was also literally on the nose.

He didn’t hate her. She hadn’t been sure until this moment that he didn’t hate her. She could feel it there, deep somewhere inside of him. Regret and sadness, currently shadowed in his joy and his love. Something wiggled loose in the Force between them. The bands around her chest loosened.

In a way she hated that it meant so much to her. A bitter part of her still hissing from his betrayal was smothered under her relief.

Ahsoka couldn’t bring herself to enter, not now, not yet-maybe never. Just knowing that the option was there though, just knowing that he had meant it when he’d written her that note. He cared, at least somewhat.

“An apology I owe you. Unfairly I treated you. Acted in fear I did. I...if there is anything I can do?” Yoda’s face scrunched as he awkwardly ended his sentence. It wasn’t nearly enough. It wasn’t nearly enough but it was also more than she’d ever thought she would get.

“I was...I was just, uhm.” Ahsoka cringed slightly. What had she really wanted out of this beyond what she’d received? Even if she didn’t forgive him yet, he had apologized and admitted he’d been wrong. He was offering to do anything she’d like to help her. He’d left the door open, unsure how to prove his sincerity but earnestly wanting to. What did she want from him? An explanation, not right now when Ahsoka felt like she was already about to shake apart at the seams. What then? What then?

“Troubled are you?”

Ahsoka ducked her head, heart kicking oddly against her ribs. Of course he’d notice. Despite what people always thought, her Master had always looked for ways to help her. He’d always been kind until the day he hadn’t. Her breathing hitched as she whispered, “It’s been a rough week.”

He frowned, one hand rubbing at his head. “Mmm. Perhaps, hrm, breath with me would you?”

It wasn’t what she wanted but perhaps, in this moment, it’s what she needed. Her mind supplied memories from when she was eight and struggling to keep her emotions in check under the weight of her changing responsibilities. Half a day spent working on her ability to balance with Master Yoda poking at her with the force. Balance you must find, peace can you find if unbalanced you are? Difficult this would be. Balance starts, as all things, in the breath.

She nodded and breathed. The first breath burning cold against the back of her throat. The second breath shuddering slightly on the exhale. The third, the fourth, the fifth, all slowly prying the bands around her chest apart. She lost count, breathing in and out, watching Yoda who had closed his eyes as he guided them. Suddenly, it was like she could breath for the first time in years. She thought on the phrase she’d relied on for so long. Fall not into emotion, but into peace. Perhaps she just needed to adjust it. Ahsoka had always found her peace and her balance like this, not alone and aloof. With people she cared about, that she cared what they thought of her, that she loved. Perhaps she could find peace through emotion. It would take a lot of work and practice, but the idea was appealing to her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the man who had become so much to her. A mentor, a teacher, a confidant, a friend, a father.

What did she want from this?

She wanted to forgive him. She just needed to give it time. Slowly, she could come to terms with this. This one thing that had haunted her. Then she could move on to the next big thing. The next and the next, there would always be a next. She could start here. With this one call. She could work from here.

The clarity was a like a cool glass of water when you didn’t realize you were thirsty.

She took another deep breath, one last look at Yoda’s face as he counted down to the exhale. She closed her eyes on one, exhaled, and found a small pool of peace to float in.

#starwarsfictober #fanfiction #Close But No Cigar AU #Ahsoka Tano #Master Yoda #There are so many complicated emotions happening here and it was super hard to express them all?#Wanting to forgive someone who hurt you but not being ready #slowly paving a path to a healthier relationship #ugh #I wish I was a better writer folks #but this is what we got to work with so here you go?

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years

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Wedded Bliss and Asterisks (A Modern CS AU) Part 22/23

Emma Swan is an enemy of love who just happens to be an up and coming wedding dress designer. She’s convinced that a fairytale kind of romance is nowhere in her future but when she meets Killian Jones, whose magazine is covering the opening of her new boutique, things change. Suddenly Emma finds herself drawing up new plans for her life, ones that seem to all be leading towards her own form of wedded bliss. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven.Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen,Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty One. Also onFF Here.

A/N: Hello all! I know it has been almost a month since I updated this story (honestly where the hell did time slip off to?) but at last we are here with a new chapter. It’s so crazy to me that we are at the epilogue of this story and I cannot believe that that’s even possible, but alas, there it is. This chapter flashes nearly a year ahead and gives a glimpse into the happily ever after I always try to craft for Emma and Killian. As such it’s all cuteness all the time and it packs quite a punch of fluff and sweetness. Hope you all enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

About 10 months later…

“So I’m thinking we go with the French lace on the sleeves and the braided bodice woven like I showed you yesterday. The only question is volume. How much height did the bride say she wanted?”

Emma posed the question to Tiana as she examined the pieces of the specialty garment that were coming together in the earliest stages of this dress’ creation. It was scraps really at this point, just the bare bones of an idea not yet actualized, but Emma could see it so clearly in her mind, and once she got all of the particulars right, she knew it would be a magical gown. It was just a matter of finding the sweet spot between what a bride wanted and what Emma’s imagination was willing to envision to make a dress all that it could be.

“She was more flow oriented when we spoke,” Tiana affirmed. “But you don’t really need to be focusing on that today, Emma. I know you’re in a rush. You were just supposed to be dropping off those sketches and then getting out of here…”

“But I got sucked up into the crazy, I know, I know,” Emma stated easily. “Trust me I’m aware that if I am not ready to go in ten – crap, I mean five – minutes I will have one very disgruntled husband on my hands.”

And Emma wasn’t lying. Killian wasn’t often demanding, but today he’d been sincere in his request that Emma be quick with wrapping up things at work. They were pressed for time this morning and it was all in the service of what Emma was sure would be a truly delightful weekend away, but old habits were hard to break and try as she might Emma really didn’t like to let go of all control on any of her projects. She wanted to be right on the front lines from start to finish with every dress, but that just wasn’t possible given all the success that Bliss Boutique had found this past year and how much demand there was on their time and the time of Tiana and the rest of their designers.

“That’s all right, Ems,” Elsa’s voice said from the doorway as she held in her hand a blue box with their bakery logo on it. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to him.”

“You are a freaking god send, Elsa. Seriously you might just be my savior today,” Emma professed as she snuck a peek inside the box, finding an exact assortment of Killian’s favorite treats for the train ride they were taking this afternoon. These should do very nicely for winning back her man’s favor, at least until Emma could get him alone and give him a proper apology. Just the thought of that had a shiver of anticipation racing through her and Emma smiled, imagining of all the ways she could make Killian forgive her for her workaholic ways.

“That’s what sisters do, right?” Elsa teased, pulling a laugh from Emma at the mention of their newfound status.

Since Elsa and Liam had married a few months before they’d all gotten used to the idea of Elsa and Emma being actually related, and Emma couldn’t think of a better friend to call a sister, especially when Elsa was always saving her ass like this and made Killian’s older brother so incredibly happy. It was amazing to see how well Elsa and Liam had blended their lives together, and though they were incredibly different they were perfectly suited somehow. Elsa managed to dull away many of the sharp edges that most people associated with Liam, and Liam had brought out a new side of Elsa that Emma had never seen, one that was totally confident in herself and blissfully happy with her life in the way her kindhearted and loyal friend truly deserved.

“Absolutely. I just wish I had more talents other than making dresses. Your skillset seems to come in handy a lot more often,” Emma joked before the phone she had in her pocket began to vibrate. Someone was calling her and it was Emma’s initial instinct to ignore it since the only person who could need her now who wasn’t at Bliss was Killian and he’d never call when he could come sweep her off her feet in person. But when Emma saw the number of her doctor’s office flash on the screen she was concerned. Was something wrong? She accepted the call to find out, her hand trembling slightly as she did.

“Hello?” Emma answered, a little anxious about what kind of news she’d be hearing. She’d only gone in for a check up last week and there hadn’t been anything she was waiting to hear back on.

“Emma Jones?” the nurse asked through the receiver and Emma replied that it was in fact her. “I’m calling because the last of your tests results came in from your most recent appointment, and it turns out that you’re pregnant. From the blood test we ran it appears you’re already a few months along. Probably right around eleven weeks or so.”

The fact that Emma didn’t drop her phone onto the ground was a miracle because she was totally shocked. Her jaw practically hit the floor and her mind was racing in a million directions. But through all of that there was one feeling in the center of her chest that outshone all of the others and it was hope. Hope that this was really happening and that after months of wondering when the day would finally come, she and Killian were expecting the child they both so badly wanted.

“Wait, I’m sorry, could you say that again?” Emma said into the phone biting back a smile and feeling like the whole world had just gotten even brighter and more beautiful in the blink of an eye.

“You’re pregnant, Emma. Congratulations.”

It was all Emma could do to pretend to listen to the woman as she give her some more information about setting up an appointment with another doctor and follow up care in the coming weeks. Truth be told all of it went in one ear and out the other and Emma felt like her heart was going to explode as she turned back around to face her friends. She was expecting to find just Tiana and Elsa, but when she looked around she saw that Ruby and Mary Margaret were there as well and waiting on her news.

As soon as Emma hung up she wanted to tell them everything and share in this happy occasion with the friends she loved so dearly but she also knew it wouldn’t be right to tell them before Killian knew. He had to be the first person she told no matter what because he was going to be her partner in this, and that realization that they’d be taking this on as a team and that their new dream really had come to fruition brought tears to Emma’s eyes. She was practically shaking from the feelings of love and happiness coursing through her, but she had to try and play it cool or risk the words tumbling past her lips too soon.

“What’s wrong Emma? What happened?” Mary Margaret asked worriedly and Emma’s gut clenched. There was nothing wrong, only something magical knocking at her door, but she couldn’t say it and she struggled to sound convincingly unaffected.

“I’m fine, I promise. It’s just… complicated,” Emma said hoping that would be enough to pacify her friends. But she must not have realized her instinctive motion to put her hand above her tummy where her and Killian’s baby would soon be growing. All it took was one look at that gesture and the happy tears in her eyes and all four of them were guessing at once.

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant!”

“Shhh!” Emma said, shushing them and looking out the doorway to make sure that Killian wasn’t there to overhear. “And even if that were true I can’t say… because if I were pregnant there’s kind of someone else who would need to know first.”

Emma’s comments were met with understanding but that didn’t stop the almost bursting sense of excitement from all of her friends. It was clear as day that this miracle wasn’t just destined to make Emma and Killian happy but their whole family of friends as well. There were tears and some barely restrained jumping and all of her friends stood there fidgeting and trying to contain their good moods when fate came barreling in and compounding the situation all the more.

“Ms. Swan?” one of the new assistants greeted while ducking into the room with a noticeably worried look on her face.

“Technically it’s Mrs. Jones, Ariel, but don’t worry, you’ll get there,” Tiana said evenly despite her still radiating excitement for Emma.

“Oh right,” the redheaded girl said. “Well your husband is here to pick you up and he said something about not waiting another minute to get to your vacation.”

“Oh my God this is going to be the best vacation ever!” Elsa said gleefully. “Between Emma’s good news and Killian’s-,”

Whatever Elsa was about to say was interrupted by a swift slap on her arm from Ruby and a look that could kill. It told Emma that something was definitely up and that there was a very good chance her husband had something up his sleeve for this long weekend of theirs, but before she could ask questions Mary Margaret and the others were shooing Emma to the main room of the shop and then Emma was face to face with Killian and her suspicions went out the window.

Standing there in the middle of the business she’d built with the sunlight streaming in behind him, Killian was a sight to behold, and he was no less handsome today than he had been more than a year ago on that train where they first met. But it still amazed Emma that this was her real life. She’d long ago given up on pinching herself and she trusted that she was in fact this lucky, but sometimes the amount of happiness she felt surprised her. It was still so sure and constant after all of this time and the honeymoon phase that everyone said would fade was still here and it appeared it was here to stay.

“Swan,” Killian said when their eyes met and she’d crossed the room to him and Emma couldn’t resist stealing a kiss from him right there in front of everyone, audience be damned. She didn’t need an excuse to kiss her husband, after all, but right now she had the best one ever and Emma was just so thrilled at everything happening she couldn’t resist celebrating somehow and with the most important person in her world.

“I love you,” Emma whispered when they broke apart, and when she did the look on Killian’s face that made it seem like this moment with her was the best moment he’d ever known and she was the most important person in the universe prompted her to tell him right here and right now despite the slightly strange delivery of this life-changing news. “I have something I have to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything, Emma. You know that.”

As he made the promise Killian’s hand came up to cup her cheek and his eyes traced her features with all the love in the world. Emma could just imagine that love made into something new, a paternal kind of devotion that Killian would share with their kids as they all grew up into their own people with their own dreams and ambitions and wants to change the world. Emma knew that Killian would attach the same intensity of purpose to being a father that he had to being her soul mate and because of that he’d be the best Dad and the best partner she could ever have in this.

“I’m pregnant,” she confessed finally, waiting with bated breath for his response.

Emma wished she could have crafted a prettier way to express this amazing news, but she needed Killian to know about this blessing now and not at some later point where she found words to rival the ones he was always gifting her with. But in the end Killian’s reaction, even if Emma hadn’t been overly flowery in her language, was everything she’d been wanting and more. At first there was the briefest blip of shock that crossed his handsome face, but it shifted so quickly into this incredible sense of hope and wanting that Emma couldn’t think of anything that she’d ever seen that was more beautiful than this moment.

“You mean it, love? You’re really – I mean we’re really…?”

He couldn’t even finish the words but Emma nodded, the happy tears finally slipping down her cheeks as she told him he was going to be a Dad. And whatever she’d thought would happen when she told her husband about their upcoming adventure, Killian exceeded that by pulling her into his arms and spinning her around until she was laughing and holding onto him for dear life. It was a truly fantastic moment where both of them were caught up in the emotion of it all, but it soon hit a bit of a bumbling halt when Killian realized this might not be the safest of activities.

“Bloody hell, love, the baby! I shouldn’t have done that, Swan. I’m sorry I -,”

There was no need to let Killian delve into worries about his instincts, and truth be told Emma didn’t want for him to have a thing like regret anywhere near his mind. Not on this perfect, amazing day. So instead she pulled him down by the collar of his jacket and kissed him again in front of everyone and with no attempt at all at keeping it tame or appropriate for public consumption. All Emma could think was that she loved this man and wanted to feel that love and all the blessings that they’d found together as well as all of those still to come.

Eventually though, interruption did arrive in the form of Emma’s friends all needing to get their congratulations in and Emma officially ‘telling’ them about the baby. There was a chorus of glee and a happy applause that broke out through all of Bliss Boutique, but as far as real celebrations went, they would have to wait, because Emma and Killian had a date to keep and a train to catch for a trip back down memory lane.

“It couldn’t be more perfect timing,” Emma said as they arrived at the station and boarded the train that would lead them back to Misthaven.

“Aye love,” Killian replied as he brought her hand up to his lips to kiss gently. “A year ago today you made me the happiest of men by agreeing to marry me. You changed my life forever, and now you’ve done it again.”

“You changed mine too,” Emma whispered as she took her seat and curled into Killian where he sat beside her. “And now it’s all happening, just like we wanted.”

“Indeed it is love,” Killian said as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Indeed it is.”

………………..

At the start of today’s journey, Killian truly believed he would have the upper hand when it came to surprises. This trip to Misthaven had an intended purpose beyond a mere weekend of relaxation and restoration, one that Emma wasn’t yet aware of, but Killian never imagined that when he walked into her shop today she’d give him a gift he’d been almost scared to really hope for.

A baby. Killian and Emma were going to have a baby and it was amazing to him in every way. Their love had created something bigger than themselves and within the year their family would grow to include a whole new being that was part Emma and part him. It was crazy to think of such a wonderful twist of fate being real, but also it was the best gift anyone had ever given him save for perhaps Emma vowing to be his wife for all the days of their lives when they got married.

It honestly felt like they hadn’t a right to be this happy. Things in their world were so good and had remained that way almost since the start. There were hiccups of course, with the occasional crisis at work or short-term obstacles that every couple faced, but the bond between Emma and Killian wasn’t rattled or shaken. It had only grown stronger with each day, and in the face of this new adventure Killian was certain that it would grow even more. There was no one on earth Killian would rather raise a family with than Emma, no one he could even conceive sharing such a roll with, and he was getting his wish to have this chance with the best woman alive, a woman who had changed him for the better and continued to bring light and love into his world time and time again.

“We’re going to have make so many decisions,” Emma murmured from her spot curled up beside him on the train.

They’d been here wrapped up in each other for about an hour and they were nearly at the Misthaven station now. In that time they’d talked of so many things but none more important than their incredible joy at the prospect of this next chapter. Yet Emma, being the planner that she was, was no doubt thinking of concrete changes that would have to come before the arrival of their little boy or girl and formulating a list of things that had to be completed before the day their son or daughter was born.

“Like what, Swan?” Killian asked as his thumb ran across her hand lightly tracing over the tops of her fingers to where the two rings he’d given her always remained. He loved the idea of hashing out particulars because it would only make this feel more real and he welcomed Emma’s sharing her thoughts and wishes with him now more than anything.

“Well for starters we should probably start thinking about doctors and parenting classes and where to put a nursery…”

“All things we can handle in due time, love. But that’s not what’s foremost on your mind right now, is it?” Killian implored, wanting to know what Emma had been thinking before trailing off, because there was clearly more playing out in that brilliant mind of hers and he would always want to know her hopes in any situation.

“Well we’ll have to think about staying in the city. I thought we’d have a little more time to figure it all out but ever since the doctor told me the news I can’t get this image of us and our family and wide open spaces out of my mind.”

This confession was music to Killian’s ears even if Emma didn’t realize that it would be. She was sitting here thinking that somehow this bit of news would be an inconvenience or a massive hurdle for them to overcome, but it actually wrapped up perfectly into Killian’s plans for today. The gift he had for her might not seem as crazy as it did before with this bit of truth between them, and it would hopefully fit seamlessly into Emma’s plan and hopes for more.

“I’ve a feeling we’re on the right track, love. You just have to trust me.”

Emma grinned at Killian’s insistence and promised that she did trust him before the automated voice in the train car sounded telling them they’d arrived at their destination. Once there, however, Killian surprised Emma by insisting that they drop their bags off at the house where they’d be staying (which was the same little cottage they’d rented out a year ago) before pressing on to the real surprise. This proved rather shocking to Emma who imagined they’d get immediately to the part where they locked themselves away from the world and reveled in all the happiness today had already brought them, but as usual she accepted his leading her in a new direction and she trusted it would bring a magical moment her way if she handed over the reins to him.

“You know whatever it is your taking me isn’t going anywhere, right? This town doesn’t change, that’s why it’s so charming.” Emma joked before running her hand up his chest in an soothing gesture as they walked down the quiet streets of this cozy little hamlet.

“I know, love, but when we get there you’ll realize why I’ve no wish to wait,” Killian explained, smiling as he thought of the moment when Emma would finally understand all that he’d done for her and for their future.

“Even if it means getting me all alone to celebrate the good news?” Emma asked with every intention of seducing him to her will and distracting him from the prize that was nearly before them.

“Even then. But you have my word, Swan, I will be getting that privacy with you shortly, and when I do we’ll celebrate in a way we’ll never forget.”

This seemed to appease Emma for the time being and they picked up the pace in the direction of their destination, but even when they arrived at the front gate of the spot where their worlds had changed forever, Emma seemed to miss that this was it. The surprise was the house before them, or rather the big sign in front that bore the word ‘SOLD’ in giant white lettering, but Emma didn’t seem to understand that all of this was more than mere coincidence.

“They sold the house,” Emma whispered deflatedly as if sad for the fact that Marie and Charles would no longer be here in this magical place where Emma and Killian had promised to tie their lives forever together. “I wonder who will live here now.”

“We will, love,” Killian replied and at first Emma didn’t seem to process what he said, standing still and calm for a moment until realization dawned on her and her jaw dropped as she swung back around to look at him.

“Wait you bought a house? You bought this house?!”

“Aye, I did. I know I should have asked you and I know the summer season’s crazy right now. Your schedule’s a wreck and mine is too but we could move in the fall when things cool off again.”

With Emma tearing her attention between gaping at him and gaping at the house, Killian pulled her hands into his, bringing them up to kiss gently one by one. He expected a response from her immediately, but in her lingering shock and quiet he filled the air between them with his fantasy for what a life lived here could mean for them, hoping to illustrate for Emma all that he imagined and all he wanted to give her.

“This house is perfect, my love, and I can picture no place better to grow old and raise a family than right here. You want wide-open spaces? This house has all that and more. It’s a perfect oasis in the safety of a small town where the sky is the limit and anything can happen. We were meant to be here, Emma, and I know you felt it too when we were here last. The commute’s not great but not terrible; an hour by train both ways, but we can ride in every day together. Honestly I can think of many a worse fate to face, especially when you think of all we could make here for us and our family.”

Emma continued to stare at him with a hundred emotions flitting across her features but for some reason Killian couldn’t get a clear read on what his lovely wife was thinking. Was she angry with him about making such a large decision as this? Or was she as happy as he was? He didn’t know for certain until she rushed him and pulled him down for another kiss that rivaled the one they’d had back at Emma’s shop. Only this time there was nothing like the interruption of before, and the kiss ran longer and hotter until they were both breaking apart with their breathing ragged and their faces flushed.

“You bought us a house,” Emma whispered with a smile on her lips. “No, correction, you bought us our dream house.”

“So you like it then?” Killian teased, knowing now that he’d done just as good as he expected when he put this plan in motion months back.

“I don’t even have words right now, other than I love you. And the rest of it we’ll figure out, but this… this is perfect, Killian.”

Killian had to agree with that sentiment, and by his estimations this day might just rival their wedding day as the best one he’d ever had. But it only got better to as he took Emma’s hand and led her inside, showing her the interior of this great house that they’d visited before, which was just as charming and magnificent indoors as it was outside.

Right now the home they could officially call theirs was bare inside with no furnishings at all because Marie and Charles had already moved to be near their grandchildren earlier this month. This left what felt like a gargantuan amount of space that Killian had wanted to fill, but he was determined to give Emma the chance to do this home up as she saw fit. He would always trust her tastes more than his own, and he could just imagine the nights they’d fill dreaming up exactly how things would be if they could have everything they wanted. Emma would fill the hours with measurements and design particulars, and he’d spend his time loving her and probably distracting her more than he should. But either way it was going to be fantastic, of that he was sure.

“It’s even better than I imagined,” Emma said when they’d gone through every room and even begun picking out which one would be for them and which would be a nursery or the rooms their kids would someday claim. “But what about the gardens? I mean there’s no way, right? We can’t handle all of that. We’d never have time for anything else.”

“Much as it pains me to admit, Swan, you’re right, that’s not an option, but we found a way around it. The acreage with Charles testament of love for Marie has been donated to the town to become a public park. And there was an endowment from a private benefactor to keep it well funded and perfectly attended to for years and years to come.”

Killian could see that Emma couldn’t even begin to calculate how much money that would take. She was a smart woman, the smartest he’d ever met, so she was likely running through every question about where they would have gotten the hundreds of thousands of dollars at the very least that were needed for such an endeavor. He supposed he could let her continue to surmise about what could have happened, but Killian didn’t want to wait to grant Emma every answer, not when at the end of this reveal they could truly enjoy everything they now called theirs.

“I can see those gears of yours shifting, love, and the answer to your internal musing is one I’m guessing will surprise you. The source of the gift is your favorite neighbor.”

“Mrs. Hubbard?!” Emma asked, totally shocked, and Killian could understand the feeling. It had amazed him at first too, but then again nothing could truly astound him given all the ways his life had changed in the past year since meeting his Swan.

Yet for Emma, this revelation was of a much larger and impactful kind, and Killian felt it was best to leave any explanations to Mrs. Hubbard herself. So without further ado he pulled out the letter that Emma’s old neighbor had provided him with this morning before he’d left the city, and he enjoyed how Emma made no motion to hide it from him, extending it in a way so that he knew she wanted him to read it along with her without any sort of secrecy.

Dear Emma,

Surprise! It turns out the old lady across the hall who you’ve humored for all these years had a secret and now it’s time for it to come to light. I am – rather unfortunately in my opinion – filthy, stinkin rich. Truth be told the money that made this acquisition possible comes from my late husband’s family and we neither of us ever really knew what to do with it while he was alive. So we did the only thing we could think: we basically pretended that it wasn’t there and lived out life in relative normalcy. It was the best decision we ever made, and I attribute so much of our happiness to it.

But sometimes there are moments like these where money can make the world a better place, and when Killian told me about his wish to buy you this home and the story you two already have here, I knew I’d found an outlet that would both make me happy and do my dear departed Fitz proud. You know how much we enjoyed spending time in the Botanical Gardens and how I still go whenever I can to honor his memory. Escaping to that place was one of the only things that kept us sane enough to live in this crazy city for as long as we did and so it feels only right that we preserve another sanctuary for more people to enjoy all while I grant you and your great love the chance to grow as it deserves.

There’s all kinds of legal jargon that comes with things like this that I don’t want to bother you with – that’s what lawyers are for after all – but there was one last thing I wanted you and Killian to have: the grove of roses out behind the house in the spot where Killian meant to propose to you is yours. I’ve taken care of everything, and the same groundkeepers for the new park will keep it all in order so you don’t have to worry about a thing. Consider it a late wedding present and a wish bestowed from me to you that you have everything I had with my Fitz and more.

I know you’re probably thinking to yourself that this is too much, it’s too grand a gift, or some other nonsense, but you’re wrong, Emma. You and Killian deserve to be happy, and this will be your way, I know it will. Fill this house with children, make this house a home in a way you never had, and build the life you always wanted, my dear. Convince those friends of yours who you love to do the same so that you may never lose each other, and most of all, don’t ever let a day go by where you don’t hold the people you love close and tell them just how deeply you care. Because after all my many years upon this earth I’ve known only one thing to be really true: love is always the answer and it will get you through anything, no matter what.

All the best from your dear friend and favorite neighbor,

Lizzie Hubbard

It was completely understandable to Killian when he heard sniffling come from his wife and he watched as Emma wiped away fresh tears that had spilled onto her cheeks. This note was truly touching in its heartfelt sincerity and even he felt choked up upon reading it. Killian hadn’t known the full depths of what Mrs. Hubbard would write though he had suspected, but the woman who had always proven to be full of wisdom and sound advice came through once more with flying colors. Her ideas on how Emma and Killian should lead their lives together was exactly he wanted, right down to convincing their friends to make the move as well (which was already in the works on every front) and he knew from Emma’s reaction it was what she desired too. He just had to cut through the intensity of feeling a bit to get to the heart of that.

“All in favor of making her an honorary grandmother?” Killian said half joking but mostly serious as Emma choked back another sob and nodded, agreeing with that totally.

“Tell me this is really happening,” Emma whispered as she wiped away the rest of her tears and looked up at him again, appearing just as beautiful now as she did in every moment, tears or not.

“It is, Emma. I promise you it is,” Killian replied, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

And with that promise and with the knowledge that life was winding down a path towards something beautiful and miraculous and so totally worth fighting for, Emma and Killian shared another kiss, cementing this moment for all eternity as one of the happiest ones they’d ever known. In the span of that kiss the world faded away, time seemed to trickle to a stand still, and all that remained was the two of them caught up together in the same happy space of love and light and every good thing.

But the best part of it all was that when they finally did break apart, and reality descended once more, none of the picture perfect feelings or the hope and joy of all of this dissipated. Instead it grew day-by-day, month-by-month, and year-by-year, until every dream they’d had for their lives and their love was made real, and they found that they had truly achieved a magical, memorable, once in a lifetime kind of wedded bliss.

Post-Note: I cannot begin to put into words what getting to the epilogue of this story means to me. It’s been such a pleasure to write it and really such a fun creative outlet for me over the first half of this year. Writing is always about trying to enjoy myself and get out of my own head for a bit, and this story was such an awesome way for me to do that. The fact that so many of you joined me on this journey and enjoyed the story along the way only makes it that much harder to say goodbye, but alas it is time…at least for now. As I’ve said before with other stories, I reserve the right to add more to the happily ever after (and since this chapter didn’t include the baby directly there’s a good chance that will happen someday featuring a bigger CS family and all their friends living in Misthaven with them), but I don’t have any set plans on when to write it. Anyway thank you all so much for all your kind words and support and I hope you all have a lovely rest of your day!

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