#I'm already so vain and now I can't take my eyes off the mirror | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yyosemite · 3 years

Text

''Not Everything Happen As Planned'' Part 4 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 3

Summary: Reader's thoughts about the encounter, more problems start to appear, and Thomas being an asshole.

Author's Note: English isn't my first language, this chapter took longer than planned (as well as the title of the fanfic haha), but I was very busy these days with the school, but here we are. And Rest In Peace, Helen McCrory.

Warning: Mention about abortion.

Word Count: 1252

It is crazy how we can reason only after all the adrenaline is exhausted in our body, and that is how you found yourself now, extremely discredited of your choice, after your conversation with Thomas.

You couldn't believe that you agreed to go out with him, you knew that many things could go wrong on that date, and your head was filled with different thoughts, both positive and negative.

Even after finding out who he really was, you couldn't deny the attraction you felt for him. You knew and saw how people react when he is mentioned, but you were not able to have those feelings for him, no matter how correct it was to do it.

He was the father of your child, and even more, he seemed to be genuinely interested in you, and when you're messed up with hormones because of a pregnancy everything seems a little more complicated to resolve.

You wanted to believe that things would work out, but then you remember that you are going with him to a date, to the pub, being pregnant. You couldn't drink the alcoholic beverages he was likely to offer you, and it would all be a little suspicious.

This situation was much more than chaotic, he would suspect, and you were distressed by the thought of telling him, because the rumors about him weren’t good, and you were already in a lot of trouble to get entangled in some more, what if he didn't want the child? Would he make you have an abortion?

But you also felt even worse with the idea of not telling, because he was going to be a father, you didn't know if he had that dream, and with the possibility that you could take that away from him, affronted you.

You always liked to plan your things without interference, that was the reason you came to Birmingham, the fight with your parents over who would have control over your life, and now you are pregnant and in the dilemma whether or not to tell Thomas.

What the fuck, (Y/N)? Did you really have to have sex with a gangster in the back room of a pub in a city you had just moved in with?

Now you were in front of the mirror finishing your beautiful red lipstick and in your splendid black silk dress, one that you received as a gift from your father on one of his trips to France. You were not someone very vain, especially since you were always forced to follow the standards of beauty set by your mother, so you always rebelled against what she wanted. But that doesn't mean you don't like to feel beautiful.

You turned to Nat and said:

"Am I pretty?"

"You look wonderful!" She said "Have you decided if you are going to tell him or not?" She asked, curious to know your decision.

“I haven't decided yet, Nat. I think this is something I'm going to know at the moment. I don't want to blow my mind about it, it's not good for the baby, I just hope everything will be okay. ” You said sincerely.

“Everything will be fine, you can be sure. With or without his help. ” Said Natasha as she kissed your cheek and left the room.

You were about to leave when the phone rang.

"Hello, who am I talking to?"

"Daughter?" That was the worst time your mom could call you.

"Hi Mom, is everything okay?" Said you, wanting to shorten this conversation as much as possible.

"Oh yes, I'm fine and so is your dad, but you, how are you?" She asked.

"I'm great mom" You knew that everything was not 100 percent okay, but your mom didn't need to know that.

"Very good to hear that, dear," You knew she was lying, after all she didn't even want you here in Birmingham. "I'm thinking of spending a few days with you, you wouldn't mind, huh?" Now she took you by surprise.

"Do you want to spend a few days here?" You repeated it to yourself more than to her.

"Yes, any problem?" Yes, mother, all the problems in the fucking world, but you couldn't say that.

And again you found yourself trapped on an unwanted occasion, thinking quickly of the logic that you could not refuse your mother, because that would give her more reason to believe that something was wrong, and it would only be a few days, right? What could go wrong.

"No mom, no problem, now I'm a little busy, would you mind calling me tomorrow, so we can talk about your coming?"

"Great, my dear, we'll talk tomorrow" She said goodbye.

"Bye mom, we talk to each other!".

You let out a sigh that you didn't even know you were holding, but your mother is a problem for later, now you need to go to your date, where you were late.

You arrived at Garrison and there was no one inside, which was very unusual since at this time it would be full of men already drunk and maybe even fighting.

"I thought you would like it if it was empty here" said a voice that you knew very well.

"Hi Thomas".

"Hi, (Y/N)" He said back.

You liked that he reserved the pub just for you and him, after all if maybe you would reveal your pregnancy to him, it was better that there was no one around.

He directed his gaze to one of the tables, and you can quickly understand that he wanted you to be seated. There was already a bottle, in what appeared to be Whiskey.

You were already nervous about the date and now about your mother, but now your tension seemed to be tripled, how would you refuse to drink without looking suspicious?

"You look tense," he said.

“It's just your impression” You tried to give a little smile that showed confidence, but you don't think it should have worked out very well, you were emanating distrust.

"Do you want some?" He asked, taking the bottle.

"Sorry, I'm not in the mood to get drunk" He must have noticed your features, as he seemed to be analyzing your discomfort.

"Are you afraid of me, Ms. (Y/L/N?)" He said it very directly.

In fact, you weren't scared, you were nervous as hell, you were thinking so much, so many possibilities, that you were almost going crazy.

"No, I'm not afraid of you."

"And do you know who I am?" He said accusingly.

"I know, but why the question?"

"Who are you?" He seemed suspicious of you. You felt your hands sweat from the tension.

"I am no one, I mean, no one you need to worry about."

He seemed to study you with those blue eyes.

"So why don't you drink a little ..." You felt your patience wear out.

"Because I can't drink, damn it!!". You yelled.

He seemed intrigued by your nervousness, but you were not caring, your body was tingling, and you were only thinking about the baby.

“Do you have a phone here? Call a doctor, please. ” You said, and he didn't seem to understand so he remained seated.

"Damn, please, I need you to call a doctor, I need to see if everything is okay with the b..."

You barely finished speaking, when your vision started to darken, the only thing you remember is him hugging you from behind and holding your body so you don't fall off the chair, then everything went black, and all you thought about was your child.

160 notes · View notes

venuscribble · 3 years

Text

No open cars, no open bars — Kim Namjoon

A/N: Hello again! Sorry I will do everything but follow the laws of grammar in my writing, I'm working on it... Grammarly hates my guts. Anyways, please do enjoy!

Summary: Joon takes his most favourite person to his most favourite spot in Seoul. He even gains a new friend on the way, too.

Fluff, hints of idol!Joon, gender neutral reader, bullying in a very romantic and charming way

It feels like I’ve lived for this little moment

On the two wheels, everything is just a trivial daydream

“Nearly there!” calls out Namjoon, riding ahead of you with his navy denim jacket billowing slightly behind, spanning out to meet the push of the wind like the wings of a dove. As the same gust pushes itself through your hair and makes waste to the careful styling you had applied to it, you can't help but realise it doesn't treat you half as nice as it does to the man before you. The gentle breeze makes his every movement elegant as he peddles along, head turning side to side to make sure every inch of the scenery around him is taken in. Intently, Namjoon soaks every little detail of his ride up and leaves nothing to be ignored. There’s not a single thing his pensive mind cannot see the beauty in, as his legs continue their steady push of the pedals below him. Nothing is minute, and to Namjoon, everything has its unique charm. It makes perfect sense for Namjoon to demand that the physical embodiment of everything he loves most about biking should accompany him on his next excursion. Despite your feeble argument against it, you knew how much accompanying Joon meant to him, a signal of trust and love which such a small gesture revealed to you. “It’ll be absolutely perfect,” he gushed as you agreed. “My baby and my bike. My two favourite things.”

You’ll do almost anything to see the bright beam of a smile Joon emits when he hears any good news. Even, it seems, deal with the gradual pain in your calves as you carry on peddling your bike along the smooth concrete path. Casting your gaze around, you understand with full clarity why Joon comes here to think - the world around you feels nothing less than idyllic. With the golden light of the sun meeting the greenery on either side of the road which you and your partner now inhabit, it feels like nothing of the cold concrete world you’re used to. Saturated and delicate, the air of perfectness is almost confusing in a sense of unfamiliarity to you. Even the daisies along the path's edge which greet you with a bow as the wind hits them feels closer to a Ghibli movie than your admittedly average life. It feels so unlike bustling Seoul, unlike unforgiving earth, unlike any dimension you could conjure up. This moment between you and Namjoon is so intimate that you conclude the space belongs to both of you and you two only. Only yours and Joon’s reality to feel the sunlight warming your cheeks and to think back on in future days.

“You look so peaceful.” You call out to Joon, hoping your voice carries through the whirring of your wheels and your backpack which audibly jiggles under your peddling. Namjoon smiles to himself, head ducking slightly in bashfulness. Accepting compliments from such a deity as yourself…he knows that will never be his forte. Alas, something his high IQ falters at - the praise of his loved one. He doesn't have a moment to string a reply together when along the path ahead he spots something that has him squeezing his brakes.

“Ah, check it out!” He exclaims happily, dismounting his bike as you brake to find...a traffic mirror? As you settle your own bike out the way to walk to your boyfriend, your head comes to rest on his shoulder from behind, looking up to the circular shape. It gives off an almost fish eye effect, the sky which is gaining an orange hue curving around your interlocked figures. A strong arm moves to hook around your waist, as Joon pulls you into his side. Seizing the opportunity to finally have you close once again, his lips plant a small kiss atop your head.

You give a small puff of a laugh. “Yknow, stopping to look at your reflection is a little vain.”

“Stopping to look at our reflections,” Joon jokes with a soft squeeze to your hip. “Me and my love.”

Your head turns to find where Joon had left his bike - of course, rather half-hazzardly abandoned in the middle of the path.

“You just left your love in the middle of the road.”

Namjoon can only let out a long and disapproving aish at your joke, releasing the hand on your waist only to engulf you in a gentle hug. Your head rests against his chest, finding solace in the familiar deep scent of his cologne. His arms wrap around your frame and rest on your hips, chin resting atop your head as he begins to rock your bodies side to side.

“Stop that.” He whines, rather than scolds. “You know I’d choose you above anything alllll day. Even if it was some kinda super cool mountain bike with an engine built in so I don't have to pedal. I’m still choosing you, okay?”

“Even above a super cool bike with engines?” you pout up at his face. He’s starry-eyed staring down at you, love pouring out of his gaze.

“Even then, and always.”

Content, you allow yourself to settle back into the comfort of his chest. What a sight, you wonder. Two lovers swaying to a melody no one can hear. You hear some chatter in the distance which only becomes a murmur once your senses tune to the soft rise and fall of Joon’s chest. His eyes smile down at you until flicking up to the mirror once more, and the sight of your frame resting upon his as the sunset casts a golden beam over you makes something tug at his heart. "Why me", he puzzles. Why him of all men in this lifetime, granted a gift so precious as yourself. He closes his eyes. His mind spirals into self-reflection. Why should Joon be the sole person granted such a harmonious moment as the one happening in front of his very eyes? What makes him so lucky? He doesn't have too long to analyse what karma he has, as he feels two paws plant themselves above his knee.

“Yeong-Won! We don’t jump at strangers!” ashamedly orders a woman as you turn your head and deduce to be in her mid-30s, whilst she and another older lady pry the golden retriever from hopping up your boyfriend’s leg. Not that Namjoon would care at all. Joon loves animals, and your many days having him give Moni just a few more kisses than you can attest to that.

“Hey, buddy!” coos Joon as he bends to meet the dog’s level. It’s slightly more grown than a puppy yet reaches to kiss Joon’s face with ease as he sinks to greet the boisterous dog. He rakes a hand over its head, running through its golden fur and ruffling his slightly floppy ears. “Nice to meet you, Yeong-wonie. What a handsome boy, eh?”

“He never does this to strangers,” offers the older of the two women to you. “Looks like he needed to say hello!”

You smile in return, shaking your head as Joon and the dog carry on playing as if the world around them has dissolved away. “What a lovely dog, he’s adorable!” You giggle. Joon rises to stand once again, not without ruffling the golden fur one last time.

“So sorry about that, again.” The younger woman adds as her eyes seem to pause on Joon’s face. Not something you're entirely foreign to.

“Wow, I feel like I recognise your face, mister. Dayeon-ah, doesn't the nice man seem familiar?”

The elder, now identified as Dayeon in your mind, furrows her eyebrows together as she thinks. Namjoon all but turns red.

“Ah, my mother tells me I have ‘one of those faces' all the time. It was nice to meet you! See ya, Yeong-wonie!”

After a quick goodbye, you both share an embarrassed laugh together and settle to resume biking once more. The sunset is in full swing now, casting shades of neon pink and blood orange against the cloudless sky like lazy brushstrokes of colour overlapping.

As Joon promised, it only takes a quick 2 minutes of peddling until you rear a corner and the greenery which followed your left side on the path is replaced by the apricot shade of the Han River. The sight makes your stomach stir - it's like nothing you could ever imagine. The setting sun reflects so perfectly, an oil painting brought to life in front of your eyes. You know Joon meets your level of adoration as the wind carries the sound of his small “Wah, so pretty” to you. Joon, your self-proclaimed bike guide during this trip, guides you along the path beside the river further, the atmosphere tranquil with the sounds of birds chirping and your wheels spinning.

“We’re here, babe.” Joon announces, once again dismounting his bike and prompting you to follow, resting your bike beside his. He is, of course, your guide. Your personal guide pauses to stop at a flat square of concrete just aside from the main path, facing the river which grows more and more picturesque by the minute. Your perfect picnic spot, you realise, pulling the backpack off your body and spreading the soft brown blanket kept inside. Joon gives a soft sigh as his body all but collapses down onto the square. The man is uber-fit, almost shockingly buff these days, yet he groans groggily after your short ride.

“Someone tired?” you tease. “Maybe you should be hitting the gym some more than you already are.”

“You're so mean to me. I bring my favourite spot and you make fun of me like this.” Huffs Joon, leaning back with his hands behind him supporting his body. “You’re lucky I love you as much as I do,” he adds with a small laugh.

“I know,” you reply, rapidly. You know you are, you might just be the luckiest person on earth. The one feeling the warmth of Joon’s unconditional love and companionship every single day. You feel like the moon and Joon is the earth itself, only you are blessed to be in his orbit despite the unfathomable size of the universe and countless other people living as you are.

“Hey, you know I'm kidding, babe.” Joon softly argues, hand running through your hair, ruffling it slightly. A blush creeps up to warm your cheeks, nuzzling into the large hand currently entwining it’s fingers into your hair. After a slight pause to collect his thoughts, Namjoon’s voice becomes more gentle as he replies, “Having you...it's like having this one treasure no one else can find. Like, I dunno. Like everything good you’ve done in life is being repaid to you. Does that make any sense?”

“Of course it makes sense, babe.” Your hand pries the one resting on your head to lock your fingers together, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You feel like that to me, too. I promise. You feel like everything good.” You take a quick look around your surroundings. You catch Joon’s eyes locking onto yours, gazing adoringly at you as if some sort of heavenly body had taken form, moulding into you. “You feel like the sunset and the trees... The wind, the flowers, all of it. You feel like nature to me, Joonie. Just tranquil and loving,” you turn to meet his eyes, “always so loving.”

“Ah, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Didn’t think taking you on my ride would make me so…”

“Gross?” you intercut with a smirk.

“Emotional, Y/N. But, this is the most romantic place in Seoul, I suppose. Doesn't help that I'm here with my angel. It’s human nature to be all soppy.”

You shuffle down to rest your head on Joon’s thigh, the extra bulk recently gained there making for an excellent makeshift pillow. He looks down at you with a tender smile which makes your most favourite pair of dimples on earth take form.

“I’m just waiting for someone to pop out that bush and say ‘Hey, got ya! Look at you being all mushy!’” you joke, the laugh it emits from Joon slightly rocking his thigh and your head in return.

“It’d probably be Jin-Hyung. I would go investigate myself if he didn’t have a schedule after we left. Still, not that I think anyone else can be trusted.” He huffs.

“Mm, definitely not.” you agree, nuzzling slightly into his thigh below you.

“I could stay here forever,” Joon begins after a tranquil minute, “just frozen in this moment.”

You want nothing more than for that to happen. For the laws of time to grant you this never-ending memory, to encapsulate it forever and never again worry about the minutes passing you by.

Joon’s lips press another soft kiss upon your head, lingering there for a while, basking in your warmth and the smell of his favourite green apple shampoo you keep using. Above you the sun gives its last fleeting moments of illumination, sinking to be doused in the Han River. He stays there, engulfed in bliss for a short second, nothing worrying him on Earth. That is, until his eyes widen and his head whips from atop yours to rapidly look at your puzzled face.

“How’re we getting home?” He all but exclaims. He’s right, you're both clearly slumped and what little sunlight that is left quickly fades. You think for a second, then, nothing.

“Shit!”

#kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon imagine #BTS imagine #bts scenarios #namjoon scenario #you guys notice my dog name pun?#i was proud

72 notes · View notes

calumxkisses · 3 years

Text

Yellow | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: prince!calum au - you're his yellow and he's yours.

a/n: hi! 'm not really good with au imagines but i hope you'll like it. let me know what you think of this imagine. love you!

this imagine its inspired by the song: yellow

✰ ✰ ✰

“Yellow.” A sudden voice makes you jump. You close the book you’re reading as you place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating quickly.

The library is huge, the storm lights barely illuminate the room, making it almost impossible to find your way around and read without the help of candles. The smell of old books is strong, there is a lot of dust on the shelves and feeling small near these high shelves make the perfect atmosphere to be able to take refuge from the outside world, from a world made of rules and confined to the land surrounding the property. Your little refuge, however, is interrupted by the presence of this man and you turn around quickly, trying to hide the smile that forms on your face at the sight of the stranger.

Despite the size of the room, the prince appears to be in full control of everything around him. He is standing in front of the door, several meters separate your figure from his, yet you can see the smile he gives you, his hands hidden behind his back and the fine lines near his eyes that underline his amused expression.

“What?” You ask before placing your hand in front of your mouth and widening your eyes. In your mind, a vivid image of your mother scolds you for your language and reminds you that you are no longer a child and that you must be careful when addressing a prince or any other high-ranking social figure.

“I'm sorry for talking to you like that, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what your 'yellow' refers to.”

Prince Calum laughs briefly before slowly approaching you.

"We've known each other since we were children, we don't need certain formalities."

“My mother says-” you try to justify yourself, but he cuts you off right away.

“Nobody’s here.” He whispers before standing in front of you, keeping some distance to avoid misunderstanding in case someone enters. If it were up to him, there would be no such distance between you, but rules are rules and he would never want to compromise your image.

You look around to make sure no one is spying on you and, sure you are alone with him, you relax your shoulders and jaw, releasing the sigh you were holding back.

“So, yellow?” You ask, smiling, placing the book on the table to your left while you look at the boy, waiting for an answer.

His curly hair is carefully pulled back and the dark circles under his eyes lead you to imagine him sitting at his desk, with a lighted candle next to him and his gaze on the window in front of him, instead of the pages he is holding with his hand, pages he should study in order to become the man his father wants him to be, but that he will never be.

“It was a difficult choice, I will not lie to you. There are so many colors that remind me of you, the red of the dress you wore at your first dance when you entered society, the purple of the vase you broke when you discovered that you have been promised in marriage to an old man or the blue of water of the stream next to the tree where we always go to sit under it. And there are a thousand other colors that I associate to you.”

You smile proudly to hear that he paid attention to every detail and remember how as a child he couldn't even memorize the poems the teachers taught him and the thousand fights you had when you tried in vain to help him learn each verse.

“When I think of you, however, I think back to when you collected Ranunculus repens and put them in your hair, to embellish your hair and feel like the princesses who came to visit us. You always did it and you always took a few more so, when it rained and we couldn't go out, you had your little escort and you could wear them even inside these walls. You always have and if I'm not wrong-”

Calum slowly reaches out his arm towards you, his hand brushes your neck causing you to shiver all over your body, before moving a strand of hair and grabbing something from behind your ear.

“You still wear them.” He whispers, bringing his hand in front of your eyes and showing the small yellow flower you were wearing until a few seconds before.

“They still make me feel like a princess from one of those fairy worlds I read books about.” You whisper, you look down as a sense of shame takes hold in your body. Your heart seems to feel pain as you think back to how you still feel as a child, how you still dream of those fairy tales you hoped you could live one day.

“You're a princess with or without those flowers on, you know it too, you just hope that others see you as you do, too special for a life you don't want to be part of.” He says bringing his fingers under your chin and lifting your face up. His gaze no longer conveys joy and his tone is harsh, an angry expression has taken place on his face.

“Calum..” You try to stop him from speaking that truth you don't want to hear, but his words have broken through your heart and the pain you seemed to feel, now you are definitely feeling. You take a step back, trying to get away from a situation you can't escape from.

“You don't have to do it, you don't have to stay and spend the rest of your life between false smiles and sleepless nights. Your sister will be queen and my father thinks I'm a failure since I was born. Let's run away, me and you. My cottage already has everything we need and I'm sure they will never come looking for us. We will live that fairy tale we imagined for us and we will have the life we always wanted.”

His hand grabs yours and his gaze is on you. You know he's not lying, he told you the love he feels towards you in the dungeons of this same castle and you haven't thought twice before confessing your love to him.

But this castle, these people, is all you have always known.

It’s a world that doesn't belong to you but you can't just leave. There are rules, responsibilities, tasks that you cannot escape.

“It's not that easy, Calum.”

“No, it's not, it's not easy and it won't be. We'll probably end up arguing and you'll regret running away with me. But then you'll think back to all these tight corsets you had to wear, all the formalities you had to comply with and the man you would hold if you have stayed and you will understand that country life is so much better than a life spent in sadness and that that terrible man who made you cry actually loves you madly and just wants what he knows it’s better for you.”

He also grabs the other hand and continues.

“And if you really want to go back, I will be ready to be looked at with scandal by everyone and to take you back to the castle, to face your father and see you held by arms that are not mine.”

You know that it will be hard, but you have never wanted to be a queen. It’s a big responsibility for a girl that just wants to live a fairy tale, that wants to be free in her own terms. You never wanted a kingdom, you never wanted to be property of some old man and certainly you never wanted to spend your existence submitted to someone else’s orders.

You just wanted to be happy, to live your life to the fullest, to love a man who respected you, your dreams, your independence and your passion for flowers and books.

And maybe house cleaning, mud and small rooms will never be like having silk sheets, breakfast prepared by someone else and the floor always clean, but they certainly convey a sense of greater happiness and a life spent in misery and in sadness it’s the dream of those who do not want to fight for what they dream of and are satisfied with mediocrity.

And you don't deserve mediocrity and the guy in front of you knows it well, he sees it in the way you feel uncomfortable during the dances, when your father talks to you about matters you can never take care of because you’re a woman and in the look that you give to your mother when she talks about her marriage, that is only political and not based on love.

You turn to your right, a huge gold mirror near the window reflects the library, the place where you grew up and where you have taken refuge millions of times. You look in the mirror, the diamond earrings reflect the gray of the sky and are too heavy for your ears. Your dress is gorgeous, hand-sewn by the best tailors, yet you don't feel as beautiful as when you wear old, unfashionable clothes and run free for the castle hills, without the fear of getting dirty or ruining expensive dresses.

Your eyes, pupils who love to look at the horizon, are sad, aware that by staying they will not be able to see any wonder. You touch your face, slowly run your hands over your cheeks, over your lips and run your finger over the bridge of your nose, remembering when you were just a little girl and were treated like a normal girl, a girl that loved when her father played with her and touched her nose while making funny noises with his mouth.

Then you look outside. The sky is full of dark clouds, the rain falls incessantly and a few lightning illuminate the afternoon sky. You look at that garden you have walked a thousand times, at all the flowers you have collected and at all the plants you have destroyed while playing with Calum.

You close your eyes thinking about all the places you haven't visited, all the trees you haven't leaned on to read and all the rivers you haven't seen flowing. There is a world out there, you think, that has yet to be discovered. And who are you, if not a woman ready for life's adventures?

“You didn't ask me.” You whisper.

“What?” Calum asks, confused.

“You didn't ask me which color reminds me of you.” You repeat as you slowly turn around to look at him.

A huge smile forms on his face.

“What color do you think when you think of me?”

“When I was ten, one night, I decided to explore the dungeons alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to do anything. I almost made it, I almost managed to face the monster we thought lived in the cells, but then it was all too dark and I ended up going back to my room crying.” You slowly approach him.

“The next night, you showed up in my room with a jar full of fireflies, you gave it to me and whispered "You can do it." I ended up walking through the dungeons with this jar in my hand, you were a few meters behind me to make sure nothing happened to me, but I always knew you were there, even if you tried to hide.”

“I was able to face one of my biggest fears that night. Whatever other problem happened, you were always ready to help me if I needed it, you always supported me, with advice or simply by being close to me, a few steps back to let me free. You were essential in making me grow, while remaining away. Like the stars, who guide the sailors from the sky, they let the sailors do what they believe is right, but they are there to help and guide them if they need it.”

You bring your lips to his ear and whisper: “At midnight, in our place. Don't be late and take the blue carriage, it makes less noise on the street.” You turn around and walk to your room to pack a small bag with all the essentials.

“Wait, you didn't answer my question!” He says turning towards the direction you went.

“You are my yellow, Calum.” You say, you are far away but you know he’s smiling and you smile too.

178 notes · View notes

221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

One Too Many

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 1541

Warnings: Drinking. Awkward confessions. Spiraling thoughts. Cuddling.

Summary: Perhaps that last drink was one too many...

A/N: For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday Picture Prompt. I feel like I might just turn these prompts into little Pike oneshots. Sorry this was late I'm not myself lately for some reason. Let me know how I’m doing in the comments please and thank you. Add yourself to the taglist here.

"Are you kidding me?" You throw your cards on the table and relax back into the couch, taking a long sip from the beer can in front of you before standing up and pulling off your tank top. You shake your head as you add it on top of the pile of clothes you've been losing for the past couple of turns.

"Guess I underestimated you Pike," you lay back again and tilt your head to the side to rest it on the pillow behind you, watching as Marcus does everything in his power to avoid looking at your exposed skin.

"And I thought you'd be better at this," he replies as he mirrors you and shugs down the rest of his drink, all the while refusing to acknowledge how almost naked you are.

"Go on then, deal." You point at the cards as you lean forward again and push the beer cans aside.

"Maybe we should stop..." He collects the cards and sets them on the side of the table, barely meeting your eyes for a few seconds before he feigns checking his phone.

"What? You're not getting shy on me now, are you Pike?" You smile when he blushes underneath your scrutiny and huffs in irritation.

"N-no, we just had too many drinks, and I...and you look cold so-"

"I'm sitting in front of you in nothing but my bra and panties, and you're worried about me being cold? God, who are you?" You stand up and make your way to the fridge to bring out some more beer.

"No no, that's enough for you." Marcus runs behind you immediately and shuts the door to the fridge before filling up a glass of water and handing it to you.

"Wha-"

"Drink the damn water...please," Marcus whispers, and you frown at him as you drink the cold liquid. Marcus can't look away from the way your throat bobs up and down as you drink, and he almost moans when a few drops of water escape the corner of your mouth and roll down your neck. When you put the glass back on the counter and turn to him, you find the blush from earlier much darker. As you follow his line of sight, you smile to yourself and raise an eyebrow at his shameless staring.

"See something you like, Agent?" You tease him and try not to giggle when he drags his eyes away from you and apologizes for making you uncomfortable.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable. You never do. It's why I like you so goddamn much actually. You're always so kind to everyone, even when they don't deserve it. And you're really good at your job, and you make sure everyone knows how much you rely on them to do theirs even though you probably don't need any of us because you're smart and- and...ugh, now I probably made you uncomfortable. I- I can't help it, I'm sorry. You're just so perfect. Perfect and sweet and- and pretty."

Marcus doesn't know what to do other than stand still as you continue to lean into him. His breath hitches when he feels the palms of your hands on his cheeks, and he feels bad for not shaving earlier because the last thing he wants is to cause your soft hands discomfort. He's grown even quieter somehow and shuts his eyes as soon as he feels your thumb caressing his lower lip.

"And you have the most kissable lips I've ever seen. I've wanted to kiss them for so long..s-so long." Marcus thinks you're going to do it, and he prepares himself to feel your lips against his. But then you're pulling away from him and leaning back on the counter, whispering something beneath your breath and making Marcus open his eyes. He watches as you hug yourself and try to appear smaller, and when he stretches out his hand to try and bring you into his arms, you wriggle away from him and apologize.

"I'm s-sorry, I- I think I had one too many drinks. I should go and- oh god, what did I do?" You're talking to the floor, and Marcus finally realizes the power dynamic between the two of you. Before you spiral any further, Marcus walks around until he's standing in front of you. He takes hold of your shoulder and shakes you lightly to grab your attention.

"Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?" He asks calmly and waits until you nod at him before he continues.

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to give you some change of clothes, and you're going to stay for the night. I'll take the couch, and you can take my room alright? There's a lock on it so you don't have to worry about-"

"I'd never think you'd do anything to me, Marcus." You cut him off suddenly and Marcus feels his heart skip a beat at how angry you sounded.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. We can talk about all of this tomorrow morning, yeah? You're not in trouble sweetheart. You and I had too many drinks, and we need to discuss this with clearer heads. Does that sound like a plan?" He looks at you in a way that makes your stomach twist and you nod at him before you move across the living room. Ever the gentleman, he throws his suit jacket around you as he helps you walk to his bedroom and once you're inside, he hands you one of his pajamas and tells you to change into them. As you do, Marcus heads back to the kitchen, grabbing some Tylenol and a glass of water before returning to his room. He stops at the foot of the door when he sees you in his pajamas, gulping nervously and trying to calm himself as he approaches you.

"These are for when you wake up tomorrow. Do you need anything else?" He asks as he tucks you in, smiling when you shake your head and shut your eyes as you feel him brushing your hair aside.

"T-thank you." He barely hears your murmur and nods at you before standing up and heading out of the room.

"Good night sweetheart." Marcus calls out just as he shuts the door to his room and he clenches his fist on the knob when he hears you call after him in return.

"Good night Marcus."

He stands in the middle of his living room and looks around. Marcus begins to clean up shortly after when he realizes that there's no way he will get any rest tonight. He tried his hardest not to get attached to a colleague again but you were different. Just hearing you talk about him made his heart flutter and he hoped that it wasn't the beer talking. He wasn't sure what he'd do if you woke up tomorrow morning and told him that none of what you said was true.

So busy moving back and forth from the kitchen and the living room, Marcus didn't notice you coming up behind him and standing in the middle of the hallway. When he turns around and sees you standing there, he stops what he's doing and approaches you slowly.

"Everything okay? Do you need anything?"

"I- I don't want to be alone tonight." You break the silence and Marcus' breath hitches when he registers what you're asking of him.

"Sweetheart, I- I don't think I should- you've had a lot to drink and you probably need some space to-"

"Please," the soft whimper shakes Marcus to his core and he immediately nods before shutting off the lights and following you back into his room. You waste no time at all and slither back underneath the covers. Marcus grabs his sweatpants and moves to the bathroom to change. His nerves are eating him up, but he reminds himself that you needed him to be his usual self right now. Walking out in his white undershirt and sweatpants, Marcus moves around the bed and slips into the covers. As soon as he shuts off the nightstand lamp, you're crawling across the bed and into his arms, not bothering to say anything as you rest your hand on his chest and nuzzle into his side. It takes him a few seconds to collect his bearings before he wraps his arm around you and leans down to kiss your forehead.

"Is this okay sweetheart?" He asks and shuts his eyes when you somehow grow closer to him.

"Y-yes."

"Alright, sweet dreams baby." Marcus knows he shouldn't be calling you such intimate pet names but he can't hold himself back, not when you were touching him like he was yours. Like you were his. He doesn't have to wait for too long to hear your soft snores and against his better judgment, he turns on his side and faces you, immediately wrapping his other arm around your back to bring you into his chest.

Having you in his arms, with your hands fisting in the front of his shirt, makes Marcus realize that his previous efforts were all in vain.

He was already attached to you. And he hoped to god that the feeling was mutual.

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @mouthymandalorian @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @lamelyssher @giselatropicana

#writer wednesday #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike/reader #the mentalist #pedro pascal

103 notes · View notes

txemrn · 3 years

Text

Happy (belated) Mother's Day! Book: TNA Warning: THIS IS PURE SELF-INDULGENCE! I decided to take some time and a) make Sam Dalton lovely and b) not kill off a certain handsome king; but fair warning, this is filled with fluffity-fluff-fluff with smidges of angst; discussion of infertility and maternal loss Song Inspiration: "We Thought You'd Be Here" by Wes King A/N: This is part of the Schuyler-Dalton Chronicles (Check out "Once... Always..." the mini-series that started it all); the characters belong to Pixelberry; I stole a quote from one of the greatest Christmas movies of all time 🎄; I am not perfect: I take full responsibility for all of my spelling and grammatical mistakes; I'm hoping you can ignore them and enjoy the story! 💗

Before the brilliant rays of the Sunday morning sun could greet the New York City skyline, Brynn stares aimlessly at the vaulted ceiling of the master suite. Although she physically craves rest, the clattering commotion of her congested thoughts keep her restless and exhausted.

Frustrated with her inability to calm her nerves, she quietly crawls out of bed, being careful not to disturb her peacefully sleeping husband. She retrieves his discarded pinstripe button-up shirt from the floor, and wraps it around her exposed body. After snatching her phone from the nightstand, she tip-toes cautiously across the wooden floor to the ensuite bathroom.

Staring at her abdomen in the mirror, the all-too-familiar excitement laced with sheer dread latches heavily onto her heart. Her breathing labors, loudly thundering in her ears; a sour uneasiness pours through her nerves, settling on her queasy stomach. She tenderly cradles her belly. Her fingers brush across the flattened contours of her healthy physique until they rest curiously on two tiny, flesh-colored scars: the remnants of a pregnancy that simply wasn't meant to be.

"Are you there, little one?" She whispers hopefully. She endearingly hugs her tummy once more fighting back tears from the painful emptiness she has felt many times before.

But, maybe this time was different.

Brynn turns to her digital calendar to ensure that this wasn't in vain, that there was a reason she was doing this today of all days.

She clicks her tongue on the side of her mouth. "The first day… that was the third," she mumbles to herself, "which makes today... one, two, three, ah! Four days late."

She fills a crystal tumbler with water before locking herself into their opulent water closet. Taking one last massive swallow of the room temperature fluid, she tears into the bright pink box. Without giving it another thought, she tosses the printed directions and plastic wrappers into the wastebasket as she places the apparatus between her legs. She knows the routine; this is far from her first pregnancy test.

Before Sam and Brynn married four years ago, the discussion of having more children created much discord between the couple. Entering his forties, Sam was satisfied with having just his twin boys, Mickey and Mason. They were growing older with flourishing social and academic schedules; keeping up with them alone was challenging. Sam's line of work wasn't slowing down anytime soon, especially with the couple's meditated decision to buy out their shares from Dalton Enterprises to start their own company projected during their first year of marriage.

Brynn was still youthful, ending her twenties by becoming a Dalton with her childhood dreams still intact: getting married and starting a family. She adored Sam's boys, quickly and naturally claiming them as her own; but, a large part of her desire was to become a mom biologically, to carry a child created by her and her beloved.

After experiencing a tragic ectopic pregnancy early in their relationship that almost cost Brynn's life, Sam's heart softened to the idea of having another child. He saw the depth of Brynn's broken heart; he felt the depth of his own humanity, facing the possibility of losing the love of his life. Again.

Somehow having the last word about the size of their family didn't matter to Sam anymore. Conceiving would be difficult, but they agreed to cherish the journey together, whether the family expanded or not.

The shattering of crystal startles Sam awake. With one eye peeking open, he inspects the empty disheveled sheets on Brynn's side of the bed.

"Brynn?" he gruffly calls out as he reaches for his eyeglasses on his nightstand. Listening fervently into the silence, he hears a muffled whimper. Throwing on a pair of heather-gray sweatpants, he investigates the tinkering of something sharp being scraped on the floor from the bathroom.

"Babe?"

'"I'm fine--" her voice is dampened by the door. And her tears.

"Brynn baby," he softly knocks. Opening the door to the small area, he reveals his kneeling wife with shards of glass splayed all over the floor. On closer inspection, she's attempting to clean up the mess with her bare hands. "Oh my God--"

"I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz. I-I-I know it was your favorite--" she stutters through her sniffles.

"Baby!" he grabs her wrists, forcing her to drop the broken pieces. "Stop-stop-stop. You're bleeding."

"I'm fine--"

"Come here." Sam grips his wife's arm snuggly, pulling her into a stand before tucking her petite body into an embrace. Pressing his lips against her hairline, he reaches down with his arm, lifting her body into a cradle-hold against his chest.

Sitting her on the sink, he quickly inspects her feet, ensuring no glass had blindly infiltrated her skin.

"I'm sorry--" she silently offers, wiping away the wetness in her eyes.

'Stop," he brushes a wisp of her hair behind her ear. He leans closely towards her, desperately wanting to dive into her stormy blues; but, her eyes stay trained on her hands.

Sam takes her injured hands in his palms, and gingerly rinses them in the sink. After allowing the water to run clear, he finally breaks the pained silenced.

"Was it negative?"

"I-I just needed a sip of water to take some Tylenol, and-and--"

"Baby," he coddles her face, making her look at him. "Did you--did you think that you--? That we were--?"

Brynn drops her head as rivers from her eyes roll down her cheeks. Sam delicately wraps her in a tight hold, peppering her sweetly with kisses.

"I thought for certain," she sniffles. "I was so shocked when nothing popped up on the test that I dropped the tumbler." She sarcastically chuckles through the sadness to herself. "And I thought it would be so sweet to find out today--today of all days. It sounded like a fairy tale, but it's now turning out more like a nightmare." She buries her face into Sam's shoulder as he tightens his arms around her body.

"I think it’s time that we--” Sam lets out a sigh, “--make an appointment--"

"No." She breaks from his hold, turning to leave the room.

"Brynn."

She angrily twirls around to face her husband. "And what, Sam? We've made appointments. What could they possibly tell me that we don't already know?"

"Okay-okay-okay--" Sam stifles the budding fire. “Forget that I mentioned it.” He reaches for his wife, pulling her back assuredly against his chest. "Please don’t cry,” he whispers into her ear, his hands rubbing her back intimately. “I am your husband, your confident. I am in your corner. Always will be." He looks down, lifting her chin attentively to his eyes, a subtle smirk growing across his face. "You want the moon?"

Brynn chuckles through her sobs resting her hands on his bare chest.

Sam presses his lips to her forehead. "Just say the word," he quietly teases. He nibbles across her cheek, his voice becoming lower, huskier, "and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down--"

Brynn meets Sam's lips in a tender kiss. She slips her arms around his neck, tugging him in closely as their mouths entwine as one.

Pulling back to dance in his sultry chocolate eyes, Brynn casually twirls the wavy locks in the back of Sam's head.

"You are my moon, Samuel."

Sam presses his forehead to hers. "I love you. We'll work through this." Looking back into each other's eyes, he begins to trace small circles on her back.

"We always do," Brynn playfully kisses his nose. "I love you, too."

"Let's head back to bed," he suggests, holding Brynn tightly, escorting her backwards to the bed. "I have a feeling that two eleven-year-old stars in our galaxy have a special surprise for you later this morning."

*****

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom!"

Brynn pops one eye open to a brightly sunlit room, only to be met with two pairs of doting brown eyes crowding her weary face. She lets out a guttural yawn.

"Mmm… thank you, boys." Brynn turns over, pulling the down comforter over her head.

"The subject is still sleeping, but moving, Dr. Dalton!" Mason playfully speaks into his watch. "I think we have a heartbeat!"

"Can't be too sure, Mr. President," Mickey dramatically grabs Mason's arm, keeping in character. "I'm afraid we're going to have to shock her. Or amputate."

Brynn squeezes her eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep as she hides her snickers. She loves listening to the boys play, using their vivid and clever imaginations. Even though they were getting older and 'too cool' for some things, she's pleased to see their dreaming hasn't stopped.

"Charge to fourteen zillion. And-- clear!"

All of a sudden, the boys ambush Brynn, tickling her feet and pinching at her sides.

"No-no-no! Ah!" She yelps, her words caught up into her laughter. "You turkeys!" She breathes heavily as she inadvertently kicks her feet wildly.

"Stop--ohmygod--Sam! Please!" she beckons between snickers, "I can't breathe--"

"Very fine work, doctor!" Mason cackles.

"Thank you, Mr. President!" Mickey mimics his brother, continuing to jovially attack their stepmother with tickles.

"ENOUGH!" Brynn screams. She grabs Mickey by the arm, pulling him into her lap, and starts plastering sloppy kisses all over his face.

"Gross! Mom! No!" he screams in agony, all the while Brynn giggles with each goofy kiss.

"Eww!" sputters Mason as he starts to crawl off the bed.

"Oh, no you don't, mister!" Brynn grabs him by the ankle, gathering him in an embrace as she plants tender kisses on his cheeks.

After a few more minutes of laughter and slathering of kisses, Brynn feels the struggle dissipate in her arms, the boys now cuddling tightly to her body. She rests her cheeks on the tops of their heads, eliciting a gentle, satisfactory moan. Soaking in the moment, Brynn realizes the truth: she is a mom. She already has everything she has ever wanted wrapped up in two beautiful bouncing balls of energy.

As the boys share the plot of the game they were playing, she secretly savors the scent of their warm brandy curls, cherishing the soft texture of their waves against her skin.

My boys. The thought of a life without them terrifies her; though her heart longs to create and deliver a baby with Sam, she would never trade this unexpected, ready-made motherhood she inherited by becoming a Dalton. In her eyes, her family is already perfectly whole. She hopes that with time, her desire for a baby will be silenced.

"Boys?" Sam calls from the kitchen. "Where are my sous chefs? This fruit isn't going cut itself."

"Uh-oh," Mason lowers his voice, "we better go, Dr. Dalton."

"Roger that, Mr. President!" salutes Mickey before turning his attention to Brynn. "Stay right here, Mom. Mother's day is just getting started!"

"I hope it's fluffy with maple syrup on top!" Brynn singsongs as the boys bounce off of the bed. She gleefully tucks herself back under the weighted comforter, glowing from the beautiful moment she shared with her sons.

Moments later, the boys barrel around the corner, this time with Sam in tow, balancing a lap desk with an immaculate breakfast spread; but keeping with tradition, the spread is for everyone. Brynn refuses to eat in bed alone.

The delightful aroma of the feast teases their stepmom's senses, and she quickly steals a strawberry slice. She instantly starts dividing up the pancakes, the grilled sausage and scrambled eggs as all the Daltons climb into bed.

"Mickey, do you want some of this--" she stops mid-sentence, her attention being stolen. Her eyes focus on a white satin jewelry box, tied with a pale pink bow.

"What is this?" She curiously lifts up the box while Mickey and Mason beam with excitement.

"It's a new kind of tradition," Mason coyly answers.

Brynn, clearly touched by the gesture, turns to her husband who's relaxing on his elbow. "Did you know about this?" she whispers. "No gifts--"

Sam raises his hands in defense. "They really wanted to do this. They did this all on their own. Saved up their allowances--"

"Uncle Robin took us to the mall and helped us pick everything out," explains a humbled Mickey. "Can she open it now, Dad?"

"She's the mama," he chuckles, swiping a kiss against the back of her hand.

Brynn meticulously unties the bow and unfastens the delicate pieces of wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box. She takes a moment to soak up her sons' excitement, who are intently watching her.

Biting her bottom lip, she opens the lid, revealing a stunning, white gold charm bracelet, already hosting several ornate charms. Brynn's mouth falls open in shock while her eyes well with tears. Taking it as their cue, the boys crawl into her lap.

"You said you always wanted one growing up--"

"Yeah," interrupts Mickey, "so we thought we could make you a mom charm bracelet."

Taking a few breaths to find the right words, Brynn distraughtly looks to a grinning, elated Sam. She looks back to the boys before fixing her eyes back onto the thoughtful piece of jewelry.

"Here, Mom," Mason takes the chain, and loops it around her wrists to clasp it. "We've been practicing,'' he smiles.

"You're doing it wrong, Mase," whispers a slightly irritated Mickey.

"I am not," Mason huskily rebuttals.

"You are, too."

"Am not!"

Brynn pulls her wrist away as the twins begin to stick their tongues out at each other.

"Guys! C'mon--" chastises Sam as he takes over,, clasping the bracelet to his wife’s arm. "Don't ruin the moment."

"Sorry, Mom," the boys simultaneously apologize, giving Brynn heartfelt looks of remorse.

After squeezing them tightly and thanking them for the very thoughtful gift, Brynn continues to admire the charms they picked. Two identical charms in the shape of a boy silhouette and a tourmaline birthstone catch her attention first.

"'Michael Aaron' and 'Mason Alexander'." A large smile plants securely on her mouth as her fingers trace over the etching of their names.

She tinkers through a few more charms, including a soccer ball, a microscope and a stand mixer. She stops at a simple silver heart with the inscription 'November 18.'

"I thought this was a mom charm bracelet," Brynn jests. "Why is our wedding anniversary on here?"

"Because that's when you officially became our mom."

Unable to control her tears, Brynn pulls them onto her lap, rubbing their backs before caressing their heads in her hands. Sam leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips again and again.

This is all she ever wanted; this was her childhood dream. This is her family.

The four Daltons quickly ate breakfast in bed, laughing at the irregular shapes of the pancakes and the random eggshell in the midst of their scramble.

"Well," Brynn finishes first, "in the spirit of new traditions, I'd like to start a new one now, too. But we have to clean up and get dressed."

"Really?" squeals Mickey.

"Cool! What is it?" inquires Mason.

Brynn shakes her head. "It's a surprise." She hands the boys their empty plates, giving them a knowing wink. They both eagerly grab the dishes, and hurry to clean up the kitchen.

"Should I be worried?" Brynn flashes a sweet smile to an inquisitive Sam.

"Trust me, baby."

***

"Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Brynn--"

"Oh, Mr. Carter!" Brynn collects a stunning bouquet of lavender tulips from Dalton's longtime driver. She takes a quick sniff of their sweet fragrance, wrapping an arm around endearingly around the older man's neck. "These are lovely! Thank you so much!"

He graciously nods, adjusting his hat with a sweet smile.

"So, the farmer's market?"

"Yes sir--"

"And I have the second address pulled up and ready to go."

"Perfect. Thank you for doing this."

***

Brynn and Sam walk hand-in-hand through the aisles of vendors, the boys remaining close. She has a destination in mind, but Brynn refuses to rush such a lovely sunny Spring day with her special guys.

They make a pit stop to try a few samples of freshly cut mango and dragon fruit. The twins sweetly plead a case for a smore with homemade marshmallows and tempered chocolate.

They finally stumble upon a florist with a delectable selection of gorgeous bulbs and gathered creations.

"We're here, boys," Brynn announces with a big smile.

"You wanted flowers?" Mickey wrinkled up his nose, sharing a confused look with his brother.

"Well," Brynn squats next to her sons, "sorta. I want you two to pick out the biggest, most beautiful bouquet."

"'Biggest'?" echoes Mason. "And 'most beautiful'?"

"Yes," Brynn giggles, "I want the biggest and the most beautiful. When you're finished," she holds up her crossbody purse, "my treat."

Sam gingerly grabs hold of Brynn's elbow, holding her back from the flower search.

"You're up to something," his eyes darken, staring into her stormy grays. A corner of his mouth curls waiting for an answer.

Brynn captures his bottom lip in a tender tug. "Trust me," she whispers, pulling his lips back into hers. His hands naturally find the curves of her rear, massaging her lovingly. "C'mon," Brynn grabs Sam's hand, her fingers intimately lacing with his.

The twins did not disappoint. With the help of the florist, Mickey, true to form, picked out a beautiful bouquet of red, white and blue wildflowers, homage to his favorite football team. Mason was charmed by the long-stemmed sunflowers. He has a stunning arrangement of orange and yellow flowers amongst a cloud of babies' breath.

"Guys, these are absolutely perfect!" A glimmer and sparkle grow in Brynn's eyes as she investigates the colors and smells. "You two did wonderful!"

"Happy Mother's Day!" Proud of their work, Mickey and Mason offer their bouquets to Brynn, but she quickly waves them away.

"Hold them for me, please. We have one more stop to make."

***

Carter picks up the Daltons, and quickly takes a detour, leaving the city. The car remains silent from conversation; the gallop of the wheels plodding against the rubber road lull the boys into a nap. Brynn rests her head against Sam's broad chest. His strong arm wraps tightly around her shoulders, his cheek basking amongst her vibrant almond waves.

"Excuse me? Mr. And Mrs. Dalton? We're here."

Carter kindly opens the door for the family to exit to their new endeavor in the country. There is a brisk chill in the air, but nothing the bold sunshine couldn't cure. Instead of the familiar sounds of people shouting and horns honking, they were surrounded by birds chirping, grass whistling, and leaves gently clapping.

"Where are we, Mom?" whispers a nervous Mickey, the first to file out of the car.

Brynn bends over, kissing his head. "You'll see, baby. You'll see. Did you grab your flowers?"

Mickey nods, handing the other bouquet to Mason.

Sam climbs out of the car, instantly aware of his surroundings. "Um, sweetie," he motions with his finger for her to come closer. "You think they're ready for this?"

"They've been ready for this. Trust me." She touches her hand to his downcast face, offering a tender smile. "How about the boys and I go on ahead?"

Sam soaks in the nature around him as a sweet breeze lingers on his face. Grabbing Brynn's hand, he kisses it delicately before letting go with a squeeze. "Okay."

"C'mon, boys," she reaches out, taking the boys by the hand, "we've got someone to talk to."

They enter the iron gates, walking respectfully on the stony pavement. They wind around on the path, trees gracefully blooming above their heads. They finally come to a fork in their venture.

"Okay, you two," Brynn walks in front of them only to kneel down to stop them. "Do you know where we are?"

"A cemetary?"

"That's right, Mase--"

"So, there are dead people buried underneath us?" Mickey cautiously asks. “Cool.”

"They are buried here," explains Brynn, "but we aren't walking on top of them. Their bodies are marked by those big rocks with writings on them--"

"Headstones!"

"That's right, Mase. They're called headstones."

"Why did you want to bring us to a cemetery for Mother's day?" questions Mickey. "That seems weird."

Brynn chuckles pulling him into a tight embrace. "Cemeteries are a beautiful place to communicate with those who have already passed. Sometimes on special days, like birthdays or anniversaries--”

“Or Christmas!” interjects Mickey.

“‘Or Christmas,’ that’s right.” Brynn stands. “Those days can be sad and lonely for those of us still alive on earth because we miss them so much.” She begins to draw closer to a plot with a large white granite headstone. “Spending time with them where they are buried is a way to remember them and to show them that we still love them.”

“Do they, um, talk back?” nervously asks Mason.

Brynn smiles sweetly at her stepson, hugging him tighter as they continue their saunter. “I’d like to think so, but not in the way we expect them to. Like sometimes, it might be a familiar fragrance, or a familiar song. Something to remind us that they are looking down, watching us, loving us.” Brynn nods in the direction of the breathtaking, large stone. “Go ahead.”

The boys cautiously step towards the monument, laying their flowers on top of the glistening stone.

“Caroline Austin Dalton--” Mason reads out loud, tracing the etching carefully with his fingers.

“That’s mama, right, Mase?”

“I think so, Mick.” The brothers endearingly hold each other’s hands as their eyes focus on her name. Mason’s eyes begin to well with tears first. “I can barely remember her--”

“Me, too.” Mickey quickly turns to Brynn, motioning for her to come closer. “What do we say to her? You’re our Mom--”

“--and she is your mom, just in a different way.”

“How do we talk to her?” shrugs Mickey.

“How do you talk to me?” Brynn smiles warmly, pushing a curl out of Mickey’s face. “Just talk. Talk about your day. Your favorite food. Your soccer game on Thursday.”

The boys raise their eyebrows at each other before returning their gaze back to Brynn.

“Here. Let me show you.” Brynn crawls onto her knees, facing the memorial. She clears her throat. “Caroline? Your boys picked out the most beautiful flowers for you.” Brynn grabs Mason’s hand. “You’d be so proud of them. Mason here is a straight-A student. Loves science, and is quite the little baker.” Brynn wraps an arm around Mickey. “And your first born here loves to play sports, and has a very vivid imagination.”

Brynn clears her throat. “It’s now your turn,” she gently rubs their backs. “Don’t worry; if she is anything like me, she’s dying to have you talk to her. Go ahead.”

Mason steps forward, placing a sincere hand on the headstone. “That’s Brynn, Mama--”

“And she’s a really great Mom,” chimes in Mickey, “she was originally our nanny--”

Brynn slowly backs away, allowing the twins to talk. She casually glances to the side, and notices a man out of the corner of her eye, taking swig from a flask: her husband.

Brynn casually walks up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She kisses the exposed skin of his chest, her lips crawling up his neck to his stiff chin.

“Please don’t be mad at me for this.”

Sam chuckles, avoiding eye-contact. “Some warning would’ve been nice--”

“So you could stop me?”

“Touché.” Sam takes another sip of bourbon, drifting back into a silent watch over the boys.

Brynn tightens her embrace around her husband. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction, she listens to the sweet bursts of giggles amongst the conversation being held by the twins in the distance.

Sam grips tightly to Brynn’s body, his mouth attempting to form words. “They haven’t been here since--” he swallows thickly, “since that day. I always wanted to keep her memory alive and bring them here, I just...” his voice begins to wander.

“Sam?”

“Hrmm?” he glances back down into Brynn’s sparkly blue eyes.

“You’re allowed to miss her, too--”

“Brynn... I--”

“It’s okay, baby--”

Sam caresses Brynn’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you--”

“That’s not what this is about,” she kisses his hand away from her face.

Sam clings tightly to his wife, rubbing his hands up and down her back. Painful tears that he had been holding back for over nine years spill down his cheeks as the floodgates of emotions wash over his body. “You truly are the best thing that has happened to this family,” he purrs in between sniffles.

After a few minutes of holding each other tenderly, Sam joins the boys at the graveside. Sharing sweet memories amongst each other, Mickey and Mason find solace in their father’s lap.

Brynn discovers a nearby bench to watch and wait. Humbled and satisfied by the day that had started so terribly, she smiles brightly as her beautiful family spends time, savoring the precious stories of the past.

A sudden gust of wind barrels across Brynn's face. Drying the rushing rivers from her cheeks, her hair dances carefree in the tumbling breeze. Her eyes flutter close as she lays her hands on her abdomen.

"It's okay, little one," she sweetly hums, "but if you like laughing, and if you like living... and if you like dancing and dreaming," Brynn cradles her abdomen tightly, "we'll be waiting."

The afternoon sun seeks refuge into darkness; the street begins to illuminate with the buzzing of lamps and lightning bugs. The laughter dies down and the conversation quietly stops. Sam slowly rounds up the boys, guiding them back to Brynn.

“I think we’re ready to head back,” Sam suggests, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Anymore surprises?” he chuckles, pecking his lips to hers.

The corners of her mouth curve. “You three go on ahead,” she playfully pats Sam’s rear. “I’ll be right behind you guys.”

Sam raises an eyebrow before nodding his head. Placing his hands on each boy's shoulder, they walk towards the car where Carter is dutifully waiting for them.

Brynn approaches Caroline’s tombstone, graciously sitting next to it. She casually traces over her name, imagining how excited she must’ve been the first time she signed her name 'Mrs. Dalton'--just like her. Brynn finally rests her hand on the cold stone, tears of joy recollecting in her eyes.

”You gave me everything I could’ve possibly wanted,” a sob hitches in her throat. “Thank you for making me a mom. It was never supposed to be like this,” she chuckles to herself. She looks over her shoulder, watching Sam load up their sons into the car. “God, it’s so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. I promise I'll take care of them--"

“Brynn?” Sam calls out from the distance. “Ready, baby?”

“--all three of them.”

***

"Goodnight, boys. We love you," Sam whispers to the boys as he closes their bedroom door.

Brynn's eyes twinkle at her handsome husband, his gaze falling deeply on hers. She effortlessly takes his hand, draping it around her shoulders, pressing her tired cheek against his chest. Kissing the top of her head, he escorts her to their room, switching off lamps along the way.

"I've got one more surprise for you," Sam growls as he shuts their door.

"Mmm…" Brynn begins to tug at his waistband. "I love these kind of surprises," her mouth gently presses into the side of his neck, her teeth gingerly nipping at his pulse point.

"Baby," Sam chuckles, his wandering fingers combing through her golden waves. "I, um--" he clears his throat, "I actually do have something I want to talk with you about."

"Oh?" Brynn suddenly cups her hand over her mouth. "Oh!" she sighs, "I know, I know. I probably should've at least told you about my plan of going out to Caroline's grave--"

"Baby, I--"

"It just made sense in my mind at the time," she interrupts. "I don't want our boys forgetting they have two mothers that love them very much--"

Sam raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin growing.

"What? Is it about the tumbler? I swear, I'll replace--"

"Brynn baby?" Sam takes ahold of both of her hands. "I love you," he places a sweet peck on her lips, "but shut up--" they start laughing at his words before he continues. "--now, come with me."

She follows him into the bathroom where he hands her a bottle of water.

"Wh--what's this about?" she furrows her brow.

"I was taking out the trash this morning after breakfast, and noticed your test--"

"Sam--"

"Your test, baby," he steps closer to her, holding it in his hands. "The box says it expired two years ago. I know you stockpile these things and keep them hidden." Brynn crosses her arms as her neck flushed with embarrassment. "Isn't there supposed to be some kind of line on it to show that the test is still okay to take?"

"A control line, yes. What's your point?"

"Brynn," his eyes pierce into hers, "yours doesn't have one." A playful grin crawls across his face. "And-and-and according to Google, you need one for the test to be even considered valid."

Brynn looks at the test, and realizes it's completely blank from any and all lines. She appreciates her husband's passion and agrees this is peculiar, but the point he is trying to make sounds way too good to be true. This isn't a movie or a fairy tale. And those lines fade after a test has been performed. Or do they?

"Brynn? Did you hear me?"

Brynn nods her head, biting her lip in deep thought. She wants to feel his excitement, but she can't be let down, not even just one more time. It had been the absolute perfect day with the absolute perfect family to where she is mom. Can she just end Mother's day feeling, well, like a mom?

"C'mon," he steals her water, popping the cap. "I bought a new test today while we were at the market--one that wasn't expired. Let's try again."

"Sam, no," she refuses to take the water back. "Besides, it's best to take it first thing in the morning--"

"So, what you're saying is that you want me to wake you up in a few hours to pee--"

"No, I'm saying let's drop it." Growing irritated, Brynn brushes past her husband and back into the bedroom.

Sam drags his fingers down his face. He follows suit, chasing after her. He reaches for her shoulder, but she dodges his touch.

"Brynn baby--"

"No--"

"Answer me this then," he bites back, "why did you take a test in the first place?"

Brynn freezes for a moment, staring at the ground. She doesn't want to argue, and she knows that her husband's questions come from a good place. They had always been open with one another; why not now?

"I thought I was." Brynn crosses her arms, blinking away tears.

Sam sits on the bed in front of her, looking tenderly at his bride. He grazes his finger tips up and down her hips until she finally looks down at him, drying her eyes.

"You might be, baby," he whispers, smiling into her gaze. "That was one test, one test that I'm pretty sure was bad."

Brynn casually combs Sam's waves back with her fingers, curling around his ear. Sam presses his nose to forearm, inhaling deeply the remnants of her floral perfume.

"For me?" Sam grazes his lips up her arm, finally resting them on her bare abdomen.

Touching his chin, Brynn tenderly nods.

***

Sam sits on the side of the garden tub, his elbows resting on his nervously bouncing knees.

After what seems like an eternity, Brynn emerges from the closet bathroom. Uncontrollable tears drench her red, blotchy face.

"Sam--?" her voice panics, her body shaking as she reaches for Sam.

Without missing a beat, he lovingly captures her in his arms. His hands intimately stroke her back as she sobs into his chest.

"Shh... baby. It's okay." Sam presses his lips into her hair, holding her close. "It’s going to be okay--"

"Sam--?" Brynn pulls away from Sam's chest, offering him the test as she cups her mouth.

Sam inquisitively takes the test from Brynn. And his eyes widen, shaking his head in disbelief. And he smiles.

“Happy Mother’s day, baby.”

*****

TNA Tag List (please let me know if you would like to be added/removed): @ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @pixie88 @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama

#the nanny affair #m!sam dalton #m!sam x mc #mickey and mason #choices tna #tna fanfic #mother's day

44 notes · View notes

myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (2/?) - Hold the Front

Thanks to everyone who commented on the first chapter or reblogged, liked the story written for @cssns! Here’s the next one; I plan on posting chapters every Sunday. Thank you to my awesome beta and artist @thejollyroger-writer! Check out her amazing art for the first two chapters! Enjoy!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 2/? - Hold the Front

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~4.7k

Previous parts:

Ch 1

TW for this chapter: Depictions of violence and blood

"There was nothing you could have done," said Mary Margaret as she shook her head.

Emma couldn't even count just how many times she had heard this sentence from her. She wanted to believe her friend, but she never could. If she had been faster, if she had noticed the danger sooner… Maybe she could have saved Neal that terrible night.

It had happened more than half a year ago, but the screams still echoed in her ears as sharply as they had that night. The image of the pile of bodies, the blood, and the burning building was forever seared into her memory. But the most terrifying minutes weren't caused by these pictures. Neal's death changed everything…

He was a Hunter, just like her half-brother, David, with the difference that no elven blood flowed through his veins, any more than it did in hers. They both served the Guild and that was what caused Neal's demise. He and her brother were among the first to be called to the front lines…

The light of the full moon covered the entire clearing, and it danced on the mirror of the lake. The weather was relatively pleasant, a balmy breeze sailing through the early June night. It ruffled the fresh, green grass of the meadow, welcomely cooling down her hot face.

Lying side by side, they had been staring wordlessly at the sea of stars for some time. She really wanted to tell him, but she didn't know how he would handle it. She tasted the words a few times in front of the mirror in practice, but found none of them appropriate.

She just watched him, even now she could hardly believe he loved her. Just her. She'd never believed she was good enough to deserve anyone's love, but Neal still saw something in her. It was true, of course, that it took almost two years for their paths to cross (and her infatuation to be reciprocated), but in the end, her intuitions proved to be correct.

There was no one for her but Neal. Maybe the statement was slightly inaccurate, but the few people she'd been with left her within days, weeks, or months, saying they just couldn't learn to love her. She accepted it, because what could she have done? She loved them in vain…

She had already given up on ever being with Neal too, when what she had been waiting for finally happened.

He tore her from her contemplation. He turned on his side, propped himself on his elbow, and gently drew her to him. "What's wrong?" He brushed a lock of her fallen hair behind her ear and smiled kindly at her.

"Nothing's wrong," she whispered in response, snuggling even closer to him.

"Are you sure? You've been acting so… weird," he gently stroked her curly, long blonde hair and gave her an unwaveringly angelic smile. His brown eyes lit up brightly, the corners crinkling faintly.

At any given time, she could completely get lost in those orbs.

"Of course. Everything's fine," she assured him, though the desire to just tell him was burning her inside. But she still couldn't find the words and hesitated. How would he react?

"If you say so…"

His gaze drifted to her lips, and she could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. She didn't have to wait long, he slid his palm under her head and rolled over her in moments. His lips tasted hers gently. It was sweet, hot, and passionate all at once, gradually deepening until their tongues met. Suddenly, his body weighed on her. Although not at full weight, he still took her breath away.

It wasn't painful, but he wasn't exactly a lightweight, and the movement gave her a fright.

"Could you…" she moaned in a low voice, but he seemed to understand.

He braced himself on his hands, and she could finally breathe. "Sorry," he smiled apologetically.

"Neal," she finally managed to gather her thoughts.

"Yes?" He scanned her face curiously, his expression momentarily uneasy at the uncertainty he probably saw in her eyes.

"I…" she couldn't continue, she just stared at him, hoping he would understand.

"What's wrong?" His gaze turned suspicious.

"I… I'm… pregnant," she said, breaking eye contact and waiting with bated breath for his reaction. She knew for a fact that he loved her, but they were still so young and they never talked about it.

For a few seconds, he only stared at her with widened eyes. Her face immediately felt hot. It looked like it was the last thing he'd expected to leave her mouth. It must have felt like an ice-cold shower.

Then, to her greatest surprise, a wide grin suddenly spread across his face, and he opened his mouth several times, but no words came out. His instinctively gaze slid to her stomach, followed by his hands.

"You're not kidding, are you? How… How long have you known?"

"No, I'm not kidding. Not too long, I wasn't sure until this morning," she replied quietly, but she was already smiling from the huge weight that had fallen from her heart. She had to admit, she hadn't expected that reaction.

Neal still didn't quite know what to say, and Emma slowly sat up. But before she could prepare herself, he suddenly hugged her tightly.

"You have no idea how happy I am!" He grinned wider and buried his face into her neck.

"I think I can guess," she smiled, then hissed softly. Neal squeezed her too hard. "Relax, tiger," she laughed to herself, and he immediately loosened his grip.

"Sorry. Anyway, I had something planned for the two of us tonight," he remarked, but at the same moment, his phone began to ring."So…" Neal continued, ignoring the call, but she stopped him.

"Pick up. You can always tell me afterward, and it might be important."

"No more important than this," he insisted.

She shook her head disapprovingly, and without hesitation, she dug into his bag to pull out his phone, pressing it into his hands. The caller ID told her it was David. "If I know my brother, you better answer it."

Neal pursed his lips irritably but lifted the phone to his ear. "What?!" he growled at David on the other end, his tone irritated.

The answer clearly didn't lighten his mood, his face made her downright anxious.

"David… I just need half an hour! You can definitely hold the front until then," he almost begged, and Emma found that rather strange.

She began to sharpen her ears with interest.

"Neal! When this is done, you can do it in much quieter and more intimate conditions. We need you now! So get your shit together and get your ass in here!"

David raised his voice so much that even she could understand every single word.

Neal angrily ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. "We have to go," he announced in a grim voice, rising from the ground, helping her.

He idly dusted off his pants, delaying the inevitable as much as possible.

"What happened?"

"The newly settled Vampire clan and the new pack of Werewolves are wreaking havoc in the mall downtown. I need to get there… David and the others need backup," he confessed as he rocked from one foot to the other.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"But…" Neal's gaze shone with fear, and his restlessness had caught her eye, though Emma didn't understand what was wrong with him. Normally, he threw himself into fights like this, but now he seemed hesitant.

"Is there something else?"

"No. Come on, I'll take you home…" He lowered his head, took her hand and they walked back to the black Land Rover LRX parked at the edge of the clearing.

The SUV wasn't his own, legally it belonged to the Guild, but it had been on loan to Neal for some time.

"Neal, we don't have time for that, I'm coming with you," she stated in an authoritative tone, but he just shook his head.

"There are too many creatures there, they've gone completely nuts. I'm not taking you there!"

"Yes, you will! I'm not arguing with you, Neal. And besides, I have the gun David gave me yesterday," she added, trying to convince him. There was no time to waste.

"It's worth very little against them," he said, shaking his head.

"It's filled with silver," she lied easily, just so he would finally relent.

"Why are you so damn stubborn?"

She took that as his agreement, and started running, hearing Neal picking up speed behind her as well. She yanked open the car door and threw herself into the passenger seat. After buckling up, she rummaged in her bag to change the magazine in her Glock. Meanwhile, Neal put the key in the ignition and secured his seatbelt as well.

"Where did it happen?" she asked as they sped through the suburban streets.

"At the new mall. About six hundred people are trapped inside, and they're already being thrown off the roof deck," Neal replied.

The speedometer slowly moved to 55 mph. "Neal, slow down!" Emma hissed through her lips as she squeezed the edge of the seat with whitened fingers.

"You told me to hurry," he grinned, and she rolled her eyes. "What if I dropped you off somewhere?" He gave her a hopeful look, but she shook her head.

"I want to go with you," she declared firmly, and Neal punched the steering wheel in rage.

"You can't come with me! I won't let you, especially now that…" he paused in agitation, then his gaze landed on her, and he looked much more determined. "You're not coming. Period. Get out of the car."

He slammed on the brakes, and the car came to a stop in front of a 24-hour supermarket. He stared at her expectantly. Emma decided to switch tactics, pinning her gaze directly on his crotch.

"Emma, don't look at me like that."

"Then let's go, Neal!"

"No!"

At that moment, his phone started ringing again and David's name flashed on the display.

"Start the car!" she snarled angrily. "If David gets hurt because of us…" She didn't need to finish the sentence, Neal pulled back out onto the road again.

-/-

"You stay here in the car and wait for me. Don't get out unless there's a problem and-"

"Stop it, Neal. I'll be fine, I know how to shoot a gun and I've got good aim!"

"Neal, for God's sake, hurry up!"

Her brother, leaning over the railing of the roof garden, yelled down to them. Much of the three-story building was already in flames, and the glass walls of the first floor lay in tiny shards on the sidewalk, covering the several dozens of bodies that lay in front of the mall.

"Please, Emma, don't come after me. Promise me!"

Emma knew he wouldn't leave until she agreed. "All right, fine," she sighed.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Before she could say anything, he pulled his favorite Desert Eagle pistol out of one of his holsters and ran toward the building. She watched him go for a few seconds until he disappeared into the maze of shops.

She nestled uneasily in her seat, and her gun nearly slipped from her hands. Her palms were covered in sweat, and she was growing more nervous by the second. Her courage began to disappear into a bottomless pit.

After a few minutes, she heard a loud crash from her right. Trembling, she raised her gun and looked to the side. At first, she saw nothing, then she noticed a new body among the others. A young boy, probably ten or twelve, lay on the ground, his limbs twisted the wrong way, and a huge pool of blood already growing under his head.

Her stomach began to churn, and she was about to turn her head away from the gruesome sight when another body slammed to the asphalt, just a few feet from the car.

At that moment, she made up her mind. She shoved a spare magazine into her pocket and quickly jumped out of the vehicle. Without looking anywhere, she ran into the mall through one of the shattered windows of a store.

It was a simple, relatively insignificant clothing store, but dozens of women lay on the floor. All of them had had their throats slit open, they were dead, of course, and the floor was soaked with their blood. The cashier, clutching the register, still had a receipt in her hand.

Emma tried to breathe through her mouth and ignore the bodies. Over the years, she'd had the unfortunate opportunity to get used to them, but no matter how many times she encountered one, she could never be completely impervious to it.

She cut through the store and headed straight for the escalator. On her way, she avoided the fountain, its waters already glistening bright red.

When she finally arrived at her destination, she found that the escalator was out of service, so she took two steps at a time and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Both the first and second floors proved empty, but the higher she got, the more the heat from the fire rose to an almost unbearable degree. She tied her sweater around her waist and stopped unsteadily before the last step.

The sounds of the brawl filtered out clearly, not even the loud crackling of the fire could drown them out. For now, the flames hadn't reached dangerous proximity, and luckily, the building was mostly made of non-combustible materials.

Roars, gunshots, crashing. Thunderous explosions. Frozen, Emma lingered at the foot of the stairs leading to the last floor, staring upward hopefully.

Surely everything would be all right. Neal, David, and the others would soon emerge at the top, with smiles on their lips as if nothing had happened. And they would go home safely.

A few minutes passed while she was idle. She had a hard time convincing herself to go upstairs. Neal and David would certainly be furious, but she'd taken their anger any day rather than their deaths. And besides, they would definitely benefit from a little extra help. If it could be classified as such.

She was one of the Mages, but a rather lousy one when it came to her abilities. She was only a low-level Seer, nothing more.

Clutching her Glock with both hands, she came up the stairs. The screams grew sharper and louder. Plenty of people could be stuck upstairs, but the path leading down seemed clear.

What were they waiting for? Why didn't they just run away and escape? Emma found it really strange.

She slowed her pace, confused by the humans' behavior. It just didn't feel right.

The cool, night air blew into her face as soon as she reached the rooftop. Most of the overturned tables and umbrellas were on fire, chairs broken into pieces. Most of them, ironically, were used by Vampires as stakes. They used them as weapons to kill the humans.

After only a few seconds, she heard an angry roar. "Emma, watch out!"

Immediately she spun around looking for the source of the danger. David was the one yelling at her, probably not without reason. She didn't have to search long, she immediately noticed the fully transformed, nearly six-foot-tall Werewolf charging towards her.

She only had a few seconds to react. Someone was calling her name again, desperation clear in their tone. She couldn't deal with that now, she would help them later… if she survived until then because if she missed, she was dead.

She aimed at the beast as best she could, right between its eyes. Her gun was already filled with silver bullets that would stop it. Assuming she hit it at all…

She pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the wolf, inches from her target, right in one of its eyes. He howled in pain and finally came to a stop. She took the opportunity to shoot half the magazine into the wolf.

She gasped for air, her heart pounding in her throat, and slowly she began to realize that the end of her life was a hair's breadth away. She didn't lower the gun, but still clutched it convulsively. The smoke burned her eyes, tears filled them to the brim, and she could see almost nothing. The wind wasn't helping either, carrying the gray mist right into her face. She gasped as if she had just run several miles and her lungs were thoroughly filled with smoke.

She forced herself to open her eyes and look around. She started stumbling through rubble and bodies, but so far she hadn't seen any movement, only heard the sounds. The battle was definitely not over yet.

She walked blindly for a few yards, but her fingers didn't slip from the trigger for even a second. She had to find Neal and David.

At last, she emerged from the cloud of smoke, but she could only blink her eyes, the world looming around her was quite blurry. Instinctively, she crouched against the barricade, for the hail of bullets was almost as thick as the cloud of smoke. A few of them were barely a few inches from her, and she curled up as best she could.

She tried to assess the situation and find her brother and Neal and the other Hunters she knew. Robin and Leo were only a few feet away from her and they both seemed fine. David, on the other hand, was dealing with a Vampire that was dangerously close to the railing.

He was having a hard time with the creature, she could clearly see that. Without thinking, she instinctively crawled towards him, pressing herself against the barrier the whole time. Silver bullets weren't worth much against Vampires, but at least they slowed them down, and the wounds caused by silver left a mark on their perfect skin.

When she was close enough, she fired three shots at the Vampire. She missed the first, the second lodged in his thigh, and the third slammed into his side. He let out a roar and staggered furiously on the bloodied, slippery floor. He lost his balance, toppled over, and finally, David managed to drive a stake through his already-dead heart.

David didn't even look up, he didn't seem to care where the life-saving shot came from, he immediately moved on to his next task.

There were quite a few Hunters here who she didn't recognize. Slowly but surely, they managed to push the Werewolves and Vampires back towards the flames.

Emma quickly wiped her sweaty brow and looked through the ranks of Hunters once more. Neal wasn't among them.

Her heart squeezed in her chest and she turned her head in alarm, but other than the cowering, screaming humans and corpses, she saw nothing.

She stood there confused and turned her head back around the place. There were no other Hunters she hadn't counted yet, every one of them was heading for the beasts.

A few raindrops fell on her face, the wind picked up, and an inhumanly loud rumble of thunder slit through her ears. Followed by a white light zigzagging through the black sky, blinding her for a moment.

"Neal!" her voice echoed like a hysterical scream, but no answer came.

When she opened her eyes again, a tall shadow unfurled from the cloud of smoke that covered the other end of the rooftop garden.

Immediately, she began to run, racing past the glass dome on the third floor. In the depths of the building, the flames grew larger and larger…

"Emma, stop! Don't!" Neal's voice came from the opposite direction, and she paused, turning away from the smoke and the shadow's owner in confusion.

To her surprise, Neal was standing barely ten feet away from her, shirtless. He never had a habit of showing off his body, no matter how nice it was. He had fine abs (not as defined as David's or Robin's), but now he was covered in blood and soot. Water dripped from him and thankfully, she didn't see any wounds.

"Behind you!" he called out to her.

His voice trembled with fear and he raised his pistol to fire, and for a moment it seemed he was aiming for her head. She turned, but it was too late. The elbow of the fast-approaching Vampire landed on her face.

For a few seconds, everything around her went dark, she felt like her face was going to split in two. She staggered, and suddenly the bloody ground came dangerously close to her face, and soon her head hit the ground with a thud.

She squinted her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them again, thankfully the world wasn't spinning in a crazy dance. But she couldn't hear anything. She knelt down and swallowed hard. It was as if a plug had been pulled out of her ears, the sounds returning in one fell swoop. She glanced back at Neal again.

He'd managed to wound the Vampire, but the beast didn't seem to be giving up. He swung his knee into Neal's stomach, wrenching the weapon from his hand, punching him in the face with it. Neal stumbled, but luckily, his legs didn't give out. The bloodsucker grabbed him by the arm, dropped the gun, and whipped out a roughly ten-inch-long blade. He aimed it directly at Neal's heart, but her boyfriend dodged the stab. However, the Vampire held him tight, so he couldn't completely avoid it, the blade digging into his shoulder.

At Neal's scream, her blood froze in her veins, and her hands holding the Glock trembled. Immediately, she took aim at the Vampire. She fired until the magazine was empty. Several bullets drilled into the beast's head and body, and quite a few missed him, too. But she got what she wanted, and the Vampire slumped to the ground. She didn't think he was dead, but she definitely put him out of commission for a while.

Quickly, she rose to her feet and ran to Neal, who was leaning against the barrier, trying to tear the dagger from his flesh. He was panting heavily, blood dripping in thick streams from his shoulder.

She dug out the spare magazine when she reached him and tried to slip it into the pistol, but her hands were still shaking too much.

Then, suddenly, Neal's gun went off. She looked over her shoulder in horror. Five fully transformed Werewolves were galloping toward them. Desperately, she tried to snap the magazine into place, but it was jolting too much in her hands.

She knew she would die if Neal didn't take them out in time, and with his injured shoulder, his aim would hardly be accurate. She tried to force herself to calm down, but the panic coiled in her stomach like an insidious snake. She was finished… They were finished.

Two more shots rang out, and one of the wolves rebounded with a harsh, deep howl. The Glock made a click, and the magazine was finally inserted. She turned to face the monsters. She tried to aim with a clear head, but it was much harder than ever. It wasn't just her life on the line. Hers, Neal's, … and the little one's.

Neal took out the second one with a single shot, and Emma aimed full fire at the one running in front, backing away in the process.

She hit him square in the shoulder, but it was like hitting him with a rock, even though her magazine was filled with silver bullets. Panic rose in her throat and began to thrust backward at double speed. Neal took out the ones closest to them, and she took aim at the ones left behind. If she could just shoot one of their eyes, maybe that one would stop.

She started firing again, trying to focus. But it was too late. They were barely three feet away from her, ready to pounce.

Her body completely locked down, she could only trust in her blind luck and Neal. That was it. Of the two, she had more faith in Neal.

The first wolf leapt up from the ground and nearly swept her away, but Neal's bullets dug into his front legs. He fell forward into the rubble with his muzzle foaming, his legs useless.

She immediately aimed at the next one. This time, she couldn't miss. But the beast was already in the air. It leapt over her head, straight into Neal. She didn't understand why Neal was holding back his power. He could fight off the wolf with his sheer magic, he was powerful enough to simply do so.

Meanwhile, the wounded wolf got up again, but this time his target was Emma. He probably thought the other one would take care of Neal. As she had previously planned, she aimed for the wolf's eyes, but she couldn't hit them. Then the beast was too close to her.

His teeth chattered inches from her throat, and his claws bit into her shoulder. He shoved her away, and she crashed into the barrier. Her side went numb from the force of the blow in moments, but she didn't even have time to comprehend her predicament, the wolf was already towering over her.

She was a hairsbreadth away from having his claws in her stomach as she put the gun to his throat and fired as many bullets into him as she could. The wolf howled, rolling back its eyes, but it raised its huge paw again, and this time it found its target.

Her breath caught in her throat from the blow, and a pained groan escaped her lips. His claws slowly sunk into her stomach, pinning her to the ground, and the wolf weakly opened its jaw, angling for her throat.

Help came from her right, three shots rang out, all hitting the wolf's side. He whimpered one last time and turned away from her…

"Emma, for fuck's sake!" David slid to the ground next to her and knelt down, trembling.

She wanted to ask where Neal was, but her mouth disobeyed. Her brain dulled, she began to go numb. Summoning her remaining reserves of strength, she put her arm around David's neck and forced herself into a sitting position. She screamed against the stabbing pain in her stomach and hunched forward.

"Emma, are you okay?"

It was the dumbest question Neal had ever asked her. But if he was able to ask and, judging by the approaching footsteps, he couldn't be in much trouble…

Her face was streaked with tears, and she tried not to faint. But David suddenly jumped up beside her and ran off.

"David…" she mumbled unintelligibly, then looked up at Neal.

He didn't seem to have suffered another wound. However, he looked immensely exhausted. He was pale and frightened, but thankfully he was walking towards her on his own two feet.

But he, too, stopped and turned his head to the side in surprise. What had they heard that she couldn't?

Finding it hard to keep her eyes open, she blinked shallowly at Neal. He started to retreat to the barrier, his rifle lying on the ground behind him. She forced herself to look back and a sharp cry burst from her exhausted lungs. One of the five Werewolves rushed at him.

The wolf's eyes were bloodshot and every inch of her trembled by his roar, his claws scraping the surface of the ground.

With all its might, it slashed at a helpless Neal. It all happened in a millisecond. The wolf's claws dug into Neal's shoulder, and the momentum pushed them over the barrier. They shattered the glass dome, tangled into each other, and fell into the blazing depths of the building.

#cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #killian jones #emma swan #emma x killian #once upon a time #cs au #captain swan supernatural #TWPYR #my fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic

22 notes · View notes

self-shipyard · 3 years

Text

"I Will (Pt. 1): The Bride Team" - A Self-Ship Wedding Fic

SYNOPSIS: The first part of a special, four-part fic in which the bridal team meets up and gets the blushing bride ready for the big day.

Word Count: 1478

CW: Pre-Wedding Fluff, Mild Swearing, Mild Tension

Tag List: @guthound, @danieladimitrescu, @puppyships, @ava-ships, @awesomedanganronpaconfessions, @sinners-call-me-baby, @reigenhusband, @that-autistic-team-skull-grunt, @noellojello, @somethingscarlet13, @spookymasonjar, @vanityloves, @valor-selfships

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

"Turn your head," Sorbet instructed.

Lumaca looked up in the mirror at Sorbet as he held her curls in one hand and a brush in the other.

She had been studying herself in the mirror and thinking about her initial hesitation when he offered to help gussy her up for the big day. It wasn't that she didn't think he could do a good job; she knew he was an expert when it came to painting his and Gelato's nails. She had just worried about potentially bothering him with it.

Though, she was glad that he was so persistent in the end. After all, he did have the innate ability to make anything look lavish on a tight budget.

"Like this?" she asked, turning her head to the right.

"Yeah," he replied.

The brush's teeth glided through her hair, smoothing out any rough curls that were sticking out of her head. Each stroke smoothed it out more and more until he was able to hold all of her hair in one of his hands. Then, as gently as he could, he wrapped it up into a bun. He left two long strands on either side of her face.

He stepped back to study his work from afar, feeling rather proud of himself.

Then he noticed her shift in expression.

"You look nervous," he commented.

She looked up at him and gave him a little smile.

"I am a little," she admitted.

"What's wrong?" His head tilted slightly. "Today's a happy day."

"I am happy, Sorbet!" Her hand went to her chest. "I feel like my heart could explode right now; you know? It's racing like crazy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean after today, I get to..." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I get to spend the rest of my life with Ghiaccio. It's all I've been wanting and I'll get that privilege today. I'm just... Feeling a little overwhelmed with love, I guess..."

Sorbet sighed quietly to himself, and he kneeled down to her eye level.

"Ghiaccio feels the same way," Sorbet mumbled. "You should've heard him. Every day since you said yes, he's been rambling to me and Gelato. Rambling about how long he's been waiting for this. How he wants everything to be perfect for you. How he loves you so much."

Her eyes went wide, even sparkling a little.

His eyes, in the meanwhile, drifted to the ceiling as he continued on.

"I can't say we've ever seen him happier, and it's because of you..."

Sorbet stopped and looked back down at her when he heard her sniffle. Her hazel eyes shone with tears and her lips carried a smile that could challenge the warmth of the sun.

He squinted and pointed a finger at her.

"No crying, Lumaca."

"I'm sorry," she smiled as she began to fan her eyes with her hands. "I'm trying not to, but-!"

"No crying," he cut her off before she could work herself up even more. "Save that for when you go to meet your groom at the altar."

He realized a little too late that those words only made her even more emotional. Now she was biting into the inside of her lip in a vain attempt to stop her tears from falling.

"Sorbet, that's making it worse!" she giggled, a sound which awakened his playful side. If she was going to be like this, he figured he'd have a little fun with it. Who knows? Maybe, it'll loosen her up a little.

"Not my fault..."

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered into it.

"... Mrs. Ghiaccio.~"

She pulled away from him with a squeal, holding her ear and letting her laugh fill the room.

"Sorbet, you jerk!"

He too started to chuckle, taking some joy in hearing his friend laugh.

Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of a firm knock at the door. After motioning for her to stay seated, Sorbet got up and made his way to the sound of the knocking.

He peeked through the window.

"It's Formaggio and Prosciutto," he called back to her.

Within a matter of seconds, the front door had been swung open and in walked Formaggio with Prosciutto right behind him. They were both dressed for the occasion, in formalwear similar to what Sorbet was currently wearing; white collared shirts with red vests and ties, long black pants, and polished black dress shoes.

"Hey, hey!" Formaggio called out. "What's going on bride gang?"

"Hey, Formaggio!" Lumaca smiled over her shoulder at him. "Nice to see you're already dressed."

Formaggio held up a hand to his chest and let out a fake gasp.

"Why I'm surprised at you, Space Cadet!" The nickname made her scrunch up her nose a little. "You say that like I was hoping to skimp out for the occasion."

"Thank God you didn't," Prosciutto mumbled behind him. "A lot of us would've been pretty pissed off if you hadn't come prepared."

"Hey now," Formaggio tilted his head to look back with a grin at the other man. "I thought you were supposed to be the father of the bride, not MY father!"

Prosciutto sighed at him before turning his attention to the Man of Honor and the bride. "Good afternoon Sorbet and Luma...."

Taking one look at her made him stop and stare.

"Good afternoon, Prosciutto." she smiled.

Prosciutto gave himself a quiet moment to take it all in.

He knew this day was coming ever since she and Ghiaccio had announced the engagement, but now as he stared at her, it dawned on him that she, someone he saw as a daughter, really was going to be getting married.

And that he was going to be the one to give her away.

"You look beautiful," he commented, trying not to let emotion show in his voice.

"He's right, I mean damn Sorbet!" Formaggio suddenly chimed in before she had time to thank Prosciutto for his kind words. "You did a great job. Lumaca's looking good enough to eat."

She smiled warmly at his reaction.

"Thank you!"

Lumaca suddenly noticed that Formaggio had a devious glint in his eyes. Deep down, she and the others knew that he was wanting to add on some sort of suggestion. However, just as he had opened his mouth again, a knock came to the door.

Sorbet was quick to answer.

"Oh, thank God," he mumbled, looking out the window. "It's Gelato."

The door opened and in walked Gelato, dressed in similar formalwear to the others and his face a little frazzled. He and Sorbet greeted each other with a quick kiss.

"Ahh," Formaggio called out to the newcomer. "So, the last bridesman finally decides to show up."

"Shut your mouth, cheese head," Gelato laughed. "It's not my fault traffic was bad."

"What, just like it is every other meeting day?" Formaggio chuckled, while Sorbet closed the door behind them. "Buddy, it's okay to say that you overslept or something."

With a roll of his eyes, Gelato's attention went to Lumaca and his face lit up upon seeing her.

"Oh!" He gave a little wolf whistle that made Lumaca act all bashful. He trotted up next to her and kneeled once he was in range. "Well, would you look at that! Now, who could this principessa be getting married to, huh?"

"A handsome cavaliere with blue curls!" she chirped.

"What a lucky bastard he is," he chuckled while he stood back up. "Speaking of which, the wedding's in about twenty-five minutes, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sorbet went up next to Gelato, his hand resting on the small of his back. "We were just about to leave."

Though her face was lit up with excitement, Lumaca's eyes gained a hint of anxiety.

"It's..." she took a deep breath. "It's time already?"

"Just about," Prosciutto commented, looking down at his watch. "Sorbet's right; we should be heading out since it'll take fifteen minutes for us to get there. Let the two of them help you up."

Sorbet and Gelato both held out a hand to Lumaca, who took hold of them both and rose from her seat. She was careful not to catch herself on her dress or the chair as she stood up to meet them.

"There we go!" Gelato chirped. "Now let's go! We don't want to keep the groom waiting, do we?"

Lumaca looked over at herself one last time in the mirror, and it dawned on her that a bride was staring right back at her. In that moment, she was looking into the eyes of someone who was on her way to marrying the love of her life. The thought alone started to make her head spin.

Masking these feelings for the time being, she turned to look at Gelato with a smile.

"No, I don't think we do!"

#❄soft snow (lumaghia)❄#❄soft snow wedding❄#self ship #self shipping #self shipping content #self shipping community #sorlaca (friend tag)#lumapros (familial tag)#formaca (friend tag)#self ship wedding #⛵sal's writing

16 notes · View notes

rogue-durin-16 · 4 years

Text

THE KEEPER (Part I/II)

Summary: When a mysterious person threatens the heir's life, the service of a personal guard is required to keep him safe until the foe is found. Fíli, who doesn't take the matter very seriously, only sees it as an chance to spend more time with certain knight.

Pairing: Fíli x Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @queenofmankind @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: a little angst, probably some typos

A/N: am I deliberately ignoring the canonical end of The Hobbit? Maybe so. PSA my phone died and i just got a new one; I'm still getting used to typing with it, that's why I haven't updated in more than a week. It's also why you'll probably find typos here, but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3.

Part II

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

I sighed at the music that echoed through the pillared halls of Erebor and managed to sneak into my room. Staying isolated while the whole kingdom was partying made my immature side, the one who would run down to the celebration in the blink of an eye, come to the surface, burying my common sense in its way.

"Must I tie you down to the lamppost?" Luckily, I had the most efficient keeper in the entire Royal Guard to remind me what I could and couldn't do.

"Would it kill you to relax?" I teased, though I had gotten her memo and was already moving away from my door.

"Probably." She replied, sparing me a quick glance with raised eyebrows. "Likely, it would kill you too." I rolled my eyes at her. "That's rather the point."

As a new idea crossed my mind, a smile flashed across my face "I'll risk it." I said, moving to stand in front of her, and held out a hand. "Dance with me?"

"No?" her tone expressed perfectly her incredulity at my words.

"Y/n I'm so bored, please, indulge me." her eyes opened widely, throwing daggers at me as I removed her sword and started to tug her towards me. "No one will attempt to kill me here."

"We don't know that." she retorted, though she didn't stop me from placing one hand on her waist and the other up in the air holding hers.

"Yes we do." I hummed, starting to sway at the rhythm of the music, quieted down due to the distance between us and the great halls. "We're in my chambers."

"will you remind me why aren't you at the party?" she inquired intently.

"Because of Thorin's paranoia?" I feigned innocence as I pretended to doubt the answer.

"Wrong." I pouted and she shook her head. "Someone sent you a death threat." I huffed, pulling away from her to spin her around. "You should take it seriously." I dramatically groaned, pulling her back to me. "Fíli." I couldn't help but grin.

It took me quite a while —almost a year— to convince her to call me by my name and not by my title.

"There is nothing to worry about," I stated, earning a tired sigh from her. We had been having that same back and forth for a week —it had started as soon as she had been assigned that task, in which I might have had a hand. "Because you are here to protect me."

"Something I can't quite do if I'm dancing."

"I said I'll risk it" i repeated with raised eyebrows.

It was then that she finally started to relax in my arms, not before letting out a sigh of defeat accompanied by an eyeroll though. Her beautiful eyes drifted off me to get lost somewhere at my left; took that opportunity to let my poor façade down and stared at her mesmerized as if she was the Arkenstone.

It's not as if I didn't make it quite obvious that I fancied her —actually, that was an understatement— but often my feelings were accompanied by a joking tone to spare my heart from Y/n's genuine reply.

A strong knock made us jump away from each other and rush to get our respective weapons. "Fíli?" My shoulders relaxed when Nori's voice reached us, but just as I stepped to open the door, Y/n tugged my arm to stand behind her. "Calm down, will you?" The dwarf requested, offended at Y/n's hostility whilst letting him pass.

"I tried telling her, but she won't listen." Y/n huffed and I winked at her. "What is it?"

"Thorin wants to move you to another room until this is sorted out." My eyes widened at his words. Now the whole matter was starting to look like a tempest in a teacup. "Dwalin offered to exchange chambers with you."

"You're all exaggerating." Y/n joined Nori in his task of picking up the necessary. "This is ridiculous!" Both of them were now running around the room, completely ignoring me. "I can defend myself!" Y/n, now at the doorframe, motioned me to follow her out of the room. "I refuse to leave my room just because a coward sent—"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Force wasn't necessary." I grumbled, throwing myself over my back to the king sized bed. It wasn't as comfortable as mine.

"In fact," she gave me an intent look, taking off her light armor and mesh, and throwing them over a stone bench. "it was."

I propped myself up with my forearms, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion as I stared at Y/n. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to sleep?" She replied, leaving her sword as close to her as possible, in case she had to reach for it.

"In that chair?"

"Yes?" Now she was the one who frowned confused. "Where else?" With eyebrows raised, I motioned at the large, empty space on the bed. "No?"

"There's enough room left for you and your sword." She snorted as if I was joking —which I partially was but not entirely. "We're both grownups are we not?" Her eyes pierced through me giving me that look. "It wouldn't be the first time that we sleep together anyway."

"We are not to repeat that." She stated.

"Y/n? Y/n." I kicked her leg through my blanket and hers, making her gasp and consecutively turn to meet me with an annoyed gaze. "Don't give me that look."

"You just kicked me." She hissed in the same quiet tone I was speaking.

"Because you're shivering."

She completely spun around so now we were face to face. "That's not a valid reason to kick me."

"I was trying to get your attention." Before she could complain again, I rushed the words out of my mouth. "Sleep with me." She slightly scooted away, surely taken aback by my suggestion. "I'm freezing too." I added, which wasn't a lie, just an exaggeration.

Before I knew it, we were laying together with both blankets over us, our legs interlaced, and our faces way too close.

"this is the most uncomfortable position we could have chosen, is it not?" I laughed, refusing to let my cheeks redden.

She laughed too, in the same way I had. "Any suggestions?"

"maybe..." I started guiding her, searching for another posture. "Maybe... Like this? or-"

I was cut off by her quiet laughter, now genuine and contagious, as she had ended up with her torso over mine. "I don't think this is better." She caged me so she could prop herself and move; and she propped herself, but didn't move.

The muffled chuckles had died the moment our gazes met. Both of us parted our lips in an attempt to say something, but none spoke.

With our eyes locked, my hands carefully traveled up her thighs whilst one of hers hesitantly caressed my cheek.

As if we had silently agreed on it, we both leaned into each other and let our lips share a ghostlike kiss that left me yearning for more. It was the reason why I unconsciously lifted myself, trying to capture Y/n's lips when she pulled away.

I snapped out of it when my forehead met hers and her hands rested on my chest. It was the strangest sensation; seeing the regret in her orbs at the same time as I felt her body refraining itself from returning to me.

"... would it be so bad?"

Y/n opened her mouth like a fish out of water. "It would be worse. I thought I made clear that this" she finally spoke, motioning between me and her "cannot happen."

"Well, this time we're not sleeping in the woods." I reasoned, deliberately ignoring the pang in my chest. "So there is no reason for it to happen again. Now" I patted the matress. "Sleep with me."

After a moment of meditation, she gave in and lay down, throwing the soft furs over her.

Silence.

"This is uncomfortable." She spoke, both of our bodies stiff and our eyes on the ceiling.

"It is."

Silence.

"Okay, take the bed." I finally said, attempting to get off it and move to the chair, just to be tugged back by her hands.

"Don't you dare." Before I could argue, she scooted closer and I had to force myself to relax when she laid her head on my chest because I could make it even more uncomfortable if I didn't do so. "No kissing this time." She teased.

"Yes ma'am." I replied with a chuckle, wrapping my arms around her.

It didn't take long for either of us to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

I woke up to Fíli and Kíli's hushed voices, and I instantly jolted up, entering a kind of alert mode that only the two brothers were able to get me into.

"What are you doing?" Kíli's eyes went from his brother to me, and back to his brother. "What is it?" Instead of giving me a reply, the younger prince nodded at the blond one and exited the room. "What on Durin's beard was that?" I inquired, suspicious.

"I was telling him where I was going." Replied, sheathing his blade.

"You are not going anywhere."

"I am going out."

"No you're not." I commanded, already dreading it would be in vain.

"To Dale." He was speaking so casually, as if he wasn't about to disobey direct orders from our king and to get me in trouble in the process.

"Fíli."

"I need fresh air!" His voice became slightly louder in desperation.

"Go to the damn balcony!" I replied, mirroring his tone as I threw the furs off me.

"I'm going out."

"Well, I'm staying here." I firmly stated, not willing to give in just yet.

"Then I'm going out alone." And with that, he left. "Until this afternoon!"

"What even-" after going through a moment of shock, I got up and put on my boots, only being able to grab my sword and belt before rushing out of the room.

"Oh so you are coming?" He teased, literally strutting along the hallway, not bothering on slowing down the pace for me to be able to buckle my belt and sword around my waist without struggling.

"You're impossible." I yanked his arm to stop his walking.

With my attention on the belt I didn't notice how close he had gotten, so when his hands appeared in front of my eyes, pulling away mine, I had to stop myself from gasping. "You have always loved challenges." He pointed out, taking care of securing the belt around me.

"Not when I have to keep the challenge safe." He pulled at the leather clothing to make sure it was okay, and then held my hand to prompt me to resume the walk. "I don't even have my armor on."

"You won't need it." He assured me, not allowing me to go back before sneaking us out of the mountain.

This would surely end terribly.

129 notes · View notes

hearteyes-for-killmonger · 5 years

Text

Wig

One-shot.

Get rid of that wig. It was all Erik had asked of his girlfriend, Mylen. Not all of her wigs, because she had a lot of them and most of them were nice. Just that one damned wig. It was a short curly jet black bob but the hair was straight and looked like plastic fibers. He hated it.

"Mylen.... Mylen.... Mylen.... Mylen.... Mylen," he called from her bed. She didn't wanna talk because he refused to go to her stuck-up sister's dinner party the previous night. He couldn't stand her fugly sister. Still, he'd fucked when he showed up to the apartment after the fact. Mylen was pissed, but she couldn't turn down the sex though she'd tried. He was too convincing. She was mad at him and herself now and punishing both.

She plopped the atrocity on over her fuzzy wig cap covered cornrows and adjusted the part to the side trying to gel down the stiff pieces she'd cut around the hairline. It didn't even look real, there was no scalp in the part. The hairline wasn't natural at all. He didn't know wigs, yet he knew it looked like she hadn't spent more than $2 for it.

"Baby, this the last time I'm a say change your hat. You look crazy."

"I'm not changing shit," she said dryly, adjusting and tugging the wig in the mirror as if it would magically sit right.

She KNEW it looked crazy. She wasn't dumb. What could she be seeing that he wasn't seeing? He looked back and forth between her and her reflection and couldn't figure that out. She was just being stubborn because she didn't wanna listen. She had anger issues like him and hated following orders, it was why she'd had so many jobs.

"You might as well wear a clown wig then. You'd look better than you do right now," he glared at her dark part. "You know if I ever did some shit like this you'd be on my ass."

"I don't know... what you're talking about," she muttered applying a thick coat of clear gloss to her heart shaped lips.

"Okay, you don't know what I'm talking about..," he shrugged watching her leave the bedroom. She was off to work. He shook his head watching her back as she left her apartment leaving him there without a kiss. All because she was mad. Whenever she got mad, she'd put on that stupid wig not caring how she looked but wanting to piss him off. She knew that wig was ugly. There were nice human hair wigs lined up on little white styrofoam heads in the room that he had to stare at all night whenever he came over, but she hadn't chosen one of them realistic ones. She went straight for that hideous thing knowing how much he hated whenever she wore it. It burned him up completely.

"She doing this shit on purpose," he mumbled. "Petty for no reason. All because you don't like being told what to do."

With no one in the apartment to listen to him complain, he washed up in her bathroom and threw on a fresh suit he'd purposely left there for times like this.

---

The day went on with Erik carrying out his schedule. An early meeting, a seminar, lunch, a briefing, and a file's worth of paperwork. Mylen didn't call all day and he knew it was her pride stopping her because any other day she'd call him around lunch. She'd call just to say she missed him. She'd call and she'd use her small voice, all sweet and little. She wouldn't allow herself to succumb today. She'd rather suffer and stare at her phone wishing he'd call in her stubbornness. He knew she was waiting.

He didn't call her either. He let her sit with her stubbornness and that ugly ass wig until he left work and went home, freshening up and changing into something casual before heading to her apartment again. By the time he got there, she'd be ready to talk or at least have sex again.

---

He unlocked her door letting himself in. He knew she was home and there she stood with an apple in her hand staring at him.

"Hey Mylen," he greeted, exaggerating his tone to see if she was still mad. She was. She bit into the apple and chewed staring at him before walking away into the kitchen.

"Mylen..," he called after her. "You gone talk to me one way or another. I have ways of making you talk."

"Hi Erik," she said flippantly.

"And drop the stank attitude, I let you take it far enough. You know I hate your sister. She hates me. You wanted us to fight because that's what would've happened since she can't control her mouth." Erik watched Mylee lean on the counter crunching on her apple. "Okay, act like you can't hear." She was back to ignoring him again, her crunching and smacking loud as if she could drown out his presence.

"Gimme this fuckin apple," he snapped snatching it from her hand and dropping it. "Tired of you ignoring me. This fuckin wig." He snatched it off of her head and she hissed.

"I had the comb in the front..," she growled rubbing at her scalp and removing the wig cap. "If you broke my hair strands, I'm chopping you in the throat."

"I'm a burn this shit," he snarled holding the wig in her face before tearing through the kitchen searching the drawers for a lighter. He found a blue BIC one and held it up to the wig.

"You send my wig into the ancestral plane, you leaving with it," she threatened with wild eyes, fierce as a tasmanian devil. He kissed his teeth and threw the wig at her face watching it ricochet to her chest and then to her hands.

"Fuck that wig," he growled snatching her waist into his grasp, digging his fingers into her skin when she tried to yank her body away.

"Fuck your hairline," she retorted struggling in vain.

"Shutcho ugly wig wearing ass up. I'm sick of you acting like a damn brat." He picked her up before she could get out another word and carried her into her bedroom, throwing her onto the bed and pulling at her clothes as she struggled, her stubbornness at its height. "Stop fuckin moving," he threatened putting the flame from the blue BIC in his hand down to the comforter. "If you feel like putting a fire out go ahead and keep struggling like I'm trying do something to you you don't want. You pissing me off. I will light a fire under ya ass."

She mean mugged him, her eyes narrowed but she stopped moving. "That's my girl.. You so damn mean.. Why you so mean?" He pecked her on the lips. "Hm?" A few more pecks and her eyes softened just a bit but it was enough for him to notice. "So stubborn," he pecked her with another kiss before moving to kiss on her jaw and her neck. This time he was able to get her clothes off and the most she did was huff and puff. He didn't care about that. She could do that until she turned purple if she wanted.

"You better be wet for me," he tipped his head peering into her eyes as he felt between her outer lips down toward the vagina. She was as he knew she'd be. She may have been angry, but she still couldn't turn down good dick. It didn't matter how much she mugged him. She was always ready. Even now. Pulling out his dick, he penetrated her watching her angry expression falter.

"Yeaaah," he dragged, "Stop acting like you don't like this dick." It never failed.

Soon the anger was completely removed from her face replaced by the expression that told him he was on her spot and to keep doing what he was doing. She grabbed his waist pulling his ass out of his sweats to grab and hold him closer.

"You want me to stop," he asked and she shook her head. "Words," he demanded. She only took his demands when she was horny and his dick was inside of her. That was when she became real agreeable.

"Don't stop, daddy.. please," she moaned gripping him as close to her body as possible.

"Trash that wig," he ordered, holding his dick and her orgasm hostage by pausing until she replied. She whined. This was the ransom yet she hesitated. "Trash. The. Wig." She tried to wiggle to feel him move but he held her still.

"I'll trash the wig, okay!... Fuck me," she whimpered and he continued to watch her face and her body, working her into her orgasm. Her attitude was gone.. for the next two hours and then she was mad again. Mad that she let him make her cum. Mad that she caved almost as soon as he'd gotten there.

When midnight came, she faced away to sleep and Erik rolled his eyes. He decided he knew his girl and the inner workings of her troubled mind and unbeknownst to her, he wasn't taking any chances.

2 AM he woke up and Mylen was fast asleep. Lifting silently, he snatched up that hideous wig and took it into the bathroom holding it over the toilet as he pissed all over it throwing it into her trash can. After washing his hands be felt better. He didn't care if she got mad about it. She was always mad. He slipped back into the bed and went to sleep.

---

When he woke up the next morning Mylen had already left. He went to the bathroom to piss and the wig was gone. Where had it gone? Had she taken it to the trash shoot?

Something told him to call her.

"What," she snapped. "I'm on my way to work."

"Yeah I know. What wig you wearing."

She sent a pic of herself flipping off the camera with that same damn wig on and he wanted to choke her. He hung up. He was done trying. He had his own morning to prep for.

---

It was about noon when Mylen called. She called the first time and Erik let it go to voicemail as he was typing at his computer, but then she texted him and called him and he answered.

"What?"

"I smell like straight up hot piss. What did you do to my wig!"

"I pissed on it. Anything else you need?"

"You're disgusting! I'm a piss all on your clothes when I get home," she threatened.

"And I'm a hold you down and piss on you, you irritating ass brat. Say I won't."

She couldn't because she knew he would.

"Don't come over tonight," she said.

"Nah, I'm coming over and we gonna fuck like we did last night and the night before. You said you wouldn't wear that wig and you lied now you smell like piss. Don't do stupid shit and we won't have a problem."

"I can't stand yo ass."

"Then have several seats," he said hanging up. She'd get over it.

@muse-of-mbaku @imaginewhoever @whoramilaje @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @marvelmaree @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagines @vikkidc @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @monogamous-nympho @drsunshine97 @purplehairgawdess @trevantesbrat @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @fonville-designs @they-call-me-le @theblulife @raysunshine78 @sheisexcellent

#erik killmonger #erik stevens #original #killmonger #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger imagines #erik stevens au #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger smut #killmonger smut #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction

254 notes · View notes

motleyfuckingcruee · 5 years

Text

Rocket Queen

0.2: Hope

Henley's P.O.V

I stare into the mirror as I carefully apply the lipstick. I wasn't going to dress up tonight, but Madeline insisted that I did. She said that tonight is going to be a great night. I do not believe her at all. I think it's just going to be a night like any other.

Our nights always go like this:

Madeline shows up at my house around seven. My parents under the impression that she's staying the night. We spend the next three hours getting ready, even though it only takes me thirty minutes. Madeline isn't the girly type, but when we go out, she dresses to the nines. At around nine we climb out the window and into the dark night. We walk to Sasha's bar which is only a few miles away. We arrive at the back door of the bar. One of the bartenders, Sebastian lets us in. He mixes us some strong drinks. We make our way to the dance floor and dance the entire night away. When we're done, we go back to my place, sleep off the alcohol in our systems, then meet up with Jake and Eva at her place the next day. I highly doubt tonight is going to be any different.

I take a step back from the mirror so that I can see how I look. I'm wearing a ripped up Rolling Stones shirt that cuts off at my belly button. You can clearly see the black lacy bra I'm wearing underneath. Madeline managed to coax me into wearing one of her leather skirts. I paired it with some fishnets. To finish the look off, I'm wearing my doc martins. I will never wear heels. They hurt too much.

Madeline is sitting on my bed, flipping through some teen magazine. She squeals as she stops on an article about none other than Motley Crue.

"Oh my God!," She yells. "Tommy and Nikki are so hot!"

I smile at her. Little does she or the media know, Nikki has a girlfriend named Angel. Nikki's been able to keep their relationship under wraps for a while now, but it's just a matter of time before they're spotted together.

"Don't you think they're hot?" She asks, shoving the magazine in my face.

I laugh, pushing the magazine away from me. "Yes they are."

Madeline is about to start reading the article when the phone in my room rings. My parents let me get my own phone installed in my room so that they wouldn't have to listen to me talk to Athena and Tommy all the time.

I know exactly who's calling so I try to pick it up, but Madeline is faster.

"Hello?" There's silence as she listens to either Tommy or Athena. "Yeah sure, she's right here."

She hands me the phone, a content smile on her face as she goes back to reading the magazine.

"Hello?"

"Hey you!" Athena says, sounding giddy.

I laugh. "What are you so happy about?"

"Weell," She says. Oh no. She has something evil planned. "I may or may not have called Tommy."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Okay, you called your brother. You two barely talk anyway. What's got you so happy?"

"We decided that in a few months we're gonna drive up to see you!"

If I was drinking something, I would've spit it out all over Madeline. "Seriously?" I ask, my voice going two octaves higher.

"Yep! We've missed our best friend!"

"Do you guys know when yet?" I ask. How the hell am I gonna keep it from everyone that a rockstar and his sister is going to be in town to see me?

"Not yet, but we'll let you know as soon as we know!"

I laugh, feeling really happy. I haven't seen them in so long. I miss them.

"Henley, we need to go," Mads says, looking at the clock on the wall.

"I gotta go, Thena," I say. "I'll talk to you later."

"What're you gonna do? Go have some wild sex?"

I snort. "That's the last thing I'll do. You know me better than that."

"Love you, Henny."

I roll my eyes at the stupid nickname. "Love you too."

I hang up the phone, feeling one hundred times better. I can't wait to see them. I'd rather I go visit them in L.A, but this works too.

"Who was that?" Madeline asks, getting up to make sure she still looked good.

She's wearing a very low cut black shirt that shows off an excessive amount of cleavage. She wears a leather skirt as well, only no fishnets. Her heels are so high I think she's gonna break her neck by taking one step. She applies another layer of lipstick, smiling at herself. It's no secret that Madeline Love is gorgeous. Surprisingly, she's really not that vain.

"My best friend from Los Angeles," I respond, opening the window for us to crawl through. "You ready?"

"Hell yeah! I'd like to hook up with some cute guy tonight," She giggles, walking over to my door and locking it.

I laugh. "Of course you do."

"I think it's time for you to get laid," Madeline says, already out the window and on the tree.

I sigh. I'm still a virgin. I'm saving myself for someone who actually loves me. I almost did it with Tommy last year when he came home, but we got interrupted. That's probably for the best anyways.

"I don't think it is," I answer, crawling through the window as well.

We make it down onto the grass safely and we start to walk towards the bar.

"I think you're gonna meet someone tonight," She says happily, linking her arm through mine.

I sigh, not wanting to argue. "I might."

I doubt that I will meet someone, but I can't help but notice the sliver of hope that I feel.

TAGS:

All fics: @the--blackdahlia @sugar-content @sharon6713 @siliwanoel @charlyallise @lo-bells @lauravic @livingdeadharley @kawennote09 @ozzypawsbone-princeofbarkness @hllywdwhre @abbysdogcollar @nikkisixxwiththebass @waywardprincess666 @tommyleeownsme

@rock-n-roll-soul-frankie @unholy-brat @eak1996 @madsthegroupie @sinningsixx @kissyourrosegoodbyemotley

Duff: @daisystuffsstuff

#duff mckagan #duffers #fanfic #duff fanfiction #80's rock #80s bands #80srock #80s rock #80s #80s music #steven adler

23 notes · View notes

areluctantsblog · 5 years

Text

Music AU - part 3

Au where Tony Stark is a music producer & the owner of Avengers Entertainment, Peter is a multi-instrumentalist British jazz musician and War Machine is a progmetal band. In other words the starker fic in which Peter smirks a lot and Tony remains astonishingly oblivious for a long time.

PART1 PART2

Evening

Two hours and two thousand pounds later Tony is back in front of the mirror in his room and is finally satisfied. Well, the suit is not bespoke, that would have been impossible in such a limited amount of time. But it feels the best he owns, a sensation which may have more to do with why he bought it rather than where. He finishes his second drink, smooths down the front of his jacket and revels in the soft touch of the fabric. Unbidden, his mind conjures up the image of Peter’s long fingers and the way his pale skin would look against the dark charcoal of the suit.

Snapping out of his reveries, Tony feels the need of grounding himself and decides to have dinner before the concert. His desire of getting around the exhausting search for a suitable place wins out over his habit of avoiding hotel restaurants and he calls room service. The food arrives soon, and he decides to eat on the balcony despite the chilly breeze. The lights of the city are beckoning him, and the noises melt together in an excited buzzing. Tony feels anticipation course through him, the prickling of adrenaline in his veins pushing him forward despite the anxiety coiling at the pit of his stomach.

Tony watches the taxi drive away before turning around and taking the ship in. It looks just as cool as on the website and he’s not surprised to see a small queue at the entrance. He walks down the steep dock and joins the line. He wishes away the uneasy feeling settling in his chest, but his efforts are in vain. He has nothing to occupy his mind as he waits, and he starts wondering when the last time was that he had gone to a concert not for business. Then Tony reminds himself that this is business. But he can’t deny that this is something else, too and it makes him nervous.

He barely notices when he’s up. He gets his ticket, enters and puts his coat in the cloak-room without paying any attention. The exposed, naked feeling he got from Peter’s gaze that morning is back. Entering the concert hall, Tony walks straight to the bar. The velvety taste of his Islay whiskey brings him back to the present for a minute, but the smoky aroma reminds him of the chilly morning air and Peter. Shaking his head, Tony takes another sip, leans against the bar and takes in the venue.

The windows of what seems to have been originally the dining room are closed off. Tony suspects that it’s been done to achieve better acoustics. The walls, along with the old panelled ceiling are painted matte black. The copper wall lamps appear to be genuine and they create a steampunk vibe without trying too hard. Tony makes a mental note to consider this venue for Avengers’ gigs in the future. He can just imagine young Londoners going crazy for Loki’s dark post metal here. Although steampunk doesn’t really suit heavy metal, the lightning visuals of the God of Thunder would go excellently with the Steamer’s all-black interior.

His musings are interrupted when he catches Peter’s name in the conversation of a small group at the bar. A youth with their back to Tony says how much they wait to see what Peter comes up with next. Tony can’t suppress a grin, but the excitement in his chest soon turns into something more unpleasant. There may be a hundred people there already, mostly Peter’s age. Tony wonders how many of them are his friends and acquaintances. He’s surprised to recognise the emotion clawing into him as jealousy.

Not wanting to dwell on this, he finishes his drink in one swallow and starts towards the stage. Being so close to the excited crowd forming the first few lines doesn’t help changing his earlier train of thought, so Tony turns his attention to the instruments that have already been brought out to the stage. The grand piano occupies almost half of the place. The drums are set up in the back and to the right there is a beautiful reddish double bass and a stool for the player. At the centre of the stage Tony sees an alto and a soprano saxophone. He can’t help but feel a little awe-struck again, when he remembers that Peter can play all these instruments. Tony wants to see it all, but he suspects that Peter will only play one tonight. Before he can decide if he’d preferred the sight of Peter hugging the double-bass to that of his delicious fingers flying over the keys of the piano, the lights are dimmed.

Tony hasn’t noticed so many people arrive, but the cheering that erupts suggests a nice crowd. He doesn’t join in, not so much out of professionalism, but because the realisation that any second now he’s going to see Peter again hits him hard. Before he can even wonder how to prepare himself, however, Peter walks out on stage and Tony’s breath hitches. Impossibly, he looks more beautiful than Tony remembered, his expression determined, dark eyes glowing in the blue light. He wears a long white shirt reaching almost to the knees. The way it envelops his slim figure sends a shiver down Tony’s spine – a sensation that has nothing to do with professional appreciation of Peter’s sense of style.

When Peter picks up the saxophone, Tony feels something hot coil in the pit of his stomach. He tries to focus on how Peter’s holding the instrument, if it is the proper way, but when he starts to play, the last of Tony’s pretences are swept away. His usual cool and collected professionalism stands no chance in Peter’s presence. He’s immediately transported by the vibrant tune.

It feels like spring and sunlight, like being caught up in the turmoil of a busy town square, surrounded by colours, sounds, touches that fit together seamlessly, all part of one pulsating flow of life. Then the saxophone opens new paths and Tony finds himself removed from the centre of things, relaxed, breathing in the dust and the lazy afternoon sunshine as he wanders down empty streets. The sea is glistening like a myriad of diamonds at the end of the road, and Tony kneels in the sand, letting the foamy waves wash over him, cooling him, bringing him back.

Opening his eyes is like waking from a deep slumber. He has no idea how much time has passed, whether the cheering and clapping indicates the end of the first song or the whole concert. When Peter speaks, greeting the audience, Tony’s relieved to find out that it’s only the beginning. Before he signals the band to start playing again, Peter’s eyes find Tony and for the briefest moment they lock gazes. For a second the rest of the crowd disappears, and they are alone, just the two of them in their connection. Tony’s never been affected like this before.

He barely has time to recover before the first notes of the second song begin, and he’s drawn back into that dreamlike state. His eyes fall shut and after god knows how long, Tony Stark begins to dance. His whole body is attuned to the music. Every note resonates in his chest and each note flies around him, teasing him, making the soft swinging movement feel irresistible. Tony revels in the new sensations awoken by Peter.

Where he usually feels cool and empty, gentle flames now sparkle into life, warming him, dancing in his chest like fairy lights. He feels young, careless in a way he’s never been, chasing his lover around white walls in a vivid green garden, the sunlight playing tricks on his eyes, until he finally reaches him. They kiss and Tony feels tears well up in his chest, but he laughs, because it’s the most delicious thing he ever felt, almost unreal, magical.

Each song takes him to a new place. The colours, perfumes and sensations evoked by the tunes seem familiar, yet dazzlingly new, as if coming from a long-forgotten part of his soul that Peter's music somehow manages to reach. It's like breathing freely again.

By the end of the concert, Tony feels both exhausted and energised. He can't wait to find Peter. As his brain starts to function normally again, he comes up with one argument after the other to convince Peter to sign with the Avengers. He can't let him go. Peter is incredible, his compositions, his playing, his presence, all of it. All of him. Tony needs him. As the crowd slowly starts dispersing, he walks back to the bar. It doesn't take long for Peter to join him. Tony hears the congratulations he gets as he walks across the dance floor. He doesn’t turn around, but he lifts his glass in celebration as Peter slides on a stool next to him.

When he turns to face the young man, Tony aims for an appreciative expression, but he can feel that he misses by a mile. Peter’s face is flushed, his forehead covered in shining drops of sweat and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. The sight sends a wave of arousal through Tony’s body and he knows that it shows. He wets his lips and clears his throat, but it takes a second try to actually get any words out.

“You are amazing,” Tony says, wishing he wouldn’t sound so much like he was in a post-orgasmic bliss.

The playful twinkle in Peter’s eyes suggests that he knows full well what is going on inside him. He holds Tony’s gaze for a long moment before he thanks him with a genuine smile. Then, he takes a sip of his club soda. When a drop starts running down the side of the glass, he flicks out his tongue and licks it off. Tony can’t look away and Peter’s smirk tells him that the young man knows it. Tony gulps.

“Peter,” Tony begins trying to keep the raspy edge of arousal out of his voice, “I need you to understand..." Peter frowns at that and lifts his gaze, so Tony's looking him straight in the eyes when he speaks his next words. "You've made me feel things I've never felt before. Fuck, I know I sound cheap, but you see, I'm quite old for new emotions," he adds jokingly, but at the same time it hits him how painfully true it is.

"My point is that you–, your music," he corrects himself, "is incredible and the way you own the stage…” Shit. He can't make it about how sexy Peter is. He is, god yes, he is, otherwise Tony wouldn't be getting hard from those dark, attentive eyes boring into his, but Peter is not the type to be flattered into a deal. And yet... “You are perfect,” Tony finishes after a moment’s pause, getting his voice back under control. Try as he might, he couldn't sum it up any better.

Peter tilts his head slightly, bright eyes searching Tony’s face and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Tony wants so much to lean in and kiss him, it hurts. But he can't. For one thing, it would be utterly unprofessional and for another, Peter surely wouldn't want him. It really shouldn't hurt as much as it does. And Tony certainly shouldn't dwell on it for such a long time.

“So,” Tony starts, the exact moment he sees Peter move. His heartbeat quickens with excitement, but by the time he blinks, Peter is completely still again, looking at him expectantly. Tony’s chest tightens. He’s never been so nervous about business. He swallows hard and continues. “What would you say about a deal with the Avengers?”

The change in Peter’s expression tells Tony instantly that he said something wrong.

“What?” he asks, confused. “Surely, my offer can’t be wholly unexpected…”

Shit. He hasn’t made it better.

“Well, Mr. Stark, I can assure you that your offer took me entirely by surprise.”

Peter’s mocking him, but why? What has Tony done to offend him?

“Peter?” When he hears how weak his voice sounds, Tony clears his throat. “Mr. Parker, I’m sorry if my offer doesn’t seem appealing to you. If you would let me explain, I’m sure we can agree on more satisfying terms.”

A hollow laugh is all the answer Tony gets before Peter excuses himself in a colourless tone and walks away. Tony is dumbstruck. He can’t fathom what went wrong. One minute, Peter’s gaze was open and interested, the next he looked hurt and he shut Tony out so fast, he had no chance of figuring out his mistake. Tony stares down at his hands. He has no idea what to do. If he gave up, it would be the right time to leave. But has he given up?

At least the ‘no’ in answer to that question comes without hesitation. No, he still wants Peter.

Tony stays like this for a long time, his mind foggy, his whole body numb. He tries to think but can’t come up with anything helpful. Then it hits him. He hears his own words again, as if he spoke them out loud. He wants Peter. He wants Peter, period. Tony feels his face flush in embarrassment, but he can’t fight off the grin spreading on his face, either. Shit. How could he have denied it even for a minute? How could he have said ‘Yes, he’s beautiful, but– ‘? How could he have convinced himself that it was all professional?

Well, Tony know why he felt he needed to convince himself. He would have never believed that Peter can be interested in him. His reputation is one thing, his age is quite another. He was horrified to be seen as a creepy old man thirsting over young people, abusing his power to get them and using them to make him feel young again. No, Tony’s not like that. He doesn’t need young lovers to make him forget, because he simply doesn’t mind his age.

And, apparently, Peter doesn’t mind it either. Tony tries hard to come up with an alternative explanation, but there’s no other way to see this. He recalls his own words, how he as good as confessed all his admiration and desire to Peter. And he welcomed it. The memory of his smiles makes Tony’s heart clench. It’s obvious now, what he did to offend Peter. Foolish as he is, Tony Stark practically turned down Peter Parker. He told him he was perfect and that he made him feel in a way he never had before – then went on and offered him a fucking contract. How utterly humiliating that must have felt, especially if Peter expected something else…

Tony buries his face in his hands. He must make things right.

He can’t.

Can he?

Tony has no idea, but if there’s ever a time to take a risk, then it’s now. He stands and starts walking purposefully towards the VIP entrance.

“Did you name-drop yourself to get in here?” Peter asks, half exasperated, half teasing, when he notices Tony.

“No,” he replies, taking a seat next to Peter, turning towards the young man, abashed. “I actually name-dropped you.”

Peter bows is head in mock surprise, but he seems to relent. Relieved and embarrassed at the same time Tony laughs, and his heart starts beating faster when he hears Peter chuckle too.

“So, you’re still interested, even though you can’t own my music?”

“Peter,” Tony begins for the second time that night. He pauses searching desperately for the right words to deliver his feelings. “In the last two hours you took me through space and time and showed me some magical places. And yes, it would be a dream to work with you, because you are ridiculously talented and you create true art. But when you stopped playing, I opened my eyes and I realised that it wasn't the music. It was you. It was you that I…” he pauses. He needs to get it right, to prove himself, to make up for his blindness and stupidity. “It was you that got me spellbound and I would very much wish to be with you.”

“Well then,” Peter smiles, eyes bright, voice like honey, “when is your flight back, Tony Stark?”

Tony frowns. Is that what this is going to be? A quickie before his flight? He wasn’t prepared for this answer, but what can he expect after making such a fool of himself? He swallows past the lump in his throat and answers. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“No,” Peter corrects, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling with some new emotion. He slides off his stool and steps closer. “I meant your flight back here.”

Tony’s chest suddenly feels too tight. He laughs in relief and beams at Peter as the young man leans in to kiss him.

#starker #music au #mine #a reluctant writes

53 notes · View notes

doodlelolly0910 · 5 years

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: I can't believe we're already at chapter 19!! Ok, so this chapter. We get super feelsy and some stuff goes down. And some steaminess (finally amirite lol) and revelations. Things are leading to the end! Just a few chapters left! I'm thinking 3-4 more max. So things are really in full throttle here :D many many thanks to my wonderful beta @kmomof4 (whom I may have killed with this chapter lol) and to @courtorderedcake who is the disgustingly talented artist who created the art for this fic that I love so so much. And thank you so much to anyone who still reads this thing, y'all make my day with every comment, reblog, like, so thank you, truly, to anyone reading this still. Y'all are amazing. Ok! New chapter! Let's go!

Chapter 19

Emma was the one to take Killian’s hand when she got out of the car, though she was sure he would have followed her anywhere she went at this point, hauling him straight into the office and pushing him into his chair. He loosed a grunt upon impact, but Emma didn’t pay any attention to him, instead flopping her bag on the desk and beginning to dig through it.

“If you wanted it rough, darling, all you had to do was ask,” he said, adjusting himself and watching her move around.

“Okay, so, don’t freak out, but I want to try something,” she said breathlessly, dragging the other chair around the desk in front of him. “Remember the shirt? The first contact I had with Milah? I have it here.” She thrust the bag towards him and he looked inside. His head popped up when he saw the fabric within the zippered compartment of her satchel.

“Emma…” he said on a heavy exhale. She chewed on her lip and brushed a few strands of hair from her face, not meeting his eyes.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I just… I just want to see… fuck, this is so stupid, maybe I shouldn’t have- you know what, just forget it. It’s too much and I don’t even know-” Her rambling was cut short by the feel of his strong, calloused fingers gripping her hand and squeezing. She turned her gaze up to meet him, and the hope and trust shining in his eyes almost knocked her on the floor.

“Do it. I want to. Please, Emma,” he said, voice quiet but firm. Emma blew out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her eyes wide, fear running rampant through her gaze, but she held onto his hand like a lifeline. She sat, trying to get her nerves under control, wiping her hands on her jeans to rid them of the fine layer of sweat that they had developed once he released her grip. He reached into the bag and pulled the shirt free, a shaky sigh escaping his lips.

“She loved flowers,” he murmured, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “She wore a lot of shirts like this, but this one was of her favorites. Never thought I’d see it again,” he admitted and looked up from his hands to meet her gaze again, extending the clothing to her in an offering of faith and trust in her and Emma could do nothing more than wordlessly reach for the garment and grip it tight.

The encounter was gentler than she thought it would be, considering the first encounter with Milah had been so intense, letters swimming through her head and whispers loud enough to drown out everything around her. It wasn’t like that this time. But this time, she could see.

A woman came into focus, dark ringlets bouncing around her face, blue grey eyes alive with amusement and wonder. She wasn’t transparent, or glowing, or any other cliche ghost thing. It was like seeing someone on TV but right in front of her. Like a hologram, without the light. She knew she wouldn't be able to touch the woman, her hand likely to go right through her, but there she was, all the same. Emma took a deep breath in and got swept up in the fragrant jasmine in the air around her.

“Hey, Emma,” she said with a smile. “It’s so good to talk to you face to face. I didn’t think we would ever get this chance.”

“Milah. I didn’t expect this to be so...uh…”

“Vivid?” she finished for her, walking towards where Emma sat in the chair before Killian. She looked at the man fondly, sweeping her fingers over where his hair was, her fingers slipping right through where the strands lay as if they weren’t there at all. Which, they kinda weren’t. But a shiver went through Killian’s body all the same.

“What’s happening? What’s she saying?” Killian asked, his eyes settling back on Emma’s face.

“Oh, Killian. So impatient, agrà,” Milah chuckled and Emma let out a disbelieving laugh of her own. Killian's brow furrowed and Emma shook her head, stupid smile still in place.

“Ah, she says you're impatient. I can see her, Killian. She's… she's right next to you,” Emma said in a watery voice, wholly overwhelmed by this entire experience already. Killian sat up straighter, eyes darting around the room.

“I don't think you'll be able to see her, Killian,” Emma said, a note of sadness in her tone, and Killian stopped his search, face falling slightly. He nodded and blew out a breath.

“How does she look? Is… is she alright?” he asked anxiously.

“Yeah, she looks good. She can hear you, you know,” Emma urged and Milah gave her a soft smile.

“Milah, God, I…” he began but faltered, looking back to Emma for guidance. “What do I say to her?” Emma was taken aback by his plea for help.

“I don't know, I haven't done this before either! Just talk to her, I guess. Say what's on your mind.”

“Right, right. Okay.” He breathed another deep breath, seemingly calming himself, and Emma mirrored him.

“I miss you,” he said, almost a whisper and a crack formed in Emma's heart that cut deeper than she'd like to admit.

“I miss you too, agrà. More than you could know. Please, please stop this madness with your thirst for revenge. Get out of this world,” Milah said and Emma's throat tightened as she watched the spirit’s hands hover over his hunched form.

Emma cleared her throat before speaking, but the tightness remained. “She, uh, she says she misses you too. More than you know. And she is asking you not to seek revenge anymore. She said she wants you to get out of this world,” Emma relayed and Killian looked positively indignant. She reached out immediately to soothe him, her left hand touching his lightly, the other still clasped tightly around the shirt.

“Agrà,” Milah murmured and Killian froze. His lips parted on a sharp inhale, his features draining of color in an instant.

“Killian?” Emma asked softly, moving to pull away from where she touched him but his hand shot out like lightning, gripping her own tight. Emma looked to their joined hands to Milah, then back to him. As tight as his grip was, she could still feel him shaking. It was like he'd seen a ghost. Or…

“I heard her,” he whispered, nearly inaudible. Emma's mind went completely blank. This had never happened before. “Emma, I heard her. She said…” he broke off on a chuckle that seemed to bubble from his mouth of its own accord. “She said ‘agrà’. I heard her. I heard Milah’s voice. I… I…” he faltered for any sort of word, shaking his head incredulously.

“Milah, say something else,” Emma urged, keeping her eyes on Killian and tightening her own grip around his hand.

“You're meant for so much greater, Killian. You are not defined by your losses. Please don't do this.” Milah was earnest, the pain on her face at being so close to Killian and being unable to touch him was almost tangible. Killian looked similarly frustrated and hurt, but there was an underlying layer of joy and wonder that she'd only seen from him one other time. When he'd kissed her the first time. Emma's heart broke for them both just a little.

“Milah, I can't, he is a monster,” he growled and Emma inhaled sharply at his direct acknowledgement of the spiritual presence. “He took you from me, he took my hand, he took everything and he cannot be allowed to remain unpunished.”

“It's not your place, agrà. Let Emma take care of it. She can keep you safe. She can save you, Killian.” Milah’s murmured words had Killian's eyes snapping back towards Emma's. There was still pain there, so much emotion, but there was a softness now as well. Emma only got a glimpse before his expression sealed up tight. His jaw tightened and he looked away.

He didn't acknowledge anything Milah had said, instead responding with, “I love you, Milah. I'm sorry for everything.” He unfurled his fingers from Emma's, patting them lightly where they rested on her jean covered knee before releasing them altogether and breaking his connection to Milah.

Milah and Emma sighed almost simultaneously. Emma could feel her soft eyes on her now and she turned her own gaze up to meet them.

“I can't stay, Emma. Killian will come around. I hope it's not too late. Can I ask something of you?”

“Yeah, Milah, whatever you need,” Emma replied over the tightness in her own throat.

“Take care of him. More than that, let him take care of you, too. There's something here between you that goes deeper than even you know. It could be something really special, if you let it. Don't be afraid to feel. I'll be around.” Milah smiled softly at Emma and turned her gaze back to Killian. This was a goodbye for her, a hell of a one at that, and Emma felt like she had been sucker punched in the gut. Who knew when or if this would or could ever happen again. She couldn't take her eyes off of Milah even as she faded from sight without another word. She continued to stare at the spot where she had just stood trying in vain to process what the spirit had just told her.

“She's gone, isn't she?” Killian's voice brought her away from her panic stricken fog and she nodded. He nodded in turn, a soft, sad smile quirking his lips. He looked up at her then, unshed tears making his eyes sparkle.

“That was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me. You… you are amazing, love, just incredible,” he said, his voice cracking in and out of a whisper. “Has that ever happened before?”

“No,” Emma answered in a whisper of her own. “None of these things have. I shouldn't have been able to draw you so well, I shouldn't have these extended encounters with your loved ones, I've never seen a spirit during an encounter in person, and no one has ever heard them because we touched. I don’t know why these things keep happening with you. It’s like we’re… like we’re connected somehow, on this deeper level, or something. I don’t know!” She threw her hands in the air before burying her face in them. She felt a gentle hand grasp at her wrist and tug it away from her face after a moment. Killian's blue eyes bored into her, a heat and an intensity that touched her physically, making goosebumps scatter over her flesh. And then he spoke, low, husky, his voice the very thing sin was made from.

“I don’t believe in fairy tales and ghost stories, Swan. I don’t believe in soulmates, or true love, or happy endings, especially not for me. I am a villain in this tale, after all, and villains don’t get happy endings. But I do believe in you. Whatever just happened here was real. And I believe whatever is here between you and I, it’s real, and it’s true, and it’s so deep it scares me. You are something magical, love.”

She couldn't have stopped herself if she tried, though Milah's words made her want to jump in her bug and never come back. Despite that, she leaned forward, watching the caution in Killian's features slowly melt away as he realized her intent. She pressed her lips lightly against his before pulling back and looking into his eyes again, gauging his response. She saw the same heat there, only intensified, looking back at her from the carefully schooled mask he had in place.

So she did it again.

Something inside Killian snapped in that instant and his hand plunged into her hair as he sealed his mouth over hers. The strands pulled on his rings against where her elastic secured her thick locks on the crown of her head so she reached up to undo it with both hands. He took advantage of her raised arms and as soon as her curls tumbled free down her back, he looped his hooked arm around her back, hauling her out of her chair and pressing their torsos tightly together.

Emma moved her legs to frame Killian's thighs, essentially straddling him as he reached down to thumb the notch in her chin and open her lips to his questing and insistent tongue. The first hot lick into her mouth had her groaning and sinking into him further, her own hands snaking up to tangle in his thick, dark locks, pulling him closer and returning his kiss with just as much fervor.

He held her tight to him, a soft, breathless gasp of her name escaping his lips when they pulled apart for air that had her jumping right back in. His hand was everywhere, tracing the edge of her jaw, sifting through her hair, stroking the column of her throat and skimming down her arm before plunging back into her golden mane. He held her like she would disappear if he let go, and she knew in part that was thanks to the encounter. Too many people had just disappeared on him, just as they had her. The thought of him clinging to her like some sort of life preserver should have sent her running for the hills but it just sent her diving deeper into him, clutching at him just as desperately.

Lust and a want so intense it burned her from the inside out flared through her veins. When his hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and touched the bare skin of her back, she whimpered into his mouth, which in turn had him pressing up into her curves. She could feel his own want for her in the solid outline of his erection through their jeans and wetness pooled between her thighs at the thought of him being connected to her in every way. She had to stop herself from grinding down on him like a cat in heat.

Somewhere in the back of her conscious mind, through the thick haze of want that had infiltrated her being, Emma heard the tinny jingling of a generic ringtone echoing out into the room. She ignored it, pressing herself further into Killian’s embrace, sweeping her tongue over his own like it was the last thing she would ever do. She never wanted it to stop. But no sooner did the chirping from the phone stop than did it start up again and Killian was pulling away.

“Emma, love,” he panted, voice husky and deep, still stealing kisses from her lips as she tried to press forward like he couldn’t stop himself. “Fucking hell, your phone, it could be your contact. Much as I’m enjoying this, and believe me, I am.” He flexed his fingers into her hip, pulling her tight against his lap where his arousal was now more than a little prevalent, pulling a moan from Emma, which in turn pulled a shudder from himself. “I don’t fancy a police raid because they couldn’t reach you.”

The phone stopped ringing, then started up again and Emma squeezed her eyes shut on a groan. Clambering off of Killian’s lap, her hair wild where he had been running his hand through it, she snatched her phone from where it lay on the table in the corner and jammed her finger viciously into the answer button.

“Yeah,” she snapped.

“Hey, Nolan. Long time.”

Emma felt something swell up inside her at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. Several emotions all balled into one, the most prominent of them being joy and relief, and she could barely get her voice above an awestruck whisper.

“Graham.”

#captain swan #cs ff au #cs ff #csff #cssns #close encounters of the spiritual kind #captain swan supernatural summer #monday update #chapter 19

16 notes · View notes