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let-it-raines · 4 years

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your wonder under summer skies (11/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

-/-

“What do you think about – ”

Killian’s fingers flutter across her hip, nails curving into her, and Emma shifts on the mattress, angling her hips closer to him and sticking her left leg between his. The hair on his legs brushes across her skin, and she loops an arm around his stomach, tugging on his chest hair with her fingers as she props her head up with her free hand. Killian tugs her closer, and she grumbles as his hand settles more firmly on her ass.

“What do I think about what, love?”

“Well, maybe if you’d let me finish instead of feeling me up, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

His hand squeezes her again, and Emma would squirm out of his grasp. She really would. She simply can’t find the motivation.

He flashes her a smile, the small light breaking through her closed blinds making his teeth shine almost blindingly white, and she can still see the sleep in his eyes, the blue as bright as usual but somehow the slightest bit duller than usual, an impossibility that is somehow possible.

Damn charming idiot.

“Me? Let you keep talking? I’d never do that.”

Emma tugs on his hair. “Shut up.”

“I think we just established that’s the opposite of what I want.”

Emma rolls her eyes and shifts a little closer to Killian so that she can lean down and brush her lips over his collarbone before moving back until her lips touch the ink on his back.

“I was thinking,” Emma repeats against his skin, “that it’s a Monday, you and I both have the day off, all of the fourth of July tourists are gone, and that we should get some takeout and borrow one of the boats you guys have stored in the marina.”

His fingers move over her ass again, sinking down just far enough that Emma gasps as he ghosts over warm flesh in a teasing touch that might promise so much more if she plays her cards right.

Or wrong.

Or not at all.

All she has to do is ask. Killian isn’t really one to say no.

He hums as his fingers keep moving and as his lips brush against her forehead, light, fleeting, almost invisible. “Liam would love that.”

“Please. Liam has done it before. Elsa talks about all the times they’ve gone out. Hell, we go out with everybody all the time.”

“Ah, yes, but that is Liam, and the rules are a little different for him.” Heat burns low in her belly as he keeps teasing her, and she feels it simmer across her skin. The room is suddenly warmer than it was, her air conditioning and ceiling fan not doing the work they’re supposed to be doing. “However, I’ve never been one for following the rules when I know how to bend them.”

“Scoundrel.”

“Or dashing rapscallion.”

“Same thing.”

He winks and she laughs. His fingers keep moving, and Emma shifts over him, settling herself on top of Killian so that his hand slips away but she can feel the delicious friction of Killian brushing up against her. God, this is not helping how hot she is. Leaning back, she purposely rolls her hips and listens to Killian groan. It’s deep and guttural, and the sound reverberates around the room and settles heavily in her throat so that she has to swallow it down. His jawline is sharpened by his scruff that he shaved yesterday, and he tilts back into the pillow as his eyes shut.

“So, what do you say, KJ?” she whispers. “You want to run away from the world and take me out on some rich person’s boat?”

“For you, sweetheart, I think we can do that.” His hands grab onto her hips and suddenly he’s lifting her off of him until she’s on her side on the mattress and Killian’s back is brushing up against her as his lips run hotly across her neck and his hand grabs onto her breast, fingers moving over her peak and driving her higher and higher far quicker than he has any right to. “But it’s still early, and I’ve had other plans in mind since before you started your hour-long saga about Ruby’s date with Mulan last week.”

“It wasn’t an hour.”

“It certainly felt like one.”

“It was not.” She tries to lean away from him to grapple for her phone, but he tugs her back until she can feel all of him brushing up against him. His breath is warm against her neck, and suddenly, she’s not so bothered by the heat anymore. “You’re not going to let me check my phone to prove a point?”

“Swan, can you be quiet for just one minute?”

“One minute? If that’s all it’s going to take, I’m not sure I want you to be my fuck buddy anymore.”

His hand and his lips still, but it’s only for a second. She wouldn’t have even noticed if she weren’t so damn turned on right now and if there wasn’t a distinct lack of coffee running through her system, but she quickly forgets any qualms when Killian lifts her leg over his hip and he’s brushing against her right where she wants him.

Fuck.

“You’re usually not so talkative in the mornings,” Killian whispers into her ear before she turns her head so that his lips brush over. It’s soft, gentle even, and she keeps waiting for Killian to hurry, but he doesn’t. “Are you still tired? You called pretty late last night.”

“Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“I think it’s your turn to shut up.”

He laughs into the kiss, and she does the same. But then he’s sliding into her, slowly, slowly, slowly, and she loses all of her breath at the feeling of him inside of him, warm and thick and full. He retreats for a moment, but then he’s rocking back into her, slow and steady and so damn delicious that she has to dig her nails into the sheets to keep herself from writhing.

Killian likes when she does that, though, likes a lot of things about how she is behind closed doors and underneath the sheets, and her cheeks flush at the thought. He’s usually one for her being on top or him taking her fully from behind so he can bury himself inside her, but this, she likes this, too.

“Hmm, you feel good,” she mumbles against his mouth as he keeps kissing her, the movement as slow as the thrust of his hips. She tangles her other hand in his hair and pulls him closer as her nose presses into his cheek.

“Now, I’ve certainly heard that one before.”

She pushes her hips back in response, and Killian bites down on her bottom lip as his hips begin a steadier, smoother rhythm that has her gasping for air and wondering why the hell they haven’t been doing this for longer.

Warmth continues to spread over her, and while there’s sweat pooling at her lower back and across her forehead, there’s a warmth that she can’t quite explain, one that she doesn’t necessarily want to.

It’s easier not to.

Killian’s hand palms her breasts once more while his other hand trails down her stomach, scratching across the smooth planes of her stomach before going just low enough that she definitely can’t breathe anymore as her body keeps reaching for that high.

It’s not long before she finds it, and Killian swallows her cry with his kiss, his tongue soothing it away as that warmth spreads even further and his hips keep slowly snapping to work her through it and have him find his own high.

God, it’s so good that it would be totally unfair for him not to feel this way too.

When it’s over and Emma is still boneless, she flops onto her stomach and buries her face in her pillow as her heartbeat still tries to calm. She can feel Killian’s lips on her back, and he moves down, tracing her skin with his mouth before he buries his face just above her ass while his arm loops over her.

She doesn’t want to move for the rest of the day.

This. This is all she wants.

“Can you carry me to the bathroom to clean up?”

Killian huffs against her. “Give me five minutes, and then I can.”

“For someone who has a pretty fast recovery time, that’s a little slow on you getting the strength in your legs back.”

“I ran on the beach last night. I’m still sore.”

She reaches back and pats his head. “Poor baby. How ever will you survive?”

His teeth bite into her skin, and Emma squirms away, moving out of his hold and nearly falling to the floor. She catches herself at the last minute, but only by sticking her leg down to the ground.

“You were saying, Swan?”

“Ass.” She finishes rolling off the bed and stands up. She might as well. “Do you want to shower before we go steal a boat?”

“Borrow. We’re borrowing one. I have to pay a fee.”

“You have to pay a fee to your own business.”

“Aye. That’s how it works.”

“Huh. Okay, well, get some cash out of my jar on the bookshelf, and I’ll pay for half of it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It was my idea. Technically, I should be paying for all of it. But half is good.”

He nods and rolls back. The light is now hitting the ink on his hip as well as the ones on his arms, and really, she should dedicate more time to tracing that damn compass. “And I won’t shower here. I’ll rinse off at the docks.”

Emma raises her hand and salutes. “Aye, aye, Captain. I’m going to shower, so you can do whatever you want. I think I might possibly have cereal.”

“I would be surprised if you did. You need to go to the market.”

Emma shrugs. “I get fed at work or by you. I really don’t think I do.”

Emma leaves Killian in her bed to walk to the bathroom and shower. She takes the time to shave since she’s going to be in a bikini all day. Halfway through she wonders if it’s really worth it since she’s it’ll only be Killian around. She’s nearly there, though, so she finishes before turning the water off and running a towel up and down her body. She doesn’t bother wrapping herself in it when she walks back to the bedroom and digs out a white bikini from the back. She really needs some new ones, but this is an old favorite. After she puts it on and ties it, she finds a pair of jean shorts and a button-down before walking down the hallway to her kitchen.

Killian’s standing at the counter, spoon hanging out of his mouth, and she’s genuinely impressed by the fact that she actually had both cereal and milk.

It’s pretty much a miracle.

“I’m ready to go when you are. Where do you want to get takeout from?”

“Granny’s?”

“A man after my own heart.”

The spoon falls from his mouth, metal clanging against her countertops, and she swears that Killian’s body stiffens before he shakes himself out of it and reaches over for the spoon.

What the hell was that?

“Clumsy, much?” she teases.

“Don’t make fun of me, love. I will be the one driving us today, and if memory recalls, you have no clue how to drive out on the waters.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’ll have to teach me.”

By the time they’re down at the marina, it’s past noon. Emma has a bag full of towels, sunscreen, and drinks, as well as their takeout from Granny’s, and Killian’s got Skipper on his leash. The dog keeps trying to jump into the water, and Emma has no idea how he’s going to deal when they’re actually out in the middle of the ocean.

Seems like a disaster waiting to happen.

Killian steps onto a small, clean boat. It’s only got a seat for a driver behind the steering wheel and then a small, built-in section of cushions at the back, and after taking his hand to get on, Emma settles down there with Skipper, who is more focused on trying to get their food than anything else. Killian slowly drives them out away from the docks. He waves to several people on the way out, ones they’ve both worked with enough to recognize them as they lounge on their boats, and then they’re breaking away from everything and to the calm of a still ocean and the sun shining down on her skin.

This is exactly what she’s needed.

This summer is non-stop. She has barely had any kind of break where she could have a full day to herself. Hell, she hasn’t really wanted that. A day to herself means a day to overthink everything that’s currently happening, and she doesn’t need that.

What she needs is to stretch out on a towel and let the sun bake into her skin while the boat gently rocks beneath her and salt water splashes over her skin to keep her from getting too hot.

If only she could be a tourist in this town and have this be her everyday reality.

“Swan, if you leave your food sitting out, Skip is definitely going to eat it all.”

Emma rolls over on her side and opens her eyes to squint at Killian. “Is that your way of saying you’re going to eat my food?”

“Never. Mine is better anyway.”

Her eyes roll, and she sits up on the towel before standing and walking over to sit on the cushions next to Killian and Skipper. She grabs her food out of the bag, as well as a bottle of water, and opens the container to grab an onion ring. Skipper is definitely eyeing her onion ring, but that’s not happening.

These are too precious for that.

“Oh my God, did I tell you who I saw at Granny’s?”

Killian shakes his head and adjusts the aviators on his face before stretching his arms above his head, his muscles pulling at the movement.

That isn’t distracting at all.

“Who?”

“Have you met the new sheriff? Graham something? I think it starts with an H. Um – ”

“Humbert, I believe.”

“That’s it! Anyway, so he was at the counter getting food for him and David, and he introduced himself. Like, he knew who I was and everything, and I’m 100% sure Marg didn’t listen to me when I told her I didn’t want to be set up with him.”

Killian’s arms fall down to his lap. “Pardon?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? Mary Margaret was really into setting me up with him a few weeks ago. I think it was on the fourth, but I told her I wasn’t interested in it. She has obviously put the wheels in motion, though. Or David is super weird and has a picture of me on his desk or something.”

“I feel like one of those is more likely than the other.”

Emma shrugs and bites into an onion ring. “Maybe. It was so weird, though, because I could tell he was trying to flirt, but it’s like I had no idea how to respond.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and props his foot up on the small table. “You mean, you didn’t flirt back?”

“Why would I flirt back?”

“Because you’re a single woman and an attractive man was into you. Flirting seems like the right thing to be doing.”

Emma swallows and puts her container of food down. She closes it so Skipper can’t get into it and then crosses her legs underneath her. “How do you know he was attractive?”

“I’ve seen him around. He looks like your type.”

“My type?”

“I know you’re partial to men in leather jackets with facial hair.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms, onion ring dangling from her finger. “Are you jealous?”

She can’t see his eyes from underneath his sunglasses, but his forehead wrinkles and his brows peak up enough for her to know they’re rising. She probably shouldn’t have asked that question. She was kidding, but Killian does not seem amused.

“Why the hell would I be jealous?”

“It was a joke, KJ. You don’t need to get all defensive about it. I know you’re not jealous because we’re not – you know…whatever.”

“No, no, we’re not, so I’m not bloody jealous. If you want to go on a date with the Sheriff, you should go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine.” Killian rises from the seat and walks back toward wheel on the boat. “What kind of music do you want to listen to?”

Holy whiplash Batman.

Where did that conversation even come from?

And how the hell did it end?

“Whatever you want. You know I always trust what you pick.”

He nods and thumbs through his phone until she hears the familiar sounds of John Mellencamp playing through the portable speaker Killian always brings out.

“So old school today?”

“Mhm.” He steps down the small step and reaches for Emma’s hand that is now onion-ring free. When she doesn’t take it, he flexes his fingers. “C’mon.”

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“I’m asking you to dance.”

“Why the hell would you ask me to dance? You’ve seen me dance. You know I’m bad.”

“That’s because you’ve never had a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh, and that’s you.”

“That is definitely me.”

She shakes her head as Skipper tries to get into her lap. “I’m not dancing with you.”

“Swan.”

His lips curl into a smile, soft and pressed together before he’s showing all of his teeth. His tongue flickers behind his teeth, and she just knows how his eyes look even without being able to see them.

Charmer.

“You were being a bit of a dick a minute ago.”

“Was I?”

“Definitely.”

He reaches forward and grabs onto her wrist, gently tugging her up until her legs are unfolding and she’s standing next to him, the boat warm against her bare feet. Killian intertwines are fingers with hers and pulls her flush to his chest as his left hand settles on her waist, inching closer and closer to her ass.

“If this was an excuse to touch my ass, you could have just done it.”

“Please,” he groans, “I’m more of a gentleman than that.”

“You keep saying that, but I know for a fact you’ve been staring at my boobs all day.”

Killian tilts his head back with his laughter and quickly spins her around before she settles back in her position from before. “You’re wearing a thin white bikini. It hides exactly nothing. What did you expect me to do?”

She tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s long enough to be able to flip and flow now, and she kind of likes it. It makes him look handsome in a boyish kind of way, and really, she’d be okay if he didn’t cut it for awhile.

As if that’s any of her business anyway.

“I expected you to do exactly that.”

He chuckles and keeps swaying with her as Jack and Diane still plays and the water shifts underneath them. “You’re something else. You know that?”

“I am aware of my greatness.”

“Do you remember,” he chuckles, “about three years ago, when we all took a boat off the water, and David and Liam thought it would be hysterical to push everyone off and into the water when they were least expecting it?”

“Yeah, but after two people, we were all definitely expecting it.”

“True, but it didn’t keep you from getting tossed in.”

She gently slaps the back of his neck. “Hey, if I remember correctly, that was your fault.”

“Only partially?”

“That’s how I remember it.”

“Partially my ass,” she laughs, tilting her head up to look at Killian. “You were in on it with them. You called me over to get me to help putting sunscreen on your back, and I was doing it, David picked me up and threw me in.”

“What makes you think I was doing anything other than protecting my skin from the sun?”

“Because you had just put some on. I remember.”

“No, no. I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened!”

Killian hums and spins her around again. She nearly trips over Skipper, but he dodges her before coming back to lick her leg.

“I don’t recall that happening that way, so that must mean I’m right.”

“You’re not, and I’ll forever hold that grudge against you.”

“Add it to the list, darling. Add it to the list.”

The song starts dying out, and another one starts. She doesn’t recognize it, but its tempo is slower and softer. It’s peaceful, and if she hadn’t moved from her towel, she could easily be falling asleep right now.

“I miss when Liam was like that,” she whispers. “He used to be so carefree.”

“Liam has never been carefree. He’s worn the weight of the world on his shoulders for his entire life, and it’s rare that he doesn’t feel that or that he doesn’t have a stick up his ass. I love him, but he can be a righteous ass.”

“Hey, I feel the same way about you.”

Killian’s hand tightens in hers, but then it loosens, the iron grip gone.

“Hey, Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you help me put some sunscreen on my back?”

“Yeah, sure, I – oh my God.”

In the blink of an eye, she’s being lifted off her feet and over Killian’s shoulder so that the only thing she has a view of is his ass and Skipper panting.

She is going to murder him.

“Well, I’d wait until you got in close with the Sheriff before you committed a crime like that.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did indeed, love.” He pats her ass and then starts walking toward the other end of the boat. She could get down if she wanted to. She knows that she’s strong enough and that Killian would let her, but she’s honestly kind of curious to see if he actually has the balls to do it. “I bet the water feels great.”

“Why don’t you dive in and see for yourself?”

“I think I’m going to let you go first.”

And then the bastard tosses her in the ocean.

So he does have the balls to do it.

The water’s cold when she lands in it, and salt water ends up her nose. But she doesn’t stay under for long. She’s not necessarily scared of the animals that live in the ocean, but she’s not fond of the idea of getting eaten by a shark or stung by a jellyfish either. So she quickly swims back to the boat and climbs up the later until her likelihood of dying is at a minimum. That’s always something she’s aiming for.

As soon as she can see clearly again, she scans around to try to find Killian. He’s not anywhere on the boat, and Skipper is standing at the edge loudly barking. Emma turns her attention that way, and finally, she sees a mop of black hair emerge.

Huh, he really did jump in after he tossed her.

“How’s that water feel, Jones?”

“Refreshing. You didn’t want to stay in?”

“Not really a fan of getting eaten by a shark.”

“You do look like shark bait.” He pulls himself back up and sits beside her, nudging his shoulder into hers. “Did you really not see that I was going to throw you in the ocean the moment I brought up that story?”

“Oh, no, I did. You’re not sly.”

“So you think, love. So you think. What do you say we finish our lunch now?”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you interrupted me. I’m surprised there’s even any left with Skipper on board.”

“He’s like his owner. He has better taste than onion rings.”

“He’s also like his owner in that he smells like a wet dog.”

Killian chuckles and wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulder, pulling her in to kiss her cheek. “It’s best you get used to it since you’re stuck with us for the rest of the day.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

-/-

The sun sets while they’re still out on the water. The vibrant blue sky fades into the most brilliant shades of orange and pink that mix together like only an expert painter could do. Emma see sunsets all the time. She works during them, and she’s got a perfect view of the ocean from her office and from all of the dining halls, but she never sits and watches. It’s the same sight almost every night, the same mechanisms happening in the sky, but there’s always the slightest difference depending on how many clouds are scattered in the sky or the upcoming weather.

Tonight, it’s perfect, and Emma can’t help but stare as she sips on a bottle of water and perches herself on the bow with Killian. His skin is already darker than it was when they set sail this morning, a tan now totally covering him and sharpening all of his features. Meanwhile, her freckles are all more prominent, but overall, she’s the same color except for the red on her cheeks. It’s been a good day, she thinks, even if there have been a few times where Killian has gotten a little short with her or zoned in and out of conversations. Maybe he’s got something on his mind that’s bothering him, but he would tell her. That’s what they do.

Rule number one and all that.

“I much prefer the sunrise to a sunset,” he suddenly says.

“Aren’t they pretty much the same?”

He drags his foot in front of him before pulling his knee to his chest. “The colors are different, just barely, but if you look at it enough, you can tell. Milah was a painter, and she would always talk about the subtle differences. I never noticed until her.”

Emma’s breathing stutters, but it quickly returns to normal. The only time Killian has ever mentioned Milah by name was the night of the fourth because she was having an absolute meltdown over seeing Neal. She knows he only did it to help, to share something to show that he understood, but really, it made her feel so damn guilty.

His girlfriend died, and then he found out she had this entire other life.

Emma can’t…she can’t imagine how he dealt with that, but then again, he and Liam picked up their lives and moved to another country after it, so maybe he didn’t deal with it too well. And yet, here he is still talking about something she loved to do because he still loves her. He didn’t say that, but Emma knows. She gets it.

So maybe his point did work. They do understand each other.

“I also am partial to how quiet it is in the mornings,” Killian continues. “I’ll be on a run or have Skipper in the sand, and the only thing I can hear is the chirping of the birds of the crash of the waves. It’s peaceful. You don’t get that a lot of times when the sun is setting.”

“What about right now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “is pretty perfect, too. You ready to go back home soon?”

“In a little while. I think maybe I need to appreciate the peace while I can.”

It’s midnight by the time Emma sets foot on solid land again. She’s exhausted, but it’s the good kind where she can feel it in her bones and in her smile. Skipper runs ahead of the two of them to the car, jumping in as soon as Emma opens the door, and Killian settles into the passenger’s seat as Emma turns the key in the ignition and starts driving back to her place.

“Where are you going?”

“My place.”

“Oh.”

Emma turns to look at him and watches him twist in his seat. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Can you drop me and Skip off at home? I’ve got an early day tomorrow, and I’d really like to get as much sleep as possible in.”

“Um, yeah, I can do that if that’s what you want.”

They drive in silence for the few minutes that it takes to get to Killian’s place, and when she puts her car in park, ready to turn it off completely, Killian leans over and presses his lips against her cheek. “Goodnight, Swan. I’ll see you later.”

-/-

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#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #queue poetic noble land mermaid

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brideofedoras · 4 years

Text

The Loft: Redemption

Disclaimer: the usual... I only own my OC. Photo found on google.

Word count: 2300+

Warnings: Allusion to past abuse and being triggered

Link to Chapter 2 (with Ch. 1 link)

Monday morning rolled around faster than Sam would've liked. She felt her stomach churn at the prospect of not having Linda there to talk to.

She headed to the office early with a quick stop at the bakery along the way. Armed with fresh donut holes (plain glazed, cookie dough stuffed, cinammon sugar sprinkled, and maple glazed) and a toasted white hot chocolate, she halted in her tracks when she reached the door to the office suite.

"What the... When the hell did he have this done?"

Her grey eyes began to burn as she studied the frosted glass of the door.

VMS Architecture, LLC. Vincent M. Stevens, NCARB Samantha Monroe, Administrative Assistant

She stared at her name, beautifully scripted in gold lettering on the glass.

Linda hadn't even had that honor.

Her hand trembled as she unlocked the door and stepped into the office. My office.

As she flipped on the light and started toward her desk she paused again, startled to find her name beautifully engraved onto a walnut name plate settled on the corner of the desk, next to a matching business card holder complete with a stack of cards with her name, extension and email.

A ceramic flower pot sat next to the computer monitor at the opposite corner of the desk with an artfully planted variety of small cactus plants. She let out a watery laugh at the wording on the pot: Free Hugs. She knew the cacti were from Linda, an inside joke between the two of them based on something Linda had told her earlier in the week. Vincent will come off as prickly for a while, but he will eventually warm up to you, Dear. Give him time, give him space, occasionally make sure he eats and drinks if he has a very busy day. One day he will surprise you.

A gift bag and a card were placed on the center of the desk. Sam shook her head as she set her cup and the donut holes down, busying herself with putting her purse away and hanging her jacket on the coat rack next to the door.

She had just finished starting the coffee and setting the box of breakfast goodies on the refreshment table when she heard the door open. She turned around and offered a warm smile when Vincent shut the door behind him. "Good morning, Mr. Stevens," she greeted him. "Thank you for..." she gestured to the desk set.

"Don't mention it," he frowned at the desk. "Ready to start your first official week?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "The coffee should be ready in five minutes, and I picked up an assortment of donut holes," she made her way to the window and the cords for the wooden blinds. "I wasn't sure what you would like so I picked four different kinds."

"I know Linda told you I have a sweet tooth," his tone was wry as he made his way to his office. "I'm sure whatever you got is fine."

Sam made her way back to the desk. As she waited for the computer to start she picked up the card propped up against the small gift.

Sam-- Our Vincent struck gold when he hired you to take over the office. You will do just fine as his new assistant. Don't let his prickly demeanor get to you, it's become his default setting ever since that happened. And don't forget, you can decorate your office however it suits you, you can bring stuff in to keep in the bathroom, you can listen to your music, and you can dress however you feel most comfortable as long as you still look professional. And if Vincent ever treats you wrong, don't be afraid to call me. I might be moving out of state, but I can always make a trip back to knock some sense into that thick skull of his. You can also call me anytime you want, keep me up-to-date on the gossip. I'll miss everyone there, and even though I'd only known you a short time, I've come to view you as another daughter. You take good care of our Vincent, spoil him with breakfast sweets and good coffee. Make sure he eats, make sure he goes home to get some rest when the project consumes him (and it will, I've come in many a morning to find him sound asleep at the drawing board or on that damn couch. He's a real bastard when he doesn't get enough rest, but don't let that scare you off). Keep in touch.-- Love, Linda. P.S.- Don't forget, I left you a set of "How To Care For Your Architect" instructions tucked away in the second drawer to your left. It includes a list of everything I know he likes, hotels and airlines he prefers, restaurants he uses for business dinners. His favorite color is steel grey, he's a sucker for Hershey Hugs, and if he misplaces his pen, you'll find it on your desk.

Sam dashed away the tear that had slipped down her cheek as she set the card aside. She had grown to love Linda as a second mom and already missed her. She smiled as she reached for the gift bag and nearly cried when she pulled out a black resin cat paper weight.

She set it next to the phone on the left side of the desk before turning to the computer to log in.

Sam settled into a routine. Up at five, out the door by six-thirty, stop by the bakery for breakfast and for that yummy hot chocolate, arrive at the office by seven-thirty, have coffee ready by seven-forty-five, lunch anywhere between eleven and one-thirty (depending on Vincent's schedule), out the door whenever Vincent finished up for the day, home within half an hour, in her pajamas and eating a quick supper, in bed by ten-thirty. Wash, rinse, repeat. By her third day Vincent tried telling her she could leave at four-thirty if she wished, there was no need to stay passed office hours. She declined. "I was hired as your administrative assistant, Mr. Stevens. I leave when you leave."

She found an old-fashioned candy bowl at a flea market one weekend and brought it in to place on her desk with Hershey Hugs. She had also found a few other things she wanted to bring in, but hesitated on personalizing the office. She worried Vincent would not appreciate finding a framed blueprint of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 or a replica of the Death Star plans data chip.

She feared they would clash with that hideous knock-off Jackson Pollock painting that hung on the wall behind her desk, above the shelves. She hated that painting. Why it hung in an architect's office she had no idea. It was the only thing out of place in the office suite. Vincent's office proudly displayed his degrees, certificates and licenses, a few framed blueprints and a framed crudely-drawn blueprint of the Castle Grayskull. "I grew up on Masters of the Universe, had all the action figures and the castle. I was home sick for a week with chicken pox, miserable as hell, bored out of my mind and missing my friends. Dad came home early from work one afternoon with a bag full of crayons, coloring books and a sketchpad, gave Mom some cash and told her to go shopping, go eat, get out of the house and enjoy herself for a while. I sat down on the floor after Dad cleared off the coffee table and we colored for a while. Then I started drawing. I'd always been fascinated by the design of Castle Grayskull and wanted to build one of my own. I was seven years old when I drew that. That's when I knew I wanted to design and build things."

She had been shocked that he had so willingly shared that childhood memory with her. And his smile. She'd seen ghosts of smiles before, but a full-blown smile displaying dimples had left her weak in the knees. He looked ten years younger with that smile, and she couldn't help but smile back.

But ever since that rare moment of camaraderie he'd thrown up a wall once again, bringing their working relationship back to strictly professional, and borderline cold. She knew he could be an easy-going man to work for, she'd witnessed the banter between him and Linda multiple times during her trial week. She just wished he wasn't so cold toward her.

Vincent had a meeting across town and would likely be gone all afternoon. As he set his briefcase and suit jacket on one of her guest chairs and tossed his steel grey tie around his neck, he leveled his patented stern look on her. The Look (TM) was supposed to be intimidating, and it used to scare the hell out of her the first few times she'd seen it (usually directed at someone else, but she'd been caught in the crosshairs a couple of times). Unfortunately she (for some weird reason she couldn't explain) had begun to find that frowny glare to be sexy as hell. "Ms. Monroe, if I'm not back by four-thirty, lock up shop for the day and go home," he turned toward the bathroom. "You don't need to be pulling ten hour days because of me."

She smiled despite the blush staining her cheeks from The Look (TM). "As I've said before, Mr. Stevens, I'm your administrative assistant, and it is my job to be here for you should you need me."

"I don't recall contracting you to work ten hours a day, Monroe," he turned away from the mirror as he finished his impeccable Windsor knot.

"Technically I'm only working nine," she pointed out as she leaned back in her chair.

"You eat at your desk half the time, Monroe," he walked out of the bathroom. "I've seen you working through lunch."

"Only when I have a deadline to meet for your meetings," she shrugged. "I need to finish putting together the portfolios for Thursday's meeting."

"Today's Tuesday, you have all day tomorrow."

"I'll be setting up the conference room and inventorying supplies so I know what you need."

He snorted. "Remind me again why I hired such a stubborn assistant?" He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.

She scooped a small handful of Hugs from the candy bowl and held them out when Vincent approached her desk. "At first I thought you were very impressed with my resume, then I suspected for my looks... but now I honestly believe Linda probably threatened you into hiring me."

"Your resume certainly clinched it, Monroe. And Linda did hound me." His face darkened a little as he carefully took the offered chocolate from her hand. "You're going to spoil my lunch, Monroe."

"No, I'm not," she denied, watching him slip the Hugs into the pocket of his jacket. "I know you would have snuck a handful on your way out, to go along with the handful that's likely already stashed in your briefcase."

His head snapped up.

"I had to refill the bowl, Mr. Stevens," she leaned back in her chair. "I'll definitely need to work longer hours to afford the chocolates and the breakfast sweets."

"Use the company card, I'll figure it into the expenses," he narrowed his eyes at her. "Refreshments for clientele."

She nodded. She didn't mind buying the chocolate or the morning sweets, but she knew better than to argue with him on it. Arguing had always gotten her into serious trouble when she was a teenager. Do not go there, Sam.

"All right, I will," she agreed softly.

"If you still have receipts, bring 'em in, I'll make sure to cut you a check to reimburse you."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stevens," she shook her head.

He shot her a glare. "Yes, it is. I can't keep allowing you to pay out of pocket for pastries and candy that my clients and associates are eating."

I can't keep allowing you... Sam stiffened at his words. She quickly tore her eyes from his. "I... I didn't think it was that big of a deal, I'm... I will find those receipts and bring them in," she flinched when Vincent moved toward the door.

That flinch was not lost on the architect. He turned to look at her. "Monroe, are you all right?"

Sam drew in a breath before nodding. "I'm fine," she kept her eyes glued to the cat paper weight in front of her.

"Monroe, look at me."

The sudden and uncharacteristic softness in her boss' tone drew her eyes to him. The look on his face told her he didn't believe her. He took a step toward her and it was all she could do to not flinch away.

His frown morphed into one of worry. "Monroe, don't worry about it," he took a step back. "I just don't want you spending your money on things benefiting the company's clientele and associates." He turned toward the door. "Why don't you take your lunch, lock up the office and get some fresh air somewhere. You don't have to stay in here when I'm out, let the calls go to voicemail. They can wait."

She nodded. "Okay."

"I mean it, Monroe. Leave the office for an hour."

With that, he was gone.

Sam's eyes slid shut and she drew in a slow, shaky breath. She exhaled heavily, shaking off the fear that had gripped her for a moment. He won't hurt me. He's not a predator. He's not Terrance.

But those words echoed in her head, words her stepfather had used quite often when she had disobeyed him. Words he had whispered so smoothly, so silkily, as he forced her to her knees or forced her over his desk.

"Don't go there, Sam," she ground out. "He won't hurt you anymore."

She shifted in her seat, angling her chair to face her computer more comfortably, saving the proposal she was drafting for Vincent before closing out open programs and putting the device to sleep. She reached for her phone and dialed her cousin's desk extension. "Hey, I'm getting ready to head to lunch, wanna join me?"

#the loft #vincent stevens #karl urban #redemption #slow burn #romance

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Two | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: General Audiences

Word count: 1,800ish

Chapter 2/24

Warnings: None.

AN: One last chapter of some set-up before we dive in deep! Thanks for all the love for this series, it really warms my heart! Special shoutout to @barnesrogersvstheworld for reading over this and helping me find something that was missing. You the best, Attie.

Chapter One

Series Masterlist

The remainder of your first day passes fairly quickly between entry paperwork and an endless list of demands from your new boss. Currently he’s provided you with a mountain of letters he had clumsily typed in the time he’d been without a typist. You have the happy task of proofreading and retyping before the correspondence is mailed. The page in front of you is covered in red pencil-marks, denoting how desperately Anderson needed a typist.

Mid-circle, a fellow typist interrupts you to introduce herself and welcome you to the office. She’s bubbly and talks a hundred miles an hour, but she’s kind. The chances are low that you’ll remember her name after the day you’ve had, but you try to be as cheerful and friendly as possible.

Alright, back to paperwork. Blah blah blah, ‘looking for a person with experience amf charisma’-wait, that should be ‘and’, lemme circle that- Your hand ghosts over your desk where you last remember dropping your pencil. Where did it- under these papers maybe? No. On the floor. . . where the hell did it go, that’s the only red pencil I’ve got. God, this day needs to be over because I’m about to lose my mind. I-

A rapid tapping about makes you jump out of your skin. You hear the tap several more times, swiveling your head around the office. It isn’t until you turn to the window that you find what - or more accurately, who - is making the noise.

A window washer right outside the window - the same man who’s near-death you’d experienced this morning. He’s smiling kindly and- What is he doing?

Even though every hair is in place, he’s acting like he’s brushing a piece behind is ear. He lets out an amused huff at what you assume is your thoroughly confused expression. A finger points at you, then repeats the action.

Is my hair doing something crazy? This is embarrassing. I don’t feel anything out of plac- Oh.

You pull the missing pencil from behind your ear, having no memory of putting it there in the first place. A deep sigh leaves you, tension from the first day trying to find some relief.

“Thank you,” you mouth. He nods in response which you take to mean You’re welcome.

He holds up his pointer finger and quirks an eyebrow. You nod. “First day, yeah.”

He takes an exaggerated breath in, holds it, and releases it.

You laugh quietly to yourself. Yeah, I do need to breathe.

“Good luck,” he says silently. You nod again and share in a smile before someone calling your name takes your attention away from the window.

As the days go by, you find yourself settling into your new role. It’s an adjustment from your previous position, that you can’t deny. But there are still methodical steps to follow and the clacking of your typewriter’s keys always soothes your frayed nerves. An unexpected addition to your job has been seeing Mr. Barely-Alive Window Washer. Every day he drops down from above to wash a window on your floor.

From what you can tell from his pattern, he starts on the highest floor and rappels down to wash each window below in that column until he reaches the ground. The next day, he starts one column of windows over and descends again. Which means he came to clean one of your giant windows once a day when he was on your side of the building. And it was typically right after lunch, usually when you move from typing originals to writing up copies. More out of curiosity than anything else you find yourself sneaking glances at him.

Boy, was he handsome. The plop-him-on-a-movie-set-right-now kind of handsome. Now that he wasn’t falling to his doom, his dark hair was slicked back, perfectly styled, which only serves to highlight a firm, stubbled jaw line. He’s not the bulkiest guy you’ve ever seen but you sense a leaner strength that could only be the result of working hard on-the-job.

You catch yourself staring so you divert your attention back to the pile of paperwork you need to type up, distribute, and file. Next time you look out the window, you catch him staring. He smiles guiltily, tilting his head to the side in a Sorry kinda way. You smile back, wave, and shake your head. Don’t worry about it.

He continues with his duties and when you look over again, he’s gone.

“Whaddya say, Newbie?”

“Huh?” you rotate your chair to face the gaggle of girls surrounding Suzy’s desk.

“You didn’t hear a word we said, did you?” the redhead asks smugly, a hint of knowing in her eye.

“Sorry, got distracted.”

The blonde perched on Suzy’s desk - Connie, you think is her name - waggles her eyebrows at you. “We’re talking Captain America.”

“Connie is a little obsessed, if you hadn’t gathered.” Your eyes flit to the sultry young woman on the other side of Suzy. Her name is . . . Charity? “Went to three separate shows of his before he became an actual war hero.”

“Obsessed is a strong word. And if I was, could you blame me?” she fans herself dramatically, drawing a giggle from the group. “So, Newbie. There’s rumors that he’s back in New York for good. Ya think it’s gossip or fact?”

You shake your head. “I have no clue. From the sounds of it, you’d know better than anyone else.”

“I think he’s here. He’s originally from New York, ya know.”

“What does he have that’s here? Family?” Suzy asks skeptically.

“I wonder what his day-job is now. . .” sighs a smaller girl whose name you kick yourself for forgetting.

Connie leans in, “Well I heard he’s doing top-secret work for the government.”

Your bark of laughter draws everyone’s gaze back to you. “Come on, you can’t be serious.” All eyes are on you, no one else is laughing. “I mean, that’s ridiculous. I’m sure he’s gone back to a normal job just like everyone else.”

“There is nothing normal about that man, if you catch my drift.”

“Constance Adler!” Suzy fusses, “Settle down, Flannery will be back any minute.”

“I’m not wrong!” she holds her hands up defensively. “What I’d give for just an evening of that man’s time.” Everyone groans, several wads of paper being tossed at her from different desks before it dissipates into giggles.

“Did I miss a scheduled meeting?” a cool voice echoes in the now-silent room.

Connie jumps three feet into the air, landing on her feet. “No ma’am,” the group answers.

“Then I trust we will all be returning to our work?”

A unanimous “yes ma’am” sounds off before the group scatters to their work stations.

Flannery looks between you and Suzy before rotating stiffly on her heel. Suzy sticks out her tongue out to Flannery’s back, prompting you to bite hard on your lip to avoid being caught laughing.

Things aren’t so bad here after all.

------

Friday afternoon, you stare at the envelope that contains payment for your first week of work. While it definitely contains more than your last post had paid, you dread how you “have” to spend it this weekend. Sure, you could ignore your boss’s wishes and continue dressing like you had all week. But your gut told you that the man wouldn’t take kindly to thumbing your nose at him. It wasn’t like you dressed inappropriately. Your blouses were always crisp and neat and your pants pressed and clean. Though from eyeing the other ladies in the office, you’ve come to realize you were the only one who preferred pants to skirts. Your job in the factory had gotten you accustomed to dressing practically and safely - not to mention more comfortably. The idea that you had to go back to a life of pumps and snug dresses was daunting, but you knew you had to make an effort.

Your roommate had already promised to take you to a beauty parlor to get a fashionable cut after she had hinted that your natural hairstyle was slightly dated. Debbie was a lover of all things makeup and jumped at the chance to help you “glam up” your usual routine. You don’t usually give much thought to how you look. Not from lack of vanity, but becoming accustomed to your quality of work being a higher priority than how you looked. Now you had to accept the fact that you didn’t have that luxury. To do well in this office, you’ll have to look the part.

“You coming, Newbie?” Suzy chirps, handbag in tow.

“Coming where?”

“Flannery had a doctor’s appointment, so a coupla us are ditching early to grab drinks. Connie just has to hit up this club where Captain America’s been sighted.” You both roll your eyes simultaneously. “But there’s alcohol, so I’m in. You?”

“I think it’s a little early on in my career to be leaving work early. Maybe next time.” You smile, hoping it softens the refusal.

“Suit yourself,” she turns with a shrug. “You had a good first week, kid. See ya Monday!”

The office has thinned out through the day, only you and a few other employees are left plugging away at paperwork. Bristles scraping against glass diverts your attention from the monotonous work. Mr. Window Washer was back working on a new pane. This one seemed to be causing him a bit of trouble if you took his scrunched up eyebrows as any indication. With determination he scrubbed hard at a particular spot, continuing to add water and soap to the mix.

Armed with a smirk and a handkerchief from your handbag you join him on your side of the glass. Ignoring his puzzled look, you easily wipe the black smudge off of the inner window. “Thanks,” he mouths with a small smile before he rinses the soap and clears the window of excess water. As you turn back to your chair, he waves you back. He taps his temple twice and points at you. Smart girl.

You snort and gesture to the paperwork covering your desk. “Bored,” you say, doing your best to communicate how dull the work was on your face.

The corner of his mouth turns up and he nods with sympathy. He huffs a sigh, aiming his gaze to the rest of the windows he has to clean today. He seems tired, a little run down. From the week you had been here, you could tell he worked hard. You found yourself hoping he had a moment to rest the upcoming weekend.

He points down to the ground and shrugs. Gotta go. You wag your fingers with a smile which he easily returns before sliding down to the fifth floor. Facing your desk again, you check your watch, wishing the day would speed up so you could make it to Macy’s before they closed.

Chapter Three

Tags

@abovethesmokestacks @ursulaismymiddlename @moderapoppins @lookwhatyoumademequeue @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official @fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @wildsageleon @promarvelfangirl @connorshero @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @just-add-butter @katiemarks1942 @usernamemingmei @the-canary @thorfanficwriter @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @hiddles-rose @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @fangirlfiction

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky x Reader #Reader Insert #Marvel Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #All We've Got is Time #beka writes #Chapter Two #don't mind me i'm scheduling this while avoiding thinking about endgame #when this posts endgame will be breaking my heart #so have some fluff

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weekend-conspiracy-theorist · 5 years

Text

you’re on a different road (I’m in the milky way)

I’ve been thinking about Gwen Stacy a lot lately. Read on AO3

“Let me take you out tonight,” Peter told her. He barely even pretended to be sneaky about slipping his hand under her dress, offering her his most charming, crooked grin as it curled possessively over her hip.

Gwen didn’t quite roll her eyes, in a Herculean feat of restraint, and flicked teasingly at his hand from the outside of her dress.

She was pretty sure he already knew what her answer was going to be; he just wanted to make sure she knew her options. He was so patient with her, in his obnoxious Peter way--probably because he was just as busy, between classes and his non-stop pursuit of the next photo he could sell to the Bugle.

“Sorry, lover,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips as she settled her hands on those broad, warm shoulders. She may have let him tug her aside into an empty classroom and make her late-to-be-early to her next class, but she just didn’t have the time for more than a scandalous mid-morning make out session. “I’ve got a lab report due Monday.”

“Monday, she says!” Peter complained, all sarcasm and wild gestures with his free hand--the other didn’t leave her hip, keeping her against him. “Three whole days away and we can’t do one measly little dinner!”

“One measly little dinner, he says,” she drawled back, treating him to a patented Gwen Stacy eye roll. “One measly little dinner--” her knuckles trailed down the soft cotton of his polo-- “followed by what?” She mockingly tapped the buckle of his belt with one pale blue nail. “His measly little--”

“Hey now.”

“Apartment.” She snickered at the disgruntled look on his face, darting up to kiss his cheek even as she brushed his hands away. “Things to do, places to be. I’ll call you on Sunday if I get done in time for a movie.”

Peter chucked her lightly under the chin, joking, “Promises, promises,” and Gwen blew him a kiss as she strode out the door.

She wouldn’t be leaving campus until the evening, but she could already see her weekend in her mind’s eye:

Steady, diligent progress on her report, and then in the morning she’d share an early breakfast with her father. Lather, rinse, repeat. Or... maybe not repeat. Maybe she’d invite Peter over around noon on Sunday, sacrifice efficiency in exchange for his hand on her thigh while she worked. It was certainly a thought.

Gwen smiled, ducking her head to hide her smile as she slipped into class, barely on time. She was flying high all that afternoon, through class and productive hours in the lab--she always was, after ten minutes with Peter. He made her feel like she was on top of the world.

Then she ran into her mentor in the hallway, and Gwen was reminded that- for all its strengths- Empire State University was very much not the top of the world.

“Gwen!” Professor Warren’s smile was a little too bright, as always, and he waved at her insistently. “Got a minute? We can go ahead and get our next meeting out of the way.”

She glanced, longingly, down the hall at the vending machine and the frappuccino she’d had her sights set on, but she let him usher her over. “Hey, professor. Our meetings are normally on Mondays...”

And in his office, not the middle of the hallway, and Gwen didn’t normally have an impending caffeine headache after several hours hunched over a microscope. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her dress, refusing to rub at her temples.

Stacy’s didn’t show weakness.

“I was actually hoping we could start meeting twice a week.” Warren clapped her on the shoulder with a warm smile. “Time to start ratcheting up the pressure, my dear; I’m really going to be putting you to work this semester.”

Gwen’s face did something sharp and disbelieving; she couldn’t help it. “We’re two weeks in, and I’ve already got a massive lab report due,” she said, as neutrally as she could manage. “I barely had time for Peter or my extracurriculars last semester, when I was taking fewer credit hours--”

“I think the key word there is ‘extracurriculars’; they’re your choices, Gwen,” he said, barely sounding apologetic. “You asked to be treated like one of my grad students despite being an undergrad, Gwen. That means research, research, and more research.”

“Of course, Professor,” Gwen said, forcing herself to smile. “I understand.”

She flung open the door to Peter and Harry’s apartment, slamming her textbooks onto their counter as she blindly kicked off her ankle boots. “You,” she snarled, pointing an accusatory finger at Peter.

He threw his hands up, those eyebrows of his innocently rising. There was a half-assembled sandwich on the counter in front of him. “Me?”

She stormed over to him, dragging him down by the buttons of his polo, eyes wild as she hissed, “You’re taking me out tonight.”

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Mary Jane drawled.

Gwen hadn’t even noticed her--or Harry, she realized, glancing over at the couch. He was playing a videogame, tongue poked out between his teeth, and two model-long legs were crossed over his lap as MJ lounged effortlessly back against the arm of the couch.

“You weren’t supposed to miss that jump, I think,” she said dryly, and Harry made a distressed noise, thumbs flying over his controller. Over her shoulder, she added, “Is this a group thing, Gwendy?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, scrunching up her nose as she considered the thought. Gwen hadn’t had much of a plan in mind, except for drowning herself in an irresponsible night of debauchery with Peter as a great big “fuck you” to Professor Miles “Define ‘Social Life’” Warren. And who was better for bright, loud, and distracting than the one woman party over there on the couch?

She nodded decisively. “It’s a group thing.”

“Mm.” Mary Jane smiled, wide and slow like a cat eyeing the nearest canary. “Kinky.”

Gwen laughed, a little high and a little hysterical, and thumped her forehead onto Peter’s shoulder. Those strong, strong arms curled around her and pulled her close, his crooked nose pressing into her hair as he asked, quietly, “What happened, honey?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled back.

Peter snorted. “Seems like it matters. Six hours ago you were too busy to even have dinner with me, and now you’re all ‘Hurricane Gwen’--”

“Just shut up and hold me, Parker.”

“Don’t make out in my kitchen,” Harry ordered, and Gwen flipped him off even though he wasn’t looking. (In all fairness to Harry, he’d walked in on her and Peter... more times than she really wanted to think about.) “Where are we going?”

“Dancing,” Gwen said immediately.

She turned her cheek to Peter’s shoulder so she could watch Mary Jane--there were calculations running through those green eyes of hers, pale throat exposed as she tilted her chin up thoughtfully. “Club preferences?”

“Not the place we went last time,” Peter said firmly, and Gwen pulled a face, making a low noise of agreement.

“But that bartender was so cute!” Harry protested, finally pausing his game so he could turn an accusatory glare on the two of them.

“Harry,” Gwen said flatly. Sometimes it was hard to remember how smart these boys were, when they were both so dumb. She pulled away from Peter, one hand set on her hip and the other flitting high and sarcastic through the air. “Are you forgetting the part where she turned out to be a literal soul sucking demon?”

Mary Jane sighed dreamily, draping herself backwards over the arm of the couch. “At least I got to be scooped up in Spider-Man’s hunky, manly arms.”

Peter snickered. “So did Harry.”

Harry sniffed, his slender arms crossing over his chest as he slouched back into the couch. “You’re just jealous, Parker. Always too busy chasing a picture to get hit on by sexy supervillainesses.”

“Who’s jealous, lover boy?” Mary Jane laughed, prodding his thigh with the ball of one foot. “Pete’s got Gwendy. What else does he need?”

“What else indeed?” Peter asked teasingly, leaning down to wrap his arms around her waist, nosing at the soft skin behind the lobe of her ear. His voice quiet and husky, he asked, “What are you going to wear tonight?”

Exasperation seeped down into the depths of Gwen’s very soul.

“You’re such a boy,” she groaned, letting herself flop bonelessly into Peter’s grip. He took her weight easily, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “When I’m doing my PhD at UC Berkeley, we’re going to have daily phone sex, aren’t we?”

“You said it, not me.”

She ignored him, dropping her voice mockingly. “‘Are you wearing any underwear?’” Gwen threw her hands up, an uncoordinated flail that came quite close to smacking her obnoxious boyfriend in the face. “Peter! It may be eight PM for you, but I’m literally still in the lab! You’re on speaker with me and five of my closest colleagues!”

She paused, then added smugly, “And no, no I am not.”

Harry howled with laughter, flinging his arm over his eyes. “Gwen, you’re a legend.“

She smiled--not her usual, that sharp and icy smile that made men and women alike quake in their boots, but a soft one, one that came along with her heart throbbing in her chest. Harry worried her, sometimes; drawing out his laughter was always a victory.

“You should be nicer to me. I could drop you,” Peter told her, jostling her threateningly.

“You’d never drop me,” she said confidently.

Her fingers were curled around Peter’s wrist, the pad of her thumb tracing lightly over tender skin. She reached up with her other hand, blindly patting at his cheek--she caught part of his mouth, and he kissed at the heel of her palm.

Harry elaborately mimed gagging, and Gwen mouthed back, “Jealous.”

Out of nowhere, Mary Jane gasped.

She flung herself off of the couch and raced towards the kitchen, falling dramatically to her knees and skidding across the hardwood to come to a stop at Gwen’s feet.

“Let me pick out your outfit for tonight,” she begged, hands clasped below her chin. Her red hair was escaping her bun in wisps, framing her freckled face and wild green eyes like ribbons of fire. “I’ve got a dress that was made for you, Ms. Stacy.”

Gwen frowned, pulling one knee up slightly in a half-hearted attempt to escape. “Peter, carry me away from the crazy,” she ordered.

MJ’s hand shot forward through Gwen’s legs to seize Peter by the knee of his jeans, and she growled, she actually growled. “Don’t you move a fucking muscle, Parker.”

“Sweetheart, I’m scared,” Peter stage whispered, his laughter almost breaking through.

Gwen curled her lip in disgust. Useless, he was useless to her.

Mary Jane met Gwen’s eyes once more. “Gwendy,” she said insistently, releasing Peter’s jeans to run her hands soothingly over Gwen’s bare calves. “Your personal style is phenomenal, don’t get me wrong, but I can take cool, and collected, and stylish,” her head tilted with each word, her eyes closed and voice fluttering into a lower register with the weight of her convictions, “and I can tear you apart and build you back up, and I will make you so goddamn sexy that your hunky, healthy boyfriend will have a heart attack on the spot.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes.

Mary Jane raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” Harry said slowly. Gwen’s eyes flicked up, betrayal flooding thorugh her veins, to find his hands steepled thoughtfully beneath his chin.

Peter’s voice in her ear was all nonchalance as he added, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

Gwen clapped her hand over her eyes, groaning deeply. “Fine, whatever.” Mary Jane cheered, fist pumping, and Gwen waved a finger in her face, voice sharp as she continued, “But I’m not leaving this apartment, Watson. You’re bringing that massive wardrobe to me.”

It was a warm night for January in New York City, and Peter’s hand blazed against the small of her back.

He couldn’t stop touching her, even more than he usually couldn’t stop touching her. Who knew an edgy little black dress with a smoky eye and messy hair style could have such a large effect? Mary Jane Watson, apparently.

Gwen looked over at her, in that stylish jumpsuit and towering heels, and MJ winked, magicking a flask out of the folds of her deep, scooping neckline.

“Marry me,” Harry told her, voice urgent in the cool night air.

She smiled, sharp and sweet all at once as she patted Harry lightly on the cheek. “Honey, you couldn’t handle me.” Her green eyes glittered with a challenge, flicking away from Harry. “Need something to keep you warm in the winter, Gwendolyne?”

One of these days you’re going to learn to turn down a dare, Gwen, she thought ruefully, snagging the flask out from between Mary Jane’s fingertips. “Not that I need it to ‘keep me warm’,” she added, complete with sarcastic air quotes.

Mary Jane looked at Peter.

Peter grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

She snorted, nodding her head. “Right.”

“Yeah, sure.” Gwen took a long, long drink of vodka and leaned in conspiratorially, beckoning Mary Jane and Harry closer as she stage whispered, “I have the Human Torch on speed dial.”

Peter mimed stabbing himself in the heart. “You wound me, sweetheart, you know that? Of all the supermen in all the gin joints in all the towns to fake leave me for, and you had to pick the flamebrain.”

Gwen wiped her lips on the back of her hand and passed Harry the flask. “Who said I was leaving you?” she teased, voice low as she tugged lightly at his belt loop, enjoying the heat in his eyes as he looked down at her. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Mary Jane glanced between them consideringly. “That’s a good point, Har. Gwendy and Pete could handle me--” she held up a finger, her eyes glittering with amusement-- “but only together.”

Gwen could already feel the vodka curling through her veins, her cheeks heating up and her limbs loosening. “That a challenge, lover girl?” she demanded.

“That an offer?” Peter added, shifting his arm to hang heavy over Gwen’s shoulders, his smile crooked and warm.

“Ugh, stop flirting,” Harry ordered. He grabbed Gwen’s hand, spinning her out of Peter’s grasp and dipping her towards the dirty concrete. “I thought we were here to dance, Stacy!”

Ever since she’d known him- and she’d known him first, before Peter and Mary Jane and dear Flash, away overseas- Harry had always looked just shy of anxious, long and thin and pale, with too much product in his hair. But right now, that was all burned away by the force of his smile and the excited glitter in his eye.

Gwen hooked her leg around his hip, a smile stealing slowly across her face as she listened to Peter’s indignant squawking and Mary Jane’s teasing drawl. Her heart felt full to bursting--God, she loved these people.

She reached up, pinching one sharp cheekbone. “Take me away, Osborn.”

“Like we were born to it,” Harry agreed fervently, and- fine-boned hand in Gwen’s- he cut to the front of the line, ignoring the complaining masses as he flashed his black AmEx and his most arrogant smile. The bouncer glanced between them, his mouth an impassive line, and then he stepped aside to let them through.

Norman Osborn wasn’t good for much, but at least there was this.

“Redhead and eyebrows are with us, too,” Harry told him, “but make them think we’re abandoning them completely before you let them through, huh? Three minutes should do it.”

Gwen cackled, squeezing his hand as she threw Mary Jane and Peter a teasing wave over her shoulder. “I knew there was a reason we were friends.” .

The club, when they stepped inside, was just what Gwen had been looking for--Mary Jane and her encyclopedic knowledge of New York night life to the rescue, yet again. The upper tier was a 360 degree blacony full of tables and seating, illuminated with a dark, moody sort of lighting; below, the huge dance floor was an amorphous world of pulsing lights and writhing bodies, its speakers cleverly placed to keep the music from overpowering the upper level.

Still, the floor vibrated beneath her feet.

The music seemed to reach down inside her, squeezing her heart until it raced in time, and she was breathless enough to let Harry drag her down the wide, drunk-people-friendly stairs to the lower bowl.

“What’s the play, Har?” she yelled, standing on tiptoes to reach his ear. “Do you want--”

“To quote a song so popular that even Peter would know it,” he said, rolling his eyes, “shut up and dance with me, Stacy.”

And that was that.

Gwen lost herself in the music, in lyrics screamed at the top of her lungs and jumping around making a fool of herself, in the shape of Harry’s grin and the awkward flail of his limbs--and later, when Peter and MJ found them, she lost herself in Peter’s hands on her hips and the sparkle in Mary Jane’s eyes, in the feeling of three of her favorite people in the world laughing freely on every side of her.

Needless to say, Mary Jane’s flask was simply the opening salvo of the night.

“I love you,” Gwen told Peter, in the brief silence between two songs. She was almost out of breath, her arms weighty with tipsiness, and her hairspray was starting to fail her, sweaty wisps of blonde curling around her face.

He was peering at the bottom of his shoe with a disgusted expression.

“You dragged me to this club, so you better,” he said, distractedly, and Gwen huffed. Peter really was an idiot.

“I’m gonna go find MJ; you keep an eye on lightweight over there,” she yelled over the opening chords of the new song, gesturing at Harry where he was making out with a girl who looked a lot more... alternative than his usual type, and pushed through the crowd towards the stairs.

Mary Jane was easy to find once Gwen had white knuckled the railing the make her way up a level; her red hair shone like a roadside flare, even in the almost nonexistent lighting of the club, and she was holding court among a gaggle of handsome suitors, both straight and butch, her smile bright and her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Gwen wandered towards them, hands tucked under her arms. She was woman enough to admit she’d always envied that easy charm, and drunk enough to admit she’d always wondered if that vibrant red was natural. Mary Jane had so many freckles, she thought wistfully. It almost had to be; those traits were genetically linked.

“Gwendy!” Mary Jane called, her face lighting up as she spotted her--and then she looked at her, and she immediately shooed off her suitors. She didn’t have a sharp tongue, not the way Gwen did, but whatever she said was effective enough to clear the booth down to just the two of them by the time Gwen slipped in across from her.

“Where’s the Boy Wonder?” she asked, her voice low and concerned.

Gwen snorted, folding her arms on the tabletop and slumping down to rest her cheek on them. “Complaining to the management about the puke on his shoes, probably,” she said sullenly.

Fingers combed through her hair, MJ’s perfectly manicured nails scraping lightly over her scalp.

She should have known she’d end up here, laid low by one drink too many, everything she’d been avoiding roiling its way through her chest. She should have known because this always happened--she thought she’d have fun, and then she didn’t. It was never like that Footloose remake.

Gwen Stacy, she decided, was not a woman made for clubbing--which was good, since she wasn’t going to have time for it anyway. She didn’t even have time for this, honestly.

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath against the sob that wanted to shake her thin shoulders. There was just too much, there was so much, how could she do it all and still have time to sleep, time to see Peter, time to spend with her dad--

“Hey, woah.” Mary Jane whistled, sharp and high, and it cut through Gwen’s spiral. “Walk me through whatever’s going on in that blonde skull of yours, tiger. Take it one step at a time and use enough little baby words for a dummy like me to understand, huh?”

“Just in the middle of a minor breakdown,” Gwen told her thickly. “I’ll get over it.”

“Then do it already.”

Gwen reared up, shooting her a disgusted look, and Mary Jane- her face devoid of sympathy- reached out and flicked her painfully on the forehead. “If you want me to be supportive,” she said flatly, “you have to actually explain what’s wrong.”

In the morning, Gwen would be embarrassed by the ugly red flush that came over her cheeks, the sharp vitriol in her voice as she snapped, “You’re such a--”

“Gwendy. Sweetheart.” Mary Jane’s fingers curled around her chin, dragging her gaze to meet those warm, green eyes, so full of love and affection it felt like a blow the gut. Gwen made a wounded noise.

“Talk to me,” Mary Jane said softly.

To Gwen’s eternal embarrassment, tears welled up as if on cue. “I can’t do it,” she sobbed. “I can’t do it--He wants me to double down on my research, as if I'm not already overloaded, and I’ve never failed anything before, in my entire life, and I’m going to fail everything and I--”

Gwen raised one hand, pressing almost painfully over her mouth as she curled in on herself, trying to get back under control. God, she was such an idiot.

“Oh, honey.” Mary Jane leaned across the table, gathering Gwen up in a wiry-armed hug. “Can you cut anything out? Drop a class, quit the lab?”

Gwen shook her head wordlessly. She needed Warren’s recommendation letter for grad school, and all of her classes were coreqs for each other or prereqs for things she needed down the line. Besides, she loved her research, and she loved her classes, and that was just going to make it all the worse when she crashed and burned.

“Okay.” Mary Jane sat back in her seat, her hands sliding to Gwen’s cheeks. She smoothed away a tear with one thumb, a determined glint in her eye. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to fail,” she declared.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Gwen’s chest. “You can’t possibly--”

“I so can possibly know that, because you’re Gwen Stacy--” she pointed at Gwen-- “and I’m Mary Jane Watson--” she pointed at herself-- “and the two dumbasses currently dithering around behind that column because they don’t know what to do with a crying drunk girl--” she pointed at the boys-- “those are Peter Parker and Harry Osborn.”

She leaned her forehead against Gwen’s, cradling her cheek with one hand, and her voice was soft as she added, “Mary Janes and Peters and Harrys? They love their Gwendolynes. Lover girl, that means you aren’t in this alone.”

Oh.

Her chest jumped with a sob she refused to let go of. “Let’s go home,” Gwen suggested, her voice hoarse.

Mary Jane pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before rising to her feet. “There’s a reason they made you the brains of this outfit, Gwendy.” She hooked her arm through Gwen’s, a steady, mostly-sober guide as they wormed their way towards the exit. “Seems like time for you to head to bed: numerous fluffy pillows required, hunky chem majors optional.”

Gwen managed to laugh, letting her head fall sideways onto Mary Jane’s shoulder. It wasn’t comfortable, with the uneven rise and fall of their stride, but it was comforting. “Thank you, Mary,” she said, too quietly for her knight in silk chiffon to even hear her.

“Here you are,” Mary Jane declared, pulling them to a stop next to Peter and Harry and giving Gwen a small nudge towards her boyfriend. “One semi-emotionally-stable ice queen for you to feel up on the ride home.”

“Just another reason for me not to split a cab with Mr. Puke Shoes,” Harry said dryly.

“You’re one to talk; your breath smells like that chick’s cigarettes and a jager bomb,” Peter fired back. His arms curled around her, warm and strong and solid, and Gwen let herself lean into him for one long, long moment. What would she ever do without him? Spend an annoying amount of time on blind double dates with Harry, probably.

“I love you,” he told her, voice threaded with guilt and his grip tightening briefly. “Next time I’m dumb enough not to say that, you go ahead and tattle on me to Aunt May, huh?”

That was sweet; too bad he was such an idiot.

Gwen wriggled out of his grip to sock him in the shoulder, drunkenly hard, and sniffed imperiously. “Like I was crying about my boyfriend not telling me he loved me,” she scoffed, leading the march out of the club. “Full of yourself much, Parker?”

Harry laughed. “I love it when she puts you in your place.”

“I can’t win,” Peter complained. “Mary Jane, I cannot--I cannot win.”

“You keep telling yourself that, lover boy,” she drawled back. “I don’t know what else to call it, when you’ve got friends like us.”

#gwen stacy #mary jane watson #peter parker #harry osborn #fic tag #petergwen

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miraculousmumma · 5 years

Note

Are you still doing the SFW alphabet for the love square? Because I find myself curious about WXYZ. :)

Took me a while to find the post but I always welcome more prompts!

W = Wild Card(Get a random domestic headcanon of the character of your choice)

I’m going to choose...LAUNDRY! Post-reveal and in an established relationship.

The best thing about having superhero transformations is that your suit never needs washing, however, that isn’t true for their civilian alter-egos. Marinette was working late in her studio on a rush adjustment job which left Adrien home in their studio apartment alone. He had already had dinner and was a little bored, wanting to do something nice for Marinette that wouldn’t disturb her. Then his eyes fell on the close to overflowing laundry basket. He had seen Marinette load the machine a few times and was sure he could do just as good a job. If the laundry was done then they would have more time together at the weekend.

He was sure it would have been fine had they both not had to run out on a superhero type emergency.

It wasn’t until the next morning when Marinette plodded sleepily through the kitchen that she realised the dryer light was on. That puzzled her as she hadn’t done any laundry until the week before. She put the coffee machine on to drip through before going to the dryer and opening the door to find it full. Without caffeine, it took her several moments to process what might have happened. she knew she finished the laundry last weekend, she didn’t remember starting a load last night, even though she was exhausted.

The mystery was solved when Adrien came through, yawning and rubbing his eye before he spotted Marinette looking in the dryer.

Going to a shoot on Monday in a mottled pink shirt and matching jeans wasn’t something he wanted to repeat but it was Marinette’s way of punishing him for meddling in things he didn’t know anything about. She knew he meant well, and she promised to teach him the ins and outs of laundry just as soon as she could.

X = X-Ray(What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

As heroes, neither one wants the other to be hurt, although it is part of their jobs, and thankfully the lucky charm is the ultimate cure-all...but in their civilian selves sometimes you got hurt and there was nothing they could do about it.

Marinette, being as clumsy as she was, was the first to get hurt. On the day they moved into their apartment she fell down the stairs while trying to negotiate a particularly awkward box, the cardboard tearing and something falling out, catching under her foot before she could do anything about it. The box emptied on top of her as she hit the landing below on her back, her ankle throbbing where it had twisted under her.

Adrien came running to see what the noise was, looking over the bannister to find Marinette groaning and peppered with odds and ends for their kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Marinette was relegated to resting her ankle, despite assuring Adrien, her parents, and their friends that she was feeling better. And it only got worse from there in. Or better, depending on your point of view. Adrien was determined to nurse her back to health, bringing her food and drinks, refusing to let her limp around the apartment and instead insisting he carry her, helping her dress, and bandaging her ankle. She really didn’t need it, she complained constantly, she really just felt embarrassed that her klutziness had struck again and marred such an important day. Adrien kissed her and told her all it meant was he got another excuse to stay close to her, making her blush furiously and admit if only to herself, that her clumsiness had brought far worse things.

Adrien was taking part in a live interview at TVi when he fell ill. The message boards for the show and his fanbase were lighting up with speculation about his health as he appeared flushed, sweating, and in great discomfort. If Adrien admitted it only to himself then he felt like death. He was nauseous, quite certain he had a fever, and the pain in his stomach was getting worse by the second. The first Marinette heard about it was when Alya called her and made her turn on the TV. One look at Adrien and she knew something was seriously wrong. She kept her eyes on the TV as she threw on a pair of shoes and grabbed her bag, planning on racing to the studio but before she could leave Adrien doubled over in pain and Nadja called a halt to the interview, the station going quickly to a break.

For all the akumas they had face Marinette had never felt such fear as she raced to the hospital. Despite her haste, Adrien was already in emergency surgery, his appendix having burst in the ambulance on the way there. Marinette had never known panic like it. This wasn’t something she could cure with a lucky charm, there was nothing she could do, but sit and wait and hope. She had never felt so useless in her entire life. It felt like days before she was told that he was doing fine and responding well in recovery, and even longer before she was allowed to see him. He was grey, so pallid it made her heart hurt, but he still managed a brave smile when she entered the room. That broke her, that despite everything he was still pleased to see her and call her princess. Adrien held her hand as tears streaked her cheeks, checking he was okay when it was obvious she was in a state herself. His joke that his model body was now scarred didn’t go down well, he was sure if he wasn’t recovering she would have slapped him for it, but they soon settled into a comfortable conversation, each reassuring the other that everything was alright. Adrien remained in the hospital for a full week before being released and was under strict instructions that he wasn’t to work for three weeks. Marinette was determined to see to this and worked from their apartment, ensuring there was nothing he needed while keeping up with her workload. Adrien had always hated being pampered when he lived at home but realised perhaps that was the loneliness because being taken care of by Marinette made him feel wanted and loved for the first time in his life.

Y = Yuck(Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

Adrien was perfect. Or so Marinette thought. Finding out that wasn’t true came as something of a shock. This boy had never had to do anything for himself in his life and, to give him his due, he threw himself into so many aspects of domestic life she couldn’t fault him...until it came to his bathroom habits. He left wet towels on the floor. He didn’t rinse the sink properly after shaving and, worst of all in Marinette’s opinion, he never changed the toilet paper! It drove Marinette crazy! At first, she assumed he was in a hurry but it soon became apparent he had never had to clean a bathroom before. She was always picking up after him, and while she knew it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t help but feel irritated. Once she realised it just wasn’t going to change on its own she decided to sit him down and have a word with him. Once Marinette explained it to him, Adrien was fairly embarrassed. It simply didn’t occur to him that it was something he needed to do as part of their partnership in this relationship. Marinette was so pleased with how much more attentive he was in the bathroom...until it came to the first time he needed to hang the toilet roll...and put it on hanging backwards. Marinette composed herself and put it on up-and-over, in her opinion the correct way for any toilet paper to hang, and decided that of all the things Adrien could do to annoy her, this was a genuine drop in the ocean.

Adrien had always admired the way Marinette accepted her faults and tried to improve from them. Just when he thought she couldn’t get any better she showed him, yet again, she wasn’t too proud to change her ways. Apart from one thing. She apologised too much. As Ladybug she was so much more confident, but Marinette felt the need to say sorry even when she didn’t need to. When he pointed it out she had even apologised for apologising too much! What did you do with someone like that? He did the only thing he could think of to stop her saying it. Any time they were together and she began to apologise for something that wasn’t her fault he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. Normally she was so flustered she couldn’t remember what she had been doing and on the rare occasions she did he simply kissed her again until she did forget. It took a few weeks, and an embarrassing couple of incidences at a gala and a meeting with designers, for her to realise the correlation between Adrien’s sudden need to kiss her and her apologies. She had smiled to herself at his methods and debated continuing to do so, simply for the reward, however, she made a concerted effort not to apologise where there was no fault. Once Adrien realised, he would wait until the conversation she was in was over, letting her diplomatically accept no blame but avert the crisis nonetheless. He would take her aside and hold her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss before telling her she made a good call. It was perhaps the best way she had ever been broken of a bad habit and wondered if there were any more he could help her be rid of...

Z = Zeal(Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

Adrien is definitely the more passionate at the start of their relationship. Marinette was still shy despite them knowing one another's identities. After all, this was Adrien Agreste, and just because she had been fighting crime with him while he was wearing a skintight leather catsuit didn’t mean she didn’t still fan girl whenever THE ADRIEN AGRESTE wrapped his arm around her, held her hand, kissed her cheek, smiled at her with a wink, pretty much anything really. She giggled and blushed, a lot, but Adrien adored it, loving nothing more than to wrap his arms around her from behind and nuzzle against her cheek, feeling it warm up as heat rushed up her neck. And if he kissed her neck while they were in this position, well he could practically feel her melt in his arms.

That wasn’t to say Marinette couldn’t be passionate. She loved the attention Adrien lavished on her but she was far too shy to reciprocate in the early stages of their relationship. Once they had established their own boundaries, or in their case lack of them, it wasn’t unusual to find them sharing an armchair, Marinette’s legs over the arm of the chair while Adrien held her close enough that her head rested on his chest. She became excited to see him, but in a different way to the giggle schoolgirl way she had at first. She always skipped to greet him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him firmly. Generally, he lifted her off the ground so he could hold her close, and their friends and Marinette’s family soon became accustomed to the fact that neither one was afraid of PDAs, in fact, they seemed to thrive on them.

In their superhero guises, however, their roles were almost reversed. Ladybug was always focused on the job at hand but after patrol she was often the one to pull Chat behind a chimney stack and pin him to it with her body, ravishing his mouth with hers as he purred up a storm. She had even been known, during interviews where no one stood at their backs, to give his rear a cheeky pinch while he tried to say his piece. She thought it was hilarious, Chat was always taken by surprise, but quite willing to take it up with her once they were alone. He LOVES IT. He is more than happy with the attention she rains upon him in both personas, the passion she puts into their relationship equal to the ferocity she used in battle. He had spent a lot of years, both in and out of the suit, daydreaming about what life would be like with Ladybug by his side in all aspects and, he had to admit, he was not even slightly disappointed.

Thanks for asking! It took me all day but I really enjoyed writing this! (also, I haven’t checked it whatsoever so hopefully it’s not too typo/mistake riddled!).

xxx

SFW ALPHABET ASKS

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squiddlesandsopor · 7 years

Text

Don’t Forget to Breathe

Chapter 3

RivaMika

General Audiences (Teen and up maybe for some cursing?)

AO3

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

True to her word Mikasa’s mom called her that night. She had just finished showering and was still toweling off her hair when her phone began chirping at her and vibrating on the kitchen counter.

Resting the damp towel on her shoulders she picked up the phone, “Hi mom.”

“Hi honey, how did it go?”

Mikasa felt a pang of guilt for the lie she was about to tell but knew it was the only thing that would make her mother happy.

“It went well enough.”

“And?” Her mother pressed.

“And,” she sighed, “we’ve decided to see each other again.”

She paced back to the bathroom to drop the towel in the hamper as she waited for what she assumed would be an exuberant reply. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Oh! I’m so glad to hear that. I just knew this would be good for you.”

Mikasa bit her cheek but responded with a neutral, “Yeah.”

“So?” Her mom asked.

“So what?”

“So, what’s he like?”

“Um,” she hesitated, “he ordered tea so I guess he likes that?”

Her mother chuckled and corrected herself, “No, no. I meant what is he like, not what does he like.”

“Oh.”

Mikasa faltered, at a bit of a loss.

“It’s kind of hard to say after only meeting once,” she said, stalling, “He was sarcastic but he seems reliable?”

It came out less sure than she hoped it would have but it seemed to satisfy her mom who made a happy noise on the other side of the phone.

“When are you meeting again?”

“Maybe next week? We both have busy schedules but we traded numbers so we’ll figure out a time that works for both of us.”

It was a relief to not have to dance around the truth. They had in fact traded numbers following her agreement to Levi’s suggestion and before going their separate ways. She hadn’t wanted to agree to meet him again so soon but he insisted that their families would expect it.

“Maybe next week? Mikasa, you have to make compromises in a relationship. I know you’re busy but you can make time somehow right? You go to the gym all the time so it wouldn’t kill you to skip a day or two for Levi right?”

She bristled at the insinuation that she should put a man she had only just met before her health but managed a restrained, “I’ll think about it.”

Her mother sighed heavily.

Mikasa decided that the conversation had gone on long enough by this point and decided to wrap it up.

“Well I’d love to talk longer but I have an essay due next week that I haven’t finished yet,” swallowing her pride she sweetened the deal for her mother, “If I’m going to meet up with Levi again soon I really need to get this done.”

“Of course,” her mother said, mollified, “Work hard and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

After she hung up she dropped her phone on the counter and flung herself backward onto her couch. Her hands rubbed roughly over her face before pushing back into her short, still damp hair.

“I’m screwed,” she announced to her empty apartment.

Even though it was still early she called it a night. Collecting her phone, and ignoring her essay, she locked the door and turned the lights off behind her as she made her way to her room. Her phone found its way to its usual place on her night stand and she turned back her blankets before killing the light and getting into bed.

She had begun a light doze when her phone beeped, notifying her that she had received a message. She groaned and reached for her phone, pawing at her night table until she found it. She hissed as the backlighting stung her eyes and squinted to check the caller ID. She huffed, unsurprised, and opened the message.

I’m available Thursday night. Are you?

Since she didn’t feel like dealing with anyone right now, least of all Levi, she grumbled and ignored his text. Rolling over after safely placing her phone back on the table she burrowed into her massive pile of blankets and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

When he received no reply to his message that evening Levi was annoyed. He went to bed fully expecting to be woken at some inconsiderate hour; probably immediately after he managed to fall asleep. However, his sleep remained uninterrupted and when he woke early the next morning he checked his phone wondering if he’d managed to sleep through her reply. He hadn’t. Irritated, he got up and showered.

Even though it was Sunday, and technically his day off, he decided to work through the paperwork he had been deliberately neglecting during the past week. It was monotonous, mind-numbing work but he tackled it with the same ruthless efficiency that had ensured his success when he went freelance in the first place. By the time he finally took a break to raid the kitchen early afternoon sunlight was streaming across the floor. He was pleased with the dent he had made in his work though. After a quick lunch of reheated leftovers he ran through an easy series of stretches to loosen the tension brought about by hours of sitting hunched over a stack of papers with too much fine print. In the other room his phone chimed and he eased out of the deep fold he had been holding.

“Finally.” He grumbled.

When he got to his phone though the message wasn’t from Mikasa like he’d expected but rather a fucking meme from Hanji. He threw his phone down, pissed, and instead of returning to his paperwork he went for a long run. He deserved it.

***

He sat, the remains of his dinner next to him on the counter, and glared at his phone. It had nearly been a full day and still Mikasa had not responded. His lips tightened but he got up to clean the evidence of his dinner. He would give her another hour. At most.

Even after the remains were carefully labeled and refrigerated. Even after he had washed, dried, and put away all the dishes. Even after he rinsed the sink. Even after he had wiped down the stove and countertop. Even after he swept the floor. Even after all that she still had not responded and Levi was furious. Stalking to the sitting room he shot her another text.

Were you planning on giving me an answer sometime this year or are you too busy trying to beat the world record for the longest shit ever taken?

After he hit send he growled and tossed his phone onto the couch, not trusting himself to resist the urge to crush it. As if to mock him it chimed moments later. Picking it up again he scanned her message.

What the hell?

Muttering a few unflattering words under his breath he replied, I ask you a direct question and it takes you more than a day to respond?

When she didn’t reply right away his irritation grew again but eventually his phone chimed.

Yeah I can be free Thursday

He guessed it would have to do.

Disgruntled about life in general, but Levi and her mother in particular, Mikasa spent the next few days dreading Thursday. Her mother was delighted of course. She called every day to offer suggestions or tidbits from her own ‘courtship’ - as she insisted on calling Mikasa’s non-relationship with Levi. Mikasa was sure that if she had to hear one more piece of well intended advice she was going to snap. Levi had only texted her once more - telling her to meet him at the same coffee shop as before at six. She had confirmed minutes later just so she wouldn’t have to deal with a repeat of the last time.

With the uncanny relativity of time the days seemed to slip past exponentially faster than they should have. Sunday she agreed to meet Levi. Monday her mother knew. Tuesday she met up with Sasha who laughed at her for a good five minutes before wiping the tears from her eyes and agreeing that she was, indeed, screwed. Wednesday she tried to come up with an excuse to cancel. Thursday she was walking down the street to Paradis and wondering if there was still some way she could get out of going.

The light was fading and the bands of shadow she walked through still held a hint of winter despite the warmer days. She shivered as she reached the door. The cheerfully lit shop beckoned her even as she had to fight off the urge to turn around and walk away when she saw Levi sitting at the same table as before. Her impulse ignored, she opened the door and entered the warm establishment accompanied by a soft bell chime. Levi looked up as the door announced her presence and met her eyes before turning to stare out the window. Noting that he already had a cup in front of him Mikasa went to the counter to order her own beverage. She absentmindedly unwound her dark scarf as she studied the menu board.

When a helpful employee approached the counter Mikasa payed for a chamomile-mint tea. Instead of immediately joining Levi at his table she waited for the barista, a different one from last time, to finish her drink. She collected it and made her way over to stand awkwardly by the table,

Levi’s eyes slid over to meet hers and she thought she heard him snort softly.

“Are you just planning on standing there all night?”

Her lips thinned but she placed her drink on the table and sat primly in the chair at his chiding.

For a while they just sat there alternately looking out at the dark street and sipping their tea. Once Mikasa opened her mouth to say something before realizing that she had nothing she wanted to say. She covered this lapse with a long swallow of her tea. Behind her Mikasa could hear the steady tick-tick-tick of an analog clock tracking the seconds as they slipped away. She fidgeted with the ends of her scarf, her tea cup, the zipper of her jacket. Across from her Levi crossed his legs one way and then the other while shifting back in his chair slightly. Mikasa took another small sip of tea.

She glanced back toward the window but by now the street was entirely dark and the window was an ephemeral mirror. Her eyes traced their ghostly reflections and marveled how even though they were sitting together they probably wouldn’t have looked more seperate had they been complete strangers. She exhaled heavily through her nose.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” She turned so she was fully facing Levi who was now considering her blandly.

She faltered, not quite sure how to continue, and Levi seemed willing to remain seated in silence.

“This is ridiculous,” she repeated in a murmur - more to combat the palpable return of silence than to make a point.

“What were you expecting?”

The words weren’t harsh but Mikasa wanted to flinch away from them regardless.

Reaching for nonchalance she replied, “Whatever it was, it wasn’t this.”

“Okay,” his eyes narrowed slightly, “how about you give me a real answer now.”

Her jaw clenched at the tone of his voice and she made herself continue to meet his level gaze.

“Well?”

She was a little impressed at how much impatience he managed to convey with a single syllable.

When he started leaning forward, his own jaw clenched now, Mikasa raised placating hands.

“I don’t have an answer. I don’t know exactly what I expected but sitting in silence for,” she glanced back at the clock, “Three-quarters of an hour was definitely not it.”

She sat back and let him process that.

“So what, you want to play twenty questions?”

She snorted and shook her head.

“To be honest my mom is going to grill me about tonight and I somehow doubt she’ll be enthused with ‘we sat in silence and drank tea, it was magical’.”

He shrugged, “So make something up.”

She just stared at him.

Finally he broke the eye contact with a little huff of annoyance and rolled his shoulders back. His eyes drifted over her shoulder to rest around where the clock was for a moment.

“Fine. I’ll walk you home. That should assure your mother that I have good intentions.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes but decided it was the closest they would come to a compromise. Draining her tea she stood. As Levi rose beside her she wrapped her scarf around her neck again. They made their way to the door and when he opened it to pass through she reached out to hold it. He half glanced back at her and was turning forward again when he stopped abruptly and looked back at her.

“What?” She asked, self-conscious at the look of intense concentration on his face.

“What happened to your wrist?”

It was a blunt question and it caught her off-guard. Her own eyes darted to her always-bandaged wrist and she let the door go so she could tug her sleeve down.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

She sighed, “Okay, fine. It’s something but it’s not what it looks like. Just drop it.”

He made an irritated noise but started walking again.

She followed until they came to the end of the street and he stopped so abruptly she nearly ran into him.

“Why did you stop?”

He raised a brow at her over his shoulder, “I don’t know where you live.”

She flushed and hoped the low light would be enough to cover it. Of course he didn’t know where she lived. Wrapping her scarf a little more snugly around her throat she stepped forward and lead the way.

#Natasha writes stuff #fanfic #rivamika

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