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12 August 2012 @ 10:56 pm
fic: so, who's it gonna be? (andrew garfield/emma stone, pg-13)  
title: so, who's it gonna be?
summary: written for this prompt at the real person ficathon.
"Emma, darling, do we need to have a conversation about the difference between actor and character again?" he asks, his voice soft, soothing.

She smirks again. "So you admit it."

"What?"

"You do kill me."
fandom/pairing: the amazing spider-man rpf; andrew garfield/emma stone
rating/warnings: pg-13; super-fluff, sort-of spoilers for gwen's leaving.
word count: ~800
disclaimer: this is not true. fortunately.
author's note: well. this is the first time i've written andrew/emma. feels good, man, considering i ship the fuck out of them. this is also super cheesy. tread wisely?



Emma looks at him one day, properly, over the rim of her cup. "So."

Andrew raises an eyebrow at her, and laughs a bit. "Yes?"

"After you kill me, who do you want as your Mary Jane?"

He rolls his eyes. "We've been through this before. I don't kill you."

"Oh, really. I guess I misread, then." Her tone is flat. "You don't try to save me and snap my neck? Must be someone dressed as you."

"Will you stop blaming him for that, he's got enough on his plate without the love of his -"

"Don't you call her the love of his life!" she half-shouts, pointing at him, pursing her lips. "He moved on to bigger and better things. He was the love of hers but he moved

on
-"

"Oh, you're just being a snob about this." He waves a hand, dismissive.

"So who're you going to call in?" She smirks, taking a drink. "Who's hot and has red hair? You could call Ms. Gillan up, get her to -"

"What is your weird obsession with her?" He groans, tilting his head up to the ceiling. "So I find her attractive -"

"I'm not the one with her picture in my phone." She hums a bit, stirring her tea. "I'm just saying, is all. It's a bit suspicious. You're lucky I'm a nice girlfriend -"

"Yeah, really nice."

Her mouth falls open and she glares at him. "You're one to talk! At least I don't kill you."

"Emma, darling, do we need to have a conversation about the difference between actor and character again?" he asks, his voice soft, soothing.

She smirks again. "So you admit it."

"What?"

"You do kill me."

"Oh, fuck you," he says, but he's laughing when he does.

*

Later, in bed, she asks him again.

"So who do you think would make a good M.J.?"

"Will you stop asking me this question."

She shakes her head, her hair tickling his chest. "Not till you stop evading the question and answer me."

"I don't know, okay?" He shrugs. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Really. You've never thought about who you'd like to kiss next?"

He shakes his head.

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you don't have to. I know it's the truth, that's all I need."

"Are you just saying this to spare my feelings?" she asks, barely keeping the laugh out of her voice. "Because I willingly and freely tell you who I'd bang in Hollywood, were I not

tied down."

"Tied down, you make it sound like we're married," he sighs, sounding content.

"The way the tabloids talk, we are married."

There's a long pause, and then he says, "Why don't we?"

"What?"

"Get married. Why don't we?"

She sits up properly, eyeing him. "Are you drunk?"

"I don't mean right now, I mean -"

"Is this really your idea of a proposal?" she asks him, crossing her arms. "You don't even have a -"

He reaches over to their nightstand, pulling out a ring. "You were saying?"

"You're actually proposing," she breathes, "you absolute idiot."

"Is that a no?" he asks her, but he sounds hurt, as though he already knows the answer (hurt, but trying to hide it to spare her feelings).

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. "It's - it's not a no."

He looks up, eyes wide. "Is that a -"

"Well, it's certainly not a maybe," she giggles, and kisses him, pressing him down into the bed.

He slides the ring on her finger and she stares at it for a long moment, not really comprehending what it is. And then -

"Oh, my god."

"What?"

"I just agreed to marry you."

He swallows, looking at her. "If you want to take it back -"

"I'm not going to take it back!" she half-shouts, her voice reaching almost hysterical levels.

He eyes her. "Good, because I was going to say that if you want to take it back you're not allowed. That's how proposals work, I'm afraid."

She smiles. "But."

"But?"

"If I'm going to marry you," and she makes her voice as serious as possible, looking at him properly, "I need you to tell me one thing."

"Anything," he whispers, going in to kiss her.

She waits until they're barely touching and then she says, "Who the fuck do you want to be your Mary Jane?"

*

("I think you should dye your hair," he whispers in the shower.

She presses up against him, cracking her neck. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, red."

"Why's that?" she asks, humming a bit.

"Well," and he kisses her neck, nosing his way down, "then you could be my M.J."

She laughs and turns around to kiss him properly, pressing him against the tiles. "I'll think about it," she says.

He kisses the ring on her finger and nods. "That's all I ask.")