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its-time-to-write · 8 months

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Can you write a Jamie Tartt request where he and the reader are in the "between lovers and friends stage" and they finally get together when he has her sleepover at his place after finding out her ex was loitering by her apartment?

I’m alive (mostly!) and I’m starting to go through the asks in my inbox again! Sorry to all y’all who have been waiting. I love you!😇😍

p.s. I’ve been obsessed with the song “Margaret” by LDR, which is where the title comes from

(oh also I barely responded to this prompt so that I could write this dumb fic that’s been on my brain forever. so. apologies for that too)

maybe tomorrow you’ll know

It goes like this: boy meets girl, they go to the same primary school, girl kicks around football with boy and sneaks into his room to hug him when his dad’s a prick, boy moves away to become a Premier League footballer and girl cries her heart out because they’re best friends.

Fucking typical.

And yet, he still picks up every phone call. Still answers every text you send. He’ll never say the word “love,” especially not when he’s with Keeley Jones and their faces are all over tabloids and instagram. But you’ll feel it in the way he’s a prick to everyone but you. It’s in the way his voice goes soft when you call him at 2am crying about being dumped by your first boyfriend.

He doesn’t visit, doesn’t phone his mum, but he’ll send you a quick voice message when he can. Usually not saying much, just a snip about training. First it’s all about Pep and the lads at Man City, then it’s about some gaffer named Cartrick and the fact that he’s teammates with Roy fucking Kent.

Jamie never tells you that Roy absolutely fucking hates him, but you know anyway.

Jamie also doesn’t call you when Keeley breaks up with him. In fact, you don’t even find out about it until pictures of Roy and Keeley surface online. You call him as soon as you can, and in typical Jamie fashion, he picks up on the second ring.

You don’t ask him about Keeley, just let him talk about football and the new manager from America, and the fact that maybe Richmond isn’t so bad and maybe he can let his armor down just a little bit.

He’s sent back to Manchester the next day.

The bonds of childhood friendship run strong, because he’s on your doorstep in no time at all, and though it’s been years since you’ve seen him in person, there’s a part of you that feels like he never left.

It never goes beyond friendship with you two. You don’t allow yourself to consider him in any other light because this friendship is special and important and neither of you will let anything ruin it.

It’s so strange sometimes to see him on tv or in an interview, eyes sharp and mouth full of barbs. Always on the offensive, always cutting others down before they have a chance to do the same to him. You have a hard time believing it’s the same boy who’s on your couch staring at the ceiling as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

He’s never spoken that way to you, and you have a hard time believing he ever will.

So you feed him and make him smile and go to as many matches as you can (he leaves tickets on your kitchen table so you won’t protest) and give him a house key so he can come and go as he pleases.

But then he’s gone again, it’s the off-season and he’s on some tv show and you’re watching him flirt and seduce and pull at people’s heartstrings like they’re marionettes, and you realize (perhaps for the first time) how deep the damage has gone.

He gets absolutely shredded online, called all sorts of names by fans of the show and football alike, and you wonder if you’re the only one who can see what’s happening. That it’s all a show and that person, that Jamie Tartt on the screen is not the Jamie Tartt who used to throw pebbles at your window to come see if you wanted to ride bikes together.

It’s different than when he went to the Premier League. He doesn’t answer your texts.

It’s fine though, because your life doesn’t revolve around him. You have other, real friends and a boyfriend and a nice little flat and a good job. So he can go do what he wants and when he needs someone to pick up the pieces, you’ll go because you understand that sometimes this friendship is a one-way street.

You miss him, though.

You don’t watch his season of Lust Conquers All until your boyfriend calls you and says, “Hey, it’s been fun, but I’m just not feeling it anymore, thanks for understanding,” and then you binge every episode right up to the current one.

So now you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re glad it hadn’t gone too far, but his words still stung. But you drown your feelings in ice cream and shitty tv and it’s alright because another episode airs in an hour, so you can see more of Jamie and hope he’s doing okay.

He’s not. He gets voted off and you think that’s stupid but also maybe a little bit good.

—

Jamie just thinks it’s stupid. He’s kicked off his only lifeline, and then Man City flat-out refuses to take him back and he has to find out on live television for fuck’s sake. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Ted Lasso to come back, because of course Ted will take him, what with his yeehaw can-do bullshit. Except Ted tells him no, and now he has nothing.

He’s cut out every friend, every family member and is resigned to life as a has-been before he’s even twenty-five years old.

Now, he’s at home with the blinds pulled. He’s not even sure what time it is anymore because it’s all meaningless, innit? So when there’s a knock at the door, he has to blink a couple times from his place on the couch before turning off FIFA and going to see who it could possibly be.

He hopes it’s you, even though he knows there’s no way. Not after he ghosted you for months. He ignores the uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach at the thought of seeing you, and the way his heart beats a little faster when he thinks of holding you.

He won’t cross that line. Your friendship (if it still exists) is too important.

So he opens the door, ready to see who the fuck is bothering him.

It’s Ted.

Ted asks, “Can I come in?” but he’s obviously not going to accept no as an answer, so Jamie steps back to let him inside.

Ted’s just standing awkwardly in Jamie’s kitchen, not even pretending that he isn’t shocked by Jamie’s decor.

Jamie isn’t going to defend his choices to Ted of all people. Nor is he going to do anything to lessen his awkwardness. Finally, Ted clears his throat and says, “Well Jamie, it seems we need to revisit our last conversation.”

Jamie stares at him, refusing to speak until he’s sure what Ted is saying, so Ted continues.

“I think I was a little bit too hasty when I said you couldn’t come back to Richmond. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’d love to have you back.”

Jamie looks at Ted, all rumpled in his sweatshirt and shorts, hair as undone as it’s ever been, and is supremely unsure of what he’s supposed to say.

Yeah, I’ll come back to Richmond.

Fuck off, you’re too late.

He’s saved from saying something stupid by the sound of the front door rattling as someone punches in the code.

“You expectin’ someone?” Ted asks.

Jamie shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No one has the code, except-”

The door is shoved open and you burst through in a flurry of motion. You call, “Jamie?” but you can already see him in the kitchen so you make a beeline to his location and launch yourself into his arms.

He’s solid as always, smelling like day-old Lynx. His arms are tight wrapped around you, body warm as you press your cheek against his.

He sets you down after a moment, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from your face.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, still not quite letting you go. Ted notes that this is a new tone for Jamie. Or at least, the Jamie he’s interacted with. It’s not a performance, not something designed to make people love or hate him, it’s what Ted suspects is the most authentic version of Jamie. Whoever you are, you must be important.

“Wanted to make sure you were ok. I saw your interview.”

Jamie makes a face. “Fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that shit?”

You shrug. “Hard to miss it. Your mum sent it to me. She’s kind of why I’m here, actually.”

“You know Jamie’s mom?” Ted asks, surprised. It’s only then that you notice he’s in the room. Your face heats up because you wouldn’t have been that grabby with Jamie had you known he weren’t alone.

“Hi, I’m Ted,” he says reaching out to shake your hand, “Seems to me like you know this one from a while back.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Which is why I figured something was wrong when he ghosted me for fucking ever.”

Jamie winces and Ted takes his cue.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says. He points a finger at Jamie. “You let me know what you decide, son.”

“It’s a yes, Coach,” Jamie calls as Ted heads out the door. You crane your neck in time to see Ted pump his fist in the air before the door shuts behind him.

“So,” you say, arms crossed, “you have a big fucking excuse for not answering my calls. But you better never fucking do it again, or I’m showing back up here with Georgie and she’ll kick your ass.”

Jamie grimaces. Sure, Georgie was never violent with him, but there’s something particularly terrifying about the way she says Jamie Tartt you have got some explaining to do, while her eyes do that thing where they flash and stare straight into his soul.

“Right, yeah, I’m really sorry,” he says and he’s lucky that his tone backs up his words because if he had one ounce of prick in his voice, you’d make him really sorry. I mean come on, who ignores their family?

The thought passes through your mind just long enough for it to freak you out before Jamie’s tentatively reaching out to hug you again.

You let him rest his head on your shoulder as you scratch his the back of his head.

—

You’ve been on Jamie’s couch for the better part of two hours, talking and letting him pretend like he’s not on the verge of tears because at least he’s being open and honest for once, when he shoots up and says, “Jesus Christ, fucking Kyle.”

He turns to you, eyes wide as he asks, “Isn’t he gonna wonder where you are? Shit, and you’re with me. He’s not gonna like that shit at all.”

You shrug infinitesimally while you examine a spot on the wall.

“We’re not together anymore,” you answer as casually as possible.

Jamie sighs and settles back onto the couch. “Shit. Glad you finally dumped that prick.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t. He dumped me. And then I found him lurking in my fucking bushes yesterday like a total creeper.”

Jamie’s up again off the couch, this time heading for his car keys as he yells, “For fuck’s sake, love, you should’ve called me.”

“I did!” you shout back. “I did, and you didn’t pick up, did you? Anyway, it’s probably not going to be an issue anymore.”

Jamie returns to the living room, face ashen. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m so sorry.”

You shrug and say, “It’s not a big deal. He decided that he liked certain body parts he owned more than he liked intimidating me.

Jamie grips his keys so hard that his knuckles turn white as he says, “Right, you’re sleeping over tonight because no one fucking treats my girl that way.”

Then he freezes.

You’re not frozen, because a single shiver has worked its way up your spine.

My girl.

It came out so naturally.

And it implied ownership? But of the mutual sort? And in a way that two best friends simply did notbelong together.

The entire house is so silent, you swear you can hear Jamie blink. Well, that is, if either of you actually moved a muscle as opposed to staring at each other across the room.

“What-” you start, but your throat is all weird and tight, so you clear it and try again. “What did you say?”

It still comes out much lower than you anticipated and Jamie has a split second to assess your body language and make a choice.

You’re fully angled toward him, eyes wide. You’re not giving him a look that says, shut the fuck up right now, Jamie Tartt, so he takes it as permission.

Permission to take one step closer, then another, then another until he’s standing right next to you. He slowly sinks down on the couch next to you as his says in a low, gravely voice, “I said, ‘no one fucking treats my girl that way.’”

Ah. So this is where over a decade of friendship has gotten you. On Jamie Tartt’s couch as your lips crash against his, both wondering why you hadn’t made a move sooner.

But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now and you’re sure you won’t waste a single second.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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dying-suffering-french-stalkers · 3 years

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Finally watching Goodbye Partner! I’m watching the dub, but I have the subs on so I can read the date/location popups and signs, so I’m getting a bit of dialogue comparison. I’ll probably go back and watch a few scenes with the original audio as well (Kiyoshi Kobayashi my beloved).

Here begins the liveblog, but all in one post and under a cut so it’s not as insufferable:

Starting strong with a heist escape sequence as per usual! As far as openings go, it’s hard to go wrong with that.

Oh, hello, literal actual Chopin courtesy of a timeskip/flashback.

What are these RWBY-ass CGI piano hands?? Y’all warned me and you were not kidding. Traditional rotoscoping would never hurt me in this way.

CUSTODY_OF_CHILD.JPG

Lupin playing in those see-through inflatable “hamster” balls skdfjskjdflsl

Intricate Rituals. Jiglup gunplay confirmed

Epcar’s delivery here was so much more aggressive than Kobayashi’s.

“Area 61, Colorado” just say Cheyenne Mountain

EDWARD ZNOWDEN

Fujiko really is terrible with kids

Listen, I love a good Dutch angle, but I’m starting to feel like I should set up a CinemaSins counter at this point. I’m glad to have some shot variety but there are other compositions, you know.

Motorcycle Jigen returns!!

Loving this little Morricone shoutout, which I unfortunately cannot seem to find on YouTube.

[strangled Goemon voice] “MISTAKE.”

God. GOD. Tony Oliver’s delivery in the betrayal scene is so good. Lupin is clearly not buying it at all and is quite willing to play along with whatever the hell this is - until Jigen shoots him right in the heart. That’s going to hurt a lot more than literally when he wakes up, though 1) given that the movie’s barely begun, I’m guessing he’s still not completely buying it (rightfully so) and is gonna look into this and 2) unfortunately this franchise isn’t known for actually digging into all the delicious angst and implications it likes to sling around. Cowards.

Also, I like that Lupin seems to be wearing a navy shirt and pink tie like he had in early Part 2 instead of the blue shirt/yellow tie he has in the other Red Jacket movies. Not sure why that’s what they went with but I’m down.

Okay, I went back and watched the betrayal scene in Japanese and OOF, it hits DIFFERENT to hear Kiyoshi Kobayashi deliver those lines. He’s so utterly casual about it and it’s all the more angsty since he’s, y’know, a million years old, so here his Jigen sounds much more tired/resigned compared to Epcar’s brasher gunman.

The way that the shots focus on not only Jigen, but also Fujiko when the boss asks about the betrayal...nice. Fujiko doesn’t know for sure if Jigen killed Lupin, but I imagine such a possibility would shake her at least a little - not just because she cares for that silly monkey man, but because that partnership has been a surprising constant in her life. If even that could finally crumble, her natural cynicism is about to get a whole lot deeper. Morbidly, she wants to know if Jigen had the balls to do it. It’d be a hell of a lot more kindred spirit between them than she ever expected if so. It’s a shame this plot wasn’t used in a Koike movie; it would’ve been great to see the deliberate parallel/foil from TWCFM continue.

“Why don’t we talk about your future?” the boss says as Jigen’s whole demeanor screams What future? Even though Lupin isn’t dead and Jigen has his reasons for why he did this, Jigen hardly expects forgiveness after all this. Lupin may be alive but Jigen has just killed the best thing he ever had and he can never get that back (except he can, because movie and long-running franchise, but y’know, Watsonian vs. Doylist).

The Dark Crystal (1982)

HATSUNE MIKU??? ACTUAL HATSUNE MIKU????? (just her voice but aksdjfkajsdkfjaklsjdfljasjdflajsdf)

Ohhhh, the Lupin & Clarisse / Jigen & the kid’s mom (still haven’t heard her name lmao) parallel was just uncalled for, my heart

Let Jigen wear burgundy more often

...Mr. Epcar, I love and respect you, but is it too much to ask that you vary your inflection a little more? Where’s the PATHOS?

Slightly cried instantly, “The Wendy lady lives.” Then Peter knelt beside her and found his button. You remember she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck. “See,” he said, “the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life.”

BLACK JACKET

Burgundy suit + round glasses Goemon!!!

There’s no way Pops is getting his job back after this one

Goemon: [turns his usual hot girl swordsmanship up to 11]

Lupin: Well mark me down as scared AND horny! dot jpeg

Again with the CGI hand crimes.

Wow he straight-up said Jigen was cheating on him

Ah, see, that “waste of oxygen”/“huge mistake” bit of dialogue is the kind of inflection I like to hear.

WarGames (1983)

It took me entirely too long to realize the president was supposed to look like H.illary.

Goemon: [slices open a door for Fujiko]

Fujiko: “Oh, you.” <3

This is all very action-heavy and surprisingly decent for a Lupin film so far, but uh. why is Jigen once again a side character in his own movie?

Ayyyy, nice reference to Zantetsuken’s composition from Part 1. Still insane that they melted down three awesome swords to make a different sword though.

Goemon snarks back to robots confirmed. Not that Lupin would ever be stupid enough to buy an Al3xa/etc. but can you IMAGINE

JAZZ PIANIST FUJIKO! Fujiko having actual interests and hobbies!!!

Comrade Emilka

TRIPLE PARALLEL WITH JIGEN & ALISA NOW

They just?? left Jigen in the middle of the desert after the absolute minimum discussion of All That???? That’s...on-brand actually but give me the angst this plot device deserved >:(

Michelle Ruff I would die for you

This variation on the main theme is my favorite. I’ve probably listened to it about a thousand times at this point but I finally got to hear it in context.

Welp, that was one of the better Lupin movies I’ve seen, but I do wish they’d done more with the whole Jigen betrayal thing that ended up being more of a subplot. Thank goodness for fics that do the work.

Edit: “There are about four different plots going on at once in this movie, and they forgot to focus on the one that’s in the actual title.” - @theimpossiblescheme

#lupin iii #goodbye partner #jigen #long post

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free-pool-trash · 4 years

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folklore - isaac lahey {1/?}

my first isaac piece... y’all i can’t even lie this kind of got away from me but here we are so let me know if you want me to commit to making this a series!!

this is pre-bite isaac!!!! because i haven’t seen anybody write for him before he was bitten so i wanted to explore the dynamic of him and reader while he was just normal, which obviously i’ll get more into in future parts if anyone would be interested in reading more <33 feedback would be really appreciated !!!!!

masterlist

word count: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse (i think that’s it but let me know if i missed anything)

mostly fluffy but a lil angsty

i’m gonna tag the people that replied under the post i made asking if anyone wanted an isaac fic hope that’s okay <3 let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list for possible future parts!

tagging: @makeusfreefromthisfandom (thank you for putting up with me while i attempted to write this), @cece-lives-here, @chocolate-raspberries, @tanyaherondale again lemme know if you wanna be removed or added <3

PART 2

You could remember with complete clarity the day you'd met your best friend, who also kind of happened to be your only friend, but that minor detail didn't even matter as you wouldn't ask for anyone else or anyone more and what was better was that you knew for a fact that said best friend felt the exact same about you.

It was the first day of middle school when you'd met your long time best friend, both of you had been wide eyed and hopeful about the coming years as you were seated beside each other in your very first class. He'd been shy at first, glancing at you with a nervous smile and playing with the zip of his pencil case when the teacher instructed you all get to know the person beside you.

"My name's (Y/n), what's yours?" You asked him, a friendly smile on your face- you knew from the get go that you were the louder of the both of you.

"I'm Isaac." He answered you with a smile that was more certain than the last one he'd offered you.

He'd tensed up again, however, when you pointed towards his backpack. Even so early in the day someone had already poked fun at the bag that was covered in comic book characters that the boy loved so much, with the way you pointed at it excitedly he couldn't help the nerves that built up in him, he didn't know why you were excited, you either liked his backpack or you liked teasing people, he seriously didn't know.

His nerves settled down once you'd actually opened your mouth, "Woah, your bag is so cool! You like Spider-Man too?" Your eyes sparkled with excitement and Isaac finally allowed himself to reciprocate it.

"Thanks! Spider-Man is my favorite superhero! Do you read comics?" He asked you with a smile that had widened significantly since the beginning of your meeting.

"No, I don't have any comic books at home…" You explained with a slight frown before your lips lifted back upward as you continued, "I watch all the movies with my dad, though!"

Isaac nodded in understanding, blue eyes shining bright with happiness that he'd made a friend so easily, while he usually found the task quite difficult since he was very soft spoken, your charismatic energy seemed to rub off on him as he found himself talking to you easily.

"I've got some in my backpack, do you want to read them with me at lunch?" The boy asked hopefully, his shy demeanor returning ever so slightly as he realized he'd just taken a leap of faith, something he didn't love doing.

Head nodding enthusiastically, your smile grew only wider, "Yeah!"

The memory always made you smile as you'd sat with each other at that lunch time and at every other lunch time from that day onwards. You and Isaac were a pair, as you grew up you did mostly everything together, his father and brother loved you and your parents loved him just the same.

He knew all of your secrets and you knew all of his, including how abusive his father became after the death of his older brother, he'd told you but under the condition that you didn't breathe a word to anyone else, so you kept your mouth shut but did everything in your power to support him in the aftermath of a punch or emotional scar.

Isaac often voiced how much you meant to him, despite the fact that he wasn't great with putting his feelings into words, he always managed to remind you that he was sure you were some sort of guardian angel to him or how you were really and honestly his favorite person in the whole world. The proclamations more often than not came mixed with shaking breaths and sobs from your favourite boy. You were both sixteen the first time it happened.

A knock on your front door tore your attention away from the show you were watching, you raised an eyebrow in question. Neither of your parents were home and you weren't expecting them back until the next morning, shrugging your shoulders you made your way to the front door, opening it revealing Isaac looking more broken than you'd ever seen him in your five years of friendship, his blue eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red, cheeks painted in tear tracks and loud sniffles sounded from him along with a sob that threatened to rip your heart out when he met your eyes.

Immediately you'd rushed him through your doorway, barely taking the time to shut the door before you had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to reach him due to how tall he'd become in the last few years. His arms wrapped around you in seconds as he began shaking against your smaller frame, sobs wracking his body violently.

After a minute, when his cries didn't die down as they usually did, you ushered him towards the couch, sitting him down and taking the seat beside him while you looked him over for any obvious injuries.

The only thing you noticed was that his fingernails were stubbed and bloody, as if he'd broken them trying to claw himself out of somewhere. You slowly and gently placed your palm to his cheek, stroking your thumbs under his eyes, removing his tears as you did. He was cold, no, he was freezing and you couldn't tell if he was shaking from the temperature or from whatever trauma his father had inflicted on him to put him in such a state.

"What happened, Isaac?" You asked softly, scooting closer to him when his hands reached out for you, they clutched the fabric of your hoodie- his hoodie- tightly, he only shook his head, pulling you into him completely, arms now wound tightly around your torso as he cried into your shoulder, you'd never seen him this shaken up, you'd never felt his tears soak through two layers of your clothing but you supposed there was a first time for everything as your curly haired best friend couldn't fight the tears that just kept flowing.

Your hands ran through his curls, scratching softly at the nape of his neck, something that usually always worked in calming him right down, only it wasn't working and you couldn't stand the way he was still freezing, you wanted to help him, you always helped him, you were at a loss as he cried this time though, you didn't know how to help.

"You're freezing." You murmured, his breath hitched at your statement and you had to move his head from its spot between your neck and shoulder, hands back on his cheeks.

Reluctantly you separated from him, fighting the urge to throw yourself back in his arms when he let out a panicked whimper, quickly you grabbed the throw blanket you kept on the armchair beside the couch and made your way back to Isaac's side, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders tightly and rubbing your hands up and down his arms softly, you tried your best to heat him up.

"I'm going to make you a hot drink, ok? Then we can talk- or watch a movie or just- yeah. I'll be back in a minute. I'm right in the kitchen if you need me." You fretted, kissing his forehead before rushing into the kitchen. Hot chocolate always cheered Isaac up, he'd once proclaimed that if he could only drink one beverage for the rest of his life it would be hot chocolate. You really needed a win with him tonight so with shaking hands you began making a cup of hot chocolate for your best friend.

It got hard sometimes, staying strong when you saw him so broken, sometimes you wanted nothing more than to cry with him, let the pain you felt for him consume you, but you never did, not in front of him anyway. If there was one thing he hated more than himself being upset it was making you upset and you knew that, you knew that it you cried for him in his presence he'd be reluctant to confide in you in fear of upsetting you. You couldn't have that, he needed you and you needed to be there for him, even if it hurt.

So you took a deep breath and walked back to your living room, cup of hot chocolate in hand, relief flooded you when you noticed Isaac had stopped crying, he was still sniffling but the tears had ceased.

"Here bub." You placed the cup in his cold, shaky hands before returning to your place pressed against his side, "Thank you."

His voice was scratchy and broken as he spoke, "Not just for the drink." He added on, voice merely a whisper.

Shaking your head you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, "You don't have to thank me for anything." You told him quietly, he'd never ever owe you anything and you wouldn't want him to ever think he did.

"But I want to." Isaac placed the cup on your coffee table and took both of your hands in his, "You're the only good thing I have left." His voice was certain and as steady as he could make it because as horrible as his experiences were, the thought of being able to collapse into you once it was over got him through it.

Without saying a word you rested your head against his shoulder and tightened your grip on his hands, holding them in your lap while you waited for him to continue.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Titling your head up at his words you let your lips press to his cheek, something you did often.

"Well, you don't ever have to worry about that because I'm not going anywhere." You reassured him, a smile rising on your face when his lips met your forehead.

You and Isaac were always affectionate with each other, from sharing beds at sleepovers to holding hands if one of you was anxious. Naturally, you were very touchy person and it played in your favor that your best friend craved physical affection. The two of you just worked.

And sure sometimes when he'd hug you from behind or when he'd absentmindedly play with your hair you wished that he was more than just your best friend. What you didn't know was that Isaac felt the same, every time he told you that he loved you he wanted you to know just how much he really meant it, let you know that the words ran way deeper than just your friendship.

What made things difficult was trying to act none the wiser about Isaac's home life when his father would invite you over for dinners or movie nights, the same way he used to before he started using his youngest son as an emotional and physical punching bag. It was genius really, he kept up appearances and if you hadn't gotten the truth out of Isaac you probably wouldn't have guessed that his father was such a scumbag.

Tonight was one of those nights. Mr. Lahey invited you to stay for dinner when he noticed you studying with Isaac, helping him with chemistry, at the dining table. Not wanting to leave Isaac alone with the man for any longer than he absolutely had to be you had taken him up on his offer.

You even helped him make the meal, it was times like that you were extremely thankful for your acting skills.

Isaac's father sat at the head of the table while yourself and Isaac sat across from each other either side of the table.

"So (Y/n), d'you find yourself a boyfriend yet?" The older man asked you with a smile, "Dad-" Isaac chastised, his eyes wide and cheeks blushing a rose red.

"Um, no not yet." You answered, glancing at Isaac quickly before moving your gaze to his father, "How are things at the graveyard?" You asked sweetly, praying to God that he'd drop the topic of your love life. What were you supposed to say? "No I don't have a boyfriend but I am in love with your son who you're abusing you piece of shit."?

Luckily, he didn't push on the subject any further, "It's been busy lately with all these animal attacks."

"It's a mountain lion right?" You asked with interest, looking at Isaac now, the boy shrugged, letting out a chuckle at your curiosity, "That's what everyone's been saying."

"I heard from Scott McCall that it's some kind of wolf." You explained, finishing off your plate as Isaac raised an eyebrow, "You know McCall?"

"Yeah, he sits next to me in homeroom, he's pretty nice. Anyway he said him and Stiles were out in the woods and he swears that he heard a wolf howling." You shot off, a million theories cooking up in your head as the words left your lips excitedly. You didn't miss the soft smile on Isaac's face as he listened to you talk so passionately.

The hearty chuckle of his father cut you off and you turned your head to look at him, "There hasn't been a wolf in California in over sixty years." He stated, standing from the table, collecting your plates and placing them in the sink before pointing to Isaac.

"Whatever it is, it got someone else last night so I need you to go down to the yard and start digging." Isaac only nodded, pushing himself up, "I'll walk (Y/n) home and then I'll head over."

"Sure, you kids be careful out there." He replied superficially, letting out one last chuckle as he left the room completely.

"You ready to go, bubs?" You ask, grabbing your backpack and throwing it over your shoulder, "What?" You asked when you noticed Isaac hadn't moved but was instead looking at you with a quirked eyebrow and a fond smile, his arms crossed infront of his chest.

"You gonna be warm enough walking home in that?" He motioned towards your blouse and you threw your head back in frustration and grumbled, "No probably not."

"Wait here, I'll grab you something." He told you, pecking your cheek as he passed you.

It only took Isaac a minute to return to the kitchen, grey cardigan in hand, he loved that cardigan but in all honesty he loved it more when it was on you, which is why he picked it for you to wear on your walk home. Usually you forgot to give his clothes back to him when he'd leave you at your doorstep, which always led to you wearing it into school the next day, he absolutely loved when you wore his cardigans and his hoodies, the way the sleeves hung way past your wrists made you look so adorable to him and he had to stop himself from throwing his entire closet at you.

"Is that your favorite cardigan I see?" You questioned, a knowing smile on your face.

Isaac gave you a playful shrug, handing the cardigan to you and stating, "My favourite cardigan for my favorite girl."

"Hey!" A whisper hissed from the desk behind you, glancing back you saw Stiles Stilinski leaning forward towards you, his entire upper half against his desk.

"Hi?" Your voice was uncertain as the boy with the buzzcut gave you a triumphant grin while Scott rolled his eyes from his seat beside you and infront of Stiles.

"You know Derek Hale right?" The question threw you off slightly, your family had been close with the Hale's before they'd all perished in the house fire six years ago, all except Derek- the prime suspect although you knew it couldn't have been him who set the house ablaze.

"Well, I knew him. He and Laura used to babysit me. I was friends with his younger sister too, back in elementary school." You answered Stiles' question, "Why?"

"Did he seem murder-y to you?" Stiles asked, ignoring your question while Scott let out a tired sigh at his best friend's antics. "No. He was sweet, they all were." You told him sternly, growing tired of his questions about people you would've considered your second family until the vast majority of them burned alive.

Scott's voice was softer than Stiles' when he leaned towards you, "He's uh back in town. We saw him at the Hale house yesterday. We were just wondering if you knew why he was here?"

"Derek's in town?" You asked, eyes wide while Scott nodded in response, brown eyes searching yours for any kind of answer to his previous question. "I didn't even know he was back." Your voice was merely a murmur, you tried your best to digest this new information but all you could think about was how you needed to see him.

"If you're looking for him, I'll help you find him." You offered to the two boys who shared unsure looks causing you to release a sigh, "Come on you two, out of the three of us I'm the only one whose gonna get any answers out of him. He's not exactly welcoming to strangers."

The words left you flatly and the two of them knew you were right, "Yeah you're right. We're going to stop by the house again after school you could meet us there?" Scott agreed, furrowing his brows as he watched you shake your head and scribble something down on the corner of your page, ripping it off, "I've got plans with Isaac after school today but I'll ask my parents if they know anything, they were really close with the Hale's." You explained, handing the scrap of paper with your phone number on it to Scott, "Give me your numbers so I can call you if I find out anything useful." Scott nodded gratefully, scribbling down his number on the side of his page the same way you had while Stiles just looked at you with a funny expression on his face, "Don't you hang out with Isaac like every day? Can't you just ditch him this once?" You let out a humorless chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the boy, "Would you ditch Scott?"

Stiles grumbled something under his breath, finally seating himself back in his seat properly, defeated by your retort.

Stiles wasn't wrong, you did hang out with Isaac almost every day but you'd never once ditched him just as he never ditched you, you weren't going to change that for the sake of two boys that you barely knew.

You'd met Isaac during a dark period of your life, when the Hale fire happened and all the people you'd been raised around suddenly disappeared from your life, he'd been exactly what you needed and he continued to be that person who always made you feel like there was always something to hope for even if everything looked grim.

He was the living embodiment of surviving hardships, and although he'd never realize it, he was the reason you were able to pull yourself out of slumps and keep pushing forward even when you felt like the weight of the world was crushing your chest. One smile or word of encouragement from Isaac and all that weight would evaporate into nothing.

As the bell rang you wanted nothing more than to find the boy who occupied your thoughts and tell him about the information you'd just been given, you definitely needed a pick me up after finding out Derek was back in town and you hadn't even seen him.

So you set off, giving Scott a small smile before exiting the classroom and making your way into the busy hallway, starting your search for Isaac the second you entered the crowd.

#isaac lahey x reader #teen wolf x reader #isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine

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nicad13 · 3 years

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Fic Writer Interview

Tagged by: @retro-jupiter Aw, thanks!

Name: NiCad. She’s an unabashed self-insert Transformers character I wrote like, 25 years ago. Unlike most self-inserts, she’s clumsy, nerdy, non-charismatic, and had no romantic relationship in the story she appeared in.

Fandoms: Currently Mandalorian, but I started writing fanfic with Transformers back in 1996! I have a huge re-write of my old stuff I’ve been working on for years but haven’t touched since Mando grabbed me. I’ll circle back to it eventually.

Two-shot: I think my only one is Turning the Corner – an exploration of Din’s younger years, his not-so-enjoyable time with Xi’an, and the possible reasons he was able to get out of that situation.

Most popular multi-chapter: Crossroads. Post-season 1, Din runs in to a Jedi survivor of Order 66. The kid takes a liking to her. Din learns that armor isn’t the only thing that can protect them. Angst, adventure, intrigue, and found family shenanigans ensue.

Actual worst part of writing: I used to think it was the demons in my head that wouldn’t shut up about the stories they want to tell. Usually it was exhilarating, but sometimes it was annoying when I’d get distracted from work & other real-life things that needed my attention. Now I realize it’s when the demons get half-way through the story and then go silent. WHERE DID YOU GO WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS. I can coax them back out when I have long, uninterrupted stretches of time, but I don’t seem to get those very often.

How you choose your titles: I usually go for a few words that I think will grab the most attention and are still descriptive of the story. For the Crossroads chapter titles, I stuck with the format of that Mandalorian had for the episode titles: “The [Noun].” The exception was the last episode, which was simply “Redemption,” so I did the same with the last chapter: “Home.”

Do you outline: Not usually. My one-shots usually come in one short, intense burst, downloaded directly from the brain demons, so they don’t require one. For long, multi-chapter ones where I’m jumping around and not writing linearly, I’ll set up a timeline after a while so I have something quick to refer to and remind myself of what happens when. This (hopefully) keeps me from referring to things that haven’t happened yet by mistake, and also keeps things like X happened a few weeks ago during chapter 1, a few months ago during chapter 2, six months ago in chapter 3, etc. One thing I do try to be good about is getting to the computer as soon as I can when a snippet hits me so I can write it down. I don’t worry about where exactly in the story it should go – I just stick it in a file called “scraps” to start with just to preserve the idea. Sometimes it’ll live there for a while before I pluck it out and transplant it to its home in the story, sometimes it gets re-homed almost immediately. A few sit there and never find their way in, but maybe inspire different versions of themselves.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: I have some dim visions of Grogu as Mand’alore, leading the planet through centuries of peace and prosperity.

Callouts @ me: I’m not sure what this is asking, but a couple other answers I’ve seen seem to be philosophy about fanfic. So uh… write for yourself, primarily. Write to satisfy the voice in your head that won’t shut up until you record its words. If you want to write well, seek out advice from those who also write well, and be ready to learn from them. If you’re writing only to gain popularity, you’re writing for the wrong reason and will only be disappointed.

Best writing traits: I’d say I’m best at angst and other emotional darkness. I grew up consuming Stephen King at an inappropriately young age, and I think it shows. His memoir, On Writing, also has nice bits of writing advice. The two bits that struck me the most are 1 – write the first draft with the door closed (don’t think about what others will think about it), and 2 – adverbs are not your friend (i.e., “He placed the Darksaber on the table with great care” instead of “He carefully placed the Darksaber on the table”).

Spicy tangential opinion: I have some… complex opinions about reader-insert fics that I’m not sure I’m able to outline without pissing people off. Like, I have no moral objection to them and they make lots of folks happy and that’s fine. Some of them work reallywell when they focus on the reader’s emotions and experiences. In the context of Mandalorian fanfic, that can serve to make Din even more mysterious – using a restricted POV is a great tool to get us in on the challenge of figuring out such a walled-off and inaccessible character. The ones that violate that and go second-person omniscient POV – that somehow the reader knows everything that others think of them and everything that’s going on just… confuse me. I can kinda forgive it in the current era of a deadly airborne infectious disease pandemic when dating IRL has come to a screeching halt, so I understand the need to substitute for that. Otherwise, go third-person POV and develop the original character.

The one social objection I have to reader-insert fics is when they come at the cost of strong female characters, particularly characters of color, LGBTQ+, neurodivergent, people with disabilities, or otherwise under-represented folks. Reader-inserts are designed to be as generic as possible so that anyone can slip their skins on and off, and they read like a lot of lost opportunities when it comes to representation. And forget about passing the Bechdel test if you don’t even have a name for your own character. We need to challenge ourselves and (gasp) have two women characters who have names and who talk to each other about something other than men and babies. I can count the number of Mandalorian fanfic authors I’ve read that pass this on one hand. (I know there are more, but y’all can take a decent guess about the ratio.) We can do better.

No pressure tagging: Oh, I'm so bad at this and I have no idea who's already done it. Here goes nothing. @hauntedfalcon @bethagain @fanfoolishness

#fanfic #the mandolorian #din djarin

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waywardfangirl · 3 years

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Both @captain-aralias and @palimpsessed did really nice posts to share their fics from this year as well as their thoughts on what they wrote, and I enjoyed reading their posts (and their fics!) so much that I thought I would take them up on their open invitation to do one too! I’m a big believer in keeping lists of your accomplishments to look at on days when self-doubt creeps in, so I encourage anyone else who might be interested to do this too! (All the questions are copied from @captain-aralias)

List of Completed Fics this year:

I wrote ten fics this year, as well as starting a ton of WIPs, which is amazing to me, considering I have only written fic once before in my life!

Slow - General, 3k

We’re Not in Genovia Anymore - Teen, 28k

Promises - General, 3k

A Privilege to Love You - Teen, 7k

Early Riser - General, >1k

Write This Down - General, 3k

As You Wish - Teen, 13k

The View from the Veranda - General, 4k

Down By The Sea - General, 2k

Just Want You to Know Who I Am - General, 1k (written in 2020, posted in 2021)

Total: 10 fics, 67k words, 100% Snowbaz

Pretty good for what is truly the first year that I have been an active participant in fandom!

Questions answered below the cut.

Best/worst title?

A Privilege to Love You is my favorite title, because I think the line is just so sweet, and it makes my heart melt.

We’re Not in Genovia Anymore is definitely my worst title, because that was just the placeholder name I gave the WIP, but then I got so used to it I forgot to change it to something better before posting. I still cringe a bit at that one.

Best/worst summary?

l am horrifically indecisive, so I have a few summaries that I like. Just Want You To Know Who I Am is short and sweet, and I think it conveys exactly what I want it to:

Baz is fine. He's fine. Everything is fine. (It just isn't.)

~A fic about being loved in all the little ways~

But I also really liked the quotes I pulled for The View from the Veranda, As You Wish, and A Privilege to Love You.

Early Riser also has a summary that I let break my heart:

Baz wakes up early now, even though Simon doesn’t.

I does very little to convey what the fic is about, but after reading the fic it hurts like I wanted it to, sooo.....

I think that Promises has the worst summary though:

Inspired by the song "Promises" from the musical Hadestown.

Simon and Baz have spent the last three years working on themselves and on their relationship. Now it's time for their next step together.

Best/worst first line?

Baz says it best to open The View from the Veranda:

I am not a man accustomed to enduring want.

However, Simon deserves an honorable mention for starting us off right in As You Wish:

Baz is such a prick.

As for worst opening lines, I don’t really think I have any. I have some that stand better as an opening paragraph than an opening line, but I place a lot of importance on the first line of a story, so I like to make sure all mine are strong.

Best/worst last line?

I am not going to spoil any last lines for anyone (I cover up the last page of books when I read to reveal it slowly, word by word, so I take last lines seriously!), but I will say that As You Wish has an adorably predictable last line that I love.

For worst last line, I have to say Slow. I liked the line itself when I wrote it, but then I learned later that people were interpreting it in a more steamy way than what I had intended, and because I feel like Slow is such an innocent fic and really highlights how important it is for Simon to not be rushed into every decision he makes, I don’t like that it sounds like he and Baz rushed into something else. (I just meant that they talked and maybe kissed a bit! That’s it!)

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

On December 31st, 2019, I was pet sitting when I came across a prompt for a Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement Snowbaz AU. I impulsively started to write, even though I had only written one other fic in my life (Check, Please!), and I had never written Snowbaz before. I kind of thought that maybe I would write one fic and that would be all, and that maybe one fic is all I would ever write, but I am so happy to have been wrong about that! I wrote way more than I could have predicted, and I even did NaNoWriMo! (I failed NaNoWriMo too, and I’m okay with that, because I want writing to be something I do for fun, not something that stresses me out.)

As a fun side note, Carry On is a fandom that I have returned to many times in my life, and it seems to have a special place on New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day for me. I was given Fangirl as a Christmas present, and started reading it on New Year’s Eve, only to finish it and realize that the new year had arrived while I was engrossed in the book. I have spent multiple New Year’s Eves since engrossed in a reread of the book, or reading fic, and so it feels really fitting that I got into properly writing fic for Carry On as the year turned over.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

Literally all of this was unexpected, as I never planned on writing any more fic, but I think I am most surprised to have written multiple songfics. I never read many songfics, and didn’t often care for them, but I wrote Promises off of the song from Hadestown, Write This Down off of George Strait’s song, and then Just Want You to Know Who I Am because Caity got the Goo Goo Dolls stuck in my head.

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

My favorite might actually be my most popular, so I’ll go with my close second favorites (it’s a tie)

A Privilege to Love You is a soulmate au, and those are my favorite things ever. I also received some of the best feedback on this one, and I feel like I did a lot of things that worked really well in this fic.

The View from the Veranda is just so wonderful for me though, it combines my love of history with absolute silliness for a friend (I love you Liz!!!), @krisrix did some INCREDIBLE art for it, and I just had so much fun writing it.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

As You Wish was the most popular, hands down, with more hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks than any other fic I wrote. It’s also the fic of mine that I reread the most, because it makes me so happy and I love all the silly moments.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

We’re Not in Genovia Anymore is probably the answer here. This isn’t entirely backed up by metrics, since it does have more hits and kudos than some of my other fics, but for how long it is and the work that went into it, I think it only got a portion of the attention I was hoping it would. That’s mostly my fault though! It was the first fic I wrote for this fandom, and so I have definitely grown as a write since! Additionally, while I feel like it has a lot of great moments and fantastic lines, I have some lackluster bits too, and it really suffered from not having a beta (I was too shy to ask anyone back then). It’s also an AU of a movie that isn’t as widely viewed as I previously thought, so that didn’t help either, and as I already said, this fic could have a much better title.

All that aside though, the people who have read and talked to me about this fic have really seemed to like it, so I’m glad that I did right by my fellow Princess Diaries 2 fans! (and all of the wonderful people who read it and commented nice things having never seen the movie, y’all rock!)

Story that could have been better?

Everything I wrote before asking someone to beta. I just talked about what I would improve in We’re Not In Genovia Anymore, but Promises could use some work too. Having a few wonderful friends help me edit my fics has really improved what I post!

Sexiest story?

Oh gosh, I am not someone who writes sexy things.

Having said that, The View from the Veranda was written in the style of a bodice ripper, so I think that makes it the sexiest story by default. Kris’s art also enhances its sex appeal by at least 200% (I laughed out loud when I was making the list at the start of this post, because I had entirely forgotten that fic is rated G - honestly, that tells you everything you need to know about me, my romance novel fic can be read by children haha) (I might give it a T rating at some point, just because I feel like it should have that)

**I just remembered the bonus chapter for As You Wish.... that might be the sexiest thing I’ve written haha 🤣

Saddest story?

Early Riser - I am a big believer in giving everyone who deserves it a happy ending, but this one is just an interlude of sadness and depression without any resolution in sight.

(If you read it though, please know that in my head they do get therapy and things do get better! Snowbaz always has a happy ending in my fics, even if I don’t write it out fully)

Most fun?

As You Wish - this one to me feels like the happy chaos of running and sliding around a big house in stocking feet, and I don’t have a better way to describe it than that. There’s a tiny bit of angst from Baz, and a little bit of panic from Simon, but I was smiling and having so much fun while writing this fic, and I really think it comes across.

Story with single sweetest moment?

A Privilege to Love You - I’ll let you decide which of the many sweet moments is actually the sweetest ❤

Hardest story to write?

Promises, no question about it. I had written two fics by that point, and people had been so nice, and some of you lovely folks had even started tagging me in WIP Wednesday posts and in Six Sentence Sunday posts, but I felt like I had no inspiration left and I kept worrying that I wouldn’t be able to write again. So, I forced myself to write something, and it felt like pulling teeth (and it honestly wasn’t very good), but I gifted it to the person who had been my biggest cheerleader and who had tagged me a million times, and that’s how @foolofabookwyrm and I became friends. Writing the fic sucked, but her friendship is worth it, a million times over 💜💜💜

Easiest/most fun story to write?

The View from the Veranda. I’m a historian, and I work a lot with primary sources and spend time speaking with others in 18th century language, so once I got into my “work mindset” the words just flowed. This was also a silly, happy story for me, because I included a lot of jokes for Liz, and there are a ton of details that are just hilarious if you work at the same place I do (sorry that none of you do, but let me just tell you, the descriptions of Simon are all based off of my most attractive colleague, and at least 15% of this fic is silly quotes from work). I think this was only supposed to be about a thousand words long, and I messaged Kris multiple times while writing just to tell him that it was getting out of control and I couldn’t stop writing 😂

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

Writing for Agatha in We’re Not in Genovia Anymore really made realize how much some of her (canon) story resounded with me, and I liked the deeper character study I ended up doing for her. I’m still always going to be the most in love with Baz, but I have a deeper connection to Agatha now too.

Most overdue story?

It’s still overdue. I have so many WIPs, at least seven of which are soulmate AUs, and I just keep starting more. In terms of actual planned release date though? I started writing a The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue AU for NaNoWriMo, with the intention of publishing it in January. It’s already the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I don’t think I’m even a quarter of the way done with it. I wasn’t happy writing for NaNo, because I don’t do well with creativity on a deadline, and I chose to pause work on that fic so I can actually enjoy writing it and end up with something I like once I finally return to it. Apologies to those who are anxiously awaiting the fic, I do hope to finish it this year, and I won’t post until it’s all done, so you’ll get a very rapid update schedule when it does come out!

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I signed up for my first fandom event! I participated in the Secret Snowflake event, and wrote Down By The Sea for the wonderful @fight-surrender (and ended up with ideas for some other new fics too)! Even though I was actively failing NaNoWriMo when I signed up, I did manage to complete my fic on time, and I learned that it wasn’t quite as daunting as I was expecting it to be. (My biggest problem was my laptop breaking and having to do almost everything on my phone - I also learned once again just how amazing Liz is, as she helped me format and post to ao3, since I couldn’t do that properly without a computer)

I struggle with being creative on a deadline, but wanting to write a little over 1k in a month was much more achievable than feeling stressed about writing 50k in a month!

This year’s theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

I like the idea of the inevitability of love. I adore soulmate AUs, because I love the idea of a universe where not only does someone have a perfectly matched other person, but that there is a surefire way to find them. Even though I only published one soulmate AU this year, I feel like every time I write Snowbaz I am writing about a couple where love will, inevitably, win. In my mind they are always going to have a happy ending somewhere down the line where they are just purely in love. Even though love doesn’t magically fix everything, it’s still incredibly powerful, and I only want to create stories where Simon and Baz truly love each other.

Of course, with that as the theme, A Privilege to Love You has to be the fic that best demonstrates the idea of inevitable love - it’s a soulmate AU and a universe where Simon exercises his free will.

What are your fic writing goals for next year this year?

Finish and publish my Gentleman’s Guide AU

Finish and publish more soulmate AUs (I have so many WIPs you guys)

Plan more before writing

Work on improving dynamic scenes and the overall flow of my fics - I sometimes feel like I have too many lulls, and I want to write in a more engaging way

Promote my own work more! I am partially doing this post because there are multiple fics that I never shared on here! I plan to make banners for all of the fics I write this year, and to post them on tumblr at the same time I upload them to ao3.

The last few years have been a time of tremendous personal growth for me, and I really feel like I’m starting to understand who I am as a person, settle into myself, and like who I am. I’m thrilled to discover that fandom is still part of who I am and what I enjoy, and that I have more creative outlets in my life now than I ever expected to. My biggest goal is just to keep building on all of that, to use fic to explore who I am, to reflect what I like, make myself happy with my writing, and to hopefully make at least a few of you happy with my stories too!

#2020 fics #my writing #about me #year in review #fic masterpost #fanfic year in review #my fic #snowbaz #carry on

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anthropwashere · 3 years

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deadfic: our indestructible days ch 1

More deadfic for the Good Intentions WIP Fest, though since the event’s over I’ll spare the poor mod yet more of my horseshit.

This was, in fact, the first fic I really tackled post 2017 BH watch! And boy does it show. I’m doing y’all a favor by editing it to hell and back before posting any of it, honest. Due to that however, I don’t know how many chapters there will be. At least 4, since that’s as far as I’ve gotten in the editing process. We shall see!

All you need to know for this one is: What if Kimblee didn’t stop Pride from possessing Ed on the Promised Day? :)

Title comes from Puscifer’s “Dear Brother.”

The air burns against his flaking skin, molten stone growing dark yet still radiating a dangerous heat. Everyone else has gone after Father, the rattle and scrape of transmuted stone fading. It's just the two of them now, the alchemist and the homunculus, and Pride has the upper hand.

“This container won’t last much longer,” he says matter-of-factly, leaping down to stand before the boy. In the dusty sunlight filtering in from above Edward Elric’s eyes shine, catlike and calculating. His breathing is ragged, spit between clenched teeth. He’s pinned by cords of unyielding shadow. If he struggles much harder, Pride might break something.

That thought demands brief consideration. It would be satisfying to take Edward apart bone by brittle bone, to take his pound of flesh for the damage incurred to his Philosopher’s Stone. The left arm would sever easily, if he but sharpened his shadows. Tempting, yes, but ultimately pointless.

“But still,” he continues thoughtfully, a new plan already fallen into place. “Like my father is, you are of Hohenheim's bloodline. We’re virtually brothers. Which means, Edward Elric, I can use your container. Your body belongs to me!”

It is an easy thing to invade the bloodstream, entering through a thin cut on the boy’s cheek. Pride fills every vein and artery with shadows until Edward’s heart is smothered, his blood sludge. He ignores the screams, the uptick in thrashing. This is tricky work, something only achieved twice before, and he hadn't seen either success firsthand. His Stone is too big for such a little cut. He spares a tendril of himself to stab the boy's chest, wrenching open a wound big enough to deposit his core directly against the thrashing heart within. Connective tissue regrows at a breakneck pace, sewing him irrevocably into a body a thousand times more complex than his original container.

With that taken care of Pride lashes out with a snap of white teeth, unfettering the strangled soul. The body still writhes, pain a thing of the flesh rather than the spirit, but there is less resistance after that. If it's lucky, the boy's soul will be absorbed into his Stone, its energy and knowledge assimilated, made useful. Then again it could simply burn up in the transference, an ember caught in a cold wind.

Either way, that which was called Edward Elric will no longer be a concern.

What a big fuss Wrath made of it, with his story of the man who became a homunculus who became King. A little pain suffered is nothing, when the alternative is death.

Edward’s screaming makes this all the sweeter.

Without its contents, his old container collapses to so much dust and an empty pile of clothing, and—

—ah.

There are memories, kept just beneath the surface of Edward’s dying panic. The mind is easy to parse when the soul is absent. Old night terrors, old horrors. Loneliness. What a childish thing to fear.

A heartbeat.

Another.

Waiting— dreading— the body’s rejection of him.

But it never comes. Barely a shudder of resistance, the only lash of alchemical reaction his Stone instinctively healing injuries the boy had incurred.

The silence after that's finished is a breathless, giddy surprise.

Pride tests his new container carefully, casting an unhappy glance at the automail arm he’s now saddled with. It’s an unpleasant weight, cold and heavy; the leg much the same. It'll take time he doesn't have to adjust to them. How pathetic, that humans must rely on machinery to recover from serious injury. Once he’s regained some of his strength he’ll have to do something about them.

Something shifts within him, a sensation not unlike vertigo stealing his breath. Pride hesitates, wobbling on unfamiliar limbs, but the feeling passes. He smiles. A strong bloodline indeed.

“Fight all you wish,” he says aloud. “I've won.”

Even his voice has changed. His true voice is marred, pitched deeper. Weighed down. He is weighed down by this new container. It's strange. This is all very strange. But he must adjust quickly, for the battle isn’t won yet.

He shakes unfamiliar blond hair from his new container’s eyes, looking up through the hole punched through the many underground floors beneath Central Command. Four thin stone pillars ascend through it, stretching all the way up to the parade grounds. Such a distance. Even the sacrifices shouldn't have been capable of stretching so much material so high without it collapsing. What did they do? What was that array they activated that allowed them to perform alchemy again?

The fight has shifted. He must return to the fray, now that he’s been renewed. Father would—

Father expects him to—

No.

Not yet. He’s not strong enough to rejoin that fight, yet. His Stone was damaged even more than they’d anticipated when he forced Mustang through the Gate.

Pride sniffs, tasting the air. There are humans nearby; more souls to consume. He licks his lips and sends his grinning shadows upward.

He is hungry.

Major General Armstrong kneels beside the body of Führer King Bradley, hating that she's been sideline for what is surely the most decisive battle Amestris has ever seen. Her men are up there, where that pale creature had ascended only minutes ago atop a pillar of molten stone. Bullets and mortars were near useless against the lesser homunculi; what could their Father be capable of?

Her pulse is still racing, a sour taste settled in her mouth. She knows acutely what it feels like to die, and the experience has left her feeling hollowed out in a way she's unsure of how to voice. She remembers a maelstrom of suffering, countless voices begging for release. It's not something she'd wish on a Drachman, let alone endure again. If not for the Elric brothers' father she'd still be trapped in that hell. They all would be.

Is it fear that still makes her heart pound, or cowardice?

Her lip curls. Fear is justified. Fear is the intelligent reaction. To fear something means you're paying attention. Cowardice, however....

She shakes her head. Four of the human sacrifices—Izumi Curtis, Alphonse Elric, Van Hohenheim, and Mustang—had been afraid, and yet still determined to stop that monster. Even blinded Mustang hadn't hesitated to fight on, utilizing the famed Hawk's Eye to direct his flame attacks. It's both begrudging and gratifying, to realize the man has a stronger spine than she'd thought.

The fifth, Fullmetal, is still below fighting Pride. There'd been sounds of combat, and then screaming, but it's gone quiet now. The distance and echo distorting the sounds had made it impossible to determine who had been doing the screaming. The lot of them on this level have been keeping a wary eye on the hole in the floor since then. They don't know what that particular homunculus is capable of and the only alchemist left here is the serial killer Scar, and he's in no shape to assist. The idiot boy had better not die while the battle's still on.

She eases to her feet, hissing pain despite her best efforts, and cats her sight on the blue sky above. A single blast of power had punched a hole in this underground labyrinth clear through to the surface. How can they defend against something like that?

Bah. Defeatist's talk. The alchemists will do all they can to do just that, and her men will support them. They're Briggs men. They'll do whatever it—

"What the hell?!"

"What is that?!"

She turns sharply toward where the few soldiers who'd insisted on staying behind as a protection detail are gathered. They've all drawn their weapons, aiming at the hole in the floor. Ribbons of—shadows—stretch up from below, splitting open to reveal red eyes and white jaws.

Damn! And here she'd thought Fullmetal had been left behind to fight the homunculus alone for good reason! Was the boy really so useless as to die now?

"PREPARE YOURSELVES!" She bellows, striding toward the lashing shadows. A glance is all she needs to know it would be futile to try and keep distance in a room as small as this. Better to be with her men. She may have lost the use of her sword arm but this is a fight she will not—cannot—leave for her men to fight alone. "Fire at Selim Bradley the moment he shows himself!"

The red eyes narrow. The white jaws grin. Grating laughter echoes off of the stone walls. "That container has been discarded, Major General," the mouths all say in the same mocking voice. "But are you really going to risk injuring this body?"

From out of the depths a figure rises, lifted up on tendrils of shadow to step lightly onto the rubble-strewn floor. Her men curse, guns dipping. Somewhere behind her Mr. Curtis and the frog chimera inhale sharply. She can't blame any of them.

The grinning boy with living shadows curling at his boots is Fullmetal.

"Edward," Izumi's husband says, hushed. The boy pays him no mind, eyes flat and cold as coins.

"It was wise of you to stay behind," Fullmetal—no, Pride—says, still smiling. The shadows stretch and curl, painting the room in streaks of black. "Your contributions to the war effort are greatly appreciated."

Too late, she understands what he means to do. "No! Don't you dare—!"

The shadows strike, and her men begin to scream.

"Edward Elric."

His name whispered out of the murk. A voice calling him awake. He can't pinpoint where it's coming from. Everything else is so loud. There are so many people nearby, all of them screaming, all of them begging to die. Everything is so red.

"Fullmetal."

He tries to put a name to the voice. He knows it. Doesn't he know it?

Fraying. He's being... stretched. Pulled apart. Losing his sense of self.

He's losing himself.

"Surely you're not going to roll over as easily as that, are you?"

He... he knows this voice.

A pinpoint of white, searing amongst all this writhing red. The shape of a man comes into focus. White clothes, long dark hair, the wide eyes of a madman, tattoos on his outstretched palms.

"K...Kim...blee...?"

The man smiles. "Ah, so you are still in there. Good, very good."

"Where... what is... this...?"

"We've both become a part of Pride's Philosopher's Stone now. Two souls clinging to our individuality amidst a howling mob of anguish." Kimblee rocks back on his heels, throwing out his hands. His face is a picture of bliss. "Isn't it exquisite?"

He looks away, out at the writhing, the screaming. Nothing but gaping mouths and dark eye sockets everywhere he looks, the barest suggestions of human shapes. Souls. How many died to make this Stone? "It's—loud. No. No, this. This isn't. This isn't what I...."

It's getting so hard to think.

Kimblee looks almost disappointed now. "Tell me, Edward Elric. Are you truly so weak as this? Unraveling at the first glimpse of something beyond your control?"

He looks down at himself. Two arms, two legs. No automail pulling insistently at his bones. Of course not. He's only a soul, nearly as red as the others twisting all around him. He's inside a Philosopher's Stone, which makes him only one more lost soul. Wisps of red peel from his limbs, chafed and scraped away by the chaos pushing and pulling at him from all sides. He's falling apart. Losing himself. Soon he'll be nothing but babbling energy, regenerative power for the homunculus he's become a part of. For... for....

"Pride."

Kimblee raises one curious eyebrow. "That's right."

"Where—Where is he?"

"A bit preoccupied eating to overhear this conversation, if that's your concern."

He—Edward, he's Ed, gotta stay focused, he can't slip again, his name is Edward—strains, struggling to remember what happened. How he came to be like this. He was.... There had been.... Pride. Selim had been badly—injured? damaged?—after forcing the Colonel through the Gate. His container was failing. He'd pinned Ed down—pain, it had hurt—and declared that Ed would be... that Ed's body would be....

Ed's just a soul now. He doesn't have a body, no skin to prickle and no breath to catch, but a chill runs through him all the same. "He. He took my body. He made me his new container. Didn't he?"

"That's right."

No matter where Ed looks it's all souls, no glimpse of what's going on outside this Stone. Ling—and Greed, for that matter—have always had a good idea of what was going on when the other one had been in control of Ling's body. How did they—

Hold on.

Ed looks back at Kimblee, who just smiles pleasantly back. Eating. Pride can't hear them right now because he's eating. The hell does that mean?

"I can't see," Ed snaps, shoving at a soul that's drifted uncomfortably close. His hand is paler, more defined than it was before. He's got a good grip on himself again. He really should've paid more attention when Ling talked about the meditation shit he did while Greed was refusing to share. "Ugh. Where is he? What's he doing, Kimblee?"

Kimblee chuckles and waves his hand. The tempest of screaming parts like a theater curtain; bright light spills in that leaves Ed blinking and shading his eyes. He goes to it anyway. He has to know what Kimblee meant—

His sight adjusts, and he's looking at a bloodbath.

There's red sprayed across the near wall, splashed along the floor, drips and splatters and scraps of tattered uniforms everywhere he looks. A single soldier is in view, firing wildly right at Ed only to have the bullets deflected by a shadow pitted with familiar eyes and bloodstained fangs. The gun in the soldier's hands clicks, the clip emptied, and the shadow cuts him down. Ed can hear the brutal crunch of bone, the muted spurt of spilled blood, the ragged tearing of meat. He hears someone laughing. His voice. His stolen voice multiplied weirdly through the shadow mouths as Selim's had been.

Ed hollers, twisting away, but Kimblee's white hands hold him fast. The man's voice roars out, ragged with terrible glee. "Don't avert your eyes! Don't look away! That's your body out there, cutting those men down. Take credit for the destruction your hands have wrought!"

"NO! NO! That's not—it's not me—get the fuck off—I don't want this!"

"Then what are you going to do about it?!"

"—no, no, I don't—I—w-what?"

Once Ed's stopped struggling Kimblee all but drops him, still grinning from ear to ear. "I thought about interfering, when Pride first tried to take your body for himself."

"What?"

"I'm perfectly content in here, but he decided to throw away his honor as a homunculus. So proud to be what he is, that very quality he was named for, but the moment he found himself in grave danger he sought to escape into the body of a human." Kimblee snarls. "He's pathetic. A disgrace."

Ed watches his body's left hand rise, pointing at—Major General Armstrong? Her face is a mask of blood, and the rest of her isn't much better. Sig's beside her, one arm slick and hanging heavily, the other supporting Scar who looks like he narrowly escaped a meat grinder. Behind them he can just glimpse Jerso in his frog form, lying so still it's impossible to tell if he's still breathing. The window or whatever out into the real world flickers as—fuck—as Pride looks at another soldier spring out from behind cover. He empties his clip in record time, unerringly aimed at Ed's chest. Do any of the bullets hit? Do they hurt? The soldier's cradling his rifle strangely, one hand clumsily wrapped in bloodstained cloth.

"Why?" Ed asks, weary. A shadow arcs out, bristling with teeth, and bites through the man. He goes down with a bizarrely muted scream and another spray of blood. "Why didn't you stop him? This—this wouldn't be happening if you'd stopped him!"

Kimblee regards him, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. "Führer Bradley is a homunculus," he says conversationally. "And Greed. His vessel is human as well, isn't it?"

Outside, sounds of crunching, splattering, chewing. Ed watches a clean white uniform stain almost black with gore. "Yeah? So what?"

"I started to think a little, that's what." Another little chuckle. Fuck, this guy really is crazy. He's enjoying this. "The homunculi make such a fuss out of being better than humans. More evolved, above our petty fears and desires. They're so proud to be the puppeteers of this country, the hands on our yokes as they've guided us to this Promised day."

Ed watches the shadows finish off the soldier, nothing but a smear of blood and a couple glistening pieces of meat left behind. The window flickers again as Pride turns his head to regard the last of the survivors.

"It's funny," Kimblee says. "For how much they talk, they so rarely deliver on their promises. So I ask you, Edward Elric. What are you going to do now?"

The General. Sig. Jerso. Scar. They're going to die. Pride's going to kill them. For all Ed knows they might think he agreed to let Pride take his body.

He looks at his hands. He's nearly himself again, or at least as nearly like himself as he can be without his body. He's got two arms here. Two legs too. An arm and a leg, and a body, and the whole damn country on top of it now. He's made way too many promises to fail here.

Ed sets his jaw and leaps out into the light.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #my writing #murder #cannibalism #body horror #you know what i'm about at this point lbr

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kmomof4 · 4 years

Text

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates

Ch. 6 Of Soulmates

We’re back y’all!!! I am so glad that you enjoyed last weeks installment and I’m hoping that you’ll like this one just as much, if not even more!!! We have quite a bit throwing back to canon in this chapter and I so hope you enjoy it!!! Thank you all again for coming along on this journey with me! Words cannot express how much it truly means to me!!!

@profdanglaisstuff and @hollyethecurious both deserve every good thing and all the love I can possibly give for their invaluable assistance and input in the crafting of this story!!! I also want to express my appreciation to the ladies of the CSSNS and the CSMM discords for their encouragement and help with a title! And finally to @spartanguard for bringing this story to LIFE every single week!!! Real life got in the way this week, so the chapter art will be up tomorrow. But even so, my heart is so full, just know that I’ll never be able to adequately express how much your hard work on behalf of this story means to me! I am immensely grateful!!! Thank you all so much ladies!!! I couldn’t have done this without you!!!

Chapter summary: 19yrs after leaving Massachusetts, Emma returns to Killian.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 8751 of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 6 Of Soulmates

19yrs later Emma Swan Fisher drove down the meandering gravel road that purported to lead to the address, and the man, written on the envelope tucked into her purse. Purported, because she had left the main road almost three minutes ago and there was still no sign of the house. She finally came around a bend and laid eyes on the… her jaw dropped, eyes nearly bugging out of her head. It was a mansion, there was no other word for it. She pulled into a courtyard in front of the most magnificent home she had ever seen. Realizing what she probably looked like, her jaw snapped shut. Being seen gaping like a fish wouldn’t exactly be the best first impression.

Climbing the stairs to the front porch, she could see into the house through the top half of the door. It was designed like a farmhouse window with wood mullions dividing the glass into smaller windows so that she could easily see in. The doorbell echoed as a tall, older gentleman came toward the door. She stepped back as she waited for him to answer.

He opened the door and a gasp left his lips. “Miss Emma?” Surprise colored his words and his face. She stepped back further in alarm at his question, nearly taking a tumble off the steps. He reached out, catching her before she could fall. He was clothed in black slacks and white shirt, open at the top with the sleeves rolled up. He was probably a little old to be sporting a mostly grey ponytail, she guessed him to be in his late 50’s, early 60’s.

“Do I know you?” she asked, regaining her balance. He still held on to her by the elbow and she had to stop herself from jerking away from him. He was only trying to help her.

He looked down and chuckled. “No,” he admitted, “I don’t expect you do, Miss. But I certainly remember you, although you were only a wee lass when last I saw you.” He looked back up at her with a broad smile. “I expect that you are here for Master Killian.”

“Uh, yes,” she agreed.

“Please come in, lass,” he invited, “I’m Starkey, his butler.” He held the door open for her and followed her into a bright, sunny room with floor to ceiling windows opposite letting in the late morning light. She followed him through several rooms, all sporting spectacular views of green lawns sloping down to the Atlantic, before he led her out to a screened-in porch, where she could just discern the waves breaking on the beach and the salty sea air wrapped around her like a blanket. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so beautiful and peaceful in all her life. “I’ll let Master Killian know that you’re here.”

“Thank you.” She nodded at him as he left the room. She was still stunned at the reception she had received when he had opened the door. It made the relationship that her mother must have had with this Killian Jones much more clear. If the butler knew who she was, and remembered her after all this time, they must have been very close, indeed. But if they were so close, why had Emma never heard of him? She knew, of course, that she had been born in Boston, and that the family had moved back to her mother’s birthplace in Minnesota when she was three. She’d been so young when they left Massachusetts, it never occurred to her to ask about their years there when she was growing up. She had a feeling though, that she was soon to get a crash course about that time of her life.

She couldn’t decide if she was dreading it or excited about the prospect.

Emma shook her head. It didn’t matter. She had come here today for one purpose. To hand deliver this letter, written by her recently deceased mother, to the closest friend she had ever had. She had been given this task just a few weeks before Ingrid died. Emma sighed. Those days had been a blur. Anna and Elsa returning home, home health nurses around the clock, being woken in the middle of the night with the news that the end was near, sobbing in her sisters’ arms after she was gone, taking care of legal affairs, it was a miracle that she remained sane. Once everything had calmed down, she knew she had to fulfill her promise. So here she was. Her past had no bearing on what she was here to do. It had no bearing on her future. She’d deliver the letter and leave, duty fulfilled.

Suddenly, Emma felt a familiar shiver race down her spine. It had been awhile since she’d felt it, but not so long that it was wholly unfamiliar. She had felt a similar shiver occasionally over the years when she’d visited Boston with her college friends on the weekends. Especially when they visited the North End. But now, the tingling she’d felt under her skin when she entered the gates of the estate, intensified into full body chills before coalescing around her heart and almost tugging her back toward the main house. She turned away from the view of the ocean back into the house, only to meet another vision in the form of the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.

A myriad of emotions paraded themselves across his beautiful features. Relief, joy, sadness, excitement, something else that she wouldn’t name. He looked at her as someone would look at their greatest pride and joy, and dearest love all at once.

“Emma,” he breathed.

Emma stepped toward the man slowly, trying to bring her racing heartbeat under control. Her steps faltered slightly as she approached him, trying to catalog everything about his appearance. He was young. Way too young to be a close friend to her 57 year old mother. He didn’t look to be any older than she was. His black hair was gently mussed as if he had a habit of running his hands through it, black scruff with just a hint of ginger, the bluest eyes she’d ever seen (and given the blue eyes of her mother and sisters, that was saying a lot). He was dressed casually in jeans and a gray pullover that stretched enticingly across his chest and biceps. She couldn’t help but wonder at the strength of those muscles and how they’d feel underneath her hands. A shiver of desire ran through her that she promptly squashed. Whoa! Where did that come from? She ran her tongue across her lips as her eyes met his. The tightness in her chest subsided briefly but then intensified as she approached him. Along with the tightness, a wave of dizziness overcame her so suddenly that her knees buckled and she nearly fell at his feet before he caught her in his strong arms.

“Emma,” he cried, “Are you all right?” His clear concern for her well being took the edge off the embarrassment she felt showing that kind of weakness to a virtual stranger.

“Y- yes,” she stammered, “I’m fine. Thank you.” She clutched at his forearms as she gathered her legs back under her and attempted to stand.

“Here,” He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the small table in the breakfast nook before setting her down on one of the chairs. “How about I make us some hot chocolate? See if we can’t get you feeling a bit better.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Hot chocolate would be great.”

A few minutes later, Emma watched as her host placed two hot chocolates with whipped cream and cinnamon on the small table and sat down opposite her.

“How did you know how I liked my hot chocolate,” she asked, with a small smile.

A sad smile crossed his face as he shrugged. “Lucky guess. This was how Ingrid liked to drink hers.”

Emma took a sip of her drink. “I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Jones,” she apologized, with a shake of her head.

He waved away her apology. “No need to apologize, lass. I’m just glad that your color is a little better now that you have some ‘elixir of the gods’ in you, as Ingrid used to call it. And please,” his penetrating blue gaze seemed to pierce to her very soul, “call me Killian.” She nodded, unable to look away from the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s been many years since you and your family left Massachusetts, Emma.” He looked into her eyes, hope and a shyness that she didn’t expect swirling in their depths. She couldn’t explain this unexpected draw to him, but she wanted to stick around and try to get to the bottom of the mystery connecting this man to her family. “How is your mom? Your sisters?”

Emma was brought back to the man before her with the mention of her mother. “Oh, I’d nearly forgotten,” she exclaimed, reaching into her purse with the letter. “That’s why I’m here.” She handed the envelope to him. “My mom asked me to hand deliver this to you.” She looked down and tried to swallow over the sudden lump in her throat. He gently took it from her and she heard the rip of him tearing it open.

She looked up when he’d been silent for several moments reading the letter in his hands. Sorrow sat upon his brow and his eyes were very red, as if he were trying to hold back tears. He folded it back up and laid it on the table between them.

“So Ingrid is dead,” he sighed.

“Yes.”

“When your family didn’t come back four years ago and there was no contact, I was afraid that something like this might have happened,” he murmured. “Tell me,” he pleaded.

The clear anguish and sorrow on his face nearly broke her heart anew. She couldn’t possibly refuse him this, no matter how much she wanted to question him.

“The uterine cancer won in the end,” she began, haltingly. “She was diagnosed just before Christmas of my senior year in high school, 2012. Being so close to the Mayo Clinic, she was able to be treated there.”

Killian nodded. “They’re the best at what they do. I’m glad they were able to treat her.”

“She went into remission just before Anna and I graduated. Anna got her degree in graphic design from the Minneapolis College of Art and Design and was planning a fall wedding, so,” she shrugged, “perfect timing.”

“Indeed.” His blue eyes bore into hers sending even more shivers of attraction down her spine that she felt helpless to stop.

“The type of cancer it was,” she continued, “we always knew there was a good chance of it coming back. We were planning on moving back here after I graduated, I was accepted to Harvard, but we decided that she should stay close to her doctors.” Killian nodded at her to continue. “She stayed healthy all through my years at Harvard, but…” here she faltered, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed again. “It came back. She told us the day after I graduated. She was dead three months later.”

Killian bowed his head in sorrow. “It’s taken this long for the estate to get settled and all the legal proceedings to wind up. I’m sorry.”

His head snapped back up again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, lass,” he choked out. “I’m glad you were able to come and give me the news in person, though. I wouldn’t have wanted to find out any other way.”

Emma could feel the blush rising on her face. “It was nothing,” she demurred, “I promised Mom.”

A few moments passed in silence before finally, Killian spoke. “Tell me about your sisters,” he encouraged. “Is Elsa still the quiet one?”

Emma laughed heartily. “As opposed to Anna? Yes! Absolutely!”

Killian chuckled. “I’ll never forget watching Anna learn to walk. She only walked for about a week and then she ran.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “And never stopped.”

Emma laughed again. “That is still true. Anna is a bundle of energy. She surely needs it now...”

“Tell me about Elsa and Anna,” he repeated. “How are they?” Emma lightly shook her head, trying to focus on his question about her sisters instead of the obvious confusion surrounding his memory of her twenty-six year old sister.

“Elsa came home,” Emma began, “after Mom was first diagnosed. She took a job with the St. Paul Chamber of Commerce and has made such a difference in the business community since then, that she’s running for Mayor, and doing very well in the polls. She’s also dating a guy she met at some shindig last year.” She laughed as Killian’s face fell into a tight frown. He certainly had the disapproving Dad look nailed.

“Well, tell me about him,” he very nearly growled. Emma couldn’t hold back her grin. “His name is Jack Frost, owns his own, very popular, restaurant, he’s 30, and treats her like a queen.”

Killian relaxed. “As long as he treats her right, I have no objection,” he huffed. Emma couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her. Killian’s face broke into a sheepish grin as his face and ears turned red and he scratched behind his ear again. Doubtless he realized just how ridiculous he sounded. His slight bashfulness was adorable as well as the protective instincts he just displayed. “And what about Anna?”

“Anna and Kristoff welcomed their first child, Aggie, last summer. They named him after Anna’s father.” A soft smile broke over her face. “Here’s a picture of Ingrid holding him,” she continued, pulling out her phone. “He was born about a month before she died.”

His smile matched hers. “I’m glad she was able to see and hold him.”

The bittersweet moment ended when Emma put her phone back away. Killian looked back up at her. “He’s obviously taking after Anna,” she added. “He has two speeds. On and off. He just started walking.” She couldn’t stop her smile from widening as she thought about her nephew. She looked back over at Killian who sported an almost awed joy on his face. How had she been drawn in so quickly and easily to this man? A man she had grown up not even knowing of his existence, and had only finally met such a short time ago. She couldn’t believe how easy he was to talk to, to share intimate details of the lives of her family with.

“And now, what about yourself, lass? You said you attended Harvard?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled, proudly. “I studied Sociology with a concentration in Family and Adoption.” She could feel her cheeks heating up. “I’m thinking about going to law school so that I could specialize in adoptions.” She shrugged and looked away from him. “Given our family history…” she trailed away.

She looked back up at him to see his face split in the widest grin she had ever seen. “I don’t think I could be more proud of you,” he murmured. “That’s wonderful, Emma.”

She could feel the blush spreading again but she maintained eye contact with him, basking in his praise. Why was she so receptive to him? So willing to accept his admiration. She barely knew him!

She fixed him with a hard, confused stare. “Okay, now it’s my turn.” Killian scratched behind his ear in what she recognized as a nervous tic. Something wasn’t right here and physical attraction aside, she was determined to get to the bottom of it. “How exactly did you know my mom? She said that you were her best friend. You tell me stories of my twenty-six year old sister as a toddler. But you don’t look any older than I am.”

Killian chuckled and his ears turned red again as he took a sip of his drink. “I’m much older than I look, lass,” he admitted.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Descendant of Numenor, blessed with long life,” she sassed.

He chuckled again. “Not quite.”

“So how old are you?”

“I’m a lot older than I look.” He fixed her with just as hard a stare as she’d leveled at him. “Let’s just leave it at that. But believe me when I tell you, that not only was I Ingrid’s closest friend, she was also mine.”

His cerulean gaze spoke to the deepest part of her. She knew that he was telling her the truth. Emma prided herself on being able to tell when someone was lying. A sixth sense, so to speak, that was unfailingly accurate if someone was trying to feed her a load of bull. That sixth sense was eerily silent at his statements.

She nodded. “Okay.” She had no idea why she was backing down. Yes, he was telling her the truth, but he wasn’t telling her all of it. How could he be when he didn’t look as old as Anna was now, much less old enough to be such an intimate friend of her mother? She didn’t want to let him off the hook quite so easily, but the quickening of her heartbeat and the tug she felt toward him ever since seeing him for the first time only confirmed what everything else about this encounter pointed toward. The reception she had received, both from him and his butler, and his obvious love for her mother and knowledge of her sisters, all combined to tell her one thing. She was exactly where she belonged. She was home. She knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she could trust this man in front of her. Knowing that was one thing, acting on it however, was quite another.

“Please,” she begged. “I do trust you. I just want to know your connection with my family.” She knew that she was treading on thin ice, pushing him on this, but she couldn’t help the natural curiosity and desire to put together the puzzle that had been presented her in this man.

“Perhaps that would be a better topic of conversation at a more… neutral location.” Her brow furrowed at his words. “I will answer all your questions. You have my word. I have a lunch appointment that I must depart for soon in order to make, but may I escort you to dinner this evening?”

Emma’s eyebrows jumped nearly to her hairline. “Are you asking me on a date? You just met me!” she exclaimed.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” He chuckled. “Then yes, I guess I am.” His face turned serious, his eyes burning into hers, sending her heart rate into a gallop. “Would you go out with me, Swan?”

“What did you say?” She felt the blood drain from her face. “Why did you call me that?”

Killian also paled. “It’s your middle name. Anna thought you should have it because of your birthmark.” Her hand rose to her neck where her birthmark was. “Ingrid told me on the day you were born.” He rose from the table and kneeled before her, holding out his hand. “Please, Emma,” he begged, “I know it seems crazy.”

“Yes, it does,” she exclaimed, standing to her feet, her heart galloping in her chest. “Much older than you look? Telling me about the day I was born and when Anna learned to walk? Do you know what you sound like?”

Killian looked down at the floor. “Like a madman, I’m sure.” He looked back up at her, his azure eyes pleading. “And if your face is telling me anything, you’re ready to run out my door and never come back.”

“How can you know that?” she whispered.

His eyes grew soft as they gazed into her own. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but you’re something of an open book.” He cocked his head to the side as he looked at her awaiting her answer. “Please give me a chance.”

She continued to stare at him, the two opposing voices in her head vying for dominance. The one telling her that it was too much, it was too soon, the mystery of the man in front of her didn’t matter. This, he, was dangerous and she would be well served to run as fast and as far away as she could. But the second voice spoke from her heart and told her what she already knew. She could trust him. She could look in his eyes and see how much he cared for her, how much he loved her. She didn’t understand how it was possible, but she knew that everything he had told her today was the truth. That piece of her heart, that she never knew she had until today, responded back to his. She placed her hand in his outstretched one.

Killian’s face rivaled the sun at noon as his fingers curled around her own. He rose to his feet before her. “Thank you, Swan.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips, never taking his eyes off of hers. A gasp escaped her as her heart rate sped up even further with a flood of arousal coming over her. He turned her hand over in his own and closed his eyes as he seemed to inhale deeply, drawing his nose along the inside of her wrist. He held his breath for several seconds before slowly letting it out, his warm breath brushing along her skin and raising goosebumps in his wake. His eyes opened and met hers again. “Where may I pick you up this evening?”

Emma swallowed heavily, trying to will her heart rate to slow down. “I’m at The Harborside Inn.”

“I know exactly where it is,” he declared. “I’ll see you at 8.”

~*~*~

Emma opened the door after his knock rang through the cozy, comfortably furnished room. Her eyes widened in appreciation as her eyes landed on him standing on her threshold. He appeared to be equally speechless.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he breathed.

“I, uh…” He looked to be dressed all in black. From the dark silk shirt and waistcoat, showing just a peek of dark chest hair to the black jeans and boots on his feet. A black leather jacket completed the ensemble. The same tingling under her skin she felt earlier intensified into the full body chills and heart tug yet again as her eyes raked hungrily over him. “Thank you.”

His appearance made her doubly grateful that she had done some shopping that afternoon after leaving his estate. She had found a small boutique near her hotel and was helped by a perky blonde saleslady who helped her find the perfect dress and accessories for her date tonight. She wore a pink flowing number with cap sleeves and a v neckline paired with nude pumps while pulling her hair back into a high ponytail. If his widened eyes and shortness of breath were any indication, she did good.

He shook himself out of his apparent daze and held out his arm to her. “Shall we, milady?”

“We shall,” she replied, smiling and slipping her arm through his.

He led her downstairs and out the back toward the pier. Her eyes widened in surprise as they landed on a full sized ship that looked straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean. Killian preened beside her at her reaction. “Is that yours?” she asked, flabbergasted.

“She is, indeed,” he replied, proudly. “Behold, the Jolly Roger!”

She couldn’t wipe the shock off her face if she tried. She turned to him, mouth hanging open. “The Jolly Roger? Like from Peter Pan? Are you serious?”

He led her up the gangplank and down onto the deck of the ship. A chuckle escaped his lips and a delighted grin adorned his features as his eyes danced. “Peter Pan is my favorite book of all time. Although I’m definitely partial to Captain Hook. So, of course, I had to name her the Jolly Roger.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him as he led her to the helm. “So, where are we going that it takes a ship to get there?”

Killian’s grin grew even more, if possible. “I got in touch with an old friend of mine this afternoon. He owns a restaurant on the other side of the island. Very upscale, very popular, reservation only. It’s booked solid for the next three years. Most of the menu changes daily according to what the fishermen bring in, but his lobster dishes are the best to be found in all of New England. He was very pleased to arrange an extra seating for us this evening.” Killian drew her into his side as he steered the ship away from the pier and out to the open water. “The Nautilus is right on the water and we can pull in right there and enjoy our meal.” His eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he looked down at her. She couldn’t suppress the shiver his gaze engendered as she returned his scrutiny. There it was again. The bone deep certainty that she was home. That at his side was where she was supposed to be. Her gaze drifted to his lips as his tongue peeked out between them. He cleared his throat, drawing her eyes back up to his. The hunger she saw there nearly took her breath away.

He looked back out over the water as the lights of Edgartown faded behind them. But she would have none of it. Throwing caution to the wind, she reached up and cupped his face in her hands and turned his face toward her again before drawing him into a kiss.

Killian groaned into her mouth as she opened in invitation. He gathered her to him even more tightly, her body lining up perfectly to his. Her earlier thought about how his muscles would feel under her hands came back to mind as her own hands wrapped around his biceps as their tongues tangled until she pulled away trying to catch her breath.

“That was…” Killian trailed away, his forehead resting on hers.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

~*~*~

“Killian!” an older bald man exclaimed striding towards them with his arm outstretched.

“Nemo!” Killian called out. Emma immediately mourned the loss of heat when Killian removed his hand from the small of her back to greet his friend. The men met halfway and clasped hands before pulling each other into an affectionate embrace. Emma couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between them.

Killian led his friend back to where she stood. The genuine smile that lit up his features put her even more at ease at meeting someone who clearly meant a lot to him.

“Emma, I’d like you to meet Captain Nemo,” he introduced. Her face broke into a delighted grin to match his own. “Nemo, my old friend, this is Emma Fisher.” He shot her a bashful, almost apologetic look as Nemo took her hand in between his.

“It is so lovely to meet you, my dear,” he enthused, pumping her hand up and down. “When Killian called this afternoon, I was delighted to add one more seating to the evening.” He cut his eyes back toward Killian. “We’ve been friends a very long time, but it’s also been a very long time since I’ve seen him. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see this one again.”

“It’s very nice to meet you as well, Captain,” she replied. “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is one of my favorite adventures from when I was a kid.”

Nemo beamed at her even more than he already was. “I’m so glad! It is also my favorite story. I very much identified with Captain Nemo for many, many years, before I met Killian in the course of my travels. It was his influence that turned me onto a better, nobler path.” Mirth and a bit of mischief could be seen in his eyes as he looked at Killian again.

Killian blushed and scratched behind his ear. The move was even more endearing now, in the presence of his friend, than it was earlier.

“But enough about that,” Nemo continued, “Let me show you to your table.” Killian’s hand returned to the small of her back as they followed Nemo through the large, but very intimate dining room. The low lights and ample space between tables, she could only see five, created an ambiance that sent a flutter of awareness down her spine as they followed their host into another, much smaller room. It contained a single table, set for two. Emma gasped at the loveliness of the setting. The small table was covered by a white tablecloth that fell to the floor. A tall, navy blue pillar candle in a hurricane lamp with a ring of yellow buttercups around the base adorned the center of the table. Killian came around her and held her chair out for her.

“So now you’re going to be a gentleman?” She smirked at him.

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan,” he cooed, his warm breath brushing the shell of her ear as she sat down. She sent him a small smile as he removed his jacket and seated himself across from her.

Their waiter approached to fill their water glasses. “What may I bring you to drink?” Nemo asked, stepping aside to give the waiter room.

“A bottle of the Premier Cru Les Vaillons 2015, if you please, sir,” Killian decided. He leaned over to her, whispering, “An excellent vintage for the lobster that’s being served tonight.” She nodded her acknowledgement before looking up at their host again.

“Excellent choice,” Nemo agreed. “I’ll get that right out to you and your meals will be out shortly.” Nemo and their waiter disappeared and she was finally able to direct her attention to her company for the evening. She could see the flickering yellow candlelight in his eyes that sparkled in the low lighting. His pupils dilated as he watched her, whether from the lighting or desire, she couldn’t tell.

His eyes grew dark when she lightly wet her lips. She returned his obvious admiration until Nemo returned with their wine. “Your Lobster Thermidor is being prepared as we speak,” he informed them as he poured their wine. “The lobster was harvested this very afternoon after I spoke with you, Killian. It will be served with a simple green salad topped with a light herb vinaigrette and couscous.” Nemo backed away and gave a slight bow to the couple. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Emma and I hope you both enjoy your evening here at the Nautilus.”

Killian smiled. “Thank you, my friend. I’m sure we will.” Nemo withdrew and left them alone.

Conversation was light as they waited for their meals. Ranging from favorite books and television shows to a quite vigorous debate on whether Peter Jackson’s Hobbit movies lived up to his Lord of the Rings saga. Casual and light touches did nothing to quell the simmering desire brought up by their earlier kiss. Aware of the desire in his eyes, and sending him a sultry smile back, she knew there was only one way she wanted the evening to end. Once their meals arrived, they both dug into the succulent dish accompanied, on her part, with moans of delight as she’d never tasted anything so delicious. Killian appeared spellbound as she swirled a piece of bread in the last of the creamy sauce left behind on her plate. She looked up at him and was gratified to see the desire in his eyes as she opened her mouth and laid the piece of bread on her tongue before closing her lips around her fingers and drawing them out of her mouth.

Normally, she wouldn’t be so bold as to play the blatant seductress, but the connection she had felt with him, even after she had left him earlier today, plus the effect of the wine was definitely playing a part in her attempts to flirt. He ran his tongue across his lips and a different kind of hunger colored his countenance before he seemed to shake himself out from under her spell. She couldn’t help the stab of disappointment she felt when he looked down at their table.

“Before this goes any further, Emma…” he looked up and his voice trailed away. The darkness of his eyes flashed blood red and a rage that she had only read about took over his visage.

Her sharp intake of breath and her face going pale snapped him out of whatever had overtaken him. He turned conciliatory and concerned eyes upon her. “Emma, are you all right?” He reached out and grabbed her hand with his own.

“Am I alright? What about you?” she asked. “What was that?” She turned to look behind her where the back of the restaurant was a glass wall looking out on the water. She could see nothing that might have incited the drastic change in her companion. “Your eyes went red and I’ve never seen anyone so angry as what I saw on your face just now.”

He shook his head. Not in denial, but in sorrow. “I’m sorry, Emma. I…” he looked back at her. “I promised to answer all your questions. I didn’t want to do it tonight, I was hoping to postpone that just for a little while. I just wanted us to have a fun evening, as a proper first date should be. A chance to get to know each other a little bit. Enjoy each other's company. But circumstances have changed enough that I see I’m going to have to answer all your questions tonight. And I can only hope that you’ll listen, believe, and not reject me. And what is between us.” He stared earnestly into her eyes, hope and trepidation mixing in his until she couldn’t discern which was stronger.

The connection she felt and the trust she had placed in him prompted her to nod her head at him to continue. But nothing could have prepared her for what came out of his mouth.

“You wanted to know what my connection was to your family.” She nodded. “You wanted to know how old I am.” She nodded again. He swallowed heavily. “I am a 450 year old vampire.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t make sense out of what she had just heard. “W-what?” she stammered.

“Please don’t make me say it out loud again.” He shut his eyes, his anguish etched across his face. “You heard exactly what I said.”

She shook her head. “Yes,” she agreed, “I heard what you said. But…”

“I told you that I was much older than I looked,” he interrupted, “and you said you believed me.” The pleading she saw in his eyes nearly undid her.

“Yes, I believed you. I have a thing about lies.” She shook her head again, trying to clear it, before dropping it into her propped up hands. “I can tell when someone is lying to me. And I know you weren’t.”

“Look at me, please, Emma,” he begged her. She lifted her head and looked into his earnest, forthright eyes. “Everything I will tell you is the truth. You have to trust me,” he pled.

“I trust you,” she whispered.

He nodded and took a deep breath, seemingly to gather himself. “In answer to your first question, my connection with your family is this. I met Ingrid when she was a child,” he began. Truth. “I saved her life when her parents were killed.” Truth. “I was a close friend and watched her grow up.” Truth. “I was there when she took custody of your sisters and when she adopted you.” Truth.

“I’m telling you all this now because the monster that made me what I am, is here. He’s here for you.” He looked at her again, pleading with her to believe him.

“Why me?”

“We are soulmates,” he asserted. “And we are prophesied to destroy him. Rumplestiltskin.”

She was speechless for a long moment.

“Rumplestiltskin?” she croaked, finally finding her voice. “As in Rumplestiltskin Rumplestiltskin? The fairy tale Rumplestiltskin?”

“All the fairy tales that you know and love, were, at one time, real. They happened to real people. Their true stories have largely been lost, but some still survive in some form. The true story of Rumplestiltskin is much more sinister than the fairy tale you know. He was the first vampire. Created by Darkness from the dawn of time. The baby from the fairy tale was my older brother, Liam. When my mother defeated him, he swore vengeance upon our family. He took that vengeance thirty years later. He murdered Liam, in front of me, and then made me what I am. It was then that I swore vengeance upon him.”

Her heart flooded with compassion for him. The pain of that loss lay plainly upon his brow. She reached out and threaded her fingers through his. He looked up at her, surprised. “I’m so sorry. It may have been hundreds of years ago, but it obviously still pains you.”

He gave her a small smile before looking down at their joined hands. “It does.” He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb along her knuckles. “But this helps.”

“Liam’s murder and my turning happened on the Jolly. In the captain's cabin. I couldn’t return home to my family, so I renamed the ship and became a pirate. In 1650, I found a prophecy in my log book. A prophecy concerning the destruction of Rumplestiltskin. The Blue Fairy, she was the fairy godmother to our family, wrote it. I found it then, but promptly forgot about it until almost sixteen years later. When I met my soulmate for the first time,” his blue eyes bored into hers, “Emma Swan.”

Emma gasped. “Me?”

“You,” he confirmed.

Emma’s head was spinning. As much as she believed him, she did, trying to wrap her mind around everything he had already told her was proving difficult. He was her soulmate. Her soulmate! Did soulmates even exist? Apparently they did, given the connection that she’d felt since she met him. She looked over at him, knowing that the trepidation she was feeling had to be written all over her face. He looked at her so earnestly, so hopeful, with so much love. As nervous as he obviously was to begin his story, none of those nerves were in evidence now. He had laid it all out for her and was waiting for her response.

“I…” she stammered.

“There’s more,” he continued.

Emma withdrew her hand from his to drop her face into them. “How much more,” she moaned.

“I can tell you more about yourself,” he admitted, “and your past, I can tell you more about what my life has been like. But if you’d rather I not, you’ve got the most important information. We can save all that for another time, if you prefer.”

She raised her head and waved her hands around. “Yeah, I think I’d appreciate that. Don’t think I’m ready at the moment for any more.”

Killian took one of her hands in his own again. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that our first date took this turn, Emma.”

Captain Nemo approached their table. “How did you enjoy your meal, my friends?” he boomed.

Emma turned to him somewhat startled only to catch a look of significance pass between the two men. “It was w-wonderful,” she stammered. “What?” she questioned, looking back and forth between them. Killian looked back at her, somewhat abashed.

“It’s nothing, Swan,” he contended.

Emma felt the indignation rise underneath her breastbone. She rose from her chair and placed her hands on the table. “Don’t lie to me. I told you I could tell when someone was lying to me.”

Killian’s face immediately fell in shame. “You are absolutely correct, Emma. I apologize.” He motioned back to her chair. “Please sit back down?”

Emma took a deep breath before murmuring her acceptance of his apology and returning to her seat.

“Nemo was relaying what we already knew.” Killian looked back at his friend. “That Rumplestiltskin is outside.”

Emma’s head whipped back to their host so quickly, she heard and felt a pop in her neck. “How do you know?” she asked, astonished.

“I told you, Swan, that he was an old friend.”

Emma turned overwhelmed and incredulous eyes back upon Killian. “Just how old are we talking here?”

Killian’s focus on her face never wavered as he lay yet another truth before her. “Nemo and I have been friends since we met for the first time toward the end of the nineteenth century. Nemo is the Captain Nemo that Jules Verne made famous, in a supposed work of fiction, in the early 1860’s.”

Emma could feel the panic rising up within her, making it hard to breathe. She shook her head again and rose once more. “I don’t think I can handle any more of this.” She could barely look at Killian, not wanting to see the disappointment she was sure was in his eyes. “Captain, would you be so kind as to call me a cab?” She spoke to the table again. “Killian, I can’t… I just can’t right now. Please, just leave me alone.” Pushing her emotions deep down, Emma turned from the table and walked as calmly as she could toward the front of the restaurant.

~*~*~

Nemo approached Killian, still sitting utterly forlorn at the table. “You’re not just going to sit there, are you?” he asked.

Killian looked up incredulously at his friend and rose from the table. “Bloody hell, of course not! With Rumplestiltskin out there? What do you take me for?”

Nemo chuckled. “Just making sure, my friend,” he said, clapping him on the back. “Your cab will be here in moments.”

Grim determination adorned his features. “Thank you, Nemo. I’ll not let anything happen to her. Not this time.”

“I know you won’t,” he replied. “That’s why I asked for two cabs to be sent when I called. I knew you wouldn’t want to let her out of your sight.”

Killian rose from the table and placed his hand on Nemo’s shoulder. “You surmised correctly, my friend.”

“She is still in the lobby, waiting for hers. As soon as they arrive, I’ll get her on her way, and then you can come out. I don’t imagine that she’d want to see you waiting as well.”

“I’d imagine not,” Killian conceded.

Nemo left then toward the front of the restaurant. Killian turned toward the glass wall. “I know you’re there,” he growled, “and you’re not going to get her. Not if I have anything to say about it.” His eyes flashed red, and he stormed out of the room.

~*~*~

Emma stood at the door to her room when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She had understandably felt anxious from the moment she had left The Nautilus. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt exposed and out from under Killian’s protection. She’d had to fight with herself to not rub her arms trying to will away the fear that licked under her skin. But now that fear was intensified for no apparent reason. She opened the door and entered the darkened room, closing and locking the door behind her.

That only made the goosebumps already along her skin tighten even further. The panic from earlier was making a reappearance as she made her way to the bed to turn on the lamp at the bedside table. She drew in a stuttered breath as the lamp cast its soft glow around the room.

A sound she’d never heard the likes of in all her born days drew her attention to the corner of the room. It was a giggle. Of course, she had heard a giggle before, but this was altogether different. It was a sound that she could imagine coming from a homicidal maniac on the big screen or from a creature released from the pits of hell to do what it pleased with the inhabitants of the earth. It was full of a depraved glee that shot waves of terror down her spine.

She turned toward the sound and beheld something that she couldn’t have conceived of in her worst nightmares. Green skin shimmered in the low light, lank hair lay hopelessly tangled around its face, but it was the eyes that forced the scream out of her mouth. At the same instant, the creature waved its hand towards her and the scream was cut off as if with the sharpest knife. She was frozen in place, unable to move as the creature moved deliberately towards her.

She should never have left Killian. It was one thing to listen to what he had to say. It was another to believe and trust him. But it was altogether different to see the things he spoke of alive and in person. At the time, it was a bridge too far to stay with him. And she was going to pay the ultimate price for her folly. She was about to die at the hands of this terrifying monster. Her frozen state notwithstanding, the terror and panic were about to steal her consciousness away. Red eyes and fangs were going to be the last things she ever saw. A lone tear tracked down her cheek. I’m sorry, Killian.

~*~*~

Killian arrived at Emma’s door with the Blue Fairy only to find it locked. The fairy closed her eyes, apparently trying to ascertain if there was any danger nearby. He knocked on the door.

“Emma, it’s Killian, darling,” he said, as he rattled the door knob in his hand. “Please let me in. I don’t want to leave you alone with Rumplestiltskin still out there.”

The Blue Fairy’s eyes flew open. “He’s in there!” she cried, “He’s in the room with her.”

That was all Killian needed to hear. He backed up and kicked the door in with all his might. His beloved was standing near her bed, frozen. Just as he had been all those years ago. His sire stood several feet away from her yet, not having had enough time to execute his foul plans. Killian rushed to Emma and gathered her frozen form in his arms.

“I’ve got you, my darling,” he crooned in her ear. “I won’t let him hurt you. Blue will take care of him for the moment.” He turned to where the two magical beings were locked in a fierce struggle. Dark and light magic sparked and crackled between the adversaries as they met in the center of the room.

Killian lifted Emma in his arms and called to the Blue Fairy as he ran out of the room. An inhuman howl of rage followed them out as the fairy shrunk down to her normal size and led them out the fire exit into the night. Once they were outside the building, she waved her wand over Emma’s frozen form. The enchantment that held her dissolved and she collapsed into Killian’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry! I never should have left you!” She cried into his shoulder as he held her tightly against him.

“Shhh,” he crooned, stroking her hair. “Shhhhhhh. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Turning to the fairy who hovered a short distance away, he asked, “Can you transport us to the Jolly? It’s still at The Nautilus.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” she agreed. A cloud of blue smoke enveloped them and the next thing they knew they stood at the helm of the Jolly Roger. They looked into the restaurant where they had enjoyed a marvelous dinner only a short time before and saw Nemo standing at the window. His face was suffused with joy as he raised a hand to them in farewell.

~*~*~

Once they were out to sea, Emma knew they had over half an hour before they’d arrive back at Killian’s estate. She leaned on the gunwale and stared out at the moon and stars shining down on the gentle waves. The chill that pulled her toward Killian was ever present when he was near, but now, she knew he stood just behind her.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

“Aye, beautiful,” he murmured.

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “Why do I have the feeling that you aren’t talking about the same thing I am?”

He mirrored her position against the gunwale and looked down at her. “Perhaps I’m not,” he agreed.

“I’m sorry for running,” she confessed, looking down at her clasped hands. “I just couldn’t…” she paused, searching for the right word, “deal… with everything you were telling me.”

“You’ve no need to apologize, Swan,” he demurred. “Laying all that on you at once, when our attachment was still so new… anyone would have reacted the same.”

“But I nearly lost you,” she began, “because of my foolishness. You almost lost me. If Rumplestiltskin had succeeded, I’d be dead right now and we wouldn’t be able to destroy him.”

Killian turned and gathered her into his arms. “Oh, my darling,” he whispered into her hair. “We are soulmates. Unbound by time. This is the fourth time you’ve lived, and if that monster had taken you again, you’d eventually be reborn again and we’d destroy him next time.” He continued to stroke her back and she could feel the last of the fear and anxiety at what had happened tonight leave her body. With a deep breath, she melted further into his embrace. He pulled back slightly until he could look into her eyes. “I’ve waited centuries for you, my love.” He pulled her back to him. “And I would wait centuries more. I’d go to the end of the world for you. Or time.”

“What if you made me a vampire?” she speculated. She looked back up at him. He was already shaking his head. “Is that possible? Do you know how to do it?” She was starting to get excited. She plowed ahead, even in the face of his reluctance. “Then he couldn’t kill me. I’d be able to stay with you, but we could take our time and formulate a foolproof plan to destroy him, and when we were ready, we could bring the battle to him, instead of always being on the defensive.” She was rambling now, she knew it, but she had to convince him that her idea had merit.

“Emma, I could never inflict on you what was forced on me,” he began.

“But you wouldn’t be inflicting it on me,” she interrupted. “I’m willingly asking for it. Think about it. Please, think about it. Promise me that you will. This will work. If you agree.”

The pleading desperation in her eyes was his undoing. Killian sighed. “I don’t need to think about it,” he acknowledged. “You’re right. Making you a vampire, like me, would give us the greatest weapon available to us, time. And protection for you that in 350 years, I’ve been unable to provide. The night you and your family left Massachusetts, he was waiting for me in my kitchen when I arrived home, holding Starkey captive. I was able to subdue him that night because actions I had taken years beforehand had finally given me the advantage in our strange, centuries long relationship. When that was over, Blue gave me a vision of how to destroy him. But that doesn’t mean that it will be easy, nor that we’d be ready to try it in the near future.” He breathed deeply and released a long, slow exhale. “When we get home, I’ll show you to your room and I want you to really think about this. To really deal with everything you’ve learned tonight. You needn’t fear him breaching our sanctuary. That night, before she left, Blue placed magical barriers around the estate and the Jolly that prevents him from entering.”

Emma rested her head back on his chest, her soul enveloped in peace. Peace only he could give. The peace that came from finding her soulmate. The one she was destined to be with. The one that she would remain with. Forever.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing!

#cssns20 #of darkness vampires and soulmates #krystal writes #art by spartanguard #ch6

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pain-somnia · 4 years

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ssm 2k20 day 10: colors of you and me Title: when eye see you Rating: T Disclaimer Day’s Notes: are y’all sick of soulmate AUs? ‘Cause i’m not! Here’s a soulmate au where everyone has heterochromia until they look their soulmate in the eye. And yes there is some inspiration from Jun’s Kitchen in this. It’s my favorite YouTube channel. Minor pairings: ItaKarin and SasoObi. I could have made this longer but I needed to make it shorter lol this fic was impossible to end it was actually meant to be shorter than it is

Sighing to himself, Sasuke brushes his hair out of his face, moving his bangs aside to reveal the vivid sea foam green eye.

Unlike his own dark gray eye, the green one has perfect vision. The optician marks the measurements for both eyes, noting that he needs a slightly stronger prescription for his own eye and a false lens for his partner eye. It was suggested that he switch to contacts so that he would wear one on the eye that truly belonged to him, but Sasuke hates putting things in his eyes.

Some thought he was lucky. The color of his soulmate’s eye is uncommon and that supposedly meant that it would be easier to find them. If he wants to, he can hire one of those people who made a living off of locating people with matching eye colors, but Sasuke doesn’t care about any of that.

Yeah, it was annoying that his eyes were unbalanced when it came to visual impairment and maybe it was ridiculous how often people told him his match had such a beautiful eye color, but Sasuke wants nothing to do with society’s obsession with soulmates.

Riding the train home, Sasuke hides his partner eye behind his bangs. The color catches attention wherever he goes and he’s tired of it. People always want to see the contrasting colors, how vivid it is against the dark colors of his eye and his hair.

It is said that green eyes are lucky, that when people meet their green eyed match that their union would be blessed with great happiness.

Sasuke doesn’t feel very lucky about it when he has relatives fussing over him about finding his match.

Walking into his family home, his nose is invaded with the stench of burnt vegetables. Slipping out of his shoes and tossing his bag next to the genkan, Sasuke opens up the screen door that opens up to the engawa and backyard.

“Karin?” He calls out towards the kitchen from across the informal sitting room. His phone chimes with the arrival of a message and he opens it, not bothering to walk into the other room to check on her. “What are you trying to do now?”

“It’s called cooking!” He heard her shout back from somewhere in the kitchen.

“Oh, gods…”

Karin is his older brother’s match. Originally just a classmate, then his friend—and now most likely his future sister-in-law—Uzumaki Karin is one of his closest friends and, truthfully, the worst cook in the world.

But that’s okay because Itachi is one of the best cooks in the world and spoils her by feeding her and her ridiculously large appetite.

When Sasuke first met Karin, he hadn’t thought anything about her russet color eye paired with a dark gray one or of it being just like the combination his brother had. It’s a common coloring pair, nothing special. But when Sasuke brought her home with two of their friends and she looked Itachi in the eye, they witnessed the moment Itachi’s partner eye shifted colors to match his actual eye and when Karin’s eyes shifted to a matching russet set.

And then they all winced when she shrieked in discomfort because Itachi's prescription for his lenses is a lot stronger than her own.

He really should have known that Karin is his brother’s match. Karin said that her mother told her she was born with her partner eye and Itachi’s had manifested when he was five years old. And then there were the anecdotes of her life that matched with some of the visions Itachi had shared with him.

The ability isn’t as common as their color pairing and it catches more attention, but it’s usually negligible as most sight sharers are not given any visions that help them locate their matches especially because it is an ability more common in children.

Karin’s line to him on their first day of high school was: “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. But like as a kid.”

They call it sight sharing and that strong emotions are required for it to work. That is why children who are more free with their emotions and are having new experiences to react towards are able to send visions to their matches. Due to their age, most children aren’t even aware that they are sight sharing.

Sasuke has seen his own glimpses. Blurry images impeded by tears and a long fringe of pink hair. A blonde girl with a blue-green eye and one inky black eye holding out a red hair ribbon. The largest bowl of anmitsu he has ever seen in his life. A harbor with boats rocking where they were docked, the water choppy and the sails flapping wildly in the middle of a storm.

He still gets glimpses, even this late in his teens, and he’s not sure how he feels about having a match that felt so strongly, whose emotions were as vivid as fireworks on a clear night sky.

“How did you convince my mother to let you cook in her kitchen? Alone?”

“She loves me.”

And it’s the truth. Uchiha Mikoto has always been a sucker for soulmates finding each other. She showers Karin with affection whenever possible and even Sasuke’s cousin’s match—a short redhead named Sasori with hazel eyes, a curious combination of brown and gray with flecks of gold and green—is subject to her doting.

Sasuke couldn’t describe what Itachi and Karin have as love. There is a fondness his older brother has for Karin that cannot be hidden when he’s giving her soft smiles and treating her gently. It could be love with time, but Sasuke can’t help but wonder if Itachi would have opened up to a relationship with Karin even if she wasn’t his match, or was the opportunity to become more only presented because the universe had forced them into it.

He is told he is lucky because of the color of his match’s eye being uncommon and thus easier to find. He’s lucky because his soulmate is close to him in age, his partner eye not having formed until he was still a baby of only eight months. But Sasuke believes the truly lucky ones are his parents who share the same eye coloring and are in love. They could be soulmates or maybe not. But they love each other despite the odds and it’s not something the universe can say it had a hand in.

Universe or not, Sasuke wanted more of a choice.

Blinking her eyes, Sakura waits for her contact to settle in her partner eye. It was unfortunate that she had needed to adjust the prescription, but at least she saved money by only needing a contact for a single eye.

Grabbing her eyeliner, Sakura traces her lash line delicately, first over one green eye like seaglass and then over the eye with the color reminiscent of storm clouds. Her partner eye has always reminded her of those clouds, fat and heavy with rain, rolling over the sea and waiting to unleash over her harbor hometown.

It’s a beautiful eye, but Sakura had the misfortune of being born with her partner eye. It made it impossible to age her match. They could be someone only a bit older or a grown adult. With the state of their visual impairment, Sakura wonders if her soulmate is someone that is elderly.

It’s something that she perhaps will never know. She isn’t as lucky as her cousin who found his soulmate while he was bar hopping so Sakura’s decided that it’s probably best that she doesn’t search for her soulmate, not to put her hopes on someone she may never find.

It makes it easier to forget them considering she’s so sure she’s in love with her online friend.

It’s strange but she loves him, she really does. She’s never seen his face because they agreed that it would put a strain on their relationship if they knew about each other’s eyes. What had started as a simple exchange with a boy from Tokyo about a photo she had posted to her blog ended up becoming so much more.

His name is Sasuke but he went online by Taka. He wouldn’t give Sakura his last name and asked that she didn’t give him hers so that they wouldn’t be tempted to search for each other online. He had just turned eighteen in July and was planning on going to Handai for university not even an hour from Tsuji Culinary Institute.

Sasuke is going to be so close.

The two of them had been talking to each other ever since they had entered their respective high schools and after two and a half years of conversation they had decided that the time to meet in person was approaching. Sasuke was going to visit with his cousin and his cousin’s soulmate during winter vacation to look into apartments and the area that Sasuke would make his new home after he graduated high school. It was presumptuous that he would pass the entrance exam and be accepted but she knew how confident Sasuke is and about his test scores. Sakura is supposed to meet with him when he is able to shake off his cousin and his soulmate. They played games together and streamed shows and movies but mostly they streamed the same music and listened together sending messages or talking softly on the phone, but they didn’t call them dates so that their first official date would be one where they were face to face.

More often than not, Sakura falls asleep listening to Sasuke talk over the phone. She is an early riser and he is a night owl so she tends to drift off in the middle of their hours-long LINE calls. She enjoys listening to his voice, the deep timbre of it is soothing.

She can’t wait to hear it and see if his face matches the wonderful sound.

He found her through a video his brother had been watching to learn a new recipe.

Sasuke had found it unusual that Sakura━or “Cherry” as she went by online━didn’t show her face. It’s easier to find one’s soulmate if one’s eyes are exposed, but she never showed her face. Even in her social media accounts she never posts selfies. Sakura’s photos are always of locations or foods she made or of food spots she visited.

She had told him she didn’t want to be bombarded with messages from people claiming she was their match. She didn’t want strangers bothering her and raising her hopes up for nothing and that the only thing they cared about was her eyes.

Sasuke doesn’t care if it’s abnormal to feel affection for someone that he’s never seen. It started with a curiosity that led him to looking through her blog and then he saw it. He saw a photo of the sea before a storm hit over a harbor and it looked just like the glimpse he received a few years ago.

All he wanted to know was where the photo was taken.

And now he’s in a relationship with the person that took the photo.

Sasuke knows the odds of finding his soulmate are low and there’s no guarantee that he would even like them. His cousin Obito had gotten lucky and even Itachi who is fond of Karin despite their differences and Karin’s comparatively high energy levels. It is a gamble and he doesn’t care for the odds. He would rather grow to love a stranger that isn’t his match and be like his great-uncle Madara who never found his soulmate and when his soulmate died, his partner eye turned milky white and blind.

It is much preferable to be blind in one eye and happy than perpetually alone simply because he couldn’t be with his soulmate.

“Here you go.” His older brother interrupts his and Karin’s study session and offers her a small tray with a glass bowl that was leaking a cool mist. Karin squeals and takes out her phone, taking a video as she reveals the smaller bowl inside with a chocolate lid that is cutely decorated with flowers made with icing and berries.

“Did...did you really use dry ice for this?” Sasuke looks on as Karin takes a bunch of photos before digging into her sweet treat.

Itachi shrugs and hands Karin a spoon. “Cherry posted a video about a blueberry cheesecake made with homemade yogurt, so I had to recreate it.”

“I’ll tag her on Instagram when I post these photos.” Karin shoves her books away and pulls the cheesecake closer so that she could dig in. “Ohmygawd this is so good.”

Of course it is. Sasuke looks over Karin’s study materials for Todai. His parents want him to go there, but he made his decision to be closer to Sakura.

She wonders how he would feel about her accent. The Kansai dialect would be something Sasuke has to get used to if he is going to live in the area. Her cousin is still thrown off at times when he hears the dialect.

Sakura has invited him out to eat some tecchiri at Zubora-ya in Dōtonbori because it’s the best place for fugu despite it being almost an hour by train from Handai. Luckily his cousin has a car and is able to drive them around just so she doesn’t cause Sasuke any trouble before he even gets to meet her.

Snow is swirling around her, flurries landing in her long lashes as she waits under the giant blowfish lantern. She’s never been good with the cold but it’s keeping her grounded as her stomach tumbles with anxiety.

Would Sasuke see her and decide he would prefer to wait for his soulmate?

Will three years of conversations come to a halt when they sit across from each other and are unable to carry on the conversation in person?

Sakura is tempted to walk over to the Lawson and grab something hot to drink and use the walk to calm her nerves. She’s just about to make a break for it when she spots a trio heading towards her. The person standing in the middle is roughly the same height as her with rusty red hair—the red Sasuke had told her to expect from his cousin’s soulmate. Red that belongs to—Sasori?

What was he doing here? Her cousin hadn’t mentioned anything about traveling to Osaka. And now he was walking towards her with his boyfriend, Obito, and a pretty boy she has never seen before.

For a moment Sakura can’t breathe properly and it takes her a few seconds to realize it’s because her inhales and exhales are at too fast of a rhythm for her to actually be intaking oxygen. Hyperventilating will have her passing out right when she’s supposed to meet Sasuke—right when he’s potentially in front of her.

Her hair is pink, a soft shade he couldn’t miss, so when the attractive boy makes his way to stand in front of her, Sakura knows that it’s Sasuke.

Inky black hair frames his angular face. Why hadn’t he warned her that he was pretty? Sakura’s eyes rove his face, taking note of the curve of his lips, the point of his nose, and his high cheekbones that are kissed by eyelashes just as inky black as his hair when he blinks.

Those eyelashes frame one visible eye—the other hidden by hair—and what a beautiful eye it is. Shielded by a pair of glasses, his eye is gray and stormy and oh so familiar.

And the moment she looks at it directly, her left eye stings in discomfort.

“Shit!”

Sasuke’s eyes widen as the pink haired girl clutches her left eye. She’s cursing as she messes with her eye and throws something on the ground.

A contact.

His feet had moved and his hands had raised to steady her and help in any way he could before he had even processed what just happened.

“Ow…” She grumbles as Sasuke examines her red rimmed eye. His hands freeze from where he’s cupping her face as he looks into a matching pair of seafoam green eyes.

It’s at that moment that he realizes his left eye’s vision is blurry behind its false lens.

“Are you Sasuke-kun?” Sakura asks—because of course she’s Sakura, how many pink haired girls would be waiting under a giant blowfish and asking for someone with his old fashioned name?

“Sakura?”

“Well, that’s a little forward,” Sasori scolds him, attempting to shove him out of the way. “No honorific? Already getting handsy? Tsk, tsk.”

“Sasori-niisan?” Sakura’s attention is stolen for a moment and she turns her focus on Obito’s boyfriend despite the fact that Sasuke is holding her face in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“Fugu. Why else?” Sasori snaps his fingers and gestures to Obito who is pulling eye drops from his messenger bag and ready to play nurse.

“What were the fucking odds?” Sasuke mutters under his breath, taking the saline solution from his cousin and dropping it into Sakura’s irritated eye. Fortunately, all of her poking hadn’t done much damage.

She’s crying, but with how she’s smiling it can’t be anything bad and he always knew his soulmate was an emotional person. Sakura’s brushing his hair away from his left eye and letting out a watery giggle at what she sees before covering her mouth with her hands to suppress the sob that leaked between her laughter.

“You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.” Sakura looks up at him in awe but then her eyebrows draw down into a frown. She was going to make him dizzy with how quickly she flickered through emotions. “Gosh you’re tall.”

“Good thing your hair’s pink.” Sasuke cards his fingers through her hair and teases her. “With your height, I might have never found you.”

Sakura pouts, narrowing pretty green eyes at him, and it makes the moment all the sweeter. A small part of him cheers at how lucky he got that Sakura ended up being so cute but mostly he’s still in shock at the discovery that his online girlfriend ended up being his soulmate. He had given up on the idea of finding his soulmate just for them to be the person he chose over the idea of the universe’s match for him.

But, with the coincidences, did the universe actually have a hand in their connection? His older brother was a fan of her cooking vlog and his cousin was paired up with hers.

And speaking of her cousin...

“Are we getting fugu or what?”

“We’re having a moment here.” Sasuke should have just asked his older brother to come with him on his apartment scouting trip. He had no one else but himself to blame for letting Obito and Sasori come along. He should have known better.

“Have your moment inside.” Sasori pushes at the back of Sasuke’s knee with his heeled boot. “It’s cold and I want the fugu I was promised.”

“Wait a minute…” Sakura’s voice is low, and she eyes her cousin suspiciously. “You knew Sasuke-kun this whole time, Sasori-nii?”

Straightening up, Sasuke turns to glare at Sasori as well. He has been dating Sasuke’s cousin for five years and not once had he mentioned having a cousin with the exact eye pairing that Sasuke has—had.

A rare color pairing that’s supposed to be lucky. Sneaking a glance at Sakura with her green eyes and with the knowledge that she’s the person he’s been growing attached to all of these years, Sasuke’s ready to admit—if only a little—that maybe he is lucky.

No one let his family know that he had that thought.

“You guys didn’t want to know,” Sasori answers, opening up the door to the restaurant. “So, fugu?”

Sasuke and Sakura exchange a look and she smiles up at him encouragingly. Sasuke didn’t come here looking for his soulmate. He came to meet Sakura—just Sakura. He now had a matching set of eyes but it didn’t change anything, not really.

He had already made his choice and it was just luck that the universe had dealt him a winning hand.

“Let’s go find out why this place is so great.”

“Well, have you ever had blowfish before?” Sakura asks, allowing him to guide her inside the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back.

“No, but I kind of like not being potentially poisoned.”

“It makes me feel alive,” Sasori interjects, raising four fingers at a server to signal how many are in their party.

“You’re going to have to be more adventurous.” Sakura flashes a mischievous smile in his direction as they follow their cousins to a table. “I’m going to drag you everywhere and make you try lots of different food.”

“Tough talk from someone that can’t eat spicy food.”

Sakura splutters, cheeks burning red. She hides behind a menu and mutters something about “an abnormal dislike of sweets.”

He’s only seen her face for less than twenty minutes, but he’s decided that he likes how easily her feelings come across it, especially when she flushes from embarrassment.

“It will be nice to video call you from now on,” he casually mentions from over his own menu, watching from his peripheral as her fingers tighten around her menu.

“Your weird flirting is going to spoil the taste of the fugu.” Sasori glares at him over his tea, taking a prim sip.

“You don’t even have taste buds,” Sasuke mutters, wishing even more now that he hadn’t asked Obito to drop him off. “You shouldn’t even have any fugu rights. How could you not know that we were meeting your cousin?”

“Sakura is a common name, don’t try to come for me. I still haven’t given my blessing to this union.”

Sakura snorts from behind her menu and says, “Okay, sure dad.”

She sets her menu down and smiles so sweetly that Sasuke’s tempted to stand up and make a run for it with her, just completely abandon their cousins. Sasori is distracted by the promise of raw blowfish and he’s sure whatever punishment Sasori could come up with would be worth it.

“Video calls would be nice,” Sakura offers, ignoring Sasori’s forced gagging sounds. “But maybe tomorrow we could go out and fix your glasses situation?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke clears his throat and adjusts the pair he’s wearing with only one true lens, “that would be helpful.”

“Then it’s a date!” She chirps. Her eyes gleam when she’s happy and green really is such a nice color, especially on her and not in his reflection.

“Awwww,” Obito coos, pinching Sasuke’s cheek. “You two are adorable.”

“We’re leaving Obito and Sasori behind tomorrow,” Sasuke snaps, slapping Obito’s hand away.

“I don’t care,” Sasori waves a hand dismissively at him, “just let me eat my fugu and you can keep my cousin for the day. Just return her how you leave with her.”

“You’re incorrigible, Sasori-nii.” Sakura rolls her eyes but she smiles fondly at her older cousin as he steals slices of blowfish from Obito’s artfully decorated plate.

Sakura chats cheerfully with his cousin and talks about how one of the things she wants to do in the future is learn how to prepare fugu properly. Sasuke’s seen the stuff she’s made for her vlog and he doesn’t doubt that one day she’ll be able to prepare it and even make the slices of blowfish into the flower shapes the restaurant forms for their plating.

It’s then that Sasuke is hit with the fact that in a few months that he won’t be watching her from a monitor, that he could be in the kitchen with her if he asked and she was okay with it. He’ll get to spend afternoons with her the same way Karin and Itachi do and go on day trips like Obito and Sasori.

And he made that happen. It was his decision to message her. It was his decision to continue talking to her and get to know her.

Maybe the universe had a hand with all of the coincidences, but it was Sasuke that Sakura wanted. Not his eye but him.

“What’s up?” Sakura asks him as she polishes off the last bit of her serving of tecchiri.

Just thinking about how the universe works.

“Were you ever told that green eyes were lucky?”

Sakura’s eyes widen at the question. Her lips part in shock but she quickly closes them when Sasori snorts behind his napkin. Leave it to Sasori to find a way to snort primly. Even his chuckling has an air of superiority to it. It’s no wonder he didn’t link him and Sakura as familial relations.

Sakura elbows her cousin in the arm to silence him and he throws a glare in her direction.

“Actually,” Sakura’s face flushes once again, “in my family the superstition is that gray eyes are the lucky ones.”

Heat travels up Sasuke’s neck, and the pleasant feeling in his chest can’t be stifled even with Sasori’s smug expression—probably brought on by the fact that his eyes have splashes of gray in them.

“But if it’s green in your family, I guess that means we’re doubly lucky, huh?”

Sakura’s eyes are bright and with the way they sparkle when she’s feeling so fantastically happy, he can’t help but think once again that her left eye was definitely wasted on him.

Sasuke smiles fondly at her cheerful expression and has to suppress the desire to roll his eyes at his own thoughts when he remembers his mother’s stories about green eyes bringing joy.

“Guess that makes us triply happy then, Obito,” Sasori interjects yet again. “I’ve got green and gray in my eyes and you have gray eyes.”

“I guess we are,” Obito cheers, tapping his pint of beer against Sasori’s glass.

“We were having a moment here,” Sasuke grumbles over his cousin’s chortles.

He’s definitely ditching them tomorrow.

#ssm20 #ssm20d10 #sasusaku #day!fics

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thecreelhouse · 4 years

Text

take care of yourself

paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: you’ve been through enough shit to believe self care is building your walls high and keeping everyone out. The Universe has no problem challenging that, though. (Or: the flower shop/soulmate AU comfort fic nobody asked for)

Word count: 4,656

Warnings: mentions of past abuse (emotional/mental/physical), PTSD, language, angst

A/N: it finally happened, I wrote a reader insert fic for once! lol. I’ve been going through a rough patch with old trauma, and this is an absolute self indulgent comfort fic buuuuuut I hope whoever reads it enjoys it. Originally it was me writing out some shit to just get it out, but then it turned to a flower shop AU, and somehow ended as a soulmate AU....? Messy, but oh well lol. if you’re an abuse survivor, pls know your pain is valid but your healing is so, so very important. 💜 title is from the song ‘take care of yourself’ by the childlike empress

Build your walls up high and strong, tall and mighty. No ladder or set of stairs could reach the top. Not even the most stubborn and determined can make their way in. Make yourself more stubborn than those around you. Leave first before you’re left in the dust.

You’ve lived this way for years. It’s lonely. It’s quiet. It has its own kind of hurt, but it’s pain in your control.

You’ve lived this way for years, and you swore you’d never let anyone take advantage of you ever again. Once vulnerable, soft, welcoming, now stoic, cold, distant; you wouldn’t feel it was necessary to stay this way if people weren’t so cruel.

If you never open up, they can’t use your secrets against you. If you keep to yourself, they can’t get under your skin. If you weren’t so foolish, so quick to trust others, you could enjoy human connection without a second thought. Now, it’s second nature to keep your defenses up, and keep them up strong.

With that comes anger, defaulted towards everyone and everything, and it doesn’t give anyone new a true chance. If that means you’re safe in the end, then that’s just fine. Maybe you are cold, maybe you are bitter, but you’re nowhere near as bad as the monster that drove you here.

You’ve lived this way for years, because it’s better than being gaslit on a regular basis. Safer than a hand around your throat, just manipulating you to stay. The pain of being lonely is a dull sting compared to the pain of your first time being stolen from you, forced to become someone else’s gain, someone else’s object.

You’ve lived this way for years, why stop now?

Why let someone have the opportunity to tear you down? Rip you apart? In the end, most people just have selfish motives, and if they don’t, they’re hard to come by. Why waste your life looking for someone worth your time?

So yeah, it’s lonely. It’s lonely as fuck. It hurts. It’s a comfortable pain that soothes you to sleep every night. It’s a wound that never heals, but at least you’re the only one disturbing it.

When you moved, you just wanted to get the fuck away from anything and everything tied to him. You wanted to destroy all links, burn all bridges; nothing was safe anymore, nothing was pure anymore. You up and left because no matter how hard you tried, someone was always waiting around the corner of your next chapter in life, eager to apologize on his behalf.

“He had it hard, you know.” And “his sister abused him, he didn’t know any better. Never got proper help.” followed by, “he’s trying, he’s changing, give him another chance.”

If manipulating someone to stay under dangerous circumstances is “trying and changing”, you wanted no fucking part in that mess. You knew better. He should know better.

So you left. You packed up and left the little bit of good sprinkled throughout town behind, because it wasn’t worth running into him one more time. Wasn’t worth glancing over your shoulder in fear anymore. You knew he was powerless once you left him, but it never calmed the storm of anxieties constantly brewing within you, the “what ifs” keeping you awake at night.

Hundreds of miles from home, you stopped in a small town. Hawkins, Indiana. Quiet. Quaint. Small towns may be frustrating in the sense that everyone knows everyone, but at least it’s a fresh start, practically off the grid compared to home.

You flowed your life into the surroundings of Hawkins quite easily; a small apartment downtown with easy to find parking, a job at a flower shop a block away, working with what you loved, and you picked up as many hours as you could, keeping busy, keeping to yourself. It’s what you always did best. Friendly at work, friendly when necessary to strangers, but you never let anyone in. It’s what you simply did best.

For a few months, you kept to your daily routine. Lonely, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary for you. You called home when necessary, just to reach out and let your parents know you’re still alive, doing just fine. Things were simple, and that was just fine. It gave you more down time to focus on yourself, focus on healing, however you saw fit.

One day, though, the focus stopped short. The perfect, mundane balance you had, went off the rails in just a quick, few minute exchange. Everything you had worked so hard to protect was screaming at you to tear the walls away.

It was a normal, Thursday evening at the shop. Quiet, watering the plants as needed, the chime above the front door tore you from your safe bubble. You switched gears, getting ready to use your pleasant “retail” voice, when your eyes fell on two boys, and your balance began to unsteady itself. One was older than the other; the younger boy looked to be in his early teens, and the older boy was much closer to your age, hanging somewhere near or in his 20-somethings.

It wasn’t the boys walking in that threw you off, it was specifically locking eyes with the older boy, forgetting to breathe for a quick second. Forgetting how to move, how to act; the cold shield you kept up at all times was begging to be let down, just over some handsome, idiot stranger. Something felt like a magnetic pull towards him, but only for a moment.

Fighting through the daze, you asked, “Can I help y’all?”

The younger boy, with messy curls flowing from under a hat and gaps in his toothy grin, immediately walked up to you. “My girlfriend is visiting, and I want to surprise her with flowers, but I don’t know what her favorite flower is, and I can’t just ask her-“

“I mean, you can, you know.” You interjected, smiling at how panicked he seemed.

“That’s what I told him!” The older boy added, walking closer. “He didn’t want to listen.”

“Yeah, Steve, because your girl advice has been proven to be shit.” The younger boy mumbled back, rolling his eyes. The older boy’s face grew red.

“Hey! Even she-“ Steve gestured to you, pausing for a moment, hoping you’d introduce yourself, or he’d find a name tag, something. “- um, sorry-“

“Y/N,” You replied, unsure how to feel in this situation. His eyes searched yours for a moment too long, and you felt exposed.

“Thank you- see, Dustin. Even Y/N agrees with my advice. Maybe I don’t always have shitty girl advice.” Steve finished his argument with Dustin.

You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they were being, how it was giving you some comic relief to a bland, boring day... but laughing meant being friendly, and being friendly was only reserved for short conversations and interactions. You felt like you could easily fall into a conversation with these two, and that was the last thing you needed right now. Trusting anyone was the last of your concerns anymore.

“Well, there’s no real wrong choice, in my opinion. Just, don’t get white lilies, or something. Those are usually for loss and sorrow, better for funerals.” You offered, sticking strictly to business. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I have to get back to watering some of these plants now.”

Without waiting for a reply, you walked off across the room with the watering can, hoping they’d be quick and out of here soon. A few minutes passed, and you could hear them frantically whispering to one another across the shop, not exactly clear about what, until you did hear a clear “go talk to her!” from Dustin to Steve. You felt yourself stiffen up, not wanting to be disturbed, not wanting things to grow awkward.

Sure enough, the Universe truly loves to work against you, and a few moments later Steve found his way closer to you, clearing his throat to catch your attention. You turned from the plants you were focused on.

“Yes?”

“Uh... hi.”

“.... hi?” You replied, brow raised. “Did you need something?”

“N-no, I just- are you new here?” Steve asked, tripping over his words, hands fumbling out of nervousness. “Sorry, this is weird. I just haven’t seen you around before... and I-“

“I moved somewhat recently,” you replied, keeping things vague. “What’s it to you?”

Steve’s face fell, flustered and unable to reply to that. “N-nothing. Sorry.”

With that, he walked back over to his friend. You felt bad for being short and cold, but the last thing you needed in this town were friends. The last thing you needed was some cute, nervous guy working for your trust.

A few more minutes passed in silence, aside from more awkward whispers from the two boys, and suddenly Dustin shouted out, “Thanks, Y/N! Have a good day!” before pulling Steve behind him out the door.

You were left in confusion, wondering if your attitude scared them off, and felt bad. You just couldn’t let anyone in, even with a little bit of innocent small talk. Steve probably meant well, but you didn’t want to take the risk of finding out.

The next few days went on with your regular customers, an elderly man wanting to surprise his wife with some nice flowers, just because. A mother creating a lovely bouquet to give her daughter after her dance recital that night. A call for a funeral arrangement was what shook you to your core, though.

You’ve had them before, you’ve made them before. You were the only other employee aside from your boss who was skilled in making them. You loved doing what you could to help ease the pain of loss, but it hurt hard this time, hearing the young woman lost her life to an abusive, turbulent relationship. It sent chills up your spine. She was just a bit younger than you, still close enough to relate, though. The man was taken in by authorities, thankfully, but it still had an end no parent wants to hear of their child. No friend or family member wants to ever hear they’ve lost someone to a selfish monster.

Your heart hurt for the woman, and hurt because it’s a situation you were once in. It could’ve been you, and was a sharp reminder why you couldn’t trust anyone.

Working on the floral arrangement late Saturday night, you had the shop to yourself, trying to stay tuned into your handiwork. The funeral was the next morning, and you refused to clock out until the arrangement was perfect. It wouldn’t bring this poor girl back, wouldn’t turn back time, but if it could help honor her life, then you were doing something right.

The familiar chime of the small door bell sounded off, and you didn’t turn around to face the customer. “We’re not doing any custom orders tonight, and we’re technically closed, so make your decisions quickly, please.”

“Oh. Shit, sorry, Y/N, didn’t even realize-“

You spun around at the sound of your name to see Steve, awkwardly standing just beyond the doormat.

“Why are you here?” It came out colder than you wanted it to. You needed it to be cold, though, right?

You watched Steve wince at your attitude before responding. “I- I just wanted to apologize for the other night, when Dustin and I were in here. If we made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t wrong, you were uncomfortable, but how would he know that off the bat? He was just being friendly, and you were the one shutting yourself off.

“S’fine.” You replied quickly before turning back to your work, busying yourself once more. “I have to keep working...”

You trailed off, wanting to tell him he had to go, but a part inside of you screamed stay, stay, stay.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, again, Y/N. See you around.”

The doorbell chimed once more, and you glanced down at your hands, crushing a few lilies subconsciously. Sighing and throwing them onto the table, you walked over to the door and locked it.

“It’s safer this way.” You reassured yourself. “It’s just for the best.”

A few more days passed, and Dustin came back in. You couldn’t be as cold towards him, he was only a kid.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked as he crossed the room to the counter.

“I’m sorry if we bothered you last week-“

“Dustin, it’s fine, really. Steve came in the other night. You guys weren’t bothering me at all.” You tried reassuring him, but he still wore guilt on his face.

“I really do need flowers, though. And I asked Suzie what her favorites are!” Dustin said, with a growing smile. It made a smile of your own begin to grow.

“And did she tell you?”

“Yep! Sunflowers! Never woulda’ guessed on my own.” He replied.

“Proud of you, kid. Glad you asked.” You began gathering some fresh cut sunflowers into a brown craft paper bouquet. “When’s she visiting?”

As you handed him the flowers, he answered. “Tomorrow! I’m gonna’ show her around town, maybe we’ll stop in and say hi, if that’s ok?”

“Of course it’s okay, door’s always open.”

“Great!” After paying, Dustin began to walk towards the door, stopping to turn back your way. “Do you like sunflowers too?”

Brow raised at the question, you answered without thinking much into it. “They’re nice, but I like wildflowers more myself.”

“Good to know, thanks, bye!” And with that, he rushed out of the shop, leaving you confused once again.

The question didn’t make sense until the next day, when Dustin stopped in with Suzie, and a nervous Steve trailing behind the both of them, hands behind his back.

Arms crossed and brows furrowed, you said hello to the younger teens before directing your attention back to Steve. “Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Yeah- I’m their ride for the day.” Steve nervously chuckled, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet.

“Whatcha’ got there? Behind your back?” You questioned, curious but nervous. Steve’s face flushed red before he pulled a small bunch of wildflowers from behind his back, handing them to you. Your eyes grew wide, trailing down to the roots of the flowers, clearly sticking out, freshly yanked from the ground.

“Um- uh- Dustin mentioned you like wildflowers, and I wasn’t sure what kinds, so we picked a bunch for you.”

“He picked them, I just delivered the information.” Dustin corrected, and Steve elbowed him, pulling a smile out of you.

“Thank you.” You said, feeling your expression soften on its own, and with that, Steve hesitantly let a smile grow. “I’m going to clean these up and put them in water. You can come with, if you want.”

Your own words surprised you, wondering when you became okay with any friendliness with a guy your age. But you didn’t fight it, continuing off to the back of the store, with Steve following behind, leaving Dustin and Suzie on their own in the shop among the flowers.

Steve watched curiously as you cut the dirt-covered roots from the ends of the flowers, giving them fresh ends to drink from. Your eyes darted up to his. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide once you began to speak. “I- I wanted to. I still feel bad for upsetting you the other night. I really meant no harm, I swear.”

Sighing, you set the flowers down gently on a counter, leaning against it and looking towards him before speaking again. “You did nothing wrong. I’m just a fucking mess, and don’t let anyone close to me anymore. You couldn’t have known.”

“Still, I’m sorry I invaded your space without asking or- I don’t know-“

“Steve.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s not your fault, really. I’m sorry I came off so cold.”

“I understand, though. And don’t feel pressured to like, be friendly with me, or whatever...” Steve trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “I just wanted to at least let it be known that... I dunno.... it’s okay, I guess.”

Smirking at his attempt, you moved back to the flowers, grabbing an empty vase and filling it with water. “It isn’t. It won’t be, unless I keep my distance from people. But I appreciate your sincerity.”

“Not everyone is bad, you know.” He mumbled. “I’m not just saying that to kiss my own ass, I mean it, there are good people out there, you know.”

Feeling your grip tighten around the flowers, you caught yourself before crushing them, placing them in the vase safely. “You don’t know that. You wouldn’t know that.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t know?” He countered, unaware of the push it caused on you.

“Why are you so fixated on changing my view, huh?” You snapped, spinning back to face him. “You think you can just come along and fix that? Fix me?”

“No, I never said that.” Steve replied, frustrated. “I don’t know you. Don’t know a thing about you. But I just- forget it.”

“What? Say it.”

Looking away, Steve mumbled, “You don’t have to isolate yourself to feel safe. I know what it’s like, okay? It fucking sucks.”

“Bullshit you know anything about that. You don’t know me, don’t assume shit.”

“Who moves to Hawkins willingly?! You’re running from something or someone-“ at that, your face fell, and he paused, searching your eyes. “You’re right, I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be nosy and get involved, but I know what that pain feels like, and it fucking hurts. I just wanted to try and show you that you’re not alone.”

You held yourself and emotions back as he searched your eyes once more before walking away, and you let him. A few moments passed before you heard the bell chime over the door, and you were fully alone, just like you always wanted.

You’ve lived this way for years, why stop now? Why stop ever?

For a moment, a sliver of time, you felt seen, felt understood, valid in your pain. For a moment, you didn’t feel so alone, and you pushed that away.

Weeks passed, and neither Steve nor Dustin came back into the shop since. You almost missed them, almost missed how you felt a little less lonely when they were around, even if you barely knew them. Not knowing where Steve lived, worked, or anything, you just had to patiently wait, and hope either would return, and you could mend the barely built bridge you instantly burned down.

It wasn’t until one night just before closing, a girl your age came into the shop, heading straight for the counter you stood behind.

“Hi, can I-“

“This is from Steve.” The girl interrupted you, handing a VHS tape over. “Just... watch it, okay? Give him another chance, before I go insane hearing that dingus whine about how he fucked things up.”

Leaving you speechless, she left the store. You glanced at the tape, seeing it was just a plain black VHS tape, with a piece of masking tape on the side, written on it was “for Y/N”, causing your stomach to flip a little.

Curious as to what could be on it, you rushed to clean and close up the shop, running down the block back home. Immediately after getting inside your apartment, you tossed the tape into the VCR, and hit play, settling on the floor in front of your TV.

Grain flooded the screen for a moment, before a clear picture appeared, of Steve, struggling to hold the camera up on his own, panicking, trying to find a sturdy surface to set it on. You felt a smile tug at your lips at the sight of his clumsiness.

“Uh... hi. Hi, Y/N. This is probably weird, and you’re probably sick of me annoying the shit out of you-“ Steve ran his hands through his hair nervously, before looking back into the camera. “I- I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want to upset or bother you or invade your space- and you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like, not how you do, but I want to understand... and I want you to know you’re not alone-“

“Yeah! What he said!” Dustin barged into the room, and Steve rolled his eyes, shoving the younger boy back out before continuing. “See, even Dustin cares.”

You found yourself giggling at their antics.

“I don’t want to fix anything- I just- you’re not alone, alright? Even if you don’t want to be friends, just give other people a chance, yeah? I don’t know what you went through, don’t know what you survived, but you’re not the only one who’s fought off monsters... you don’t have to do it alone.”

You felt tears at the edge of your eyes, urging to break. Wiping them away, you saw the tape cut to a scene outside, in the woods, with Steve pointing out different wildflowers along a trail.

A group of kids wandered in and out of the shot, occasionally making silly faces at the camera, or teasing Steve as he filmed.

“This for your girlfriend?” One mocked, and he sighed behind the camera.

“Shut it, Wheeler, she’s not my girlfriend.” Steve mumbled, embarrassed. It rose more laughter out of your chest.

“Steve, that footage is going to be awful. Do you even know how to hold that thing?” Dustin teased, trying to reach for the camera before it was jerked away. Dustin eventually got a hold of it, pointing it towards Steve, who smiled sheepishly at the lens, and waved.

“I’ll tell her since you won’t-“ Dustin started off, and Steve reached for the camera before Dustin ran ahead with it. “- we miss you, Y/N. We hope you’re okay. Steve is worried about you, and just wanted you to know you’re always welcome to hang out with us.”

“Dustin, give me that back, you shithead!” Steve yelled off in the distance, and Dustin sped up again, bulky camera still on his shoulder.

“Gotta go! If you want to bother Steve sometime, he works at Family Video!” Dustin rattled off, then continued with Steve’s home address, before yelling a quick goodbye, ending the tape there. The static and grain of the tracking filled back into the TV’s screen and sound.

Amused, you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the video was, just like the day they came into the shop. You knew nothing about them, they knew nothing about you, but there was something telling you deep down, maybe it’d be okay to knock some height off the walls for once. Maybe you didn’t have to be so lonely, didn’t have to fight your monsters off on your own.

It was late, so you knew Steve wasn’t at work, and you figured it couldn’t hurt to try him at home. Jumping in your car, you drove off to the address Dustin snuck into the end of the tape. When you pulled up outside Steve’s house, you began to doubt yourself, wondering why the hell you’re in front of this stranger’s house.

There was a pull, though. You’ve felt it before, you felt it now, and it was hard to ignore. How could you when curiosity towered over your fear? The invisible pull grabbed tight, and led you up the steps and to the front door, and didn’t let you think twice about ringing the doorbell. You hoped you weren’t waking anyone at this hour.

The door swung open, revealing a sleepy Steve in sweats, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light above the door.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, and you instantly felt guilty for bothering him at this hour.

“I.... I don’t have a fucking clue, honestly.” You replied, confused at things yourself. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you asked, “Did I wake you up?”

Steve shook his head, “Just been a long day.”

“Someone dropped the tape off earlier. The one you made.” You didn’t want to hesitate anymore on this. “Why did you do that?”

Steve shrugged, moving aside so you could step inside, and not carry this conversation on his front steps. “This is gonna sound crazy, but since we’ve met, I’ve had this... this... thing?”

“A pull?”

“Exactly th- wait, how do you know?”

“I feel it too. I don’t know how, or why, but it’s there, and I can’t keep ignoring it.” You breathed. “People terrify me, but I don’t know what keeps bringing me back to you, Steve.”

“I see wildflowers everywhere I go, now. I see them and immediately picture the joy they bring you, and I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, but it can’t just be coincidence.” He mumbled, running his hands over his face. “I want to give you space, but something keeps telling me to look out for you, to check up on you, make sure you’re alright. That sounds insane, probably.”

Slowly, you could feel the walls crumble down some more. “It’s not as insane as it sounds... because I’m not okay, and haven’t been for some time.”

“God, fuck, so much fucked up shit has happened here in the past few years, that this doesn’t even shock me.” Steve spoke, realizing this was just another bizarre thing happening in Hawkins once more. ”There’s a connection, somehow. With us.”

“Maybe I was just meant to end up here. You even asked me who willingly moves here, and I only did because it felt right. No other way to describe it.” You mumble, realizing how wild this sounded. “The night you came in, when I was working late, something in me wanted so badly to ask you to stay.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Jaw tightening, you answered. “Because I’m not supposed to be like this. Like that. Clingy, needy, dependent. I’ve been on my own for so long, I don’t know what is safe or not anymore.”

“You’re allowed to be needy, you know. We’re only human. You don’t have to fight your battles alone.”

“And what if they scare you off?”

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t, but why can’t I try anyway?” Steve sighed, head spinning in circles over this. “You feel it, I feel it, why are we holding back?”

“Because I’m terrified.” Your voice cracked as it flowed out. “I have to take care of myself, and that means keeping my distance.”

“Or it just means you need to try and trust others again.” He pleaded, knowing something deeper lied beneath the surface. “Let me help you.”

Seconds that felt like hours passed before you nodded your head, covering your eyes with your hands as you began to cry. Cautious, Steve reached out to you, pulling you into a hug that felt comforting. It felt familiar. It felt like home.

“You’re allowed to take care of yourself, you know. You’re allowed to go through your feelings with someone by your side. You don’t have to do this alone.”

A peace settled within you as his words hit your ears, and it brewed a bit of courage within you too. “Neither do you, Steve.”

You weren’t sure what lied ahead, how things would unfold. You weren’t sure how the Universe connected you two together; whether romantic or just platonic, you were soulmates in some sense. In a way, you gravitated towards one another, and letting your walls down didn’t seem so frightening for once.

You owed it to your fragile, younger, naive past self back home to get through the rest of this life with love, light and hope, and allow others to help along the way. You owed it to your past, present, and future selves, to take care. Take care of yourself.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #flower shop au #soulmate au #take care of yourself #my fics

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lovelyladyventress · 4 years

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Tell me which one of these AUs sounds the most interesting and which one you’d like to read more about? (uhh rep0st?)

I’m reposting this since TUMBLR HATES MY POST/TAGS OR SOMETHING, SORRY IF YOU’VE ALREADY SEEN THIS!

Here I am, back at it again with my AU bullshit. Complete with my ugly ass dauntingly long list of AUs that I’d love to write about but can’t seem to

decide which one to start writing. This has been going on for the past week, dammit! If it’s not too much trouble, could you please help a girl out and let me know either on here or in a PM which one of these you’re curious about or would like to see implemented in an actual story.

Here are four Cloud-centric AU ideas which include (multiple) gay, bi, and (some) straight main/side pairings. Regardless of which one I decide to write first, I (wistful thinking) want to eventually complete most or all of them, even if some of them only end up being one-shots. Thank you! <3

Mercenary Zack and Delivery Boy Cloud AU

Zack, a mercenary, and Cloud, a delivery boy, have been best friends since they were youngsters. Zack is straight but is undeniably (and confusingly into Cloud. Cloud is bi (with a strong leaning towards males) and he’s only recently started to explore that. One day, while Zack and Cloud are hanging out, Zack’s PHS dies and he asks to borrow Cloud’s laptop to check some work-related emails. Cloud says sure, completely forgetting what he’d been “researching” before Zack came over to hang out.

Cloud, suddenly remembering the content of said “research”, screeches out, “NoOoOoO!” whilst comically tripping over himself as he races to stop Zack from opening his laptop.

Zack, being Zack, laughs good-naturedly at Cloud’s behavior and says, “What, don’t want your bestie to see all your fReAkY sHiT LOL?”

Before Cloud can stop him, Zack unlocks the laptop (he knows the password, because, hello, besties) and proceeds to open up about ten tabs of LOUD GAY LEMONY YOU KNOW WHAT (all with actors that are blond and black-haired, hmm s u s p i c i o u s).

Cloud is fucking mortified and literally RUNS out of his own apartment and disappears (disintegrates) into the void while leaving Zack sitting there like a stunned D U M B A S S *insert shocked Pikachu meme here* Hilarity, fluffy romance, and “LeMoNs” ensue.

Main ship and only ship will be Clack/Zakkura. Syrupy sweet, comical, with only a pinch of plot-related angst. Will most likely be a one-shot/two-shot.

Vampire Slayer AU

Set in a world where Shinra keeps the existence of vampires and vampire covens a well-guarded secret from the general public of Midgar in order to keep its citizens calm, orderly, and manageable (see controllable).

Due to the frequency of recent vampire attacks in Midgar’s slums and outlying towns and villages, they charge their best slayer, Cloud Strife, and his partner with the task of finding and killing the progenitor of all vampire-kind in order to end the covert war between humans and vampires and kill off their kind, for good.

That is, until Cloud is double-crossed by his partner, who wants the title of Shinra’s best vampire slayer for himself, and Cloud is left for dead in a forest miles away from civilization. Cloud thinks he’s finally done for this time, until he’s saved by a half-vampire named Vincent, who then proceeds to take Cloud to his maker, Sephiroth, the son of the first progenitor.

Cloud’s only shot at making it out of this alive is playing at Sephiroth’s personal interest in him in a game of cat and mouse until he can get the vampire to trust him enough to let him get close to the progenitor in order to (finally) end the war once and for all and return to his former life.

Main ships are Sefikura with a possibility of some Strifentine. Side ships are Aerti, Scarlet x Elena, and a bunch of others. Angsty, passionate, romantic, and dark. Will probably be a six-shot or more. Who knows?

Life After Meteorfall Canon Divergence AU (I’m excited about this one)

An AU in which both Angeal, Zack, and Aerith (although, just barely) live and help kick Sephiroth’s ass in the final battle. Sephiroth has been defeated by the gang for good (no really, for good y’all), and now the world has turned to healing, mourning, and attempting to rebuild itself after the scars Sephiroth has left behind in his monstrous wake.

Cloud still has lingering feelings for Zack leftover from his time as an infantryman, but desperately hides this fact from both Aerith and Zack because he knows how long they’ve waited and how much suffering they’ve had to endure in order to be with each other. He also cares deeply for both of them and wants them to be happy, despite his own conflicting emotions.

Although Aerith is (slightly) suspicious, Zack is oblivious to it all because he’s finally got the girl of his dreams and has his love-addled goggles on (god dammit Zackary) and asks Cloud to be his best man at their wedding (ugh angst me upppppp baby).

Angeal, however, is not oblivious to it in the slightest. He sees the overly forced smiles, the longing stares, the glances of complete and utter h e a r t b r e a k Cloud shoots Zack when he thinks no one is watching/paying attention to him. And finally, fed up after months of sitting back and just silently observing Cloud falling into emotional ruin, Angeal finally intends to do something about it, honor be damned.

Main ship is Cloudgeal. Side pairings are Zerith, Rude x Tifa (don’t judge me, y’all, I ship SO MUCH this fandom), and possibly many more. Angsty, fluffy, romantic, and with a ridiculously happy ending where everyone reaches a happy, healthy understanding. Will most likely be either a three-shot or a six-shot.

Omegaverse SOLDIER AU (let me liveeeeeee, dammit!)

After failing to get into SOLDIER three times in a row (the max amount of times one can attempt in their lifetime) and having his childhood dream of becoming a hero shattered like glass, Cloud, a Beta cadet, is more than done with SOLDIER and everything to do with the corrupt Shinra Corporation (Uh huh. Suuuuure).

This opinion is only further solidified when Cloud discovers the tragic fate of his hometown: Nibelheim, in an “unprecedented” explosion of its Mako Reactor, burns to the ground, resulting in the deaths of Cloud’s mother and every single person Cloud grew up with. With no home to return to, Cloud, following his best friend Zack Fair’s advice, begrudgingly decides to join the Shinra military as an infantryman and work as a menial grunt for the military’s more prominent SOLDIER members.

That is, until one day during a mission Cloud’s entire unit, including a group of skilled Third and Second Class SOLDIERS assisting them, are slaughtered in a brutal, bloody conflict, leaving Cloud the only one left alive after the mission’s end.

This not only catches the eye of the Director of SOLDIER himself, but several of its First Class members, who are so impressed with the Beta’s strength that they wish to assess Cloud’s capabilities for themselves, personally. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

This leads Cloud down a path filled with convincing lies and hard truths as he discovers the reality of his origins, unveiling secrets about Shinra and his past that he could have gone a lifetime without knowing. He realizes the hard way that sometimes what you dream for, what you desperately wish for, isn’t always something you want in the long run.

Main ships are a tie between Sefikura and Clack/Zakkura (possibly Sephiroth/Cloud/Zack or maybe even a love triangle, ew). I also really wanna try writing out Strifesodos, but I’m leaning towards Banorashipping as a side ship in this cuz its cute and passionate.

A S T R O N G side ship in this is going to be Aerti (featuring Turk!Tifa and Full Cetra!Aerith), along with minor ships like Scarlet x Elena, Tseng x Rufus, and honestly who knows anymore, lol. This will most likely be the longest story on the list, I’m planning for at least ten+ chapters.

Also, not shaming it in any way, but just FYI for the people who are interested, there will be no pregnancy in this story. It’s just not my thing. <3

Again, all of these AU’s are subject to change, but I’d love to bounce ideas back and forth and see what certain shippers would like to see in the fandom. I’m really receptive to discussing fics in general, even if its an idea about one of your own stories you wanna talk about. :)

If you actually read all of that, THANK YOU KINDLY! <33333

#Sefikura #SephCloud #Clack #Zakkura #Cloudgeal #i'm seriously so angry about this tagging thing #WHY IS IT NOT WORKING #*SCREAMS*#IM JUST TRYNA LIVE DAMMIT #why did this post disappear #I THINKS ITS BECAUSE OF CERTAIN KEYWORDS #this is a travesty #I NEED ANSWERS #the text is wonky too #UGHHHHHH

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crosbymalkin871 · 4 years

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The Price of Love (1/?)

CHAPTER TITLE: All It Takes is One Huge Paycheck…

RATING: M PAIRINGS/CHARACTERS: E. Malkin/S. Crosby

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINK: Alcohol, Foul Language, mentions of Prostitution, Mario Lemieux, vague allusions to Smut

AUTHOR’S NOTE: FINALLY! AFTER FOUR-FIVE MONTHS OF NO HOCKEY, THE LACK OF MOTIVATION, AND ME ACTUALLY NOT HAVING TO DEAL WITH A LOT OF STRESS, I’M FINALLY BACK!!!! Originally I wanted to post this the night of game 1, but shit happened and then I tried to post it before game 2, but y’all are getting it today! XD As a piece of compensation on my end, chapter 2 will be posted on Sunday evening. I promise, and if I don’t keep my word, bash me in the head with a hockey stick until I get a concussion.

Before you all begin reading, I just have to say thank you to everyone who has messaged me their excitement and their support throughout these difficult moments, it really means a lot. I also wish to extend my appreciation to 3 specific individuals: my friends @justinschultzy & @eafay70, and my dear Zhenya aka @cakemakethme (who will also be my Beta from chapter 2 or 3 onward). You three were the ones I continuously messaged updates on and your cheerleading was what ended up leading me to finishing this. So thank you very, very much! xxx

I have been wanting to write this fic for…gosh, maybe 2-3 years now and it’s finally being presented to all of you. I’m so excited for everyone to read it and to join me on this insane rollercoaster that is The Price of Love. With that all said and done I hope you all enjoy it, like and reblog, and I will (hopefully) post more sometime in the near future.

DISCLAIMER: I am not the owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins, or are associated with anyone in the NHL. I just have a very strong imagination.

A variety of noises ring out in Geno’s ears.

“Beer, over here!”

“Four sangrias for table three.”

“Vodka. Straight.”

“Whisky on the rocks.”

“Daiquiri. Make it a double.”

“Two champagne cocktails for table seven.”

Orders just keep coming and coming. He had been tossing and filling up a number of glasses and flutes for hours, sending them out left and right at the bar with almost no chance of having a small break in between. It was alright though, he grew used to it throughout his years of being one of the many favored bartenders at the Emperor Nightclub.

That, and he gets some real good money out of it, collecting all the large tips he gets whenever he cleans up the dirtied tables afterward.

With he and Tanger, his best friend and the other tender manning the bar, it feels like a marathon— albeit an easy one— to serve the feisty ladies and semi-agro men currently trying to take over the club.

The Emperor Nightclub is still up and running as the night starts to grow late. With a birthday bunch, a small group of ladies having a girl’s night, a married couple looking for a partner or two to join their bed (whether they were open or poly, Geno wasn’t sure), and college graduates dominating the patrons tonight along with the regulars— the nightclub roars as if it is New Year’s Eve in NYC instead of any other weekend in Pittsburgh.

No empty space could be seen on sight from where he was standing, with new patrons coming in the later part of the night, while the earlier patrons have made the decision to stay even after hours of partying and hollering.

Geno was given a small break as the crowd in front of the bar disperses, having been satisfied with the drinks they were given, taking whatever leftover bills he was given as a form of tip.

So far, it was a relatively good night for him.

Well…until a small, very familiar group came in, with the leader catching his eye like he usually does.

Being a bartender at a pretty famous nightclub in Pittsburgh, he sees a whole spectrum of people walking in and out of the nightclub’s doors: with some of them wanting to down tons and tons of alcohol that’ll make them black out until tomorrow afternoon, and others being on the prowl for someone to either take to their car, a nearby hotel, or even the nightclub’s bathroom.

One of them was about three or four, sometimes even more, prostitutes that are part of the latter category, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t take the time to chat with the bartenders, something that always brightened Geno’s night, especially when he was continuously swamped with drink orders…

…which is how Geno’s break ends: more people clamoring to the bar.

As of on cue, the moment that he continues to engage in dealing with patron’s drinks, the orders come rolling in even faster that he almost skipped a beat. From the corner of his eye, he could see the expression on Tanger’s face becoming more focused as his orders keep coming in with some extra flirting and touching from the patrons on his part.

He snorts at that. While Geno didn’t necessarily mind a customer or two coming up to flirt with him, he was never really interested in them, only responding back just to make their night a little bit better.

Out of all of his friends, it was Tanger that got the most attention from the patrons, with he following at a close second. It made sense because the French-Canadian looked like a supermodel. And himself? Well he wasn’t really sure if American people have a thing for foreigners like him, but he continuously gets complimented on his ability to wear a suit. So he considers that a plus.

His other friend, Dumo, tended to get third; primarily because he got a lot of attention from the college kids, either doing an insane number of shots or just randomly asking about his athletic abilities. Needless to say, it was very amusing to watch him wrack attention from the younger crowd. Though if anybody were to catch his eye, they should be aware of how damn good a cook he was.

The other two bartenders, Big Rig and Schultzy, also managed to garner themselves some attention from the patrons. Big Rig, for his height as he stood almost 7 feet tall (much taller than Geno), and Schultzy, for his happy-go-lucky personality. It was always something that made event the downiest of drinkers smile a little.

Even if he feels just a tad overwhelmed by the all of the drinks he has to quickly make, getting a glimpse of dark, curly black hair and a thick, white fur coat was enough to quell his nerves.

“You all need some additional help?”

A voice comes from Geno’s left side and it makes him jump a little (but not enough to make him mess up an order, which he has done before and has given the person who scared him a very stern talking to). He looks over to see who it was and finds Dumo standing there with his usual laid-back smile. Geno may or may not have breathed out a small sigh of relief at his arrival.

“Possibly, considering that G has been trying to catch a glimpse of Sid rather than seeing how much booze he’s pouring in.” Tanger smirks, placing at Geno teasingly.

Geno rolled his eyes and answered with a scoff. “Yeah. Like you not staring at Flower too, Tanger.” He feels a little vindication when seeing the French-Canadian man scowl in return. “But help always needed, Dumo. Things getting a bit out of hand and no one planning on going home soon.” Even though he knows he’ll get teased about it even more, his eyes couldn’t help wander off around the club, looking at all the excitement that is still going strong.

And again, seeing black curls and a white fur coat— Sid was his name— releases some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Alright then.” Dumo clapped his hands before he started to roll his sleeves of his button-up. “No one is really wanting drinks on my end of the bar, might as well waste time by giving you guys a hand.”

Neither Tanger or Geno responded to him as he already accepted his first round of orders from the loud frat boys and flighty sorority girls welcoming him, leaving the other two to tend the ones lining up at their respective corners.

Within the next minute or so, all three of them found themselves falling into a rhythm as they worked side-by-side, the drinks continuing to flow out and tips continuing to flow in. And with more patrons visiting the bar, come more even more orders and even more tips.

The extra pair of hands certainly help a lot in making the work feel a whole lot easier.

Dumo serves every patron that tries to start a conversation with him, listen to their problems in one ear while paying attention to orders in the other. He also subtly brushes off any flirty advances, but he does throw a smile here and a wink there to please all who are openly staring at him. He even does a little dance to the beat of the music as a little extra entertainment.

“Should’ve been a stripper, Dumo.” Tanger tells him as he stuffs some more bills into his pockets. “Missed the chance to be Magic Mike in Hollywood, but there’s still a chance here.”

Geno snorts as he slides a mint julep down the bar.

“Ha ha. Very funny, Tanger,” Dumo states unamused. “Can say the same about you too.”

Tanger just flips him off while Geno snorts again.

Eventually, the orders died down and the patrons scattered about. Dumo returned to the other bar on the opposite side of the room with Schultzy and Big Rig, while Tanger cleaned up any spilled alcohol left on the bar top.

Geno, meanwhile, began pouring more cocktails, glasses of wine, and laying more beer bottles onto a tray; but these were for any of the people hugging their half-full drinks, or for the tables that were littered with empty glasses and lime wedges.

No. This tray of drinks are for a certain group that he had noticed earlier.

Carefully, yet a little giddily, he manages to carry the tray single-handedly, and without spilling a single drop of liquor, all the way to a very specific table within the Emperor Nightclub.

As he walks closer and closer, the wild pacing of his heartbeat grows more and more. When he finally reaches the table, standing behind the object of his secret affections, he quietly gulps and places a gentle hand on his fur-covered shoulder.

The man stops whatever he was doing and turns around to look at him. And Geno swears he could feel his breath escaping his lungs and his rapidly-beating heart stopping.

Aside from their beautiful curly hair, the man also had the prettiest brown eyes and the biggest, most kissable lips imaginable (not that the bartender would ever admit that to him). He also had on an outfit that was not afraid to show off his…well, assets; outside of the white fur coat, he wore a white crop top with a red maple leaf on it, black leather shorts that magically fits his ass, and past those long, thick legs were a pair of black stripped high-heels that decorated his feet.

Sid smiles kindly at him, his teeth showing behind those glossed lips. “Hi, Geno.” he calls in his deep yet sweet-sounding voice. It didn’t sound flirtatious or seductive, which is normally how he talked to his clients, with the bartender, he always sounded genuine and pleasantly happy to see him serving drinks to him and his friends.

Geno nervously smiled back. “H-Hey, Sid,” he replies, silently curing himself for stammering in front of a prostitute who he may or may not have a big crush on. “Flower, Segway, Mitch,” he also greeted, who were all looking at him before he grabbed Sid’s attention. He began setting down the cocktails, wine, and beer. “Here are usual orders.”

The three other men accepted their drinks: a margarita, a beer, and a glass of white wine, respectively.

Still smiling, Sid happily accepted his cosmopolitan, plucking a strawberry off the skewer that was resting atop the martini glass. “Thanks, G,” he says before popping the mini strawberry into his mouth. “I know everyone has their favorite bartenders, but I still say you make the best cocktails.”

Hearing that from Sid (and watching him eat a simple piece of fruit) was enough to bring a blush and a dumbstruck smile to Geno’s face. “H-Heh…Thanks, Sid.”

Sid nods, eyes shining with a glint of something as he takes a sip of his cocktail.

It was a small moment or two of awkward (on the bartender’s part at least) silence before he coughed. “I, uhm, I’m best get back to work, so…bye.” With that, he quickly flees back to the bar.

(As he did so, he heard the soft giggles coming from Sid, but he failed to see him lightly admonish his friends as they smirked at the obvious crush the bartender had.)

After that little incident, Geno spent the rest of the night catering to any other patron that walked up and asked for— or sloppily demanded— drinks. Whenever he had a spare moment or two, he would glance up at table eight, watching the small group of friends chatting, laughing, and attempting to flirt with some of the other patrons that would stop by their table.

Part of Geno’s heart crumbled whenever he saw Sid respond to some of the men’s flirtatious mannerisms, whether it be throwing out seductive words, or a teasing touch, or even a tickle of breath or the faint press of lips.

He knows Sid isn’t tied down to someone. Why would he, the man was a prostitute after all. But that didn’t mean watching him act like that with others didn’t hurt.

From the moment he first met Sid, back when they were teenagers to young adults and Geno had just started working at the Emperor Nightclub, he always harbored secretly feelings for the young Canadian. He remembered the first time he ever plucked up the courage to speak to him and slide him a cocktail: one of his first attempts at a watermelon cooler, too easy of a drink to mess up on.

It was a bit strong on the booze and not fruity enough, but Sid didn’t tell him that. He just smiled and thanked him in a voice that oozed sensuality and charm, throwing in a wink for good measure. When he saw how awkwardly the bartender responded to it— by stammering and not completely picking up the subtle cue— he dropped the act, apologizing for making him feel awkward. To which Geno has to apologize as well, because he didn’t meant to make the moment awkward, he just wasn’t good at responding to someone who was cute like him.

That made Sid pause and blush, looking away from the bartender for a split second before gazing back up at him, a gentle smile on his face. This caused Geno to smile back, the both of them feeling a bit more relaxed than before. When the awkwardness of it all faded away, the two of them began to chat during the bartender’s break, or whenever he would get a breather from serving. In those small conversations, he realized that the flirty prostitute was actually…very dorky.

A dorky man who had a passion for history, craved mozzarella sticks and cheesecake, and had a strong affinity for sports just like he once did. And he had the goofiest laugh Geno had ever heard and thought it adorable. Seeing this, Sid’s true colors was what made him slowly start to fall in love.

But deep down, he knew that Sid would never feel the same about him. To him, it was fairly certain that he would get rejected upon confessing his feelings. So, in every encounter the two had after that, Geno would simply swallow his feelings and allowed Sid to flirt and be affectionate with other men that weren’t him.

They were just friends, nothing more.

(Although he can’t help but secretly wish for that to change one day).

Geno sighed sadly and began to untie his apron, ready to go into the staff room and change back into his regular clothes when Tanger tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over at him, ready to tie his apron back on, when he sees him pointing to the stairs near the back of the nightclub.

Coming down the stairs was owner Mario Lemieux.

He turned back to Tanger, brow raised. “So? He does that a lot.”

“Yeah he makes his rounds like he usually does, but does he ever personally come to us for anything? Usually it’s Jen that does it for him.” Tanger points out as they see Mario making his way over to the bar areas.

Geno hummed. He had a fair point, usually it was Jen, Mario’s personal assistant, that went and searched for them whenever he needed to have a conversation with them. In any other instance, the bartender would not hesitate to flee whenever he could, but she would usually find him in the end.

But Mario himself coming out to talk to one— or maybe all of them— was highly unusual.

It was even more unusual when he realizes that Mario coming towards him. He didn’t know whether he should run, or accept whatever was going to be handed to him.

Still tying his apron back on just in case, he meets Mario halfway: near the dance floor but not that far from the tables.

“Ah, Geno,” he says as the bartender comes up to him. “I was just coming to talk to you.”

“Need me to stay extra hours?” he asked, seconds away from letting out a tired sigh. He doesn’t like the idea of staying later than 1 or 2 AM on most days, but if the boss says so, he’ll make an exception.

“No, actually,” Mario shakes head making Geno confused. “I wanted to give you something.” He hands the bartender an envelope.

Taking it, Geno still looked confused as to what it was until he opened it, then his eyes widened in shock.

“Boss, are you— Are you serious?!” he exclaimed as he looked between the envelope in his hand, then back at Mario.

“It’s just little bonus, if you will, for being one of my best workers.”

“This more than bonus and you know it!”

Mario placated him by resting a hand on his shoulder. “As I said, you deserve it,” he reassured. “I know it’s more than what you normally make, and more than the other bonuses I give, but there’s nothing wrong with giving a little bit more to hard workers like you.”

Geno gazed back down at the envelope. Inside was a bonus check of over $10,000.

“But—”

“No buts.” Mario tells him seriously. “I mean it. You’ve been very dedicated to your work from the beginning, even if you were completely new to it. But you quickly improved over time and became a favorite amongst The Emperor’s patrons. It’s not hard to see why, Geno. So, go on, take the extra bonus. Do whatever you want with it, a gift from me to you.”

With that, he gave the bartender a pat on the back before heading back upstairs to his office.

The whole time, Geno’s eyes never left the check.

It was a large amount of money. In fact, it was double than what he normally makes for a bonus: $5000 at most, but if his boss said that he deserved it…well, who was he to deny himself a paycheck like this.

Finally, his eyes left the large sum of money, trailing back to the beautiful prostitute that was still sitting at table eight.

Maybe…maybe his chance had finally come. He may not be able to have a proper relationship with Sid, but he could at least spend one magical night with him, for however long he could make it.

He didn’t know what Sid charged for his services, but he hoped ten thousand dollars was enough to satisfy him (he was sure that it was, he was just being really nervous about confronting him).

Gulping, the bartender slowly— and anxiously— makes his way back to table eight. Along the way, he tries to remember all of the fancy restaurants that are in Pittsburgh, and there are quiet a number of them within the city and the surrounding area.

There was the Altius that has an amazing view of the city… the Monterey Bay Fish Grotto is one of the most famous restaurants… LeMont has been around for decades and is still highly regarded… most of the locals would know about the Grand Concourse… since he liked boats, one of the Gateway Clipper’s Dining Cruises would be nice…

Maybe the Hyeholde since it almost be like dining at a castle… the Carlton has a lot of national recognition… Bravo! Italian Kitchen has a good menu and they do have creme brûlée...

Or…he may just happen to like the Cheesecake Factory instead.

Before he could even make a final decision on what he was going to say, he was standing right in front of Sid (or behind, since his back was turned to him). Luckily for him, his other friends were either out on the dance floor or chatting up the other bartenders; maybe they were in the back lounges, but Geno doesn’t really care, he needed to focus on his main objective right now: gaining Sid’s attention, even if it was for one night.

Reaching a hand out, he hesitates for a split second before he decides to gently tap Sid on the shoulders.

The prostitute turned around to see who was standing behind him again, smiling when he realized who it was. “Hey, G. What’s up?” he asks curiously while he licks something sticky off his fingers.

Geno stared for a hot minute before quickly snapping out of it. “U-Uhm—!” He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I-I want you to know that Mario gave me big bonus just now…”

Sid smiled wider at that. “That’s great, G! How much of a bonus was it? The usual 5k?”

He shook his head, looking away shyly. “No…gave me double that.”

Brown eyes widened as he exclaimed, “Wait. He gave you $10,000?!”

Geno nodded, showing him the envelop with the check in it. “Yeah, and uhm…was wondering if…” He blushed darker, still keeping his eyes away from Sid.

The prostitute was looking at him with concern now. “If uhm…You want to spend a night with me…?”

Sid stayed silent for the longest time, staring blankly at the bartender as he processed what he just asked him. “Geno, are you— Are you asking me to…service you?”

“Yes. I mean, no! Argh!” The bartender shook his head, feeling more embarrassed and stupid now. “What I’m mean is…I take you to fancy restaurant, maybe do shopping, and…” The blush on his face grew darker. “I-If you wanted, we can go to hotel and… you serve me.”

A blush now came to the prostitute’s face. “O-Oh…”

Geno makes a flustered noise, still not looking Sid.

“I don’t— I-I don’t charge that much for a night's service, Geno,’ he tells the bartender with a shy voice. “Y-You can’t spend 10 grand on me in one night…”

“I-I’m know,” he nods. “But I’m try.”

Sid’s blush grew darker as he now looked away from the bartender. Neither one of them really knew what to say after that, the moment growing tenser and more awkward by the second.

Eventually, the prostitute was the one to speak first. “E-Even if you can’t spend all that money on me…it’d be nice to spend a night with you.”

Geno’s head snaps back to Sid, his own dark brown eyes widened at what he said. “R-Really?”

A small smile came to the prostitute’s face as he nodded. “Yeah,” he admits shyly, now looking back at the bartender. “I really do.”

He’s never admitted this to him, but he’s had a crush on Geno for a very long time now, ever since they met as teenagers in this very nightclub. He always thought the bartender would never want to be in a relationship with him because of what he does, but after hearing what he just said to him, he might actually have a chance to see if they would really work out.

“Uhm, great!” Geno exclaims with a grin.

Sid smiles a little more. “Did you have a particular restaurant in mind?”

The bartender pondered on the choices he thought about earlier before finally making a decision. “Altius?” he asks. “Is on Grandview Avenue and have good view of skyline.”

“Sounds great,” Sid nods in approval. “Maybe we could stop by the Cheesecake Factory afterwards. I haven’t had any in a long time and I’m overdue for a craving.”

“I figure you say that,” Geno chuckled. “Had that in back of mind in case you say no.”

An embarrassed giggle managed to escape the prostitute’s lips. “I guess I make my love of cheesecake very obvious, eh?”

“You do, but is okay,” Geno reassures. “I like that about you.”

Another giggle, this time, one that was more airy and a little bit giddy-sounding. “So, when did you want to do this? Tomorrow night?”

“We can do that,” he nods. “I take night off.”

“Are you Mario would allow that?” Sid raises a teasing brow at him. “I mean, he did just give you a big bonus. He may change his mind when he hears you taking a day off.”

Geno waved at him nonchalantly. “Eh. He not mind.” he tells him. “Besides, be nice to get away from club for one night. And I spending night with you, so is good reason.” He lightly smirked at him.

Sid’s blush couldn’t get any redder, but it manages to with the bartender’s words. Just then a waiter came by and served him another drink, this time, a vibrant sunrise cocktail.

He takes the drink with a nod and a slight smirk before the waiter walks away. He takes a sip before turning back to Geno, his smirk growing in seductiveness. “So,” he starts before licking his lips, a little cayenne salt sticking to them. “Will I be seeing you tomorrow night?”

The bartender gulped and managed to nod, trying to keep his dirty thoughts at bay. “Yeah…see you tomorrow night.”

#SidGeno #Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin #otp: we grew up together here #hockey rpf #my hockey fanfiction #mpreg tw #The Price of Love

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dr-nero-is-god · 3 years

Note

for the meme: 8, 37, 38

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

OH man oh man ohhhhh man. hm. what do i pick. hm. let’s think.

just sayin’ i’ve been sitting here for ten minutes and you know what? i’m not sure dialogue is actually one of my strong suits. everything i write is so dang introspective!! so this is definitely a growth point for next time.

That said, i think if I do have a dialogue-heavy work, it is Dragons? Dragons. and there are some actually fun bits. I’ll pick the ending of Chapter 6, in which Otto and Franz are having a romantic evening under the stars while talking about an ancient legend with their dragons:

That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard, Nerys grouched. Dragons can’t fly into the stars. They’re too far away and there’s no air.

“Well, they didn’t know that back then,” Otto said. “It’s just meant to be poetic.”

Nerys did not open zher eyes. Poetry is stupid. The stars don’t look like anything, they’re just dots in the sky. And dragons didn’t put anyone up there.

“Does that mean dragons don’t have any constellations?” Franz asked.

Bo growled affirmatively. We do not. We only use the names of the stars to navigate.

“The names of the stars… like constellations?” Otto suggested.

No, Bo said. Every star has a name. Every dragon knows the name of all the stars. It’s how we find our way when we wish to fly long distances to meet up with others of our kind.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Otto said, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at Bo with a challenge on his face. “There’s hundreds of thousands of stars. Millions of stars. And there are stars we can’t even see! You can’t possibly have a name for every single star, much less know them all.”

This is why we don’t tell humans our secrets, Bo said despairingly to Nerys, though both Otto and Franz could hear. They just don’t understand.

You’re telling me.

37. Talk about your current wips.

I am in between big projects, and will be for the time being because I am applying to grad school this month. :P it is going stress if you were wondering!!

But of course I have some:

Dragons? Dragons.— a fic where everything at HIVE is essentially the same except for they are also in Lord of the Rings and Eragon and the Tinkerbell movies and Dealing with Dragons all at the same time. There is no plot and it is fun and I do what I want.

Sing, O Muse...—there is a longer title but I don’t feel like looking it up. CHB AU! I have not worked at it at all since posting the first chapter and we’ll see if I do anything with it.

Like Moths Among the Stars—this is a high school AU fic and it’s very extremely ambitious but i haven’t found the flavor of it AT ALL.

A Natural Disposition—AU where Wing grows up and becomes one of the cruelest assassins known to man and then in between shots of him hunting down his prey we go through all the psychological damage that occurred to make this awful thing happen!!! it’s fun

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

I mean on the one hand every comment makes my day BUT. some of you have risen to the top and I keep those comments in a folder in my Gmail and then I reread them when I’m sad??? i’m very normal thank you

it was incredibly gratifying to write A Sunday Morning Cigarette for @vulpix-sinistre and then she read it and 1) her comment was good and then 2) she like??? cried??? there is no greater honor or privilege than to make your friends feel very intense things as a surprise

both you, @iwtv, and @ottomalpense left comments that made me SO HAPPY on There Are No Comets Seen and y’all are really good about noticing when I try to write with themes/symbols in mind and so the fact that you noticed the important ones right away was incredibly gratifying

and cream of the crop is @coronaofastar who left just about the loveliest comment a writer could ask for on the last chapter of Nothing Brings Me All Things because it was like a play-by-play of all the feelings and especially since I was nervous about posting that chapter it was extremely encouraging!! and i am so grateful

Anyways i love everyone and think they are very cool and awesome and expressing gratitude is hard but i tried

thanks so much for the ask vela!! :)

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thelillykane · 4 years

Text

he’s so bad, but he does it so well

OR, the one where Logan’s in trouble but the kids just wanna make out.

this is yet another excerpt from that bigger fic in which Keith becomes Logan’s legal guardian and Logan and Veronica are, you know, epic, eventually. (you may be asking yourselves why I don’t just finish and post the entire damn fic at this point and the answer is -- eat your scraps and shut up)

previous posted excerpts are here and here. title is from wildest dreams by taylor swift.

also keith’s name in logan’s phone is, “╭∩╮（︶︿︶）╭∩╮” which didn’t quite make it into the story, but is still very important to me that y’all know.

“Who’s the frowny face?” Veronica fiddled with the dials on Logan’s dash, blasting the AC all the way up and angling the vents towards her for good measure, the heat stifiling even as the sky was filled with city lights.

“Huh?”

“Whoever it is they’ve called you six times.” Veronica flashed the screen of Logan’s phone at him quick for proof, and then focused on tying her hair into a knot, giving some much needed relief to her neck.

“Oh, fuck.” Logan swallowed. “That’s your dad.”

Veronica banged her forehead and her knee and her elbow diving into the seat-well.

“What are you doing??” She hissed at Logan. “Get us out of here before he sees us.”

“The frowny face. It’s your dad.”

Veronica clambered up back onto the seat with as much dignity as she could muster and shot Logan a nasty look. “What did you do?”

“Me?” He chewed his thumb. “I didn’t do anything.”

“He has never called me six times in a row, so you definitely did something.”

“That’s because he likes you,” Logan groused, sitting in the car with a huff.

“That’s because I’m trustworthy,” she chirped, and then winced, shooting Logan a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“No, I am corrupting his only daughter.”

Logan’s hand found her waist again, and he held her there, his hand with a fistful of her dress while he placed greedy little kisses along her chin and her collarbone.

“It’s too hot,” Veronica whined, but she arched towards him eagerly even as she said so, her fingers getting a good, strong grip in his hair so she could direct his attention towards her mouth, which she parted open expectantly, grinning as he was quick to give her what she wanted.

Her hair quickly unraveled again, spilling free from its confines to swing in a curtain around their heads. Logan had one hand warm and unassuming on her knee, while the other danced across her back and her face and her arm at whim, like Logan couldn’t decide which part of her he most wanted to touch, so he’d decided to try and touch everything.

Veronica pulled away once she was sure she could memorize the feel of every single one of his teeth, but she left her hands tangled up behind his neck as she took time to catch her breath and slow her heart rate down.

“We’re going to be late,” she finally said, once she remembered how to speak.

Logan kissed the palms of each of her hands and then her knuckles too. “We have a few more minutes.”

“Nope,” Veronica slid back onto her side of the car, watching Logan pout as he lost her touch and the hyper-proximity of her body. “If you get another speeding ticket he’s going to take your keys away, and my cars still in the shop.”

“He could just tell his deputies to stop giving me tickets.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “You could not drive 75MPH in the most obnoxiously noticeable car ever.”

Logan shot her a look. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you all folded up like origami down there.”

“You’re one to talk!” She smacked him in the side. “You went out the window last week because Lilly called me. She wasn’t even in the room.”

“Oh, whatever!” Logan fidgeted. “You know she has that third eye shit, I’m not fucking risking it.”

“Do you feel....bad? About not telling them?”

“Lilly? No. She can rot for all I care.”

Veronica looked down at her hands. “You can’t stay mad at her forever.”

Logan set his jaw and didn’t answer.

As pre-decided, Logan pulled over a few blocks away from the house, so Veronica could walk the rest of the way.

“You’re throwing me to the wolves,” he complained.

“If we come in together he’ll take one look at us and know.”

“He also won’t shoot me if we come in together, and I think that should be our main focus right now.”

“I thought you didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t.” Logan chewed his thumb again.

Veronica shut the door firmly. “I’ll see you at home, Logan.”

Unsurprisingly, when Veronica walked through the door a few minutes later, Keith was speaking to Logan in that low, you-are-on-the-thinnest-of-ice-voice and Logan was staring at Keith bored, with that same stubborn set to his jaw that he’d sported earlier when she tried to talk about Lilly.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Keith spared her a tired smile. “Did you have a nice time with Wallace, honey?”

“Um, yeah. You know,” she shrugged, inching past them to snag a Skist out of the refrigerator. “Did you have a good day at work?”

“Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and see if your mom’s feeling any better, she’s having one of her headaches.”

“Headaches?” Logan repeated, with a menacing thrill to his voice. “Is that what we’re calling them now?”

Veronica glowered at Logan as she went up the stairs, but he didn’t even glance in her direction, too focused on pissing off her dad.

“Knock it off,” Keith warned. “You really don’t want to be pushing the envelope anymore with me right now, kid.”

“Pushing the envelope? Dude, I don’t know what outdated fucking parenting books you’re reading about how to talk to somebody else’s child, but they’re not getting through to me— you can stop.”

Keith snagged Logan by the arm and pulled him in close. “l’m getting pretty sick of telling you not to call me dude, and I’m getting pretty sick of your mouthing off.”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sick of you always bitching at me, so, I guess neither of us is getting what we want.” Logan yanked his arm free. “Can I go?”

Keith took a breath and held his hand out expectantly.

“What? Do you wanna sing kumbaya or something?”

“Phone, wallet, keys — you know the drill.”

“For how long?”

“Until I see a serious attitude adjustment.”

Logan wrapped his arms around himself defensively. “This is total bullshit, you don’t punish Veronica when she tases somebody, but I defend myself and you’re all over my ass about it.”

“I’ve seen the surveillance tapes, Logan, that was not self defense. You broke the mans nose, for christ’s sake. And since you’re not mature enough to have a civilized conversation with me about it, we’re doing this instead.”

“A civilized conversation about what? I just told you it was self defense and you already don’t believe me. How the fuck do you expect us to have a conversation about it?”

“You assaulted a stranger, broke his nose, and you’ve been lying through your teeth to me about it ever since. And this morning when I told you to come home straight after school so we could talk, what did you do instead?”

“Well, I’m fucking here now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and you’ve been belligerent and disrespectful the whole time. Keys, wallet, phone, I’m not going to tell you again.”

He threw all three onto the floor to be petty, and then wished he hadn’t when Keith fixed him with a look so stern and so unimpressed that Logan honest to god squirmed.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Pick those up. Right now.”

Logan quickly did just that, placing each item gently onto the kitchen island this time, his heart thundering in his chest. Please let this be over, please let this be over...

“Did you get your history test back yet?”

“Oh. Um.” Logan fidgeted. “Not yet.”

Keith nodded slowly. “Your teacher emailed me and said she handed them back out today.”

Logan cringed. “I passed it.”

“I think I’ll decide that for myself.”

Logan sighed, reluctantly fishing through his backpack for the test and handing it over to Keith. “I really did pass it,” he muttered.

Keith frowned at the test, frowned up at Logan, and then frowned at the test again. “Why would you lie about this?” He asked finally. “You did good.”

“You don’t have to sound surprised.”

“I’m surprised, because usually when somebody lies about not getting a test back, it’s because they failed it. You got a 91. Why would you lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” Logan shrugged. “But if you’re so thrilled about the test can I not be grounded?”

“Not a chance,” Keith said. “But really— good work on the test.”

Keith squeezed Logan’s shoulder fondly as he left the room, taking Logan’s stuff with him as went.

Fuck.

Veronica was not going to be pleased.

“Do you need something?”

“Oh, come on,” Logan groaned. “You can’t be pissed at me, this wasn’t my fault.”

Veronica set her book aside and stared at him. “In which way was this not your fault.”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Why? Are you trying to figure out if you can bullshit me, and I won’t notice?”

“No!” Logan defended, hotly. “But....were you?”

Veronica crossed her arms.

“Okay,” he conceded. “It was maybe a little bit my fault, but mostly it was just your dad blowing a gasket for no reason.”

“It sounded to me like the reason was because you broke somebody’s fucking nose, Logan.”

“The guy was being a little bitch, Veronica, it’s not my fault he couldn’t fight.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Veronica rose from the bed and began herding him out of her room. “We’re done here, goodnight.”

“Waaaaiiiiit,” Logan whined, clawing at the sides of the door so she couldn’t force him out. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“And how will you do that with no car, no money, and no phone?”

“Like this.”

Logan bounced twice on his toes and then leaned down, cradling her face softly in between his hands as he kissed her lazily. Veronica rose onto her tiptoes to better accommodate him, her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt as she gasped delightedly into his mouth.

They heard a noise down the hall and broke apart so fast Veronica was sure they both dislocated something. Keith poked his head in a moment later.

“Goodnight, kids.”

“Night, dad.” She smiled at him, willing herself not to touch her face, or look at Logan, or look like she was trying not to touch her face or not look at Logan.

Logan waved distractedly over his shoulder, afraid to face Keith or to even speak aloud, sure that if he did Keith would some how be able to deduce the last thing his tongue had been doing.

They both held their breath while they waited for the telltale sound of the bedroom door shutting, Veronica exhaling loudly as soon as they did. “This is getting out of hand.”

“You’re telling me,” Logan whispered. “It is a little hot though.”

“You have a death wish.”

“You and me both, sister.”

“Okay, don’t call me sister when your tongue has just been down my throat. That’s just gross.” She wrinkled her nose. “Better yet, don’t call me sister ever.”

Logan smirked. “I can make that up to you too.”

“I don’t know,” Veronica said shrugging airily. “So far I’ve been kind of unimpressed.”

“Oh?” Logan’s grin was positively sinful. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”

He kissed her, giddy and giggling, and Veronica kissed back demanding, her heart singing more, more, more.

#vm fanfic #logan and veronica #writing keith and logan interactions is so. hard.#on the bright side though i get to watch their one angry veronica scene on youtube a lot and be sad #~#fic*#(also this is for secret romance vs. mistaken identity in tropeapalooza)#(i obviously picked secret romance)

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minstrophywife · 5 years

Text

Masque

⇢Pairing: Art thief!Taehyung x Museum curator!Reader ⇢Genre: Thief!AU ↳[PWP] [Smuuuuut] ⇢Word Count: 7,536 ⇢Warnings: PWP - dubcon, sleeping drugs, abduction, objectification, mirror kink, orgasm denial, oral (female receiving), light bondage, praise kink, objectification, lots of teasing, cumplay, dirty talk, no protection (please practice safe sex okay) !!! Seriously if those warnings trigger anything, please don’t continue. This is just a smutty fic and is not worth your anxiety. !!!

⇢Part One of the Masqued Universe. [Part Two] ⇢Masterlist

⇢Summary: World infamous thief Vante only steals the most valuable and exquisite of art.

⇢A/N: So… I was working on my other fic, and while cute high school fluff is fun, this suddenly popped into my head and………. (It’s not like Taehyungs very glamorous outfit had -anything- to do with this PWP… right? It’s not like him laying on the bed for the concert had anything to do with this…right?????? Its not like him in the VLIVE all sexy in his black shirt had absolutely anything to do with this… RIGHT?!!) the thirst is real y’all. I only meant for this to be a quickie but no…

MASQUE -Just in on Action 7 News- World famous criminal art thief Vante has left his calling card yet again. We interview owner of Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft, Park Se Hoon. Now live with reporter Kim Seokjin. Kim Seokjin: Yes, thank you Min Yoongi. Can you hear me in the studio? Min Yoongi: Loud and clear. Kim Seokjin: How are you preparing for the art thief Vante? Park Se Hoon: Our museum is fully equipped to the latest state of the art laser alarm systems, including other secrets that we cannot divulge for security reasons. Just because infamous thief Vante has suddenly decided to choose our museum is Seoul as his next target, does not mean we will not be prepared. Kim Seokjin: Even though he has never failed yet? Park Se Hoon: Based on the evidence from his last theft in Venice, Italy, the art gallery there has provided ample guidance and assistance so that this never occurs again. Kim Seokjin: Could his calling card have anything to do with the recent announcement of the exhibit ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’? Park Se Hoon: Most likely, yes. The items we are presenting have been in tight, government security for many decades. Kim Seokjin: What item do you think he will be targeting? Park Se Hoon: *clears his throat* I am not at liberty to say yet, for security reasons all information of the contents of the exhibit will not be released to the public until opening day. Kim Seokjin: Could it be that he has decided to steal the rare jade jewelry set worn by the Joseon Dynasty queens? Doesn’t it include a rare hair pin and necklace? Park Se Hoon: No comment. That question was not included on the interview packet that your news station provided. Kim Seokjin: But how are you going to deal with the thief Vante? Sir? Could we see the calling card? Sir? Min Yoongi: It looks like the interview is done. Kim Seokjin: Well, it seems like the general public is going to have to wait for opening day of the exhibit. Once again, titled ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’. Now back to the studio. Min Yoongi: That was Kim Seokjin with Action 7 News.

The museum had been in a state of constant flurry ever since the calling card of Vante, world infamous art thief, was attached dramatically on the entrance of the Seoul National museum of Fine Art. The card itself was extremely plain you thought, when you and the museum staff crowded around it. The card was a dark black card stock, with a fancy ‘Vante’ inscribed with a shining silver ink.

Vante’s calling cards had never changed over the years- even from his first heist, all that the thief provided was his name. No matter how long he had been in this game, a whopping five years, art thief Vante had continued to be just as elusive as he was an enigma.

As much as Vante’s calling card had caused the constant state of stress in the museum, you viewed it as a challenge.

You had gotten hired at the Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft right out of university- you thanked your art history professors that had connections with various museums all over the world, and to your surprise, you were able to apply for an internship at the museum your third year, which naturally led to your current position as a curator.

Some of your fellow curators had suggested to you and your boss to not include the jade set-

but the government was endorsing the exhibit this time, confident at providing unlimited amount of resources to you and the museum to keep the national treasures safe from Vante.

Plus, you are stubborn. And your boss is stubborn. You know that he was more interested in the prestige associated with displaying works for the government, but for you it was a dream come true. How could you ever pass on the opportunity to curate some of South Korea’s oldest and most precious items? Your drive to showcase the history and culture to the public was strong. Art deserves to be seen by others. To be appreciated.

...Which is why you are walking through the exhibit yet again with your handy clipboard, making sure everything makes sense and flows correctly. Even with a week until the exhibition, things were still being carefully curated and put into place- and you had to make sure that as many pieces as possible were put on display for all of visitors to see and enjoy.

You wander through the exhibitions space, being careful to move out of the way from people placing a beautiful celadon vase from the Goryeo Dynasty safely on the pedestal, the beautiful green shining under the display lights. Every time you see something new being put away, your heart flutters in its chest in excitement. What was once pictures, now is a tangible object for you and the public to fully appreciate.

You snap yourself out of your little daze, bringing your wrist up to check your watch. It’s about ten minutes until the secret delivery of the ornamental jade hair pin and necklace set, arguably the showstopper of the collection for its delicacy and elegance, you anxiously begin to head to the receiving bay of the museum, your steps quick.

Park Se Hoon, your boss and owner of the museum stands very rigidly by the door, clearly just as anxious (if not more) as you. You hurry towards him, and the sound of your arrival makes him jump slightly. He covers his embarrassment with a glare, but you don’t feel any animosity behind it.

“It’s only five minutes until you arrived, why weren’t you here sooner?” You can tell its his ‘I’m going to be your boss, but I’m just as nervous voice’.

You clear your throat and bow your head slightly in apology. “I was observing the installation of one of the Goryeo vases. I apologize for my delay, but I am here now.”

Se Hoon wrings his wrists slightly, not bothering to respond. His eyes aren’t even looking towards you, just trained towards the door and his watch.

A phone alarm rings, and Se Hoon struggles to get the device out of his pocket.

“Yes sir, I understand. I am here with chief curator Y/N to handle the delivery. We are waiting at the door.” He motions at with his head, and you walk forward to open it. You’re met with the stereotypical scene of four men in black suits, with a perpetually grumpy face. He hands you the large briefcase, and waves his hand towards Se Hoon.

Se Hoon scrambles forward. Clearly, the passcode is being whispered. Why you aren’t allowed to know it, you’ll never understand, but soon enough the sour faced looking man is motioning for you to the hallway that leads to the exhibit area.

You get the hint.

By the time you reach the display case for the hairpin and bracelet set, your hands feel sweaty, briefcase heaving in your hand. You walk towards a temporary table to place the briefcase down slowly, and step to the side so Se Hoon can open it. He has shaky fingers as he switches the numbers to their correct code. You glance away, you already feel the imaginary daggers from the guards.

When you hear the click of the briefcase open, you turn back, reaching in your blazer pocket to fish out a pair of white gloves that you put on quickly. Se Hoon doesn’t even have to motion you over before you stride towards the pieces.

When you see them, you stop for a moment just to appreciate the beauty.

Honestly, if you were Vante, this is the piece you would steal. The lavish phoenix design with its beautiful inlay jade feathers with flowers lining the phoenix, the detail a sight to behold. The necklace really showcases the jade, the large piece of jade in the front is being embraced with the phoenix, the wings and tail spread outwards, with a fluttering of engraved jade floral beads to hold the piece all together.

It’s breathtaking.

This is the reason you decided to become a curator- just so you could have the opportunity to really be up close and personal with each piece of art- and you’re soon swept away in your own world.

Se Hoon clears his throat.

You delicately lift the hairpin first, and walk slowly and carefully towards the stand for it, placing it gently onto the display. The necklace is next, and the pair together are bewitching with how they demand your attention. No wonder the queens of Joseon wore this - it draws viewers in, mesmerizing them, and even when Se Hoon closes the glass display cases and locks it, you still cannot take your eyes away.

Se Hoon leaves you to staring to escort the four guards away, letting you have your own space to appreciate the piece.

Maybe Se Hoon does understand, even just a tiny bit.

EXHIBITION DAY.

It’s launch day, and you feel extremely nervous- you stayed at the exhibition extremely late- an entire evening passing you by before you were startled by the sounds of chirping birds greeting the sun.

With every exhibition comes nervousness, and you can’t help but feel the weight of expectation this time- as all eyes and from the high and flighty politicians who promoted this event were on you and your execution of this exhibition.

As there was going to be masses amount of press today, you decide to dress very simple, but classy- you never could go wrong with a classic black dress and heels. Your dress is sleeveless, however you decide to layer a simple sheer black long sleeve underneath. You want to go for a professional look that showcases your position as a curator of the exhibition, yet you also want to shy away from the attention, as you know the swanky politicians and government officials will want the spotlight. It’s a combo you know makes you look good, and feel just a teeny bit more confident (even when your heart is pounding against your ribcage like crazy).

Museum badge ID slung around your neck, you grab your small purse and head out the door of your apartment to the car.

The drive to work is the same as usual, but you can’t help but feel extremely distracted, your eyes half paying attention to the road in front of you. You go through your checklist in your head once again, trying to remember if you missed anything from your walkthrough last night.

All of the security features for the exhibit had been installed in segments over the week, and the most amount of effort went towards the the jade piece. The pressure plate system, seemed to be convincing enough… however you can’t help the unsettling feeling that lingered from last night.

Your mind wanders to Vante. Would a pressure plate and a fingerprint locked display case really be enough to stop him?

You hope so.

The day is progressing smoothly- so smoothly in fact that you get lost in how well the public reaction is to the exhibit, the impossibly shiny smiles from all of the politicians and government officials have given you enough handshakes to last you for a while. You are surprised when Se Hoon pulls you into his office with a sharp tug.

“Have you seen anything suspicious?” He whispers harshly, but you don’t know why he’s whispering in the privacy of his office. You blink owlishly in response. The shine of silver lettering catches your eye from behind your boss, glittering on his desk.

Oh right. Vante.

“Surely he would not attempt anything in the middle of the day, during peak hours. If Vante has any decency, he would at least wait until the evening, allowing for the public to at least get one day to appreciate the exhibit in full.”

“Are you suggesting that he will be successful?”

“No, I am merely answering your question as to why I haven’t seen anything suspicious yet.”

Typical- your boss has a very nervous personality. You think it’s because he always aims to please the sponsors of the exhibits. Oh well, he manages to provide you opportunities like this one. You can’t help but dwell on his worries though, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. As the exhibition continues onwards, you know there is going to be a time when he makes his move. When though, is a mystery.

Se Hoon sighs, rubbing his forehead in defeat. “Make sure you check in with security as the opening day draws to a close.”

You simply nod, and turn away to walk back towards the door. You barely hear Se Hoon, mumbling under his breath to himself. “He’s going to steal them, isn’t he?”

The opening exhibition event comes to a close, and does so without a hitch. You and Se Hoon have just checked with the security team for this meeting, and things seem to be going okay.

“So far, no word from Vante. The police and guards are here, and the alarm systems are fully set into place. Don’t stay here too late Y/N- enjoy the rest of your evening and celebrate the success of your curated exhibit.” Se Hoon looks drained from the events of today, and you can tell how badly he just wants to return home. You bow politely. “Of course sir. Have a good rest of your weekend.” He smiles warily back, and then swiftly moves to the exit of the building, and you when you see his figure retreating, you quickly kick off your high heels.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you return back to your own office. You wish you would have brought some extra clothes with you. As much as it would be great to get out of this dress and back in the comfort of your own home, you feel like it’s your responsibility to triple check the numbers of today, as well as make some notes about opening day for future reference.

Walking to your office, you stop at the shared drink dispensing machine in the small lounge, pressing the button to brew yourself a cup of tea- you need some warm tea to ease the tension you had built up for the day.

You make your way to your small office, ready to compile the analysis of today on your computer, and when you sink into your desk chair, you can’t help but sigh in relief.

You take a moment to pause in your typing to take a sip and you stretch your arms above you. A yawn tumbles from your lips, and you realize you should maybe take a break. You slip on your heels begrudgingly again, deciding you need to make a quick trip to the ladies room.

When you step outside your office, you notice how it’s almost eerily quiet in the museum. You can’t help the increasingly unsettling feeling beginning to manifest from deep inside your gut. You hear the hum of the lights, and the click clack of your heels sounds almost jarring as you make your way down the hall. You feel on edge, sensitive to every sound- the closing of the bathroom stall, the flush of the toilet, the washing of your hands… everything seems off. You make your way back down the hallway as quickly as possible, your steps fast.

When you from the bathroom, you happen to glance at the small clock on your desk. Your eyes widen. It’s really that late?

Your eyes sweep back to your document on your computer. Perhaps you should try and shake off your feeling of uneasiness by refocusing on your work. You take another sip of tea- it seems to have cooled down a bit since your trip to the restroom. You settle into a rhythm again, distracting yourself with your work. The longer you type however, you begin to feel extremely drowsy, and the text on the screen blurs a bit in front of your eyes. Your hands hesitate over the keyboard as you feel your eyelids droop, but you shake yourself out of it. You at least need to finish this paragraph, but once again, you catch yourself, this time your head droops to the side.

You haven’t felt this tired in ages. Perhaps its all of the stress and anxiety leading up to this day, you think, and even though you are stubborn, you barely have enough energy to save your document and log out of the computer. Thank goodness you have the day off tomorrow. You sit back in your chair, and exhaustion begins to take over you, the result of the long day.

Your eyes flutter close and like a strange pull, sleep overtakes you in a heavy wash, and you are powerless to say no.

When you open your eyes, they feel hazy and unclear, and it takes you a moment before you can focus on anything in your surroundings.

You attempt to try and rub the bleariness from your eyes, but you feel restraints on your wrists. Looking towards your wrists, you are quickly shocked at your lack of clothing on your body- not a scrap of clothing on you - including sheets. Just what is going on? You attempt to curl in on yourself, as some sort of cover for your exposure- however there seems to be restraints on your ankles as well. You feel panic begin to bubble in your chest.

You look at your wrists again, eyeing the soft material that inhibits your movement. Your restraints are elegant, if you can call them that- silky black ribbons are tied snugly around your wrists and your ankles-it seems as if there is enough movement to where you can prop yourself up, but your arms are pulled back so you cannot untie the ribbon with your fingers. Desperate, you extend your mouth to your wrist, perhaps you can loosen the ribbon with your teeth?

Your captor seems to know what they were doing- you can’t even reach your wrists with your mouth.

Putting your escape from your restraints on pause, you decide to assess your surroundings. Now is not the time to panic, its time to think with a clear head so you can get out of this predicament that you have found yourself in (if you just keep telling yourself it, you’ll be able to keep your hands from shaking from distress).

It’s an unfamiliar place - but it’s extremely grandiose, and sickeningly so - its a large room with cherry hardwood floors and cream walls, you think, but from the dim overhead light, its a bit hard to discern completely. You seem to be positioned in the middle of the room, the bed against one of the walls. You notice many framed pieces lining the walls, but from the dim light you can’t quite make out what they depict. You close your eyes for a moment and your nose is filled with a soft floral scent that floats amongst the room, tickling your senses.

You shiver, and you feel cold - you are finally realizing how your exposed skin is sensitive to the cool air in the room.

A chuckle. Your eyes widen at the sound. “You’re finally awake?”

You turn your head frantically, eyes searching for the hauntingly baritone voice, and then you see him- a figure with a dark velvet mask shifts in the armchair, legs uncrossing to sit forward, elbows leaning to rest on the arms of the chair, chin cradled in a slender right hand as you feel him appraise you, though you cannot see his eyes, as they are hooded from the shadows of the mask.

You begin to feel heat blossom from your chest, spreading to your neck, cheeks and ears, your body reacting to being surveyed at such intensity.

You know it’s him without even asking. “Vante?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound as timid as it did, and you wince a at how weak you sound, even to your own ears.

“Ah, so you know me? I’m flattered.” You can feel his voice perk up in happiness.

You scoff, glaring at the figure who still casually waits in the chair. “Don’t act so bashful- everyone knows who you are. Thief.”

He laughs at he venom that laces in your voice. You ignore how velvety his voice sounds.

“That I am my dear. Welcome Y/N, art curator, to my humble abode.” Your eyes widen in realization that he knows your name.

“This is your home? Why am I here? And how do you know my name?” Your words tumble from your lips a lot more rushed than you had intended.

“So many questions. I suppose I’ll humor you.” You see a flash of white teeth as he smiles in amusement.

“This is just one of my hideouts, but yes. This is my home. You should feel honored, only a select few have ever had the opportunity to come here.”

You grimace. “I don’t feel honored one bit.”

He continues to answer your questions.

“I knew that I needed to steal you for my collection the moment I saw you while I was canvassing my target.” You continue to glare at him.

“Originally, I was only going to collect the jade set, but to think, that I could have both you and the jade set makes this particular job the best one yet. And like with all my research and planning for any of my targets- of course I know your name.”

“I’m not a piece of art to steal, world wide thief Vante.” You muster up the iciest glare you could muster, trying to pierce through his mask.

Vante begins to tut, with small shakes to his head.“My dear, look in the mirror. You are the finest art that any thief would die to steal.” His hands gesture to his side, and It’s hard to see, but you attempt to prop yourself up on your elbows to glance at what he’s talking about.

You tremble at the naked form that reflects back at you, legs open to reveal the folds of a very exposed core. It feels like a dissociative experience- you don’t recognize the dilated pupils that stare submissive and wide with worry back at you, and you struggle to clamp your legs in some sort of decency. It doesn’t work.

It’s then when you notice the elaborate bronze work surrounding the mirror. How did you not notice it before?

“Is that a mirror from Versailles?” Your eyes widen in shock.

“Of course, I needed a mirror for this particular location. So I stole it.”

After you get over your initial shock in seeing a grand mirror stolen from Versailles, you then do a double take- you notice the beautiful splashes of green against your neck, and entwined in your hair.

“Is this…?” Vante chuckles deeply at your slow comprehension.

“I told you- on this job I took the most valuable pieces of this collection of display- the jade set and you.”

Panic now floods your system full force, and you tug on your arms and legs against the restraints in roughly, ignoring the bite into your as they tighten further. “I shouldn’t be wearing this! This needs to be properly preserved and on display! Let me go this instant!”

Vante shakes his head, his smirk deepening.

“I was worried how I was going to display the jade set, but now I see how it encircles your graceful neck and nestles amongst your lovely hair.”

Ignoring your pleas, Vante finally stands from his position from the chair, and he slinks towards you- reminding you of a panther that creeps towards its unknowing prey. He sits next to you on the bed- but does not touch your figure at all. “Don’t struggle too much, I wouldn’t want either of my precious pieces of art being ruined.” He says, and you freeze at his proximity. He stares at you through the mirror, eyes ensnaring your own from behind the mask. You’re caught.

His voice lowers now that he is closer to you. “This jade set was begging to be worn again, and what a splendid return back to society- art displayed perfectly on art.”

You do not dare to even blink.

“You and I are very similar, don’t you think? We aim to collect the most exquisite of arts.” You angrily glare at him. “Not at all. I’m not selfish like you- I like to share with the public.” You spit back, hissing through your teeth. “Now, now.” Vante raises his hand from his side, reaching over to touch you to trail a single, slender finger down the curve of your side, leaving a path of goosebumps on your skin. You involuntarily begin to quake, and you hear him chuckle lowly in response. His eyes still does not leave your own.

“While you are perfect, we need to put you in a state of perfection.” Vante says, mostly talking to himself, in a hushed voice. His finger pauses at your hipbone. You feel your throat begin to close up, too terrified of the possibilities of what he’s going to do next. You want to yell in protest, but no sound leaves your lips.

He must have taken it as a sign of acquiescence, because he hums, sounding like a purr of a satisfied cat. He finally breaks eye contact, only to lower himself to replace finger with soft lips. Your hips jump upwards in surprise, and he uses a free hand to graze his knuckles on your hip in comfort. “Shh… nothing to worry about. I always treat my artwork with the upmost care.” You feel the fabric of the mask nudge against your skin, as he begins to press languid kisses up your stomach. The action is soft and gentle, tricking your body into relaxing under each press of his lips to your heated skin. Your mind is working overtime, processing your conflicting emotions.

He continues upward, kissing the valley of your breasts, and upwards still, until he pauses to gaze down at the necklace that lays across your neck. You feel the warm puffs of his breath hitting your skin and you want to squirm- the hovering almost worse than the direct kisses from before. Your breaths are becoming shorter, the longer he stills.

Perhaps you should have taken deeper breaths in preparation, but Vante leans forward, dipping his head to nip slightly under the space near your ear. You feel your eyes widen, and that’s when you feel his tongue, the warm and wet sensation too much all at once. You let out a small moan, and you instinctively pull your wrists forward to grab something, anything to ground you- but your restrains hold you back.

The sound of your moan seems to embolden him, and he presses his tongue harder into your neck, only to pull the skin into his mouth to suck gently and the skin. Perhaps the sleeping drugs Vante slipped into your tea has made you lethargic, or perhaps its just been too long since your last sexual encounter- but your back arches at the feeling, your eyes closing to concentrate on the growing desire coming from the pit of your belly.

He raises from your neck, only to whisper into your ear. “If you keep reacting that way my dear, I’m only going to have to decorate you with the most pretty of colors.” You release a shuddering breath, labored and uneven.

And then he’s found your neck again, his tongue searching for your most sensitive of spots, flesh pulled between teeth to create the most beautiful hues of deep reds. And when he finds it, almost at the junction between neck and shoulder, your whimpers deepen into a low moan of longing. Longing for what, you aren’t sure, but it’s there where he stays the longest, just to hear the sweet song of your voice.

You hardly notice, but his hands hand has begun to knead your breast, the weight filling his hand nicely- you notice the growing need from between your legs- your juices pooling onto the sheets below. Your thighs tremble in earnest- you desperately want him to relieve the pressure there.

“Please…” The second that word escapes your lips, Vante stills his mouth, only for you to feel his lips smirk against your neck.

He drags his tongue down your body, only for his mouth to latch onto a nipple. You are so overwhelmed by the sensations of your chest that you don’t notice wandering hands massaging your inner thighs, fingers dancing across your legs.

It’s when his finger teasingly traces the lips of your pussy do you react- eyes flying open while you tug on your legs and wrists. You whimper at his soft pets, his fingers occasionally dipping into your folds, teasing you further. Your legs strain against your bindings, and you push your pelvis forward just to have more.

He lets go of your breast with a pop.“I’ll make sure to paint you until you have a lovely glisten, don’t you think?” And with that, he dips two of his fingers in, only to pull them out again, spreading your juices onto your thighs. “Look how much paint you’re making, we’ll be done in no time!” He continues to spread your slick, but infrequent plunge of his fingers make you whine- your hands squeeze the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white. You wish you could grab his hands to force them to the place you need the most.

You find tears prick your eyelids in frustration. “Vante…” What else do you call him? You need to grab his attention, you’re slowly losing your mind, begging for his touch.

“I suppose you deserve a reward for painting yourself in such a pretty, pretty sheen.” His fingers finally stay inside, beginning to pump them in and out. You try and clench your thighs together, just to keep him there.

Messy moans tumble from your lips as he hooks his fingers upwards and twists. You’re getting close, your walls are a vice around his fingers, begging for them to help you reach the high you so desperately crave. Vante clears his throat, and his velvety smooth voice touches your ears.

“How would you feel? Being displayed in public, at the museum? The audience would be grand- oh how they would live for begging for attention- your glassy eyes, your trembling hips, the way your nipples peak in excitement, your pussy glistening prettily with your own mess!”

His fingers don’t stop their ministrations, the lewd, wet, sounds of your pussy greedily sucking in his slender and long fingers and he continues to pump them inside of you.

You shake your head in embarrassment, biting your lower lip between your teeth to prevent further moans from slipping out. You don’t want to admit how much his dirty praise is effecting you, or the idea of your wanton body on display, shameless for everyone to see.

“I thought you like to share?” Vante says, his voice coy- dripping with saccharine sweetness.

You let out a frustrated and needy groan.

He’s relentless, and you feel him add a third finger. The squelching sounds only intensify. You can feel yourself wanting release- you’re so close- clenching around his fingers desperately, angling your hips just so you can reach your high. But Vante has yet to press down to what you really want- your clit swollen in desperation for the attention it really needs.

Your lips feel bruised from them being abused between your teeth- As if he can feel your need, his hand decides to still and he removes his fingers, and you whimper at the loss.

“Not yet my dear. You haven’t reached a state that I want to capture yet.”

Through hooded eyes you watch him as he lifts his fingers to his mouth. You hear him groan as he tastes you, and you feel yourself flood with your slick as you watch how his tongue laps around his fingers, the pink muscle teasingly on display.

“Now that I’ve tasted you, I don’t think I can stop myself.”

You feel yourself clench around nothing, already anticipating his suggestion. You try to alleviate your pressing needs- his denial of your release makes you impatient and needy. You feel the mess you’ve made onto the bed beneath you, the sopping puddle is slippery, but does not provide you the relief you are so desperately are seeking.

His breath fans across your abdomen as he lowers, and he begins to kiss a path of sloppy kisses that starts at your navel and continues downwards toward your thighs. Once his kisses reach your slick, you can feel him hum in bliss, your taste sweet and addicting, his tongue lapping up what he can. As he continues to close onto your cunt, the nose of his mask bumps into your clit, and your hips push forward. He’s pulled into your trap of your taste, and without further thoughts he licks a stripe, from the base of your cunt to your clit. He finally flattens against your swollen clit, and the feeling is overwhelming. The groan you held back is released, and you whine - you can’t do anything but continue to pull helplessly on your restraints.

He continues to swirl his tongue around your clit, and he has to push your hips down with one hand to keep you still. “I thought,” he says in between licks - his voice muffled, “that the pretty ribbon would keep you nice and in place…” You barely register his words, you try to come up with a response but all that spills from your lips are your incoherent cries.

He’s toying with you leaving your clit to tongue your folds, but it seems he’s in a good mood because he plunges his tongue, and the wet muscle entering inside to try and lick you dry.

You find yourself reaching your to the point of an orgasm once again, much faster than the first time when he was just using his fingers. It’s so close, and you know that just a few more thrusts of his glorious tongue will leave you in shambles. But he knows your telltale signs the second time around, and he pulls back- a string of your slick stretches from your cunt to his lips, breaking when he peers up at you, a smirk displayed on the edges of his lips.

Your groans transform into whimpers, and you blink tears of frustration. Through your tears, you see his lips and chin covered in you- a shiny contrast to the dark velvet mask. Vante reaches a hand forward to brush your tears away, leaning forward to kiss you, the mask bumping against your face. At first all you feel is the soft pecks, attempting to comfort you. You grow impatient- and when you are impatient you are bold. You lean forward, swiping your tongue at the seam of his lips, tasting the remnants of yourself tingling your tastebuds.

A low chuckle escapes his lips, and the soft comforting kisses morph into sloppy teases of small nips and tongues that rub against each other, sharing your taste from you back to you again via his tongue.

You long to thread your fingers through his hair, to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, just so you can explore fully the planes of his mouth, but you are once again met with frustration.

It’s all becoming too much. You pull away, panting as you catch your breath.

“Please Vante…” You say, your voice sounds so needy and broken that it sounds foreign to your own ears- “Don’t tease me anymore. I need to…”

His hand lifts from where it was resting beside you to brush your cheeks, the pads of his fingers wiping away the tears that fell from your lashes.

“I know just what I need to put the finishing touches to my masterpiece.”

Vante moves off of the bed, and your eyes widen- he’s not going to leave you like this, is he?

“Wait…!” You plead, your voice sounding frantic. Did you say something wrong?

He hushes you softly, his hand ghosts down your thighs, only to end up at the bindings of ribbon on your right leg. His fingers tug at the constraints, and soon enough your right leg is free. You must have tightened the knots quite a bit as you strained against your bindings- your ankle begins to throb.

“In order to achieve a masterpiece, we must have better angles.” He says, moving to work on your left leg now. Once he pulls it free, he stills.

Instead of drawing your legs into yourself, you feel wound up with desire. You pull your knees up to your chest, providing Vante a clear view of what you want. Your eyelids lower to half mast. Are you making your needs clear enough for him? A small moan pulls from your lips.

Vante says nothing in response, no indication with what he’s about to do next. You’re frustrated- even though your legs are free, you can’t grab onto him to get his attention. Your eyes stay glued to his form, watching him as he positions himself between your legs. Suddenly you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled- it echos in the room, the sound feels amplified by your anticipation. Your legs tremble.

He still makes no move to touch you, instead he pulls his underwear down slightly, letting his cock spring free from its confines, and he hisses at the fabric brushing against it. You intake a wavering breath as you eye his length. You don’t know what you were expecting, but he’s big.

Vante doesn’t shift any more clothes out of the way, and that’s when you realize he intends to fuck you still clothed. The image is almost more delicious that way, even though you would love to see the expanse of his skin, you hold your breath in anticipation of his cock.

The tip of it is weeping with pre-cum, swollen and red, and it twitches in expectation as it knows its final destination. He grabs his cock with one hand, and steadies himself with the other hand gripping your thigh. His hips moving forward to have him tease your slit and your clit, the blunt head of his cock slipping easily amongst your slick, dripping down to make his hand messy once again.

As he’s teasing you again you feel your toes curl, and you push your pelvis closer to have more friction, but you don’t think he’s going to last much through this teasing either- his breath is becoming uneven and labored as he continues to grind against your sopping folds.

He can’t take it any longer- gripping your thigh even tighter, he enters you slowly sliding in, but taking no breaks to pause and let you adjust. As he fills you, you feel complete. Why didn’t he enter you sooner? It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When he is buried inside of you to the hilt, he gives his hips an experimental push, and the two of you let out groans, your voices mingling together. Leaning forward, he cages you in- his arms on either side or you head.

It’s then he decides to move. Slow and deep, Vante pushes into you as your moans continue to spill from your lips. “Please-” You manage to finally say between each thrust of your captor’s hips. “I-I want to see your face. I d-don’t even know what name to s-scream.”

“I’m sorry my dear, but that would be the end of my career. It’s already bad enough that you’ve heard my voice.” You aren’t sure how he manages to maintain a calm voice, especially compared with your own wanton cries. The only thing that gives him away is the slight strain in the low baritone of his voice, you didn’t know that his voice would lower that deep.

You let out a frustrated sob- he’s still teasing you- you want more, harder, rougher- but he’s continuing his pace. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, under his control. Your cry must have caused him to feel some sympathy- because he leans forward to bring his face to your neck, wet tongue dragging over your skin.

“My perfect masterpiece.” His whispers between thrusts are becoming guttural, and he sucks another layer of purple on your neck.

“You are mine to ruin…” Voice rising, His rises from your neck, quickly grabbing your legs to swing them over his shoulders. The new position allows for deeper entry, and his thrusts become rougher as he slams into you. You let out a strangled cry- your wishes becoming fulfilled as he pounds into with force. You’re beginning to see white, your world filled only with pleasure and Vante.

“…And you are mine to create!” He shouts, voice raw, fingers pressing amongst your folds to abuse your clit, and you finally orgasm, shouting at the overwhelming sensation.

Your orgasm is what it takes for him to break, as he pulls out at the last minute. He sits even further upright onto his knees, left hand gripping the headboard of the bed whilst his right pumps furiously, until he releases, painting you with his cum.

Warm strings falls onto your chests and stomach, and he doesn’t stop until he milks himself dry, the last bit of his cum dropping into the pool of your bellybutton.

As you look up to him, and you feel slightly smug at the fact that you’ve had just as much of an effect on him just like he to you- you see his sweat dripping down his neck, his loose, flowing top now sticking to his torso, slightly see through from his perspiration a tease of his body underneath.

You don’t even know if there is going to be a next time, but your hands twitch it response, begging to be able to touch the planes of his chest and abs- and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel a finger begin to run through the cum on your stomach. You shiver at the cooling sensation of his cum.

“Now the curator has finally created his own masterpiece.” Vante says, as he continues to lazily paint abstract images, swirls of paint against the canvas of your skin. You can feel his eyes watching you- and you stare right back- now that you’re eyes are not misty from pleasure, you begin to see long lashes, and dark pupils.

You feel your stomach begin to re-inflame, your pussy begins to wet again in anticipation of another round.

The mask he has on slightly askew, and after a brief moment, Vante breaks eye contact, stilling his hand to raise from his crouched position over you. He turns his back, and you can see him readjust his mask in the mirror, but he still doesn’t spare you even a tiny glance of the rest of his face, his long fingers keeping the mask securely in place.

This whole time he’s kept his clothes on- and you are no closer on figuring out who Vante is. You try and memorize as much as you can, filing it away in your mind.

But your eyelids feel heavy, your limbs feel like lead. Even your legs which he untied before splay out in front of you, like they are still tied down by invisible ribbon.

The last thing you hear is his signature chuckle, and a cool hand covers your eyes with long fingers.

When you come to, you open your eyes to a familiar scene- warm light dances through the curtains of your bedroom, settling softly across your comforter. Your head begins to pang, deep throbs against your skull. Just what did you do last night? Memories fade in and out, panting breaths, heated touches, soft lips, powerful thrusts.

Your throat feels dry and scratchy, so you slowly untangle yourself from your sheets. The cool bedroom air hits your skin, and you realize you’re bare. You look to your wrists and ankles. Lines of purple and blue brand you, reminding you of him. Your heart quivers, a warm flush spreading throughout your body.

You stumble for a large hoodie, passing by the standing mirror as you fumble towards your closet.

You see that the hairpin and the necklace is gone. You see more swatches of blues and purples that is painted onto your skin, flowers blooming on your neck. Your hand flies to your neck- and you swear you can feel his lips there. You shake yourself out of your own trance- he still has you even though he’s not here.

Slipping the hoodie over your body, you exit your room to go get a glass of water, to quench your thirst.

You don’t see the demure calling card on your desk until later.

To be continued…? Time to read DeMasqued...

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts pwp #taehyung smut #taehyung pwp #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung fanfic #thief au #art thief au #bts imagines #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you

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verai-marcel · 5 years

Note

Ok hear me out, oh goddess of our Arthur smut, Modern day low honor Arthur (manager of [pick a store]) and fem reader, new hire. Work romance and pure smut, because I can see Arthur being the guy at work that comes in, in the morning and says “Ladies” and ALL THE WOMEN AT WORK SIMULTANEOUSLY SING “heyyyyyyy Arthurrrrr” back. XD

Business Time at the Bistro (Arthur x Fem!Reader, Modern AU, 18+)

Summary: You’re the new hire at a trendy bistro near your house; you were tired of commuting to the big city, and decided that less stress and a 10 minute walk to work was worth the pay cut. Your boss, Arthur, seems like a nice enough guy, but when he starts to handle your training personally? You start to feel things you shouldn’t feel for someone you work for. How will you deal with your budding emotions?

Author’s Notes: My title is a Flight of the Conchords reference. If you haven’t heard their song “Business Time”, go look it up. I know it’s not quite the mood I’m going for in the fic, but it made me laugh when I thought of it, so I just went with it. Anon, this is for your cute request.

Tags: low honor Arthur Morgan, smut, office sex, doggy style, dirty talk, slice of life

AO3 Link is here, you coffee snobs.

——————–

You walked into the bistro and fell in love at first sight.

There was soft folk music wafting through the air as you took in the scent of freshly ground coffee. A tray of scones and muffins, baked in house, looked appetizing behind the clean glass case, and the decor was cozy with a hint of modernity, resisting the urge to be hipster, and yet felt trendy as fuck.

“I want to work here,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Well, we’re in need of some help,” said a deep voice behind you.

You spun around and looked straight into a broad chest. Lifting your head up, you saw the owner of the voice, and presumably, the owner of the bistro.

He was a tall man with eyes the color of a lake and sandy brown hair, long enough to bury your hands in. His beard was close cut, uniform style, and accentuated his lips that you may have stared at for a second too long.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he tilted his head. “Sorry ma’am, did I mishear ya?”

You shook your head. “No, no, you heard me correctly. I’d love to work here.”

He walked up to you and held out his hand. “Arthur Morgan. I own this place. If you want work, let’s talk.”

His hand was calloused and warm, and held yours firmly but not aggressively. When he smiled, your heart skipped a beat.

***

An hour later, you had the paperwork to start a new job as a barista manager. You had prior experience with shift schedules and managing employees, and even though you didn’t have your resume on hand, you quickly pulled up your LinkedIn profile and gone over your work history. Your quick thinking and straight forward attitude had apparently won you points.

Arthur, owner of Buell’s Bistro, said the original owner, a veteran named Hamish, had left it to him before retiring to Colorado. He said he didn’t know too much about being a business owner, but he seemed to be doing just fine, given the amount of customers you saw as you left.

Now all you had to do was give your two weeks notice to your current job, and you could finally make yourself happy.

***

You could not wait to start your first day at the bistro. The past two weeks had been a hell of a slog, trying to stay present and aware while you dreamed of an idyllic future. You were looking forward to walking to work and not having to drive an hour into the city every day. The corporate hell you escaped had made you strong, focused, and a nervous wreck at the end of each week. You were glad to be done with that career and moving on to something calmer.

Walking towards the employee’s entrance at the back, you saw Arthur get out of a dark green pick-up truck, sipping a coffee from a travel mug and checking his phone. You decided to wait for him, and waved as he walked up to you. He had told you to dress business casual, so you had on a black polo and a pair of khakis, but looking at him, you felt a little under-dressed. He was wearing a blue button-up, sleeves rolled up, with black slacks and brown Oxford shoes.

You blinked and quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed you gawking at him. Last time you had seen him, he was in a bright Hawaiian shirt and jeans, looking very casual. You had thought he looked kind of cute at the time.

But right now? He looked hot as fuck.

“There ya are,” he said with a warm smile as he opened the door for you. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the gang.”

***

“Ladies.”

“Heeeeyyyyyy Arthur!”

Three women—well, they seemed more like girls to you— chirped back to him in unison. It was a little eerie how incredibly rehearsed that seemed.

Arthur gestured to each woman in turn. “This here is Karen and Mary-Beth. They’re front staff. Tilly here runs things in the back, since she’s got a good head for numbers, and she bakes too, but we all do whatever’s needed to keep this place runnin’.”

Each of them smiled and nodded at you; they all seemed friendly. You introduced yourself, while Arthur told them about your business background.

“Wow, Tilly’s in school for business!” Mary-Beth said afterwards. “I’m just getting a degree in creative writing. Not sure how much good that’ll do me, but one day I hope I write somethin’ great!”

You appreciated her optimism and positive attitude. And her Southern accent was charming.

“Write an amazin’ play, so I can be in it,” Karen said with a smirk. Then she looked over at you. “I’m a theater major, so there’ll be some times when I won’t be able to come into work.”

You nodded. “So when it’s finals week, do you all have reduced hours?”

“Yeah, Arthur just takes over,” Tilly said.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“I can make coffee,” he grumbled, and the other girls tittered.

“The guests know it’s finals week when there are no scones,” Tilly said.

You made a mental note to get her recipes so you could keep the scones coming when she was out.

“Alright everyone, I’m gonna train our new lady, so y’all get back to it.”

“Yes, Arthur!” they all sang. It still seemed odd to you that they did it in unison.

“Are they always in sync like that?” you asked him after they had all gone off to the kitchen to prep for the morning.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, they’ve all been friends since they started college.”

“Oh.” It suddenly occurred to you that you were probably about 10 years older than the girls. Your back twinged, reminding you of your age.

“Now, let’s get started,” Arthur said, distracting you from thoughts. “You know how to make an espresso?”

***

You thought you knew how to make an espresso. But clearly you had to learn his way to making one, which was slow and deliberate. His unhurried method chafed your quick and efficient sensibilities.

However, the result was a smooth, rich, delicious drink, and you couldn’t fault him for that. You figured you’d have to learn some patience.

When Karen and Mary-Beth came back to open up the doors, you helped in any way you could, basically shadowing them for the rest of the morning. When they both headed off to class, Tilly came out to help you for another hour, and when she left for her classes, Arthur came out to help you.

“How’s it been so far?” he asked when the cafe emptied out and the two of you were cleaning up. You silently hoped that no one would come in during the next thirty minutes before the cafe closed.

“Pretty good! Learning a lot. I haven’t done front of house stuff in so long,” you replied with a laugh.

Arthur chuckled. “You got a natural warmth to ya. I’m sure you’ll be alright.”

You smiled shyly and laughed, a little nervous at how your heart was skipping beats.

He said your name and it sounded like buttered rum, smooth, warm, and sweet. Your throat went a little dry as he leaned towards you.

The jingle of the door opening distracted both of you.

“Hi, welcome!” you said, switching to customer service mode with a warm smile and friendly tone. Arthur was right, it did come naturally to you, to please people, to help make people happy.

You didn’t see Arthur scowl slightly before continuing to clean the counters.

You did, however, notice when he charged the customer just a little extra without him knowing. You didn’t say anything until after the young man had left, just as closing time hit. Arthur went to the door and locked it, turning the sign around to say “Closed.”

“You charged him incorrectly,” you said.

“Oh. Whoops,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Arthur!“

"He didn’t notice. Besides, he pissed me off.”

“By doing what?"

Arthur was silent, opting to shrug nonchalantly as he closed the curtains and started cleaning up. You got the feeling that you wouldn’t get an answer out of him, so you just sighed and cleaned up as well. Once everything was put away and clean for the next morning, Arthur locked up and walked you to your car like a gentleman, looking around for anything or anyone that might cause trouble.

As you reached for your car door, Arthur put his hand on your arm, his fingers caressing your skin, sending a delicious heat through you.

"You did real good today. Lookin’ forward to workin’ with ya.”

You smiled. “Me too. Just don’t overcharge all your customers,” you said, half-jokingly, taking the sting out of your comment.

“Only the ones that annoy me.” A half-grin appeared on his face.

“What did he do?"

"Talked to you fer too long,” he said, his voice dipping low.

You couldn’t tell if he was joking as he said good night and went to his car.

***

Somehow, three months went by in the blink of an eye. You learned about the cafe’s customers, got feedback, and started implementing some minor changes that made a difference in how efficiently the place was run. There was less waste and more time to spend on marketing, which brought in more customers. You felt like you were really making a difference; it was infinitely more satisfying than working for a giant corporation.

In those three months, you had gotten to know your coworkers and boss. The girls really were 10 years younger than you, though sometimes it didn’t feel that way. They were all mature and wonderful to talk to. By now, the four of you had gotten close enough to have a text chat group, and Tilly would occasionally ask you for help with her business class assignments.

You still refused to chirp along with the girls when they greeted Arthur in the morning, though. Seemed like it was straight out of a sitcom, and you felt embarrassed whenever you thought about doing it.

And Arthur. Getting to know him had been a bit tough at first. For all of his friendly smiles, he dodged personal questions very well, distracting you with questions if his own, or just vaguely answering you. It seemed he didn’t want to talk about his past, so eventually you let it go.

When you talked to the other girls about his aversion to speaking about his history, they absolutely confirmed it.

“Yeah, he doesn’t like to bring it up.”

“Shuts up completely if you push him.”

“Whatever happened in his past, he sure as hell ain’t gonna talk about it.”

Recently though, the girls’ favorite topic was you. Specifically, their observations of Arthur in regards to you.

On a foggy morning, before Arthur arrived, the four of you huddled around the kitchen oven, waiting for Tilly’s mushroom and kale scones to finish baking.

“I’m tellin’ you, he’s into you.”

“Nope, not going there,” you said as you went over the inventory sheet on your clipboard. “He’s just a nice guy. He does the same for all of you.”

“There’s a difference when it’s you,” Mary-Beth insisted. “His tone is softer, and he stands closer to you.”

“And he brings you lunch sometimes. He doesn’t do that for any of us,” Tilly casually mentioned.

“You girls usually aren’t here for lunch!” you responded, a little exasperated.

They all laughed and kept pointing out little things that Arthur did for you and you alone, as you kept denying that it was anything more than just a simple kindness.

But just a little bit, they got into your head.

Right at 6AM, as per usual, the door opened.

“Mornin’ ladies.”

“Heeeeeeyy Arthur!” the girls greeted.

“Good morning!” you replied separately.

Arthur’s eyes met yours with a warmth that filled you from head to toe, and gave you a smile that made your heart stutter. He said your name in greeting, his voice low and soft like velvet caressing your skin.

Then the moment was gone as he went to his office and shut the door.

The girls looked at you, a knowing smile on their faces.

“See? He’s definitely into you.”

This time, you couldn’t even deny it.

***

Another month had passed since you finally thought that maybe, just maybe, Arthur might potentially have some slight interest in you.

For fuck’s sake, who the hell were you kidding?

This past month had been sheer torture, as each time the two of you were alone, he’d sidle up to you and ask how you were doing and encourage you to talk to him. He’d brush a hand against yours, or lightly touch your shoulder, or if he was feeling bold that day, he’d say “c’mon, bring it in,” and open his arms for a hug before leaving for the day.

Of course, you hugged him back. Arthur hugs were big bear hugs, his arms wrapping securely around you as he squeezed you close. They were the best.

And you were pretty sure he knew you weren’t going to say no to any physical contact. You slowly became addicted to his touch, nearly jumping into his arms whenever he opened them. He didn’t touch you so openly when the other girls were around, but he stood close by so you could feel the heat coming off in waves from his body.

Every day, you told yourself you’d stop inviting his touch. And every day, you let him get closer and closer to you. Like a spider weaving his web, wrapping his threads of warmth and desire around you, he’d give you little smiles and tease you gently throughout the day, making you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the new teacher. It didn’t help that you had a bit of a thing for a man in a position of power over you who happened to be kind and paying you a lot of attention, for that was exactly what Arthur was doing.

You had a feeling your boss kink was going to be the end of your career. But at the end of every day, when you said good night and saw the heat simmering in his eyes as you left, you wondered if it’d be worth it.

***

“Does Arthur hug you girls when you leave for the day?”

Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth all gave you varying looks of disbelief.

“No, he never gets that close to us. He even apologies if he accidentally brushes my arm as he’s walking past,” Mary-Beth said. Tilly & Karen just nodded when you looked at them for confirmation.

“Arthur’s got a crush on you,” Karen teased in a sing-song tone as she waggled her eyebrows. “He’s never been very touchy-feely with any of us.”

“That’s because he sees us as his little sisters,” Tilly said, matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?” Mary-Beth raised an eyebrow at her.

“He told me, one night when we were closing the cafe, during that first year.” Tilly measured some flour for the scones and gently added it to the mixer. “He said he was grateful we all were here to help when he inherited the place. Hamish told us we didn’t have to stay, but Arthur was so lost, we couldn’t leave him. Said we were like his family.”

“Awww!” you exclaimed, warmed by the thought of Arthur saying something so sweet.

“So, you thinkin’ about accepting his advances?” Karen asked all of a sudden.

The change in topic was like whiplash in your head. You had to blink a few times before what she said finally sank in. It took a few extra moments to come up with an answer.

“That doesn’t seem very professional—”

The door opened. 6AM, on the dot.

“Ladies.”

“Heeeeey Arthur!”

You sighed quietly to yourself before plastering on your game face and got ready for the rest of the day.

***

That night, as you swept the floor, you were lost in thought. What Karen had said, about accepting Arthur’s advances; weren’t you basically doing that?

You were thinking so hard that you didn’t notice that Arthur had closed all the blinds and come up to you while you were sweeping the corner of the room. You looked up just as he put a hand on the wall in front of you, stopping your progress and literally cornering you.

“Penny for yer thoughts?"

You felt heat suffuse your cheeks as you saw how close he was, forcing you to look up at him. He leaned down a little, his eyes flickering to your lips as they parted, your small intake of breath more telling than anything you could have said.

“Just spacing out, that’s all.”

A bit of worry crept into his expression. “You feelin’ alright? Have I been workin’ ya too hard?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

He smiled. “That you are, sweetheart.” He slowly reached out to hold your hands in his, gently took the broom from your hands and set it aside. Then he took another step closer to you. Leaning in, he caressed your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Real fine.”

“Ar-Arthur, we can’t.”

“Why not?” He shifted nearer.

“Because I work for you!”

“I wouldn’t force ya. If you’re not attracted to me, then say so and I’ll back off. No consequences, I promise.” He said the last part with a sincerity that you believed. Then he leaned in to graze your earlobe with his lips. “But I think you are.”

You let out a small whimper of need from his touch. He softly cradled your face in one hand as he reached around to splay his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer until you were flush with his warm body.

“Last chance, sweetheart.”

You were silent, staring into his eyes, your body melting against his.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed you. You could feel him pour all of the desire he had been holding back into his kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as he held the back of your neck and wrapped his other arm tighter around you.

You wrapped your arms around him in return, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him closer to you, desperate for more of his touch. He pinned you to the wall, pressing his entire body against yours as he stole your breath, took your moans as his hands reached down and stroked your curves, brushing close but not quite touching your breasts. His hands traveled to your hips, and he squeezed with his fingers.

“I want more.” He pulled back. “I want you in my office.”

He had the look of a starving man, and you were his first meal in days. He wanted to take you, consume you, devour you.

You nodded.

Smiling, Arthur took your hand and led you to his office.

***

“Always wanted to do this,” he murmured as he lifted you up onto his desk, his hands sliding your skirt up your thighs. His fingers made their way to your panties, where he rubbed you slowly, feeling the damp fabric and smirking. “Feels like you want this too.”

You nodded, unable to verbally admit that this had been a fantasy of yours lately, a fantasy that you may have jilled off to on several occasions.

His fingers pulled your panties aside as he touched you intimately for the first time. You let out a sigh of pure ecstasy as he caressed your core.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just enjoy it.”

Then he kissed you once more, stealing your breath as he coaxed your tongue to play with his, the two of you making out with a frenzied passion you hadn’t felt in a long time. His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck and held you still as he kept fingering you, driving you higher and higher.

“Take yer shirt off,” he commanded. “I want to see all of you.”

You quickly unbuttoned your blouse and tossed it aside. Reaching behind you, you unclasped your bra and flung it away as well. Arthur pulled back to admire your body, a look of admiration on his face.

“Beautiful,” he breathed before he went straight for your breasts, grabbing one of them and teasing the nipple while he took the other into his mouth, sucking and licking you. All the while, he was still stroking your core, building your pleasure up more and more.

The increased sensation to your body was enough to drag you to the brink. You held onto his hair with one hand, grabbing his wrist with the other and pushing his fingers harder against your clit as he stood up straight to tower over you.

“Come for me,” he ordered.

You broke apart, burying your face into his shirt as you moaned wantonly, your legs shaking as he pressed his fingers heavily against your center, rubbing in circles.

“That’s it, good girl,” he crooned.

Catching your breath, you watched him grin and pull back long enough to unbutton his fly. Pulling out his manhood, he stepped back to you, touching the inside of your thighs. You spread your legs and smiled up at him.

“Guide me in.”

You reached out and grasped the velvet steel of his cock, stroking it twice so you could watch him let out a soft moan before you pulled him into your waiting entrance. He leaned forward, his hand cradling your cheek as he pushed himself inside of you, never breaking eye contact as you felt him stretch you.

“Oh my god, this feels so good,” you whimpered.

“Sure does,” he said in a hushed tone. “Better than my fantasies.”

When he finally hilted inside you, he leaned in and kissed you. Then he pulled out and slammed back into you, making you cry out in surprise.

And that set the tone for his passionate fucking, gripping your hips so he wouldn’t smash the desk as he took you with his powerful thrusts. He groaned against your neck when you grabbed at his clothed back as you succumbed to his unrelenting pace.

“I want you bent over my desk.”

He pulled out and manhandled you until you were bent over his desk, your ass in the air.

“Perfect,” he growled as he slid back inside of you and rammed into you again and again. “Yer so hot like this.”

Then he leaned over you, and said lowly in your ear. “You like it when your boss fucks you?”

Oh shit. He knew your kink. You moaned uncontrollably and nodded, feeling your pussy clench around his cock. He smirked, knowing how you had reacted to his words.

“Say it.”

“I like it when my boss fucks me.”

“Call me Mr. Morgan.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan.”

“Good,” he purred, and reached down to stroke your core. “My best employee deserves a reward, don’tcha?”

“Yes, please!”

“Beg for a reward, sweetheart,”

“Please, Mr. Morgan, please give me a reward!”

He stood up and slowed his pace, but the intensity of his thrusts remained, the sound of his hips against your ass echoing in the small office.

“I’ll give you what you want.” He grabbed your hair and pulled. “I know exactly what you need.”

You felt his hand grab your shoulder as he suddenly fucked you hard and fast. The only warning you had was when his grip tightened on you before he let out a harsh moan and a string of expletives as he emptied himself inside of you, pushing his cock as deep as he could go, huffing as he finished.

“Fuck, that was… that was amazin’.” He picked you up and sat back in his chair, you on his lap, his cock still inside of you. He idly caressed your breasts as you both caught your breaths. When he finally slipped out from you, he laughed.

“Guess we should clean up,” he mumbled. You leaned your head back against his shoulder and nodded.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“You alright?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright. Better than alright.” You turned your head and kissed him on his stubbled cheek. “I’m glad I took this job.”

He chuckled, nuzzling you. “So am I.”

——————–

End Notes: This… got way longer than I intended. Oh well! Hope you enjoyed the ride!

#arthur morgan #arthur x reader #nsft #modern au #low honor arthur morgan #writing #fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #lemon fanfic #tumblr request

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