#shade left blue valley and never looked back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

animeomegas · 5 months

Text

The Quest for a Second Life - Part 5 - 50 Shades of Audacity (1)

KAKASHI X ALPHA!READER

Summary: If suddenly waking up in an uncanny office had been bad, this time was worse, because you had a job interview, and the guy before you had just stormed out in tears. Why did you pick this world again? And why is your boss an asshole? And sexy? And with a nice voice? Fuck, this wasn't going to be good. GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, sex while both parties are a little tipsy, workplace violations, questions about someone not eating lunch due to being a workaholic, and overuse of the world asshole as an adjective. All alphas have dicks, fyi.

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! And a special happy holidays to those who guessed that our next omega was going to be Kakashi!!! December is well underway and I'm working hard to get all these chapters finished in time for the epilogue to be released on Christmas! The dynamic is different with this one, but I hope everyone enjoys nonetheless <333 I hope you enjoy the choice for the second character, @omeganronpa I'm honoured to call you my friend <333

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

In the span of one blink, you went from standing in the library with James, to sitting on an uncomfortable chair in some kind of office waiting room. No matter how many times you jumped between realities, you swore you would never get used to the complete sensory change that happened in milliseconds. You had changed positions, clothes, company and scenery just like that.

Trying to gain your bearings, you tried to take in your new surroundings. Your first thought was that you had some serious déjà vu, as James’ uncanny valley of an office sprung to mind. Seriously, how many times were you going to suddenly gain consciousness in a soulless office?

At least this one was a lot less creepy, you admitted. It had doors and windows for starters, but the cavernous size of the room also helped diminish the claustrophobic feeling. Rather than beige, the room was decorated in a tasteful, modern, monochrome, boring but inoffensive, and better than too much beige in your opinion.

The copious amounts of soulless corporate art on every surface were the final touches that convinced you this was a real office and not set dressing for purgatory.

The waiting room was full of people though. You hadn’t seen this many people in one place since Itachi took you into town, and the general air of anxiety coming off them all was putting you on edge.

You fidgeted, uncomfortable at suddenly wearing formal business wear. The blue folder that was sitting on your lap shifted slightly, but you paid it no mind as you straightened everything out and readjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. To your left, what you could only describe as the combination of a modern water feature and grandfather clock chimed, signalling it as 09:00 AM.

‘James? Can you hear me?’

‘I can, human alpha.’

‘Great. Can you give me a run down of this pocket dimension please? It’s been like, two weeks since I read the blurb.’

‘Of course. ’50 Shades of Audacity’ follows MC, an alpha graduate student who lands the role of personal assistant to one of the most famous CEOs of the time, omega, Kakashi Hatake. MC discovers that Kakashi is hiding a submissive streak, and together, they explore their relationship while preparing for the yearly Autumn Company Party.’

You nodded idly as James explained it, vague memories coming back to you. The man next to you shot you a weird look, and you realised you were nodding at seemingly nothing. You cleared your throat and shifted awkwardly. Whoops.

Regardless, the blurb put your current situation into perspective. When you had chosen the book, you had expected to enter the world already working as a personal assistant, but you had a sneaking suspicion that this was the job interview and all the people sat with you were competition.

To confirm your suspicion, you opened the folder on your lap, and yep, it was filled with important documents, including your CV, degree certificate, and several references. Damn, for someone decently young, you seemed to be the perfect candidate. That did relieve some of the tension. The world was literally set up to push you into the role, and you were the perfect candidate, surely there was nothing to worry about. For now, you decided to try and relax. Job interviews were a pain in the ass, but this one hopefully wouldn’t be too bad. And you could always talk to James to pass the time.

‘James, I know you must be thinking something along the lines of, ‘what kind of human picks a life where they have a job, when they could choose to not have a job?’’

‘I have never had such a thought.’

‘But I’m playing the long game, James,’ you continued, ignoring her response. ‘This Hatake guy must be rolling in it, and so once we’re serious, there would be no reason for me to work anymore! And it’s not like we’d get divorced in an erotica novel, that wouldn’t make sense, so I just need this job to meet him, make him fall in love with me, and then, if I stay here, I’ll have a fancy CEO husband, and everything will work out great.’

‘I see. I believe humans term that strategy, ‘gold digging’.’

You were planning to argue back, but your outrage died on your lips when you realised that she was kind of right. You were only going to choose this omega if you actually loved him, of course, but you couldn’t deny that the main reason you had chosen this book in the first place was the money and possibility of a cushy life. And being able to retain access to the internet which was something you’d have to give up for a life with Itachi.

‘What backstory elements are set in stone here?’ you asked, realising that the amnesia trick wasn’t going to work a second time.

‘Primarily your qualifications and educational history. You also own both a flat and a car, although how you obtained those is up to you.’

Nice, that gave you a lot of freedom to work with. Also… was your flat nice? And what about your car? You hoped so, but even if they weren’t, you could get Hatake to pay for a nice upgrade.

A man with a clipboard walked out of the office door to your left and everyone in your vicinity snapped to attention. He had brown hair and intense, dark eyes that were a little unnerving. “The interviews for the personal assistant job have now begun. You will be called up one at a time. Ren Shimomura.”

The man who had given you a strange look earlier got up and walked into the office with a confident smile, his briefcase swinging gently by his side. When the door closed behind him, everyone relaxed a little and went back to their pointless busy tasks.

‘So, James, what can I expect from this job interview?’ you asked. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared, even if the universe was going to intervene for your success.

‘That question is more difficult to answer than you might think, human. Despite this pocket dimension being one of the most popular in the erotica category, no one has ever successfully passed the interview and obtained the personal assistant job.’

Your stomach dropped. What? That couldn’t be right, could it?

You laughed nervously, sure that you had misheard. ‘What? Surely the universe needs the person to get the job.’

‘Yes, it has been causing quite the issue. This world has been scheduled for removal for being too difficult to follow. You will be the last person from your realm to ever enter this one, whether you decide to stay or not.’

‘Thanks for warning me before I picked it,’ you ‘said’, your mental voice taking on a tinge of bitterness. So, you were pretty much doomed to failure here? Great.

‘I didn’t warn you, human.’

‘I know.’

Your mental conversation ended as the door to the office opened and the man, Ren, stormed out, looking like he was holding back angry tears. He exited the room swiftly, without so much of a glance back.

That certainly didn’t make you feel any better about your chances.

Neither did your name being called seconds later.

The man with the clipboard smiled at you as you stood, folder in hand. “Just in there, Mr. Hatake is waiting for you.”

You nodded and approached the door. Right, this was fine. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself of your situation. You didn’t need this job. You wouldn’t run out of money without it, you wouldn’t get blacklisted or arrested if something went wrong, you couldn’t die if something went very wrong. The very worst-case scenario was that you bungled this, spent the next two weeks enjoying some alone time in this world, and then returned to your beautiful witch.

So, really, what reason did you have to be nervous?

With that in mind, you took a fortifying breath and walked into the office with your head held high. This CEO couldn’t scare you.

The design of the office was much the same as the waiting room, with a monochrome colour scheme and minimal furniture. The entire back wall was glass, which bathed the office in natural light, but cast shadows around the impressive desk in the middle of the room. Behind the desk was an imposing desk chair that was currently faced away from you. The back of the chair was so high that you couldn’t technically tell if Hatake was sitting in it or not. In front of the desk was a much less impressive desk chair; presumably that chair was for you.

You walked towards your chair, marvelling at how cliché the whole ‘tall chair spin reveal’ thing was. What was he, a Bond villain? The main question though, was if he’d also be accidentally flashing his nipples at you. You stifled a laugh imagining a scary CEO turning around in his chair only for the buttons on his shirt to come flying off.

“Did I say that you could sit down?” The voice came from the highbacked chair, which was still facing away from you.

The CEO’s voice was hot, you couldn’t deny that, but his attitude was already ugly. What kind of high and mighty asshole spoke to people like that? Were you supposed to just stay standing until he offered the seat when he couldn’t even be bothered to face you? Fuck that.

Suddenly, what was remaining of your nervousness bled out of you, replaced by annoyance. Honestly, you had already accepted that you weren’t going to get this job or this omega as soon as James had explained the situation, but maybe you could still get something out of this. Like catharsis. You could berate Hatake on behalf of every shitty boss you couldn’t berate in the past and then this world would still be worth it.

“Unless you’re suffering from short term memory loss, there’s no need for me to answer that question.”

Finally, that seems to goad him into turning around. The chair swivelled, revealing Kakashi Hatake in all his glory. He was dressed in the exact kind of suit you expected for someone like him, expertly tailored, incredibly expensive, and in a tasteful blue colour. Just peeking out from his collar you noticed some clear scent patches, and you imagined you’d find the same ones on his wrists. He had grey-silver hair styled in a way that must have required a significant amount of hair wax, and equally grey eyes, one of which had a vertical scar running through it. He even had a frankly adorable beauty mark, what the fuck.

Fine. He was hot. That didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.

The look he was giving you was somehow both disparaging and uninterested, like he was looking at a badly painted wall.

“Why do you want this job?” he asked, voice bored and condescending. “You don’t seem like you’d be particularly good at it.”

You grit your teeth at his blatant disrespect, “Jobs provide the money which can be exchanged for goods and services required to facilitate survival, you see. Perhaps the silver spoon in your mouth prevented you from learning that dichotomy.” You missed your witch.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. He held out a hand, and you wordlessly passed him your folder of documents. You were honestly surprised that he hadn’t just kicked you out already. His motivations became clear however, when he picked out your CV, ripped it in half, and then tossed it in the bin.

This asshole! You were furious.

Hatake pressed a button on a raised box on his desk and began to speak into it, presumably to dismiss you and ask for the next person to be sent in.

You didn’t need this job, you couldn’t get into any meaningful trouble, and this man was royally pissing you off. Something in you just snapped.

“Tenzou, send—”

You grabbed him by his boring, blue tie and stood, pulling him partially over the desk and towards you. He gasped in surprise, letting go of the button as both hands flew up to grab your wrist. You expected him to immediately pull you off him, but he didn’t. He was still, staring at you with wide eyes. For the first time since you’d walked into his office, it felt like he was properly looking at you.

“I am the best fucking personal assistant out of any of those people out there, and I will not have some bratty CEO talk down to me, understood?”

“I’ll call security,” he said quietly, voice strangely hoarse.

“Don’t bother.” You let him go and he fell back heavily into his ridiculous chair.

“Senpai?” The clipboard man’s voice floated through the speaker on the black box. “Is everything okay? You cut out.”

The man didn’t reply to the message, he only stared at you. His face was blank, but you had the feeling that there was a lot going on inside his head.

‘Remember the story, human.’

For a moment, you thought James was encouraging you to play nice for the sake of the story, but then you realised that she meant. Fuck, that’s right, Kakashi Hatake was a secret submissive. He was probably very turned on and very confused right now. You sent him a cocky grin.

“The job starts Monday, yes?” He nodded, dumbly. “I’ll see you then, 08:00 sharp. All my documents are in the folder.” You walked to the door confidently, and just as you reached it, you turned. “Have a good day, sir.”

You opened the door just as the clipboard man tried to do the same on the other side. You paid neither him nor any of the other candidates any mind, you just strode towards the exit, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

The fresh air and sun hit you as you stepped outside into the office’s car park.

‘James, oh my god, I grabbed him by his tie.’

‘I saw, human, it was very unexpected. No other human has attempted such a method.’

‘I would so be blacklisted if this were real, James. Did… Did I do a good job? It felt like I did at the time, playing up to his submissive side, but now I just feel like I was crazy and there’s no way he’d give me the job.’

‘Only time will tell, human, I do not have the answers.’

‘Time… I can do that.’ You gazed out over the sea of cars, all shimmering in the sun. ‘Now, James, which car is mine?’

…

Once you had successfully found your nicer than expected car, you headed to your mysterious flat. It took longer than you thought, but at least you’d learnt some more about James; she was terrible at giving directions and did not know what a roundabout was.

Your flat, much like your car, was nicer than you expected for a recent graduate that worked as a personal assistant. It was stylish and cosy, with lots of wood tones and warm, textured fabrics. It could have fallen out of an interior design magazine, right down to the perfectly placed bowls of fruit. The flat even had a guest room and a home office.

You were going to put this one down to porn logic again and figure out some sort of explanation for why you had the money for this in your backstory.

After doing some snooping around the flat, you flopped down on your bed, feeling strangely exhausted. You pulled out your phone (and how strange it was to have modern technology back!) and checked the date. It was Friday lunch time, and you didn’t have to go to the job, presuming you even got it, until Monday. That meant you had an entire weekend to do what you wanted. That was the best news you’d heard all day.

‘James, is the entire world, I guess, loaded, for want of a better word? Like, theoretically, if I travelled across the world to a random village, would the people there be real? Does the world function outside of the story?’

‘Once you choose to remain in a world, it functions exactly like the one you came from, yes, complete with up to billions of people who each have their own lives. Not everything is ah, loaded, in this demo though. I would recommend staying firmly within this city for the time being.”

‘Amazing! That’s so exciting, James!’

‘If you say so.’

Alongside modern technology, staying in this world would also give you more chance to travel. With Itachi, you would be mostly going on foot, perhaps on a horse if you were lucky, but here you could be on the other side of the world in a day.

That was for future you to weigh up though, right now you needed to find a bank statement of some kind, because you wanted to spend this weekend pampering yourself and you needed to know your budget. You could think about Kakashi Hatake and this world later, once you had your thoughts in order.

The weekend passed in a blur of bubble baths, food delivery apps, and films. You’d even gone for a dip in your complex’s pool. It had been nice to recharge. You had enjoyed spending time with Itachi immensely, but you’d had almost no proper alone time for over half a month, and it was sorely needed.

The only other thing of note happened on Saturday, when you received an email from Hatake’s company, which contained your new company account and login details.

…

Walking into work on Monday was a surreal feeling that you couldn’t put into words. No one acted like anything strange had happened. You were treated like a normal new hire, which you suspected meant Hatake had kept the details of your interview to himself.

Speaking of Hatake, he was apparently in meetings all morning and so you wouldn’t see him for a few hours. You didn’t know if you were irritated or relieved that your likely awkward reunion would be postponed.

“So, here is Kakashi’s calendar, which kind of functions like the core of your job,” Iruka, the man who was training you, said. “You’ll be in charge of organising his appointments and commitments and reminding him to attend them.” The last part was added with a tone that suggested Hatake had not always been the best at either being on time or showing up at all.

“Got it. No double bookings, and smack Hatake with a ruler if he tries to escape.”

Iruka snorted, but quickly smothered the laugh with a hand. “Pretty much. For today, I’ve gone through your inbox and marked the emails that require appointments as urgent. You just need to schedule them and add them to his calendar. It’s pretty busy at the moment because of the Autumn Company Party at the end of the month, so don’t worry if everything’s a bit much. My desk is over there, so you can ask for help at any time, okay?”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” You grinned at him, and he smiled back.

“Good luck!” With that he was gone. That wasn’t the first time the Autumn Company Party had come up, but you still weren’t sure what that had to do with the plot of his pocket dimension. It certainly wasn’t as straight forward as ‘collect the potion ingredients’.

‘James, what’s the deal with this party? What’s going to happen at it?’

‘There are many, many ways the event can play out, human. Seeing that you are the first to make it past the interview, I cannot even tell you which outcomes are most likely.’

‘Damn. Well, thanks anyway.’

You ended up whizzing through your work. It was incredibly simple, which could have been because they were taking it easy on you for your first day, or because work in general was easier in porn universes. You finished before Hatake was freed from his morning meetings, so you decided to do a little googling on your new boss. As such a high-profile CEO, you were sure you could find some information on him.

You put his name into the search bar and scrolled through the top results.

There were mostly news articles and links to the company websites, but eventually his Wikipedia page popped up and you clicked on it, skimming down the paragraphs immediately. Your eyebrows kept rising up as you read. His father, the original founder of the company had committed suicide when Kakashi was four years old, leaving him an orphan. He had been immediately added to the company’s board of directors (at four years old?!), and when he’d turned eighteen and those overseeing the company didn’t seem keen to pass it back to him, Kakashi had staged a business coup and seized control by force.

Jeez, what a life story.

Closing the Wikipedia page, you opened a couple of articles instead. One was a gossip magazine speculating on his famous bachelorhood and why he hadn’t settled down yet. Another was talking about the large donations he had made to several dog and animal welfare charities. The third was just a listicle of pictures of him from various point throughout his life. Ha. He looked like he was such a cute, grumpy kid.

You had to admit that his character was perfectly set up to redeem him for being an asshole at your first meeting. Dead parents, a tragic backstory, betrayal from those supposed to look after him, an animal lover… You bet that he had been forced to supress his emotions to avoid being manipulated as a child, too. That was about as stereotypical as you could get. Were he a fictional character, his fans would easily excuse any rudeness and ruthlessly defend him online. And that was fine, but they weren’t the ones who had to be on the receiving end of his rudeness.

Ugh, you didn’t know what to do with him. On one hand, you were happy ignoring him for being mean to you in your interview, but on the other, you kind of wanted to get to know him to see what the story was about. Maybe you’d put in a bit of effort as a show of good faith, but if he insisted on rebuffing you, you’d give up and find some other way to enjoy yourself. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

Dog lovers were your weakness, so you couldn’t give up on him completely, not just yet.

You closed the tabs and, checking the time, you realised you still had some leeway before Hatake was free. You needed to come up with your backstory sharpish, because you didn’t have amnesia this time, and people would likely start asking questions about you once lunch hit. Best get your story straight first.

You grabbed a post-it note and jotted down your favourite acronym, MLHH (Money, Love, Health, Happiness), to keep you on target.

Loving parents, you definitely wanted those. Were they the ones you wanted funding your lifestyle? Hmm, no, how about a rich, eccentric aunt that sent money all the time? Yes, you’d always wanted a fun, rich uncle or aunt to spoil you. Perhaps she had been the one to buy you the house and car. You jotted it all down. You also crafted yourself two best friends and a couple of hobbies, just to enrich your life. As per James’ instructions, you left the academic stuff alone.

“Am I paying you to write details about your own life on post it notes?” A sudden voice from behind made you jump, smacking your knees on the underside of the desk with a bang.

You laughed awkwardly as you came face to face with the man of the hour, Kakashi Hatake, who had chosen a charcoal grey suit for today, giving him an overall monochrome vibe that matched the office building. He was staring at your post it note, unimpressed.

You snatched the note and put it in your pocket. Quick, find some way to change the subject!

“I’ve updated your calendar with more meetings and commitments. This afternoon you only have a phone call with a representative from a company that sells… custom dog bandanas?” You decided not to question it. “The rest of the afternoon is business as usual.”

He watched you for a moment before he nodded, and turned to enter his office door, which was only a few feet from your desk.

“Just so you know,” he said, turning to look at you over his shoulder, “more work is periodically added to your task list, you just need to refresh the page.”

The door slammed shut behind him. You made a frustrated noise. He was so rude, with his annoyingly hot face and perfect voice. God, he got on your nerves like no one else. Ugh, you already regretted deciding to give him a chance.

You refreshed the task list and watched it fill up with new tasks.

Why did you pick a world where you had a job again? Oh yeah, you were playing the long game. The long game sucked.

You spent the rest of the workday completing tasks and flip flopping on whether it was worth trying to chase the plot and romance Hatake. Instinctually you led towards no, but when you remembered how he’d responded to you in the interview, you wavered. Ultimately, your curiosity was too much to resist, so you hatched a plan to spend some time with him.

…

“Did you have someone sneak you lunch through the window, or have you not eaten yet today?” you asked, waltzing into Hatake’s office at exactly 17:05, coat and bag ready to leave.

Hatake finished whatever he was writing before putting down the pen and giving you a flat look. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, and I’m certain I told you to knock before coming in.”

“Firstly, the workday ended five minutes ago so you’re not the boss of me anymore. Secondly, that was the clearest no I’ve ever heard. You should make time to eat lunch, you know, it’s good for you.”

“If you don’t have anything of use to say, then leave.” Ugh, why were you dealing with this asshole again?

“Actually, I do.” He raised an eyebrow at you, like he was already dismissing your message. “Get dinner with me.”

That actually seemed to catch him off guard, if only for a moment. You had honestly been wondering if the side of him you glimpsed in your interview was some kind of hallucination, but there was a flicker of that same man now. Unfortunately, although you could see that, you could also see the moment he shut down the reaction and returned to his flat, impassive stare.

“I’m busy this evening—”

“I already moved your appointment to tomorrow morning.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. You didn’t know if it was irritation at your messing with his schedule or at interrupting him, but you did know that you were getting on his nerves. Good.

“And I suppose, if you’re inviting me, then you’re paying?” he challenged. “Fair warning, I have expensive taste.”

‘James, quick, what’s the best restaurant in the area?’

‘Kakashi Hatake often visits a restaurant about two miles from here, called La Liaison. It’s French, and incredibly pricy.’

Right, you tried to remember what you’d seen you your bank details. You could definitely afford one fancy meal; it was affording everything else after that that was the problem.

Hatake’s smug face at your hesitation spurred you on. You wracked your brain for some kind of solution.

‘James, if I decide that my rich aunt sends me large lump sums of money every month, will my bank account automatically replenish by the end of this demo?’

‘Technically, yes, although it will only happen if you choose this dimension permanently, as your rich aunt does not yet exist. You must also remember to speak or write any information you want to be true for it to take effect.’

Perfect. You could wipe that smug look off Hatake’s face, live a bit more frugally for the rest of the demo, and if for some unknown reason you chose to stay here, you’d have your money automatically replenished. You just had to remember to write the details down after dinner tonight.

“Of course, it’ll be my treat,” you smiled, tips tight. “Do you like French food? I heard La Liaison is lovely.”

Kakashi studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what game you were playing. Just as you thought you’d won the little verbal exchange, Hatake sent you a mocking eye smile. “And how are you planning on gaining a reservation at such short notice? The next available evening bookings are for two months from now.”

You tensed up like you’d been dealt a physical blow. Fuck, you forgot about bookings. There was no way you could allow him to win just like that, though. You took a deep breath, porn logic, I believe in you, please help me out, I’m trying to woo him, just as you wanted. Kind of.

“I’m sure it will all work out!” You voice was artificially chipper, and you could tell that Hatake was picking up on your anxiety. “Come on, what’s the harm? Let’s go!”

He watched you evenly. That was one thing you’d noticed about Hatake; he always thought before he spoke, choosing each action and word carefully. It made sense once you considered his childhood and was equal parts sad and irritating.

Just when you thought he was about to refuse and dismiss you, Hatake chuckled and stood, closing his computer and grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his ridiculously dramatic desk chair.

“I’ll have my chauffeur drop us off,” he said, walking to the door. You followed, kind of stunned that he had agreed at all. He locked the office door behind him. “There’s no parking available at this time of day in the town centre.”

You walked through the office side by side, watching your coworkers pack up or work late.

Everyone noticed you two, armed with bags and coats that made it obvious you were leaving together. There were gasps, there was gossiping, there were whispers. The man with the clipboard, who had introduced himself to you as Yamato, looked like he had seen a ghost. Was it really that strange to see this CEO leave work on time, or was it because he was with you?

Hatake paid them no mind, and you tried to do the same.

It was strange that he agreed to join you, but you didn’t get your hopes up that this meant he suddenly liked you. It was more likely that he was coming in order to force your hand. If you were humiliated by there being no tables, or not being able to afford the food you said you could, it would likely stop you from bothering him outside of work again.

You just really, really hoped there would somehow be a table.

Once you arrived at the car park, there was a sleek, black car waiting for you. You weren’t sure if Hatake had somehow called ahead without you noticing, or if his car was already ready for him, but it was very convenient. If the chauffeur was surprised that Hatake had a guest, he didn’t mention it.

The car was so obviously expensive that you felt a little uncomfortable sitting in it. You had never been so conscious of your hand placement in your life. The brat of a CEO didn’t seem to have the same problem, relaxing easily against the leather, looking right at home. He gave the driver the name of the restaurant, and you were off.

You took a moment to beg the pocket dimension that somehow you would be able to get a seat. ‘Porn logic, I’ve always loved and respected you, please pull through for me, just this once! I won’t be able to handle Hatake’s smug grin without punching him in the face.’

‘My name is James, human, and I cannot control these pocket dimensions.’

You snorted, ‘I wasn’t speaking to you James, sorry.’

“What’s so funny?” Hatake asked, breaking the silence. Oh, you had laughed out loud; you had to stop doing that. Were you also doing it when you were with Itachi, but there were just fewer people around to comment on it? Itachi seemed like the sort who would take a lot of weirdness in stride.

“Your face.”

Hatake let out an amused breath, “Are you always so childish?”

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

“Approximately five minutes until arrival, sir,” the chauffeur said, speaking through a speaker that connected the front and back sections of the car.

“Just Kakashi is fine,” he sighed. “I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

“If you say so, sir.” Hatake rolled his eyes but dropped the issue.

The final five minutes passed it silence.

…

La Liaison was a small modern building nestled at the very end of the high street, decorated in pastel blue and covered in artificial ivy. The whole building exuded a timeless elegance that made you glad your work dress code was formal. Stepping through the doors, you were welcomed by warm lighting, live piano music, and an impeccably dressed host. This was the exact kind of place you could see Hatake fitting right in.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to La Liaison. Can I take the name on your reservation, please?”

You could practically feel the amusement radiating off the smug asshole behind you as you were faced with the exact situation he had predicted. You just had to go for it. You believed in the porn logic!

(And if it didn’t work you were going to return to your flat with your tail between your legs, make James pull you out of this dimension early, and then ask Itachi for a potion that could remove memories instead of bringing them back.)

“Ah, well, we don’t technically have a reservation, but an acquaintance of mine mentioned that they just had to cancel theirs, so we were hoping there’d be a free table.”

Please work, please work, please work.

The two seconds between your request and the host’s response felt like an agonising eternity. Failure wasn’t an option; you couldn’t lose to your awful boss.

The relief you felt when the host’s face melted into a smile almost knocked you to your knees.

“Is that so? Yes, I just got off the phone with them, you’re lucky no one else has claimed the table yet. If you’ll pass my college your coats, I’ll take you to your table.”

Yes, yes, yes!! You loved porn logic so much. It seemed like anything was fair game as long as it pushed you and Mr. Smug together. Speaking of Mr. Smug, you mouthed ‘I told you so’, as you walked to your table. He did not respond.

The table was, unsurprisingly, very romantic. It was secluded away in the corner, pressed up against a window and yet sectioned from the rest of the restaurant by a divider. The table sat two people, and its white tablecloth was covered in candles and rose petals. Of course, the cancelled reservation was for a romantic date. You weren’t going to complain though; a table was a table.

You both sat down. You briefly debated pulling out the chair for Hatake, but you decided against it at the last minute. You were both handed menus and informed of the soup of the day before the waiter left you in peace. The illusion of privacy helped you relax, despite the stuffy atmosphere.

“An acquaintance, huh?” Kakashi asked, unfolding his napkin and laying it over his lap. He obviously didn’t believe your lie.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly annoying?” you said, instead of answering his question.

“Once or twice.”

“Well then,” you shot him a sarcastic smile, “I’m glad you have such honest people in your life.”

“As am I.” The eye smile he sent you this time seemed more genuine, and you had to hold back your laugh.

The conversation faded for a moment as the background chatter from the rest of the restaurant filled the space. It was weird to be here with him, and maybe you were still riding the high of getting a table, but you were already enjoying yourself.

“So… you come here often?” you asked, picking up the menu. You supressed a wince at the prices. “It seems like you’re right at home.”

“It makes for a convenient location to dazzle those who demand such treatment before they’ll sign anything.”

“Ugh, so this is where you take people to schmooze them? Gross.” You flipped over the menu to find the drinks section, only to belatedly realise that the drinks had their own menu already on the table. “I can’t imagine you doing that successfully; you’re so rude.”

“Maybe you just bring out the worst in me.”

The way he reused your words from earlier reluctantly brought a smile to your face. Okay fine. Fine! You’d admit that he was witty, and you had some good chemistry. And he was hot. But that was it! That didn’t mean you were going to fall in love with someone so annoying!

‘I believe you were also interested in his love for dogs, human alpha.’

‘James, I’m trying to live in denial here, and you’re ruining it.’

‘My apologies. Does that mean that I should also refrain from mentioning your obvious obsession with his beauty mark?’

Sometimes, you weren’t sure that James wasn’t an elaborate troll.

Scanning the menu, you decided the vegetarian pasta looked nice. And if it was also the cheapest thing on the menu, well that was just a coincidence. This better be one of the best meals of your life.

Kakashi left his menu completely untouched. Right, he’d been here countless of times to charm people into signing away their money. He was probably treating this dinner as something similar, but with you wanting something from him instead. You doubted he’d believe you if you said you were doing this out of curiosity. But the questioned remained, how could you make this feel different for him?

Suddenly, it hit you; he liked when other people took control. You had an idea.

‘James, can you tell me what Kakashi normally orders from here?’

‘He always orders one of the seafood dishes, accompanied by a white wine.’

Right. Perfect. What you were about to do would be so out of order in real life, but you had plot armour, and honestly you wanted to see what would happen.

When the waiter returned, he directed his, “Are you ready to order?”, towards Kakashi. He probably recognised him if he was a regular, and figured he was schmoozing another hapless soul.

That didn’t fit what you had in mind though.

“Yes, we are,” you said confidently, before Kakashi could speak. “We’ll have a bottle of the Chateau Sixtine Blanc and some still water for the table. For food, I’ll have the vegetarian pasta, and he’ll have the Coquilles Saint-Jacques.”

Kakashi’s stare was intense, but he didn’t intervene. The waiter seemed taken aback that you were ordering for the table, but when Kakashi made no move to dispute what you’d said, he nodded, collected your menus, and left. You expected to be admonished in some way, but Kakashi remained silent.

Drinks arrived quickly. The waiter poured you both a glass of the wine and some water before he was gone again. Kakashi picked up the wine glasses and swirled it dramatically before taking a sip.

When he spoke, you had expected a question about how you found out his usual order, or perhaps a comment on the wine, but no, instead, he was his usual blunt self.

“I wonder what it is you’re hoping to gain from this.”

“That’s fine, you can wonder all you like.”

He sent you a measured look, “Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly annoying?”

You grinned, “Nope!”

“I see. Well, I hope you’ll be blessed with some honest people in your life soon, I’ve found having them around to be extraordinarily helpful.”

You snorted mid sip of wine, which probably didn’t look attractive. Coughing, you looked up, expecting a judgemental look for behaving such a way in a fancy restaurant, but Kakashi just looked amused.

“Can I ask you a question?” You dabbed your lips with your napkin to soak up any stray wine drops. “What was the deal with that interview? It didn’t seem like you even wanted any applicants there. Was it just some weird form of employment hazing?”

“Simple. I didn’t want an assistant; I work better alone.”

“Then why hold the interview at all?”

“The board of directors were very… persistent. I knew they’d only shut up if I scared off every personal assistant in the city.”

You sent him a searching look, “But you hired me.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “You had comedy value.”

Comedy value!? This dick.

“Liar,” you shot back. “You just think I’m hot, admit it.”

You got another one of his infuriating eye smiles. “If you say so.” God, you wanted to punch him, and maybe kiss him. Fuck.

“Whatever, just know that it’s your turn to pay for dinner next time, an I’m ordering the most expensive thing I can find.”

“If we go out for dinner too often, people will talk.”

“As if they aren’t already,” you said, referencing the sate of the office you’d left behind. You’d bet that they’d all stayed late to swap theories. “Yamato looked at us like a child who’d just walked in on his parents having sex.”

Kakashi seemed amused, “He would not appreciate that description.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

As the conversation flowed, so did the wine. You were surprised by how much fun you were having. Hatake was a great conversationalist and the rapid-fire banter had you laughing out loud more than once. The food was just as good as you’d hoped as well.

To your utter delight, Hatake’s face turned pink as he drank. So cute. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to feel the warm skin. Kakashi leaned into the hand in an almost nuzzle. You did not expect him to reciprocate. Shocked, you froze, hand still on his cheek.

Hatake seemed surprised too because he suddenly wrenched himself away from you. You pulled your hand back like it’d been burnt.

You’d bet anything that he was touch starved.

“Sorry, Hatake, I don’t know why I—”

“Kakashi,” he muttered, “you can call me Kakashi. Everyone does.”

“Kakashi,” you repeated, sending him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. You kind of wanted to lick his face.

Kakashi’s phone buzzed in his pocket, shattering the moment. Disappointingly, he immediately slipped it out of his pocket and checked the message. You weren’t exactly surprised that he put checking his phone over your conversation, but it was still rude, whether you expected it or not.

Kakashi made an amused noise as he saw the expression on your face. “I only have audible notifications on for important people; I’m just checking to make sure nothing is wrong, there’s no need to look so offended.”

You sputtered, face heating up, “I’m not offended! I was just thinking it was rude to check your phone at dinner.”

“Ruder than ordering for someone else without their permission?”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. “You liked it.”

Kakashi didn’t acknowledge you as he checked his messaged. You watched his eyes move from side to side as he read, before he eventually barked out a laugh and put the phone away.

“What’s funny?”

“One of my friends evidently found out that I was out to dinner. He has wished us luck on our youthful endeavours.”

You pulled a face at the weird phrasing. “He sounds… interesting.”

“You have no idea,” Kakashi said before emptying his wine glass.

“People seem so surprised about this. You don’t get out much then?”

Kakashi barked a laugh that sounded surprisingly bitter, and then didn’t elaborate. In true erotica love interest fashion, there was something brewing below the surface. Touch starved, orphaned, rich, but lonely, he was about as stereotypical as it got. You wondered if he’d also killed someone like Itachi? Hmm, probably not. This was a modern universe, and there were normally more severe consequences for things like that. It would have at least been mentioned on his wiki page.

By the time you had finished eating, the city outside the window had lit up in the darkness. The traffic had died down once rush hour ended, but the occasional car still passed by. You checked your phone and realised you’d been having dinner with Kakashi for almost two hours.

Your pride didn’t stop you from admitting that the time was flying because you were having fun.

Still, it was getting late, so you waved down a waiter and requested the bill. You were hoping that, seeing as you’d taken charge with ordering, that he would… yes! The waiter put the bill down in front of you instead of Kakashi.

You grinned at him smugly; you’d been assigned dom by wait staff.

He rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the smile on his face.

The bill wasn’t great, but it could have been worse. Clearly you hadn’t managed to keep your grimace supressed completely though because Kakashi noticed.

“Having second thoughts?” He was annoyingly observant.

You had never pulled out your card faster, grateful that you’d found your pin number written down in some old documents in your flat. Kakashi watched you pay, a strange glint in his eyes.

Did he assume you were going to dine and dash and make him pay or something? No… that wasn’t it. His ears had gone red too, and not from the alcohol.

He liked it, you realised gleefully. He liked that you ordered for him. He liked that you paid for him. He liked that you had decided on the place and time and dragged him along. It fit his reaction and it fit his character.

You were certain that most of his acquaintances either saw Kakashi as some kind of aloof, ‘didn’t believe in love’ character, or as a hard dom. And on the surface, sure, you could understand why they thought that, but how could anyone continue to think so once they spoke to him properly, when he was practically crying out for someone to take care of him?

Exhilaration ran through you. Maybe you were in this for more than just curiosity now.

“Come on,” you said, standing. “It’s getting late, and I still need to get my car—Shoot, I’m probably over the limit. I guess it’s a taxi for me then.”

“I can drop you home.” Kakashi stood as well, and you both walked to collect your coats. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Thanks,” you said relieved. You needed to at least try to budget after the amount you just spent on dinner.

Just as you were putting on your coats, Kakashi’s phone ran in his pocket. Remembering what he said about only having important people on vibrate, you remained silent as he took the call. You couldn’t quite make out the murmurs on the other side of the call, but Kakashi didn’t look pleased.

“Right… Okay… And there’s no alternate route? Of course… It can’t be helped, just meet me at the office.”

Did he have a last-minute work obligation perhaps?

“Yes, okay, I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket. “Bad news, there’s been a minor accident on the road and my driver can’t get to us. We can get through on the pedestrian pathways just fine, so we’ll have to go back to the office on foot.”

“Oh, that’s not a big deal, it’s only about twenty minutes, right?” You didn’t understand why he seemed so serious about a minor hold up. Did he think you were going to be mad at him or something? Kakashi relaxed imperceptibly as it became clear that you didn’t mind.

It only occurred to you later, once you were well into the walk, that Kakashi was used to schmoozing a bunch of hoity toity rich people at La Liaison who probably would throw a fit at such a minor inconvenience. Those kinds of people were the worst.

“Why did you ask me to dinner tonight?” Kakashi asked. He spoke casually, but in a way that suggested the casualness was being used to disguise a more serious question.

You knew that he wouldn’t stop until he got an answer that satisfied him, and you didn’t want your relationship to be stained by doubts as to your intentions, so you decided to give him an answer as close to the truth as possible. If you started talking about erotic fiction, he’d probably call some kind of doctor.

“Because you seemed miserable, and I was curious about you. Figured this would kill two birds with one stone. Also, you piss me off, I won’t lie.”

“You took me to dinner because I piss you off?” Kakashi asked, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Is that some kind of fetish or is it a psychological defect?”

You squawked indignantly and tried to hit him on the arm. He dodged it, laughing.

“You’re one to talk! You hired me after I grabbed you by the tie in a job interview. That’s got to be a fetish and a psychological defect!” You shoved him on the shoulder, and he immediately shoved you back, and before you knew it, you were having a children’s battle on the street.

A random woman from across the street gave you a dirty look, you stuck your tongue out at her. Kakashi giggled, like, actually giggled, and that sent you into hysterics.

Maybe you’d had more to drink than you thought.

“You know,” you said, throwing your arm over his shoulder, “next time I take you out, we’re going to McDonald’s. It’s cheaper, and I think it’ll be funny to watch you sit there in your suit. Wait, have you ever been to a McDonald’s before?”

“I’m wealthy, I’m not an alien.” He rolled his eyes at you. He seemed to do that a lot. You couldn’t imagine him sitting in a McDonald’s. “I go every other week because my dogs like the carrot sticks from there.”

“You feed your dogs carrot sticks from McDonald’s?”

“Yep.”

“Have you ever considered, I don’t know, buying a pack of carrots?”

“No, because they like the ones from McDonald’s.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Rich people were crazy. “How many dogs do you have anyway?”

“Eight.”

“EIGHT?!”

…

Car parks at night, familiar or not, were unnerving in the way that liminal spaces always were. At least you were almost at the office doors, where Kakashi’s chauffeur was going to pick you both up. You were glad to finally get there, because as fun as the walk had been, the Autumn night was surprisingly chilly, and it was taking genuine effort to remember all of Kakashi’s dogs’ names. You were honestly surprised that the porn logic didn’t add any strange occurrences on the walk.

Naturally, the second that thought formed in your head, something happened.

As you passed round the side of a tall fence, your shirt got caught on a stray piece of metal. What would have been a minor inconvenience, barely a rip, in your old reality, was a complete pornographic disaster in this one, as every button on your shirt somehow ripped off, leaving your shirt hanging open.

The cold air hit your skin and goosebumps erupted all over your chest. Yelping, you dragged the pieces of shirt back together and held them firmly closed. Obviously, you weren’t fast enough to stop Kakashi from getting a look. The way he was pointedly looking away from you, rosy cheeked, said it all.

“Stupid fence,” you grumbled, giving it a dirty look. This wasn’t exactly the first time, or even the coldest time, that porn logic had decided to spontaneously strip someone, but it always managed to catch you off guard. Did the people who lived in erotica worlds always carry spare changes of clothes just in case?

“Are you hurt?” Kakashi asked. He sounded a little awkward, but ultimately sincere. It was nice that he’d decided to go for genuine concern over sarcasm, and you decided to do the same.

“I’m fine, it just caught me by surprise. At least it’s dark so no one caught an eye full.”

Kakashi coughed. Okay, no one apart from him.

“I’ll send a message to maintenance in the morning, but for now, I have a spare shirt in my office that you’re welcome to borrow for the evening.”

Huh, what do you know, people did keep spare clothes around. You were about to decline, citing the late hour and the fact that you were wearing a coat that you could do up, when you realised what was happening. You’d bet anything that something sexy would happen if you followed him up to his office.

“That would be great, thanks.” You weren’t going to let this slide from your grip when he was so pretty. And honestly, he was starting to seem like less of an asshole in general. He was fun, traumatised, and had eight dogs, if that wasn’t your type, you didn’t know what was.

…

Flickering the lights on in his office, Kakashi went into one of the cupboards to look for the shirt while you snooped at the ornaments he had on his shelves. Notably, there were no pictures. You picked up a weird ceramic circle statue and turned it over to see if it did anything cool.

You had passed a security guard on the way up to Kakashi’s office, that looked very intrigued as to why you two were together so late, and why your shirt was ripped open, so you resigned yourself to the rumour mill only getting worse by tomorrow.

“Are you nosy by nature or just interested in my office in particular?”

“Shut up.” You put back the ornament and turned to face him. He was holding the spare shirt in his hand. “You want to fuck me so bad, don’t deny it.”

You expected another eye roll.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he growled, watching you intensely. Oh, that wasn’t an eye roll.

One moment you were staring at him, unsure of what to say, and the next, you were crashing together, lips, tongue, and teeth, in a horny and aggressive kiss. You didn’t know which one of you moved first, you didn’t really care, you only knew that Kakashi was hot and infuriating, and you wanted to kiss him until he couldn’t make that smug face anymore.

Kissing Kakashi was giving you whiplash. He was different to Itachi in every way you could think of. He was confident, aggressive, he fought with you, clashed with you, and he seemed to determined to kiss you twice as hard as you kissed him.

It was obvious that Kakashi’s submission wouldn’t be freely given like Itachi’s, no, you would have to earn it. The challenge scratched at your instincts, and suddenly you wanted to prove to this omega that he could trust you. A good orgasm should lay the groundwork for that.

Both coats were quickly discarded as you kissed, and your ruined shirt fell off moments later.

You had been consciously avoiding his hair in fear of the amount of wax you figured he used to keep that hair style, but one weak moment, as Kakashi’s hips jolted forwards towards yours, you forgot, and ran you fingers through it.

To your surprise, your fingers glided through the soft strands easily. You were so shocked that you broke the kiss. You furrowed your eyebrows as you examined his hair.

“What are you doing?” he panted, confused.

“How the fuck does your hair stay up like that without any hairspray or wax?”

“What?” He sounded baffled. “This is just what my hair looks like. Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

The kiss resumed, somehow more desperate and aggressive than before. Kakashi grabbed your waist so hard that you could feel the pin pricks from his nails digging into your skin. In return, you made use of your new found knowledge and grabbed a handful of Kakashi’s hair.

You pushed him backwards, never once breaking the rhythm of your kiss, until his upper thighs made contact with the front of his desk. His pot of pens fell as the desk jolted, scattering the expensive pens all over the ground. Neither of you paid it any mind.

When you finally pulled away for air, Kakashi wasted no time, immediately latching onto your neck with reckless abandon. There was something feral about him that was making you hot. He didn’t hold back. You could tell that he was experienced, and he was using every drop of that experience to his advantage.

While he was distracted, you worked on undoing his buttons. It was harder than it looked to remain focused while Kakashi was doing his best impression of a vampire on your neck.

“You have way too many fucking buttons on this shirt.”

“It’s a normal number of buttons,” he murmured against your skin.

“There is literally nothing normal about you.”

“And you say I’m the rude one.”

“That’s because you fucking are.”

Eventually, you managed to undo the last button. Your noise of triumph morphed into a moan as Kakashi nipped around your collar bone. You used his hair to tug him back before loosening his tie and pushing the shirt off his shoulders.

The way his torso looked, bare but with a loose tie hanging over it, unlocked a kink you didn’t know you had. In fact, everything about him was hot. As you dragged the shirt down his arms, you could feel his muscles flexing. Kakashi was strong and broad, and he wore it so well.

You didn’t bother pulling the shirt off all the way, instead letting it bunch at his wrists, acting as a semi-restraint. He tugged at it experimentally, and when he found it restricting his movement, his pupils dilated.

You cooed as you ran your hands all over his naked torse. That’s right, he was a forceful person, certainly, but any shows of dominance were likely performative or learnt behaviours, because this man was a giant sub at heart.

You grabbed his bottom lip between your teeth and pulled it lightly. Kakashi growled at you, but you knew what he was doing; he wasn’t telling you to stop, he was challenging you. You growled back, stronger, louder, and just as you thought, his growling stopped, and his scent took on a delicious hint of submission.

“God, you really are annoyingly hot,” you growled, biting along his jaw. “Emphasis on annoying.”

“Takes one to know one,” he fired back, squeezing your waits.

“Mutual handjob?” you whispered against his skin, already undoing his trousers, before doing the same with yours.

“That the first intelligent thing you’ve said all night.”

“Fuck you.”

You grabbed Kakashi’s muscular thighs and lifted him slightly until he was perched on his desk. A stack of papers tipped over and fluttered to the ground, but that wasn’t a problem for present you, so you happily ignored the chaos in favour of the panting omega in front of you.

You took your dick out from your pants and did the same for Kakashi. They bumped up against each other, searingly hot and unflinchingly hard. You let out a whistle of appreciation at his cock. It was big, bigger than most alphas you’d met, and certainly bigger than any omega’s cock you’d ever seen. In fact, just eyeballing it, he was roughly the same size as you. His shaft was as pale as the rest of him, but the head was an angry red. It was girthy too, and it felt hot and solid in your palm.

Purposefully, you thrust your hips forward, guiding your cock against his with both of your hands. Kakashi moaned, thrusting up to meet you. He could only watch, his hands restrained as they were.

You kept your hands around the dicks, keeping them aligned as you both started to rut against each other. Beads of pre cum quickly made their appearance, which only made everything else feel that much better.

There was something deeply satisfying about what you were doing, especially because you were both still half-dressed. It made it feel desperate, like you couldn’t wait long enough to get your clothes off, too desperately attracted to each other, and had instead chosen to rub off on each other like horny teenagers.

You made out messily while you grinded against each other. Maintaining a consistent pace was a little difficult, especially as things got wetter and wetter, but you managed. There was something sexy about the chaos. The increased sensitivity from being in the erotica world didn’t hurt either.

Your moans and groans increased in frequency as you got closer. If felt like every nerve ending you had was on fire, and Kakashi looked much like you felt, covered in a thin sheen of sweat that was obvious under the hard corporate lighting.

Technically, with it being so bright inside and so dark outside, anyone who happened to glance up would have got a glimpse of you, but you were both too far gone to care.

“You love having someone take control of you, don’t you Kakashi,” you moaned, pressing your lips against his. “You’re tired of always being in control, aren’t you? The big CEO, everyone’s relying on you, but who do you get to rely on? Who looks after you? You want someone to do that, don’t you? You’re a walking, talking CEO stereotype.”

“Who says I’m going to give control to you?” he panted, licking his lips. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”

“Hmm, nope, I think I’m right on track,” you teased. Already picking up on his proclivity for biting, you gave a bite in return, just shy of where a mating mark might theoretically go. Kakashi gasped, his hands straining at the shirt that restrained them. “I’ll get you to submit to me properly, one day.”

“We’ll see.”

The alcohol and the increased sensitivity were mixing together to make this tryst shorter than expected, but Kakashi seemed to be in the same boat, so you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The banter ceased as the final stretch towards your orgasms started.

As your ending approached, you bent down and sealed your lips with Kakashi’s once more. Suddenly, everything crested, and pleasure flowed over you in waves. Your thrusts got sloppy, but neither of you cared. Kakashi came with a guttural moan. His stomach muscles flexing in a hypnotic dance.

The extra cum afforded by the porn logic soaked both your dicks and your hands, staining both pairs of trousers too. It dripped onto the carpet, and if the security guard didn’t spread a rumour about you and Kakashi hooking up, one of the cleaners probably would.

Some of Kakashi’s cum had even landed on the spare shirt, so you now had a choice between a torn shirt, or one covered in cum to match your stained trousers. Great. Why did horny you always make such bad decisions?

You and Kakashi remained leaning against each other for a while, just catching your breaths and marvelling at how fast your relationship had move. You wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told you during your interview that you’d end up grinding on that asshole’s desk a few days later.

‘I would have believed it.’

‘Thanks, James.’

Kakashi opened his mouth to speak, but the door to his office suddenly opened, cutting him off. You both stiffened, snapping up to face the intruder like a pair of deer in headlights.

There, standing in the doorway with the expression of a man who was entirely done with life, was Kakashi’s chauffeur. Instead of an apology of any kind, the man just sighed.

“The car is downstairs when you are ready. Please try and clean up before getting in, the leather won’t forget these kinds of smells easily.” With that, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

You and Kakashi looked at each other, then to the door, and then to each other, before you both burst out laughing.

What a way to end the night.

Next Chapter

#the quest for a second life #kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #alpha!reader #alpha reader #omega!kakashi #omega kakashi #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha x omega #gn reader #sub kakashi #sub!kakashi #dom!reader #dom reader #n-sfw #reader insert

348 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 2 months

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy- Patreon

Hello! We’ve been getting asks about what our series are about, and we wanted to show you guys a little piece of what we have on there 🫶 this is a series about rancher and cowboy h, and Y/N is very happy to be getting a job out on the infamous ranch with her passion for the horses and the beauty of the land.

WC- 1.6k

Here is our sneak peek! You can join us on Patreon for multiple exclusive series (100+ pieces) and early access to our writing.

——-

The place was fucking gorgeous… but that didn’t seem to compare to the cowboy showing her around. Jesus Christ, the man was something of a movie star quality man.

He was polite and charming. Holding his hand out to take hers when they’d have to move over a bit of rougher terrain, his calloused fingers gently caressing hers with a sly smile. The hat on his head shaded his eyes so he could look properly, giving her eye contact the entire time. Chillingly hot eye contact that had her feeling a bit weak in the knees. Soft green, greener than the grass in the fields that sprawled the ranch.

“I think you’d like workin’ here. It’s a family for sure.” He hummed, moving his hat off to brush his longer locks out of his face and adjusting the hat back on. He was bronzed and golden skinned from working outside, a light dusting of freckles just barely visible from her distance. Carved cheekbones and sharp jawline but dimples deeper than the valley, he was a god like being standing in front of her with a sweet disposition he probably hid a bit from others.

“I think so, yes. It’s my dream. You know? It’s a bit cheesy to some at the school… everyone’s always dreaming to run off to the city. But I love the place. The animals. The air.” She murmured, looking around the ranch. Y/N was hyper aware of the warm form of the man next to her, and the fact he was looking at her. Never had she experienced such an attentive man in terms of talking to her. No checking of his phone, no looking away.

She also was unaware of how Harry was genuinely a bit in awe of her. The starry eyed cowboy drinking in her essence and watching carefully as she spoke. Observing the details he hadn’t managed before. Beating himself up over not having known her before. Because, how? A girl in their area who wanted to stay? Who genuinely loved his land? That was a rarity. It wasn’t going to take much to have him be taken with her.

“I think that’s Amazin’.” He smiled, placing his hand on the small of her back and leading her towards the barn where their personal horses were kept. “You’re like me then. Content with home. Everyone says… they want wild adventures. Don’t even bother lookin’ in their own backyard. And that’s a damn shame, cause there’s plenty.” He spoke as they walked. Her eyes trailed his petal pink lips, the slight stubble left on the skin on his face, the radiance in his entire being. Harry was truly one of a kind. Even with dirt smudged on his jeans, clunky cowboy boots and the occasional scratch on his hand he managed to be graceful and smooth.

“Exactly.” She chirped, excited that he got it. “To me… there’s nothing like the festivals downtown. Learning to make new things. Finding a new watering hole or mapping out the land. I love the bonfires and cookouts. I don’t know. I find there’s a beauty in simplicity.” She turned to look at him, eyes squinted for a moment before they adjusted to the sun. It was beautiful outside despite the heat. The blue skies elevated her mood, but she did think that it was mostly attributed to the man guiding her around.

Harry felt his heart swell and a round of hopeful caterpillar‘s making their cocoons inside of his stomach. So many times he’s been hoping to find someone of a similar mindset. Someone he could get close to and not worry about them wanting to run off later down the line. It just felt… nice. Comforting. Knowing someone else felt the same as he did.

“You get me, Sweets.” He lightly flexed his hand on her back as his smile widened. Harry was a skeptic romantic. Meaning he held his cards close before he let them show. He’s flirt and tease but playfully. It wasn’t real unless he felt secure. Something he felt more and more of each time this pretty girl opened her mouth. A dangerous combination for him.

His approval made her giddy, having to stop herself from skipping as he opened the barn door up with a creaky slide. “We’re getting new doors on the barn so it doesn’t cause such a ruckus. But this barn is for our personal horses. I’ve got a few, but my soul partner is right over here.” He led her over to a large black stallion. A white star shaped mark right between his eyes. “His name is Perseus. Or Percy, for short.” He grinned widely at the giggle that left her mouth, his hand stroking over his nose with gentle affection.

“Percy, hm?” She looked at Harry for approval before stroking the side of the horse’s strong neck. “What a beautiful big boy.” A gentle coo had the hose sighing. A sign of relaxation, making her beam. “Yes, you are a strong, Handsome one. I can tell.” Her hands worked over the front of the horse with a cooed affection that had Harry- in simpler terms- about to act up.

He was far closer to his horses than people realized. He loved his animals and had a special connection to them, but especially Percy. His best friend. He’d gotten him for his 21st, and ever since they’d been attached at the hip. “Oh, he likes you.” His deep voice rumbled through her stomach and almost made her jump. “He doesn’t usually take to stranger so fast. Got ‘im begging for attention. He will eat it up when he like ‘ya.”

So would Harry. He felt a little pathetic being jealous for wanting the girl to be stroking at his face like that. She had smooth hands.

“Does he get that from his Daddy?”

The giggled tease had Harry caught of guard but sent him into a laugh, head thrown back at the gall. This woman was something else… and it was calling right to him. A bit of banter was sexy. Especially teasing.

“Maybe so. But it takes a special woman to get men like us to behave like mere pups.” He hummed, leaning his hip against the stall door.

“Mhm. I bet that’s true.” She looked at him from under her lashes with a coy smile before returning her attention to the stallion.

I’ll be damned. He thought. This was the fastest a woman had managed to tangle Harry up in a lasso, but it seemed like he was pulling it tighter than she had even meant to.

“How many personal horses are then?” Her question snapped him out of his fantasy in his mind. Not an appropriate one to be having about a staff member but Harry knew that in his gut, she would be far more than that.

“I have 3. Percy, here.” He nudged his chin towards him. “Then we’ve got Athena. And Cash.” He pointed towards a paint mare and a chestnut… what seemed to be thoroughbred stallion. “Those are mine. Over there are my fathers two, and my mothers one though she doesn’t ride often. Hers is used more for riding lessons and all that. Sister got some too. So… 8. We got room for two more personal. Staff and ranch hands, if they got ‘Em, keep them in the commercial barns. There’s a lot of ‘em here.” Though she knew that. “I’m assuming you’ll like to spend time with all of them.”

“Well… Percy is a favorite so far.” She grinned towards the horse. “But you’d be right. I adore all animals but horses.. they’re a soft spot for me. I want to have a few of my own one day.” She said it shyly. It was stupid to be shy and Y/N knew that. Harry got it more than anymore but there was still that residual shame she felt from peers when she said she was happy where she was and wanted to keep going. She didn’t have the same wanderlust as everyone else.

“Hey.” He took a risk, gently lifting her chin up with his thumb. “Nothin’ wrong with that. Don’t know why you’re embarrassed when m’the one who just gushed over lovin’ my horses.” He teased lightly, keeping those pretty eyes of hers locked with his. “I’m glad… I’ve met someone who’s like me. Everyone in a rush to leave and fail to see how much fun and how beautiful life can be when you enjoy what you’ve got. The horses, the nature, everything. Everyone at school has those big city dreams. That’s fine n’dandy for them, but you n’me? We get it. We like how we were raised and we are comfortable being here. Don’t let ‘em haunt you. You can be open here. In fact… I’d love to see more of you like that. It’s not every day you come across a pretty little thing with a good head on her shoulders. My momma will eat you up and be happy you’re around. Some sense, she’ll say.” He gently stroked her chin before letting his hand drop. It was pathetic for her to miss the rough pad of the finger on her smooth skin, but she did.

“Yeah?” She asked shyly, looking up at him while shifting back and forth from heel to toe. A childlike comfort that Harry found to be fucking adorable.

“Yeah, Darlin’. Don’t worry about any of ‘em here. You’ve got me… and a whole load of other folks who have pride in loving where they’re from. “ he paused, taking in the sparkly flint in her eyes though she was a bit shy. It made him feel all the more eager to protect her, to make her see she was one of them. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”

162 notes · View notes

peachdues · 11 months

Text

Where’s My Love?

Or, Sanemi spends his days searching for his missing lover.

Inspired by this song by SYML.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

She goes missing the morning after he tells her he loves her.

The news comes first as a whisper, and then as a declaration. Normally, when a Pillar is killed, their crow is the one to inform the others.

But her crow is missing too, and Sanemi wants to believe that’s a good sign. The crows are trained not to get involved in battle and to only carry news. If there is no news of her, then she cannot be in danger.

Or so he tells himself.

But then an official rescue team is dispatched to her last known location and Sanemi of course is one of the leads, along with Rengoku. He Leads because he thinks he’ll find her, maybe injured a bit, but whole and safe and then he can yell at her for it while he takes care of her, and all will be okay.

He feels slightly annoyed with her. Annoyed because he just poured his heart out to her, shared his body with her, and now she is making him worry. And she promised that she loved him too, and if that was true, why is she making him worry?

Part of him wonders if she has run away. Maybe he hopes she has. Hopes that she could not face her love for him, could not bear to let him into her heart because each day with the Corps may be their last and she said she doesn’t ever want to leave behind any loose ends. No mourners.

A week has gone by, and then another, and another, and the weeks bleed into a month and Sanemi wants her to know that he doesn’t care if she got scared, doesn’t care if she ran away.

He just wants her to come home.

But one month becomes two and the number of slayers available for recovery missions has dwindled, and people do not know how to chase hiding ghosts.

Sanemi loves her though, and so he keeps searching because maybe, just maybe this time, his love will be enough to save her, to save them both.

Another month passes by and Sanemi thinks he should know by now that he never gets to keep the ones he loves.

———————————

Six months, two weeks, and four days later and she is still gone.

It takes both Rengoku and Uzui to pull Sanemi off a Kinoe who dared call her a pile of “cold bones,” when assigned to do yet another recovery mission. The kid’s face is covered in varying shades of black and blue and red, but Sanemi cant bring himself to feel bad, can’t bring himself to feel anything, not even the sharp sting of split skin across his knuckles.

Sanemi only feels the void threatening to swallow him up for good. He only feels the emptiness of the sheets on his futon because she took all the warmth with her when she left that morning, leaving him with nothing but the fading scent of her perfume and an empty promise to return.

Sanemi cannot bring himself to say aloud the fear that runs in his blood.

The fear that the reason she cannot be found is because she was carried up into the clouds above and she cannot get back home; cannot get back to him.

He has heard murmurs that a piece of her haori was found, dirty, torn, and half-buried on some muddy path but Sanemi has not seen it for himself, and so, it does not mean anything to him.

It cannot mean anything to him.

But it does.

Because now it has been ten months since he last felt her hand on his face, last was graced with a smile so sweet that it made him forget all of his sourness, and he begins to think that maybe the Kinoe was right.

But he still wants her to come home, so he keeps searching.

——————————-

She is declared dead 366 days after she goes missing.

That designation calls off the year-long search for her, and some of the other slayers are relieved to return to their usual duties. Chasing demons is far more preferable to chasing ghosts.

Not for Sanemi.

Sanemi wanders through forests and valleys, looking for any trace of her in the wind. He continues to hunt and torture demons for information, but none of them have heard a single whisper of a missing Hashira with a pretty smile and the moon in her eyes.

But Sanemi keeps looking anyways.

Keeps looking because there’s still a chance that she’s under some rock he hasn’t managed to turn, and that she’s scared and needs him to help her. And when he does find her, he will reprimand her and then he will kiss her, and then he will marry her so that she never has to be alone again. And finally, finally, he will get to love and be loved in return.

So Sanemi keeps looking.

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny sanemi #sanemi drabble #kny fanfic #kny x reader

509 notes · View notes

imaginmatrix · 6 months

Note

Maybe it's my playing Stardew Valley, but I'd certainly like to see a nice Percabeth fic set in a remote, countryside farm town

Annabeth sat on the grass at the top of the overlook.

The small town was a cluster of scattered lights below, the rolling fields of farms rippling like ocean waves in the breeze, leading down to sandy beaches and the true sea it mirrored.

Forests and mountains encased the little community, less a wall of hostility to keep out strangers, and more a protective hug from a loved one, ensuring those in the valley felt secure. Safe.

Percy slumped down beside her, handing over a beer he’d snagged from the six pack in the back of his truck, her second of the night. Most of the evening had already been spent watching the explosion of color the sunset always brought fade to the cool blue of summer twilight.

Crickets chirped. Fireflies began to flick on their lights. A frog sang a song in its gruff, throaty voice. Annabeth cleared her throat.

“So do you come up here a lot?” She asked, trying her best not to look at him, because if she looked at him… it would only invite trouble.

She felt Percy’s shrug, “More so lately.”

“Mm.” Annabeth hummed, taking a sip from her bottle.

Percy Jackson never struck her as a country boy. From the moment Annabeth laid eyes on him in his jeans, converse, and blue Henley, he had emitted an energy that felt unmistakably “city.”

But he was far more down to earth than the men she’d interacted with throughout her life, unconcerned with networking, who knew who, or which restaurants and clubs would be “in” that weekend— not that there were clubs here, and small town gossip was an entirely different breed than what she was used to.

Still.

“So you’re an artist?” Percy interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes.” Annabeth frowned, “Well, no… sort of?”

His laugh sent electricity through her chest, the zap of static after dragging one’s feet on carpet. “How can someone be only ‘sort of’ an artist?”

She unsuccessfully bit back a smile, “I haven’t been doing much art since coming here.”

It seemed like a good idea at the time— a sabbatical from the firm, a chance to rekindle her creativity, find her passion for a dream career that had lost its shine the past half-decade, a relaxing getaway to a small town, in a little cabin, no one to interrupt her…

Except it seemed she left inspiration back in New York.

It hadn’t fit in her luggage.

“I hear that 90% of being an artist is not actually making art, so you’re on the right track.” The way he nudged her shoulder nearly tempted Annabeth into turning her head those few centimeters to meet his gaze, see his face, those green eyes, that black curly hair— no. She had to be firm with herself.

So instead, Annabeth laughed, and she took another swig, “God. I hope that’s true.”

“What do you draw? Or… paint, or whatever?”

The million dollar question.

“I… I’m trying to figure it out.”

She could imagine the way he must be raising his eyebrows at that answer, “People? Places?”

“Buildings.” Annabeth sighed, “I’m an architect.”

“Seems pretty straightforward.” She cringed. Percy paused. “…or not.”

Another sigh tugged at her lungs, but she beat it back down, “It is, usually. But… it all looks the same these days.”

“Buildings?”

“Yeah.” She tilted her eyes to the night sky, so much clearer than back home, “I’m sick of them and I need to find some way to get inspired again because— I mean— Skyscrapers? Giant vertical rectangles. Strip malls? Giant horizontal rectangles. Businesses want to fit in— and so do celebrities, if you’re lucky enough to work with one on some fancy mansion.”

“You’ve built for celebrities?”

“One.” Annabeth admitted, “But everything is so… sterile. Even interiors, which used to still have character when the buildings themselves stopped being unique, and now they’re all minimalist and shades of grey and glass doors, plain marble lobbies or open floor concepts—“

“Used to work in one of those.”

Annabeth blinked, finally inclining her face toward Percy though she still avoided a direct look, “Did you?”

“Yeah. In the same city as you, it looks like.” He pinched the brim of the Yankees cap atop Annabeth’s head, tugging it down teasingly, “Couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with my life after high school, so I kind of floated around to different things. Ended up in a tech startup, even though computers hate me— it was mostly answering phones and trying to convince people to buy useless warranties they didn’t need.”

“Why did you leave?” Annabeth immediately felt stupid for asking the question. Everything he recounted sounded absolutely miserable.

But Percy didn’t seem to think the same, his answer earnest, “It was a few years ago, and I was already looking for a new job; it didn’t cross my mind to ditch the city entirely, it’s— it was my home, but uh…” he cleared his throat. “I made a promise to someone. So now I’m here.”

Her curiosity was piqued, but Annabeth didn’t pry, figuring it was a sensitive topic. “Do you like the Valley?”

“Far more than I thought I would.”

“Me too.” She paused, “Do you think you’ll stay here?”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

The word made her emotions churn in a way she absolutely did not want to analyze at the moment.

They stared out at the valley again.

“God this view is beautiful.” Annabeth breathed, breaking the silence.

“Absolutely.”

Then Annabeth made the mistake of turning her head to look at him, the action she’d been avoiding since he invited her to go for a drive, and Percy’s gaze was already on her. Their eyes met. Neither moved to break the delicate string that tentatively began to connect them.

Annabeth’s mind was a whirlwind. This is why it had been so dangerous to look. This is what she was scared of.

Because with him looking like that— no, with him looking at her like that— if his “maybe” response to her question of staying here became a “definitely”…

Then what would she do?

But it was too late. She was leaning in, and Percy was as well, and Annabeth knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop herself, because that delicate string was growing stronger, a spider web to a fishing line to a sewing thread to a length of yarn and on and on and on—

So she kissed him. She breathed in his scent, sea salt, and sweat, and lavender from the brush he’d toppled into earlier that night. She tasted his lips, warm and chapped, but not uncomfortably so, a friction in the softness that promised something more that made Annabeth’s skin prickle with anticipation. She kissed him, and let him kiss her, and maybe this would bring that much needed passion back to her life.

But she knew she was a fool.

Because in that moment, even knowing that this— whatever “this” was— could only lead to heartbreak and misery and pain, she made the decision to choose it.

Choose this.

Choose him.

Even if just for the next two months she was here.

Even if just for tonight.

*****

Okay you made me make a series of oneshots on AO3, so here it is there too

#morgan murmurs #ask #knowall7k #prompt #writing prompt #writing #one shot #Percabeth #percabeth fanfic #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson fan fic #pjo fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

32 notes · View notes

rriavian · 6 months

Text

Another flower prompt fic for the exchange between @bobbole and @windsweptinred this one is for Aloe - Rekindling a former flame - Dream and Calliope

I might have to extend this/write a longer fic, I’ve got some spare prose that didn’t make it in. But we shall see :)

Disclaimer: still haven’t read the comics so this is show canon with a sprinkling of comic details.

Calliope meets him in the Dreaming.

She returns by invitation; finds Morpheus in a private place that had once been theirs, a space she knows no one else has been since, yet Calliope enters and finds it is no ruin. This place still growing without them. It’s overgrown but not unkempt; Calliope can feel it as she walks here again, breathes its ancient air and finds nothing stale in it, wonders whether if she looked closely at the ground she could find footprints too. The proof is in these flowers, a valley of them blooming bright, Calliope has returned to a place neither of them have been to in years but it’s still here.

It’s all still here.

Preserved, no tomb but something fresh. This place they’ve long since left, still warm, fading heat insulated somehow, an ember that hasn’t died. Still more to burn.

Dream turns to greet her.

“Calliope.”

“Morpheus.”

He dips, plucks a flower from the ground, rises and tucks it gently behind her ear, both a bow and something else, both a greeting of respect and one that holds all of a lover's daring intimacy. This thing between them a fire, a candle; it’s returning to a home after many years away and still being able to navigate it blind.

This thing between them hovers.

This thing that is and isn’t love.

Once she’d mapped him and the knowledge sustains even in distance, once he’d mapped her and the knowledge links like hands.

Dream offers his now.

He smiles, tilts his head—a question, an invitation of the sort that has brought her here—hand extended palm up, thin fingers that do not beckon, do not seek to risk coercion even to reassure, will let her come to him on her own terms without risk of compulsion. Oneiros will not beg either. It’s just an offer. It’s just a hand. It’s the flame between them, a mortal thing in substance, a fragile thing they both feed to sustain. It must burn. It eats. It’s loss and sacrifice which really just means forever.

It’s warmth and love and that means forever too.

She loved Dream once.

And once is enough—whether it be a slip up, whether it be a mistake, whether it be something far more complex—it means permanence. It means age. Forever makes once a risk. A commitment.

A promise.

It makes it the same as hate.

A similar shade, a similar angle, and to find love one must turn their head and shift perspective, Calliope does so now and finds it again in Dream’s starlit eyes. It’s perhaps right where she left it, isn’t slight though it is subtle, far away or long ago—Dream’s smile is slight though, subtle in almost the same way—subtle in the same way he’s chosen to meet her with eyes that are blue and not black. A lighter shade of the same space, the sky of his love so easy to miss even as you look right at it, right into it. It's one word but one word is all you need. It’s listening close. It’s not assuming silence just because you cannot hear the wind.

Calliope can always hear the wind.

She takes Dream’s hand.

It’s icy beneath her own—now that is familiar too, familiar like lips trailing up her thighs, Dream never sparing with her pleasure, never holding back what he’d give to her—a flame in it because this is another thing that burns. Yet Calliope’s immortal skin remains unharmed by it, unharmed but not untouched, is able to be loved by it.

Able to survive how even softness scalds.

She wonders what he feels when she touches him in return.

Now Dream’s fingers accept the curl of hers; steady to hold, no risk of crumbling at her touch, a match for the density of her own bones as much as she’s a match for his. Calliope trusts his hold, his hand, this a taste of forever in a universe that’s always been dying. A rare relief to touch something that also knows no decay. She can hold on tight, forget strength and know he will not break, she can be careful by choice and not by necessity.

“Welcome to the Dreaming.” Morpheus says softly.

It could be marble beneath her fingertips.

But he is no statue, it could be light without shade but he’s not entirely that either.

Dream is softened by darkness—the black clothes he wears, the arched brows, the perpetually ruffled hair—the full beam of him blunted, edges blurred by a choice the same flavour as hers. It’s the gift of shadow, the respite allowed by shade, because as much as he illuminates he also allows places to hide.

“You did not have to invite me back here.”

“It has been too long already.”

Together they’d had a son, made a tragedy, been taught daring in their mortal child they’d both known they were always going to lose. There was no real cheat, not even in a gift, not for them because oh how what they had done had combined their weakness. Their strength. Oh how what they’d done had given the universe a target that could actually bleed.

There is no weakness now.

They’d not do it again. They are not too old for risk; it’s that they are too jaded, it’s that they have learned what a weakness really is, what it really means, and that holds an implication Calliope must clarify. They hadn’t been naïve before. The risk of their son hadn’t been stupid, her union with Dream had not been foolish—for all it had gone wrong Calliope refuses to insult her love with that—it had been hope.

She stands with her former husband and says. “I thought by now I’d be ready to let him go.”

Morpheus nods.

He does not agree.

It can’t have been naivety because they’d always known they’d lose him. He’d not been weak but Orpheus was born mortal, human, so delightfully, victoriously, human—another thing they both so loved, no disappointment that he had been thus, only joy because oh look Dream look at our son—and they’d known what that had meant. They’d both thought they could take his loss. Calliope had thought herself prepared for grief, had prepared his shroud as she’d sewn his swaddling blanket, prepared her mourning veil the same day she birthed him.

While he took his first breath she’d already begun to grieve.

When she held him Calliope had been determined to keep her eyes open because she knew that in one blink he would be gone.

Yet when the time came no preparation could be enough.

It had been other eyes that turned; others that had seen an opportunity, an allegory perhaps, a feature of a structured story ready to be wielded against its actors, these others that had seen a tool and not a child.

He’d still been a child.

Calliope’s own family had been vicious too, even while playful, an immortals teasing joke so often a mortal blow in strength if not intent. It’s the reality of what goes wrong when strength can be an accident, when it meets flesh that tears. There are no easy targets now—no safe bets, no assured victory, if you want a fight then fight me—no mortal for others to play their games with, to taunt in another’s stead, to hurt in another’s place even as neither of them had ever intended to create a stand in.

Even as neither of them had created Orpheus to absorb another’s blows.

Calliope would have taken every one herself.

As would Dream.

“Didn’t we learn our lesson?” Calliope says.

“Yes.” Dream says, still holding her hand; not letting go, not moving away, his agreement not a rejection of this new old thing they’ve found they are.

The pain in him, the grief, a mirror for hers, the love in him made of it too like a tapestry still weaving. It’s been absorbed, folded in, a different material to its thread. A winter when before there had been spring. Perhaps ice will be all they have—the beauty of it, the soft down of snow, the delicacy of snowflakes—no barren landscape in this, not for them, not for these two immortals.

They can’t be brittle with this, can’t break, must endure forever.

Yet they can find beauty in winter too; immortality what survives the glare of snow, the honesty of it. It’s eyes that don’t squint against lights full beam, won’t flinch, the same when Morpheus looks at her, because resilience has never been an issue. The lesson has been learned.

The wound here is a world that decays while you remain evergreen.

“Yes—”

The flame ignites; even amongst ice it seems fire can burn, Onieros raises her hand to his lips, kisses the back of her knuckles, soft, fleeting, then back again for more once Calliope nods, once she exhales slow and soft. Relieved and pained. It’s an ember fanned to flame by breath, by leaning in close. He’s still smiling, his too blue eyes wet with tears he may never shed, may never let go of.

Yet it’s the light that’s gone. It’s the light that’s still there.

“We did.”

Orpheus had turned back to look at Eurydice. He’d gone to the underworld to find her.

Of course he had.

He was their son.

#dream of the endless #Calliope #Dream/Calliope #the sandman #my writing #prompt fic #I love writing these two!!

27 notes · View notes

your-vampire-girlfriend · 4 months

Text

CW: Discussion about beauty standards, skin, scars and my own negative experiences with it

Aren't your twenties meant to be your absolute peak? You're the prettiest you'll ever be, the most stylish, the strongest, the most easily consumed, and the barer of more time than you're supposed to know what to do with.

Aren't you immortal? Isn't you visage meant to be forever frozen as a thin, white twenty-something girl with perfect, glowing skin? No? I guess 96% of us are out of luck.

I see everyone around me frantic and afraid with the time they apparently don't have. Once a month they go down to the city to get preventative Botox in an infrared sauna with a quick round of cool-sculpting for dessert. They're running up credit card debt with money they saved for textbooks at Sephora, Ulta, Credo, and SkinStore because this lotion will be the one! It will lighten their face five shades, blur their scars, and shrink their pores in a week.

I see them when I look in the mirror and I see the the valleys around my mouth that are bound to turn into wrinkles later on. And there's this one little indent on my forehead that I can't work out whether it's a fine line forming or my foundation that settled wrong. The sides of my thighs have little blue veins and cellulite you can really only see I'm stretching on the barre and I'm not really sure what to do about it.

Most of the shiny, pink, raised pimples have faded into reddish splotches all over my chest and back and jawline, but they're still there. No amount of BHA, retinol, sugar scrub, balm, oil, or moisturizer has put a dent in them. All the women in my family said their skin magically cleared once they left high school, like the diploma would be some kind of protective totem against papules. It never did, by the way. I don't think this is what women have in mind when they say they want to have "the skin of a teenager".

I'm vigorous, near obsessive with my skin and body care. I double cleanse, tone, treat, moisturize, and use a noncomedogenic sunscreen. I can count on one hand the number of times I've slept in makeup, I take my vitamins, I drink my water, I change my pillow cases, I wash my clothes in gentle hypoallergenic detergent.

Some days though I wake up and struggle with the realization that this is all I can do. I can care for myself in every which way, but it doesn't change that today is the youngest I will ever be again. I'll never have as much collagen in my skin tomorrow as I do today. One of the hairs I lose today might not grow back tomorrow.

Aging is such an incredible privilege, this I know better than anyone. A month ago my cousin reminded me of this when taking one bad pill left her twenty seven forever. My uncle locked himself in his bedroom after he got back from rehab a few years back and is now thirty-five for the rest of my life. I am grateful for life, and breathing, and aging, but the world I live in doesn't make it any easier to accept the consequences of it.

I hope I'm not alone in this.

#vamprambling #this is no way is judging people who do what they need to do to feel comfortable in their skin #coquette #gloomy coquette #clean girl #becoming that girl #doelette #dollette #aesthetic #skincare #female rage #female hysteria #manic pixie dream girl #it girl #living as a woman is a special kind of hell #what kind of society pathologically punishes your continued existence #cw: death #cw: beauty standards

11 notes · View notes

canary0 · 9 months

Text

July 24th - Dracula 2023

Captain’s Log of the Demeter

I’ve heard that when you’re having or about to have a heart attack or something along those lines, you gain a sense of inevitable doom. I think I understand that feeling now.

We’re heading into the bay of Biscay with a major storm ahead, and another of the men disappeared. Needless to say, the others are understandably terrified. The mate is angry again – I can’t fathom why he gets angry when the men are nervous for very legitimate reasons. I’m worried there will be some violence between them. Can’t afford that when disappearances are happening.

I’ll have to keep an eye out.

–

The Diary of Mina Murray

Today Lucy brought us up to one of her favorite spots in Whitby and we got a chance to see more of the town. It’s very picturesque, with red-roofed buildings piled up along banks of the River Esk that runs through the town. The mouth of the river extends toward into long concrete constructions like pincers with lighthouses on either side in the middle. Most of the town is on one side of the river, alongside some beautiful beachfront that it will be fun to go down to this summer. On the other side are a few rows up houses, and then the area clears into a large green clearing, at the center of which is a beautiful ruin of an old abbey.

The spot in question is around the old abbey, and the day was perfect for going up there – bright and stunningly blue as can be imagined. Jonathan seemed hesitant as we approached the abbey from a distance, and as we crested the hill at the top of the stairs up to it, but I suppose that shouldn’t be two surprising for a variety of reasons. We paused for a little while at the top of the hill, as the lingering anemia left him more tired than usual, but then we continued on.

The old abbey is filled with beautiful, bright green grass, and the old architecture is remarkably intact – some of the windows even still have their mullions and glass. Jonathan took pictures as we went up, quite taken by the ruin’s beauty now that he was up here. He’s always loved beautiful landscapes, and it was a comfort to see him smile again. Lucy was excited to play tour guide, showing us all around and talking about the history of the abbey like a seasoned docent.

Not too far away is another active church, but it’s also very old. There’s a graveyard attached filled with very old graves. Walkways cross cross the grounds, and there are a lot of little stone benches scattered around. Lucy’s favorite is one toward the end of the graveyard, where you can see over the whole Esk River valley and across the headland, though Jonathan remained back in the shade, seeming content to gave out over the graveyard and wander the grounds a little bit.

I’ve heard stories here, about a white woman that appears in one of the church windows, and bells that sound when a ship is lost at sea. There were a few people about, and I ended up asking an older woman nearby. She looked to be in her mid-80s, maybe older, and had pale blue eyes that always seemed to be smiling.

She said, “Well… I’ve never seen the white woman in my time. I swear I’ve heard the bell at night, though. Now, my great grandad, he would have told you that it was all a bunch of hooey. Didn’t believe a thing he couldn’t hold in his two hands.” She chuckled at that. “Tourists like hearing about it, and I think it would be a bit fun if it were true, so I don’t think it’s a bad thing to indulge in such stories. I like telling them to my grandchildren.”

She told me a few stories of the possible origin of the white woman – supposedly a woman was built into the walls, a woman who died of sadness in the abbey after her husband didn’t return home, who still looks out to sea for him… It was all quite interesting. Lucy was quite rapt with attention as well. Even Jonathan was listening from a little way away, and joined us after she bade us goodbye and headed down the steps.

After she left, he sat down with Lucy and I and said, surprising both of us, “… I hope the story of the white woman is just a story.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Oh? I thought the idea of the second story rather romantic…”

He smiled a little at that. “Yes… But I wouldn’t want anyone to be tormented like that, trapped forever beyond death.” He put a hand on one of the tombstones as if it was the shoulder of a friend. “This is a beautiful place to rest. I’d like to hope everyone here is at peace.”

Lucy looked thoughtful at that, and we stayed up there and enjoyed the breeze for a while until sunset, returning once it was getting dim.

Apparently we're going wedding stuff shopping tomorrow, so we'll need rest.

#dracula daily #dracula 2023 #fanfic #jonathan harker #just for fun #modern retelling #lucy westenra #mina murray

13 notes · View notes

margindoodles2407 · 2 months

Text

OKAY OKAY SO I can't really find a way to end this BUT

I have been working on this fic for literal months. And I think I am finally able to share it with the world. It's still a work in progress, but I am happy with how it is turning out, I just have to finish the ending.

A few words before I get into it, and PLEASE read this carefully, because this fic does deal with some topics that may be sensitive for some readers.

Basically, it deals with how Paladin- Hyrule Warriors Link- got his facial scars. If you've ever seen a picture of him that I've drawn, you'll notice that the left side of his face is covered in scars.

Well, this is the idea I've had bouncing around for like. A year (oh my gosh have I been zelda obsessed for that long already?) and anyway here it is!

TRIGGER WARNINGS- Self Harm, Blood

It’s a silent summer night when he finally snaps.

It’s been weeks in the coming, silently encroaching upon him like a lizalfos stalking its prey. The knowledge that he is the cause of this war- he and his perfect handsome face. It’s been eating him up inside since that night in the Valley of Seers.

And now it’s everywhere.

The distrustful glares of his soldiers. The outright hateful ones of orphaned, widowed, dispossessed citizens.

Most of all, the cold, silent, expressionless gazes of the dead.

Hadrian died today. Hadrian, his best friend since childhood, his only remaining friend from before the war. One of the few who ever stood up for him when the other soldiers picked on him (in the early days) and when they dragged his name and his title through the mud (more recently). His only true defender.

And now he is gone.

He doesn’t remember unsheathing his knife- Hadrian’s gift, the only gift he’d gotten when he became Captain Link. All he knows is the blank, lifeless stare from the steel-blue eyes peering up at him from the reflection in the blade. He disgusts himself. He hates his face.

He hates his eyes. (The tears begin to fall.) His perfect, handsome eyes. And he hates the perfect handsome eyebrows that shade them. He hates his forehead, his cheekbones, his strong chin and flaxen hair. (Your fault your fault your fault) He hates his shoulders and his chest, his alabaster limbs and his strong, slender fingers. (His shoulder shake with anguished sobs and the only thought that registers is Your Fault He’s Dead)

But most of all he hates his face.

His perfect, handsome, horrible face.

The face that killed Hadrian.

And then the knife is flashing in the dark, gleaming steel slicing through the flawless skin of the face he hates so much. Scarlet blood and tormented tears mingle as they pour down off his face and stain his night shirt crimson. Every slash of the blade is more painful and bitingly cold than the last but he can’t stop. He can’t stop. He can’t stop--

He didn’t see the tent flap open and he didn’t hear the gasp of horror mixed with something like concern. The thing that brings him back is the sensation of warm firm hands wrenching the knife out of his grasp and hurling it across the tent. And then they cup his face and he looks up, and it’s her.

Because of course it is.

It’s dark and his tent has no windows, but even in the darkest caverns of the Pits of Demise, he’d be able to make out her face. It’s twisted, so horribly twisted, by sympathy and pain and anger not directed at him- never directed at him, only at what could possibly hurt him this much. Her hand cups the left side of his face- the side he ruined- to inspect the damage, and as she pulls it away to take a better look they both notice it’s absolutely stained with ruby-hued liquid.

What have you done, is what is etched into her face, but not in the accusatory tones of his men. No, her question is much softer, much gentler, not so much a demand as a petition.

He’s never had a proper conversation with her. He’s met her eyes a total of three times prior to this encounter. She’s his superior. She’s his Queen.

But she’s kneeling on the floor of his tent, and her hand is again resting on his mangled cheek, and all remaining decorum is completely tossed aside as he gives in to her touch and collapses into her arms.

Neither of them know how long they kneel there together, she stroking his hair as he weeps into her shoulder, his blood wrecking his shirt and her nightgown and seeping into both of their hair and getting all over their hands.

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

#hyrule warriors #margin writes #margin's links #I AM SO SORRY #I'M SO SO SORRY #I THINK I CRIED WHILE WRITING IT #you know what next sunday when i am back i'll have a nice fluffy fic to make up for it okay i promise i'll make it up to you #my beloved hyrule warriors

3 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

Family

Armitage Summer Splash #22 ~ Rolling along thanks to @lathalea and @fizzyxcustard!

Trope: Break up

Quote: “We have all the time in the world”

RA Character: Thorin Oakenshield

Relationship: Thorin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,096

Khuzdul Translations:

Mimûn/Mimûna ~ little one (m/f)

’Adad ~ father

Mesmel ~ jewel of jewels

Maralmizi/maralmizu ~ I love you (f/m)

’Amad ~ mother

Dashat ~ son

Irak-‘amad ~ aunt

Raklûn ~ precious one

Amrâlimê ~ my love

***

Wind howled through the valley all around you, but you paid no heed to it. Leaves scuttled across the hard-packed earth upon which you stood, but you heard nothing. Dappled sunlight wove through the trees just coming to life after the long, brutal winter.

You were numb as you stared at the fresh scar in the earth. All around you was rebirth, but right before you was death. You tried to ignore the sounds of dirt hitting the simple coffin in which your father lay as the dwarves who’d acted as his pallbearers now filled in his grave.

“Come, mimûna,” Thorin murmured, draping his cloak about your shoulders, “before you catch your death.”

“No. I wish to stay right here,” you told him without looking at him. You couldn't tear your eyes from the grave as it was filled. If you left, it would be real. Your house would be empty, the only voice yours, the only sounds the ones you made. You would never again hear ’Adad call for you. Would never hear him rasp, “Raklûna,” whether in annoyance or in thanks or because he was feeling sentimental. You would never adjust to the fact that you were now, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. Your mother had walked out years ago, leaving ’Adad with a baby girl to raise alone and even if she showed up tomorrow, you would rather spit in her face than speak to her.

“Think of the little one,” he murmured, his voice barely audible for you had not yet shared your secret with everyone in Ered Luin. Only ’Adad knew you were with child. Not even Thorin’s sister knew and they were as close as brothers and sisters could be.

You looked up at him, his blue eyes were soft, flooded with concern, and you knew he worried, so you nodded and only then, let him lead you away from the small, shade-splashed cemetery at the end of Stone Street. ’Adad would forever sleep beneath an oak tree that would provide him with all of the shade and cool comfort he’d been denied in his life as a baker surrounded by fire and ovens.

Everyone came back to the house with you, but they couldn’t stay for long and when night fell, and you and Thorin were alone, you looked up at him again. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather not leave you alone, mimûna,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve been through a terrible day.”

“I need the time, Thorin. In fact, I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should postpone the wedding.”

“What?”

You nodded slowly. “I think we should. I need a bit of space, some time to adjust. And I—I think it would be best if we didn't see one another for a while.”

“Mimûna?”

Tears stung your eyes. You loved Thorin more than anyone or anything in the world, in some ways even more than you loved ’Adad, and it killed you to tell him to go away. But, you felt it was terribly disrespectful to plan a wedding when you were still so freshly mourning your loss. It felt disrespectful to ’Adad’s memory to plan a celebration he would now not get to see.

“It’s best. Please. Just leave me alone.”

Pain flashed through those cerulean eyes, but he nodded and stepped up to press a kiss into your head. “Take all the time you need, mesmel,” he murmured, “We have all the time in the world and I will wait.”

Tears stung your eyes, so you let them close as you nodded. He kissed your forehead then, and you heard his boots as he thudded across the great room toward the door. They paused and he said, “Maralmizi.”

Your throat tightened at his soft admission of love and you nodded once again, whispering, “Maralmizu, Thorin.”

Then he was gone and you were completely alone.

You sank to the floor in a heap of crumpled linen and black bombazine, and dissolved into tears.

***

“You should go and see her.”

Thorin shook his head without turning away from the window. He didn't need to look at Dís to know how she looked at him. She would be frowning, a deep groove forming between her thick dark eyebrows. Her eyes, the same shade of blue as his, would be narrow and her lips would be pursed, her forefinger tapping at them as she tried to think of some way to get her older brother to come see you.

“She does not wish to see me, Dís,” he said, shaking his head, his hands clasped behind his back. Day after day, he stood up at in the room at the top of the modest house he shared with her and his two young nephews. From there, he could see the cozy house in the valley, tucked amongst the trees and from time to time, he saw you when you emerged on rare occasions.

Two weeks had passed since the funeral. Two weeks of waiting and wondering and hoping all was well with you. He’d ride past your cottage whenever possible, down to the river in the hopes of seeing you. But you remained sequestered in behind the door, going through your father’s things, sorting out which memories to keep and which to put out with the rubbish. You went out only when absolutely necessary.

“She is hurting,” Dís replied softly, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Remember how it was in the days after we lost ’Amad. We were all three of us lost. Remember in the days after Vili and Frerin were taken?”

“I do remember,” he replied slowly, his eyes closing as the familiar sense of loss swirled through him. “And I remember how I did not wish to be disturbed. I want the world to just leave me be.”

“Ah, but you had me. She has no one. Don’t be a fool. Go and check on her. Thorin. You love her, don’t you?”

Without taking his eyes from the cottage in the distance, he nodded slowly. “With everything I am.”

“Then go to her and let her know you are not abandoning her. She needs you now, even if she doesn’t realize it herself.”

Did you need him? He wasn’t at all certain, as you were one of the most independent women he’d ever met. But, even the strongest of shoulders needed rest, needed to be held and reassured at times.

And he missed you.

He missed the way you felt in his arms, the scent of your hair, your skin, the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy. He missed the little things, such as a stroll along the river, where you spoke of the future together and what you hoped for the child you carried, of the future children you planned to have together.

He rubbed his beard slowly, debating whether or not to tell Dís the secret you and he shared. Then, glancing over at her, he said, “She’s expecting a child, Dís.”

Dís’ eyes widened, them quickly returned to their normal size and shape. A hint of a smile played at her lips. “Your child, I assume?”

“My child.”

The door swung open then and a little dark-haired cannonball of a boy raced in. “‘Amad! Fíli hit me with a rock!”

On his heels came his brother, hollering, “He was supposed to catch it!”

Dís scooped up her youngest son. “Let me see, Kíli,” she said, brushing his hair away from his face. “Oh, it’s but a tiny bruise. And Fíli, do not throw rocks at your brother and I don’t care if he was supposed to catch it.”

Fíli sighed. “Yes, ’Amad.”

She set Kíli down and both boys took off like a shot, screaming all the way down the corridor. Thorin smiled. “I’ll wager Fíli is hit with a rock next.”

“Most likely. But, you will not worry about it. You are going to go and look in on a certain someone, aren’t you?”

Thorin sighed. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He nodded. “I know. But if space is what she needs…”

“Thorin, space can and does quickly become isolation. You will never forgive yourself if you let this relationship end. Especially if there’s a child on the way. Your heir, Thorin.”

“I know. And I never said she and I were broken up, Dís. She’s asked me to leave her be for now.”

“Now is when she needs you the most.” Dís held up both hands. “And I know you know that, so go.”

You heard the familiar gait of hoofbeats and your heart sped up while your mouth went dry. You hadn’t seen Thorin since the morning of ’Adad’s funeral. He’d respected your wishes to be left alone, and you found yourself missing him so very much. Time had a way of slowing to a crawl now that you were alone and you hated the silence so much, you’d taken to talking to yourself. Every time a horse clopped by the cottage, you hurried to the window in the hopes that it was Thorin because you missed him so. You thought about going to him, but knew how you’d hurt him, and the thought of his slamming a door in your face was too horrifying to contemplate.

Day after day, you cleaned out ’Adad’s room, the cottage itself, anything to keep busy and to take your mind off the fact your stomach roiled from sunup to sundown. The baby, no doubt, although you hesitated to seek out Narnerra. If you and Thorin were over, you weren’t at all certain what would happen once the baby was born. Heir to the throne of Durin, your son would most likely be taken from you to be raised by Thorin and his sister. And that would break your heart into more fragments.

The white cotton curtains fluttered on the breeze and you moved to peer out the window as Thorin strode purposefully up the flagstone walk. Your heart leaped into your throat, your hands went clammy, and you thought for a moment you just might faint as he knocked at the door.

Wiping your palms on your simple cotton housedress, you crossed to the door and opened it, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of your handsome dwarf across the threshold.

“Thorin…”

“I know you’ve asked me to leave you be, mimûna, but I cannot ignore my concern for you. If you wish me to go away, know that I cannot do than any longer. I’m worried for you. For you and for our child, and I will do anything else you ask of me, but I will not leave you alone here another moment.”

You stared up at him, pressing your lips together as your heart hammered your ribs with such force, you were momentarily dizzy. In the first few days after the funeral, people showed up at your door with food and wine to make things easier, but now, they’d stopped coming around. When you went into the village, into the marketplace, people stared and whispered about you, but seemed almost afraid to come up to you, as if somehow they would be tainted or touched by death because of your loss.

He took your silence as an invitation to come into the cottage, stepping by you into the great room, and closed the door behind him. “I love you,” he said, his voice a low growl, “and I want to be here for you. Lean on me, mimûna, cry on my shoulder if you need to, but don’t push me away again.”

Your eyes stung at those words, at the rumbling reassurance that he was not going to leave you again. You drew in a deep breath and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

“Why didn't you send for me?”

“I… I don’t know… you were angry when you left, hurt, I thought. I thought you might not want to hear from me.”

Two steps and he’d closed the space between you, gathering you in his arms to lift you easily to meet his eyes. “You little fool,” he growled, although his eyes were soft and tender, “I haven’t slept more than an hour a night with worrying about you. About you. About the baby. Come back to stay with Dís and me, mimûna. Say you’ll marry me again and let’s celebrate as your father would have wanted us to celebrate, for he was thrilled at the prospect of our wedding.”

“His son in law would be the future king, should Erebor be reclaimed,” you told him, fighting to keep from smiling and losing in short order, “he would have to be mad to not be thrilled.”

“He liked me.”

“Again, future king.”

He chuckled. “You are bullheaded at times, know you this?”

“You just left, remember.”

“I was but honoring your wishes.” He tightened his hold on you, moving to the sofa, where he carefully sank into it, cradling you against him. “And if you wish me to go, you need only say so again.”

You leaned back to catch his face in your hands, his beard soft and scratchy against your palms. “I’ve missed you terribly, Thorin.”

“And I you. I’ve found I don’t care to sleep alone any longer. I sleep much better when I’ve your head on my chest and your warm body against mine.”

A pleasant heat swirled through you at his confession. One that had you dipping your head as you murmured, “I find the same, actually.”

Thorin’s fingers kneaded your backside gently. “Does this mean you might still wish to marry me? I’ve not cancelled anything yet, you know.”

You lifted your head at that, staring at him. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I was foolishly optimistic that you would come around. So, will you still marry me, amrâlimê?”

“Do you still wish to have me?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” His lips found yours, his kiss slow and teasing and wonderful. It had you curling your toes as your blood warmed and when your lips parted and his tongue touched yours, unexpected tears came to your eyes. You’d missed him so very much, were so convinced it was over between you. You missed him, you worried what would happen when you could no longer hide your condition, and now? Now you melted against him, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the warmth of his neck.

“Thorin… I thought it was over,” you managed to whisper, his hair muffling your words a tad.

“No, mesmel,” he whispered back, stroking your hair with one hand and your back with the other. “It isn’t. It takes far more than this to rid yourself of me. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

You pulled away to gaze up at him. “I do love you, you know.”

“And I love you, mimûna. Now, let me help you finish what needs be done here, then you are coming back home with me. Where you belong.”

***

“Mimûna?”

“Come in.” You smiled up at Thorin as he came into the room. You’d labored a day and a night, and into the next morning and now held your daughter in your arms, smiling up at him as he came closer. “Come and see your handiwork, dwarf.”

His smile stretched from ear to ear as he gingerly sank onto the edge of your bed and gazed at the blanketed bundle in your arms with all of the wonder and awe one could muster. “She looks like you.”

“No. Just as Frerin, she looks like her ’adad.”

“I see it with neither of them.”

The door opened once more and Narnerra said, “Go on, mimûn. ’Adad and ’Amad are right here and you can meet your sister.”

Frerin II Durin was his father in miniature, with long black curls and the beginnings of a black beard and mustache and he approached your bed cautiously. “’Amad? Is that the baby?”

“Come up and say welcome to your sister, raklûn,” you told him, patting the bed.

Thorin bent to lift your three year old son from the floor, balancing him on his knee, one arm firmly about Frerin’s waist. “So, what do you think?”

Frerin’s blue eyes went wider still. “She’s so small.”

“She is,” Thorin nodded, looking over Frerin’s head to wink at you, “but you were as well, dashat. But fear not, she will grow and soon will be driving you mad just as your irak-‘amad drove me mad when we were children.”

“Really? When?”

“Well, not for a few years, but it will go by fast. I promise you.” Thorin ruffled his hair, then leaned over and pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “It will go by so very fast, indeed. It seems it was only yesterday ’Amad and I were meeting you for the first time, raklûn.”

“Wait…” Frerin stared up at his father with such wide-eyed astonishment that you had to fight back a smile, “I was this small once?”

“You were smaller, Frerin,” you told him. “’Adad used to rock you to sleep on his forearm, your head in his hand, just as my ’Adad did for me.”

Frerin’s eyes went wider still, his, “You did?” ringing with astonishment

Thorin nodded. “Every night, yes. You’d fuss otherwise.”

“Oh…” He stared down at his sister and then looked over at you. “Will she fuss, too?”

“Probably, at first. But we will all adjust quickly. I hope.”

“We will be fine,” Thorin pressed another kiss into the top of your head. “You and I work well as a team, mimûna, and we have since you first knocked me into the dirt.”

“I should’ve done it much sooner,” you told him.

“Yes,” he nodded, squeezing you gently against his side. “You should have, indeed. Who knows how many more little ones we’d have running about with Fíli and Kíli.”

You sighed softly as you gazed first at your newborn daughter, then your son, and finally at the man sitting beside you. You came so close to not making it this far, but Thorin was nothing if not determined and he loved you enough to see you through the worst days of your life. There was no one else with whom you’d rather be as you celebrated the best days, either. From adversaries, to lovers, to a family, you were where you belonged and as you looked up at Thorin, his eyes softened.

He understood.

***

Like it? Love it? If so, please love it, leave a comment, reblog it, or do all three! 💜💜💜

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

#armitage summer splash #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #hobbit fanfic #thorin x oc #fan fiction #richard armitage #Thorin x Reader #Thorin x OC #Thorin x you

113 notes · View notes

darkhymns-fic · 11 months

Text

Being an angel is pretty inconvenient, huh? (Ch. 1)

Lloyd had never been too fond of his wings. But they were still useful, and convenient when they needed to be. It only made sense to use what he had.

Until his wings changed one night, and became permanent, with real feathers attached to bone.

And they were heavy.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: T Word Count: 2808 Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week 2023! This is part of a multichapter fic that will use all the prompts. Very angsty, with eventual fluff. Enjoy the ride.

When Lloyd’s wings first extended from his back, expansive and with shifting shades of blue, it stung.

He hadn’t noticed it at first, too desperate to get the Great Seed under control, and with Colette near him, her hand warm as it rested next to his on the sword. It felt inconsequential to everything else, not something he would need to worry over. Though it was like knives digging into his back, he weathered through it, even as his wings faded under the glare of the sun.

It was like an ache that kept pulsing underneath his skin, waiting to erupt and take over the valley of his back. But maybe, this was normal? Lloyd, who had never had wings, who had only first seen their shapes from Colette, brought on by how like the night sky they seemed to emulate, when the sun hadn’t fully left the horizon…

He figured he’d just not been using them right. Yeah, that had to be it.

Still, at one point after everything, the trees greener than before, the air crisp, bringing with it the hint of rain, Lloyd had asked Colette something, when they had traveled far out of Iselia.

“Does it hurt when you use them?”

Colette, helping carry their supplies to their camp for the night, had stopped in mid-stride. “Oh, what does?”

Lloyd worried at how sudden he had asked it, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, your wings? Does it hurt when you bring them out, I mean?”

“Hm..” Colette tilted her head as she pondered, all while she was carrying their packs in her arms like it was a stuffed animal. The imagery was enough to get Lloyd smiling. “Not really. I guess it just surprised me the first time.” She blinked at him. “Why do you ask?”

The space between his shoulder blades burned slightly, as if the sun had heated it all night, as if he had slept on sharp rocks without knowing. Both were strong possibilities, but Lloyd couldn’t be sure. “Nothing… Guess I’ve just always wondered. You’d tell me if they did though, wouldn’t you?” he asked, conveniently brushing aside his own hypocrisy.

“Of course, Lloyd!” Colette said cheerfully, and by then she had finally lost her grasp on the pack, but Lloyd already rushed forward to help her catch anything that fell, like their bedrolls, their pots or pans, or a few gels that still tasted good even if covered in dirt.

Eventually, the pain of Lloyd’s wings went away, as if he had been exaggerating it all this time—and maybe he had. With no pain came a greater need to use his wings, even when it wasn’t necessary.

If a large gap in the rocky mountains they traveled over blocked their way, it was easier to just use their wings sometimes instead of the Rheairds. Lloyd was always fond of shortcuts, always fond of following Colette, who would have her own wings out and ready, like stained glass painted in the air. Lloyd would summon his own, maybe a little desperately, and with a few flails and flutters that sent blue feathers in every direction. But with a laugh, he’d land right next to her, not feeling a thing on his back.

Yet there were times he saw concern flit through Colette’s eyes, once or twice.

“What is it?” he had asked, landing on a tree bough, his wings being a bit obnoxiously bright, but hoping the sun would take away some of that shine with his own.

Colette was on the ground this time, seated on a log, looking up at her friend as the sunlight hit her cheek. “Kratos told me once about using our wings too much… All the angels in Cruxis used to have wings like we did.”

“Did they?” He had never heard this mentioned. His wings curled around himself, keeping away some of the frittering bugs that flew about the tree. But he remembered Kratos’ own wings, the same shade of color as his own. “So even someone like Remiel had wings like ours? That’s weird to imagine.”

“Yeah. But then… they can change?” Colette placed a hand over her chest, to the place where her necklace stayed hidden under her coat. “I don’t know. I’ve tried using them less. I’m not sure just how much is too much.”

Lloyd, looking down at Colette on the earth, finally shifted off the tree branch. His wings spread out, catching the air in their mana-infused shape, and so he floated down, boots softly crunching against the dry grass.

“We can do that then, if that’s what you’re worried about.” With effort, Lloyd let his own evaporate like morning mist. He didn’t feel the ache, just the need to take them out again, if just to see them there. But he wouldn’t. “Let’s try using the Rheairds more. Not like Yuan’s gonna come for them anytime soon.”

Colette smiled up at him, the sight making his cheeks heat up. “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah! We’ve gotten by without our wings before!” He held out his hand, which Colette immediately took. “Just be sure to not fall off the Rheaird again…”

“It was just one time!” she countered, but with a giggle, making Lloyd grin back.

Besides, even if she did fall, she would just use her wings to save herself. Or Lloyd would use his, summoning them as he’d swerve in the air, catching her and keeping her close. He hoped she would forgive him for that, at least.

But it’s so easy to be a little complacent, wasn’t it?

Colette’s wings always caught Lloyd’s eyes, soft like candlelight, a painting of violet and pink against his hand when he reached out to touch them. And he would, almost unaware, when Colette would float back down to him. The stardust in her wings would fall against his palm, even as he remembered when those same wings meant she lost more of herself with each step of their previous journey. Beautiful, but the sight of it tightening his chest all the same.

She did use her wings less, and so did he. They climbed over the hills this time, dragging their packs along the way. They also still had their wing packs, taking our their Rheairds when it was necessary, Sylvarant finally having enough mana for the machines to move through the air. And such things were solid, not as ephemeral, and could be put away and out of sight.

But their wings could do the same.

Maybe, sometimes, he couldn’t help but let his own wings slip out. Such as when he needed to hover in the air, to gently move a baby bird stranded on a branch back to its nest, or when he wanted to quickly rush over that dip in the hill without searching for the wing pack in his satchel. It was easy, and in reach. And the important thing; it no longer hurt him.

Colette was weak to it too, and he’d catch the shape of her hands just between his shoulder blades. Her fingers would edge across his feathers, moving across the mana like a breath. At those times, he couldn’t help but respond to it with a stretching of one wing, to bring her in close. She could easily slip away if she wanted to, right through his wings as if it were air. But she would press against his shoulder, her fingers edging down to reach for his hand.

“Jealous of mine?” he once teased her, even though he thought his wings to be too big and a bit of an eyesore. But Colette would simply look at him, the sunlight making her smile seem even brighter, highlighting dimples he was so tempted to touch with a thumb.

“They just feel so soft,” she told him. In that, he heard her small, little confession. How easy it was to use these wings, how addictive they could be too.

Besides, how much was too much still?

Lloyd knew himself to be careless at times, or impulsive, reckless, and even stupid. He wasn’t as patient as most people, or as smart, but he tried his best anyway. Colette always seemed to know that—it was why she chose to come along with him on this journey, wasn’t it? And with her, he felt a little less dumb, a little less inclined to rush headfirst into danger. Their journey was one of time, long, slow, and steady. There was no hour to meet before it was all too late.

But maybe such a thing made him a bit stupid once again.

Another lead in their Exsphere gathering had gotten them moving through the brush, the ground slick with yesterday’s rain. “It’s gonna be rough making camp for the night,” he said with a sigh. His pack slung over his shoulder was feeling a bit heavy. What if they just flew, and found the nearest town to spend the night in? That is, if the town would have them in the first place.

“We can make some nice carrot soup once we do,” Colette said, rushing up next to him. The night breeze blew her hair against his cheek, making him smile in reflex. “They’re already sliced, so it should be quick!”

“Yeah, but first we need to find someplace at least kinda dry…” Maybe an overturned tree trunk would have stopped some past rain. He knew any blankets they laid on the ground otherwise would just be soaked through. “Only carrots though? I’ll still be hungry!”

“Double carrots then!” Colette compromised. “Or maybe we could add in some fruit?”

“Whoever heard of fruit soup though…?”

And maybe they would have continued their silly conversation, as it usually did, if Colette’s senses hadn’t kicked in. She could hear such sounds, she once said, that it would be painful to her ears. And it always made him think how her wings must have hurt her once, when they rushed out of her through an array of light, using her mana in ways she never knew before. But Colette was already turning her head, towards a fast-rushing river to their right. “There’s something in there.”

And then Lloyd could hear it too.

There wasn’t much question to it, not even to the bright, initial pain he suddenly felt. But Lloyd dropped his satchel, his eyesight all the sudden so sharp as he spotted the shape. They were both so far off from any other villages, so how could there be someone’s pet drowning in that river right now? Lloyd spotted the brief shape of a tiny paw bursting through the water’s surface, and heard the soft mewling even through the continuous crashing of the water.

He wasn’t a stranger in trying to help small animals stuck in odd spots. There were times Lloyd would see a small wolf having fallen into a thorny bush, needing to be tended to, or a bunny with a wounded foot. Even when it made him late to school, or when Noishe would scurry away, frightened by any small living thing, Lloyd would do what he could to help, like taking the animal to Dirk. And that’s just what he felt then, that instinct, that desperation suddenly.

“Lloyd!” Colette shouted. So loud. It was thunder in his ears. That should have told him something then.

Colette could have gone to rescue the kitten. Her wings were already out like violet stardust that burst through the night skies in Flanoir. But Lloyd was impulsive, reckless, so stupid—he ran and made the wings come out of his back in the same way he would unsheathe his swords, their metal ringing as they scratched against the inside of their scabbards.

Like that, his wings felt like they scraped against his bones, his tendons, his muscles. A feeling that made him stumble, for a moment. But he pushed himself to fly high enough, just over the river brought on by nearby broken dams.

There. He saw it, and he dove down just enough, weathering the ice-cold chill against his hands and legs.

“Got ya!” he shouted in triumph. He grabbed the small kitten, its claws just pricking enough to his gloves in panic, fur matted and body shaking. But Lloyd remembered when Noishe had fell into the river just next to his house, and how he had grabbed one of the great dog’s heavy paws in both hands, pulling him up and wondering if Noishe’s last meal had been too much and was making this much more difficult than usual. It ended with a very wet dog landing on top of him, the weight knocking out all the air from his body.

Not like now, the kitten held within his arms, already curling into a ball. This was much easier.

When Colette rushed to him, he was already grinning, feeling a bit self-conscious, hoping she wouldn’t mind his sudden decision. “I think this little guy’s okay, it’s just—”

Oh, but it happened then. Again. A scrape against his bones, but it kept traveling, going so slowly.

Suddenly, as if all those times he had felt nothing with his wings, no grief, no sting. It all came back, multiplied, making up for lost time.

His back burned and seared.

The last thing Lloyd could do was hold out his arms, offering the still shivering kitten to her. He couldn’t afford to hurt it after all that.

He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist it. Her hands brushed against his, taking the animal, yet still keeping one hand on his arm. “Wait, Lloyd-!”

So he didn’t mind when he fell hard to the ground.

When Lloyd woke up, the pain hadn’t left.

He struggled to just sit up, though he wasn’t exactly sure whether he was laying down or maybe standing up at a weird angle. The aching between his shoulder blades was so much, it overpowered everything else; it made him blind, made him deaf, made his hands and feet strangely numb.

It was all centered on his back. Everything. Constant.

“Careful,” he heard Colette say, and at least his mind wasn’t going. Oh, and he could hear again. Too much. The rustling of the wind against the trees. The drip of the blood to the grass.

“M’fine…” he mumbled, and at least he could talk too, but it was thick and sounded like he had stuffed several gels inside his mouth—which was a thing he sometimes did, but this was without the benefit of tasting something sweet. In fact, there was something dry and bitter on his tongue, and it almost got him heaving.

“Lloyd, shh, don’t move.” Her arms went around him, and as he opened his eyes (at least he could still see), he saw the light of her wings, a canopy of night stars. Or maybe that was still just the night sky around them.

His back felt so heavy. He moved… something. It creaked, made him bite his lip and lean forward in her hold. “Agh!”

Her hands circled around him tighter, but he noticed they avoided his back—or tried to. They tried to so much. Still, he felt a gentleness near that point of pain, fingers stroking over where his wings would be, like she would before. His wings… His…

Leaning his head on her shoulder, he looked down at the ground, damp with what he had assumed to be rain. But it was blood, and there were white feathers strewn around them, like patches of snow.

“I’m sorry,” she was whispering, her voice caught within brambles. “I tried to clean up the wounds as best I could.” He now saw the red splotches on Colette’s dress, the white ruined. Ah, he had done that. “But, I didn’t want to mess anything up.”

Before, he could stretch out his wings large enough that he could see the tips of them in his vision. But doing so now felt like he was pulling at the nerves themselves with pincers. He shook, tried to hold back any more sounds of that pain, but still, it felt so heavy. Like whatever new wings he had would tear down at the skin in his back from their weight.

Too solid, no longer like a trick of the light.

Still, even then, he worried. “The kitten… is it…”

She gestured to a small blanket placed near the base of a tree, its boughs leaning heavy with greenery. The kitten’s fur was of pure white, any greyness taking out from the muck of the river. It curled into a small ball, but was breathing evenly. He watched the way its tiny back arched up and down.

Lloyd smiled, giving a sigh. “That’s…good…” he could only say before he fell unconscious again.

His wings were so heavy.

#tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloyd #colloydweek2023 #fanfiction #multichapter #fun fact i said i would take it easy this year and then I didn't lol

10 notes · View notes