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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

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Darling, Let's Run

Part IX: Tainted Love

Summary: A month after her sister mysteriously went missing, Feyre receives a letter instructing she leave the village immediately. And the letter's messenger? A curious black cat.

A sequel to They Are the Hunters, We Are the Foxes. While I recommend reading it first, it is not necessary. My contribution to @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 Day 19: Enemies

Read on AO3・Feysand Month Masterlist ・Series Masterlist

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“Feyre?” There was a soft knock on the washroom door. “Are you alright?”

No.

The faucet creaked under her grip, shutting off the running water. She stood over the basin, fingers cemented tightly to the edges, and willed herself to stop shaking. Plump droplets of water splattered against the porcelain. The tap, she told herself. The tap was dripping. When she glanced up at her reflection, her eyes were also red-rimmed, but she assured herself that was unrelated.

“Yes,” Feyre said with a small sniff, drying her face in the quilt. Angry splotches bloomed on her cheekbones, and she wasn’t sure how she would hide that from Rhysand. Or the faebane. “I’m fine, Tamlin. Just one moment, please.”

Her hair was a mess. It had been a while since she’d been able to run a brush through it, but the rug and Rhysand’s fingers hadn't helped. And—gods—she could still feel him between her legs.

A faerie. What would a faerie want with her?

Tamlin said he was dangerous, but if Rhysand had wanted to hurt her, he’d had every opportunity to do so. She’d fallen asleep atop his chest and listened to his heart beat in rhythm with her own, and she was meant to believe he was some vicious monster, the kind that tore humans to ribbons for sport?

She had run from him, and perhaps that had instilled some fun of the chase. Perhaps the teasing and the lying and the flirting was all a sadistic game of cat and mouse.

Feyre took her time changing into Tamlin’s clothes, pretending that as she stepped into the ill-fitting fabric, she was becoming someone else entirely. No longer Feyre Archeron, the poor village girl who’d fallen victim to the fae.

She pulled out that jar, embracing the cool glass in her palm. “Tamlin? Is faebane poisonous to humans as well?”

“Not at all,” he said. Even with the door shut, she could hear the frown in his voice.

Could he hear her, unsealing the jar? Feyre dipped a finger into the inky substance and, swallowing her trepidation, smeared a dab of it like a balm over her lips. She blended it into her skin until the color disappeared, then screwed the lid back on the jar and tucked it inside the folds of the quilt.

She bundled the soft fabric beneath her arm and gingerly unlatched the washroom door, revealing Tamlin hovering nervously on the other side. Feyre offered him a tight smile. “Thanks for your help, Tamlin. I’ll see you soon.”

As she passed, Tamlin reached for her arm, pausing Feyre in her step. “Be safe,” he cautioned. “And keep your wits. His tongue is sweet, but the words are riddled with lies.”

Feyre bit back the urge to lash at him—at anyone. He had no idea, none at all, how sweet Rhysand’s tongue was.

I am yours. Irrevocably.

She had to stop thinking of it, or she’d render herself a mess before she even made it to their bedroom door. Tamlin hadn’t been there to witness the look in Rhysand’s eyes as he had touched her like she was more priceless than gold.

She trudged out of Tamlin’s room without a second word, uncertain what she hated the thought of more. That the love she’d glimpsed in Rhysand’s eyes had been real and that she’d somehow earned the affection of a faerie. Or, that it had been faked and what she felt for him had been unrequited. She knew which one should bother her more, just as she knew which one felt like swallowing glass.

He was waiting for her in the room. Standing with preternatural stillness, in the exact spot she had left him. He was staring at the door with so much coiled energy, like he feared that if he moved, he would have launched himself across the hall and torn apart anything in his way.

Their eyes met. Rhys said nothing as his eyes searched her for any sign of injury. Then they fixed on her face, on her eyes. She watched him inhale deeply.

The fae had extraordinarily sharp senses, she’d once heard. If he was fae, could he smell her fear? Hear her heart speeding up in her chest?

He took a step toward her, then another. Feyre forced herself not to retreat as he came within reaching distance and, almost hesitantly, laid his palm against the side of her face. Her eyes fell shut at the tender caress of his thumb, sweeping across her cheekbones to catch a tear she hadn’t realized was falling.

“What’s wrong?” He murmured, like it pained him too. Rhys used his freehand to draw her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her heart clenched. This close, she could hear the way the words scraped in his throat as he bit out, “Did Tamlin hurt you?”

“No,” she said immediately. She dropped the quilt to the floor, kicking it out of the way so she could fist her hands into his tunic. “He didn’t. I’m fine.”

Rhysand’s breath shuddered. “He told you something. Something about me, didn’t he? Feyre, I—”

“Don’t.” She said it before she could stop herself. Because looking into his eyes, she knew. Knew innately in a way that she couldn’t explain. That Tamlin was right, and that Rhysand was about to admit to her something that she didn’t want to hear. And stupidly—so stupidly—she thought she could just delay it a bit longer. Just pretend for a few more heartbreaking moments that nothing had changed between them. “Rhys…” She shut her eyes, used her grip on his tunic to tug him closer. “Please, just kiss me.”

And so he did.

With a whine in the back of his throat, Rhysand lifted Feyre by the hips and walked them backwards until her back hit the wall and his mouth found hers. He kissed her like he knew it would be the very last time, and she kissed him like she believed he was still hers.

“Feyre,” he whispered. Feyre,Feyre,Feyre.

Somewhere between every gasp and lick and murmured prayer, she swore he said other things, too. Things like I’m sorry. She wouldn’t ask him what he was sorry for—not yet. Now was the moment for carving him into her memory. The taste of whiskey and sweat and sex, the churning smell of citrus and sea salt that should have warned her he was so much deeper than the surface could ever reveal.

When his hands started to slip beneath Tamlin’s tunic, she still had enough sense to gasp, “Don’t rip this one.” She would need it later.

Rhys obliged, slipping it over her head instead. She could understand the desperation to feel his naked skin against her own. For the rest of her life, Feyre knew she would sit before fires and huddle under blankets forever chasing the warmth that she found right there, as he entered her again and they made love against a wooden wall.

They never even made it to the bed. By the time they fell asleep, they were curled in each other atop the fur rug. Warmed by their bodies and the still crackling fireplace. Feyre’s head laid against his broad chest, rising and falling with every heavy, even breath. She could hear his heart. It had slowed in his sleep, no longer in sync with her own.

Somewhere in the inn below, Feyre heard a clock strike the early morning hour. She slowly, carefully, detangled herself from Rhysand’s limbs. Every silent hunt through the forest had prepared her for this moment, for each precise step she took towards the quilt near the door. Careful to keep her weight distributed evenly, knowing that even the softest creak of a floorboard could likely wake a sleeping faerie.

She stared at him as she retrieved the jar of faebane. The fireplace held his form like a lover, its light adoring every slant and curve of his taut, muscular body. He looked so peaceful like this, cheekbones gilded from the glowing embers, brushed by his long eyelashes. And his ears—long, and elegantly pointed. A faerie. There wasn’t a doubt about it.

Taking a shaky breath, Feyre turned her eyes away from him in search of that knife. He had been wearing it when they’d been at breakfast that morning, but she couldn’t recall taking it off him when she’d torn off his clothes. Surely she would have remembered the sound of a knife dropping to the floor, but her mind had been admittedly occupied by Rhysand—which made it entirely untrustworthy in recollection.

“Looking for this?”

Feyre gasped, hand flying to her chest as she turned to find Rhysand awake. Not a sign of sleep in his bright, amused eyes from where he still lounged on the rug, propped up on a single elbow as he twirled her hunting knife tauntingly between his fingers.

“I thought your lips tasted a bit different, Feyre darling.” He clicked his tongue. “You already taste so perfect, it’s a shame you’d ruin it with faebane. An effective way of poisoning me, though.”

She swallowed. “You knew.”

“Clever thing. I’d kiss you even knowing it was to my death.”

Feyre’s hands tightened around the glass jar. Without the knife, surely it was useless? Her eyes darted towards the door, already calculating the steps between. How many seconds she’d need to escape.

“Why?” She asked, taking a careful step backward.

He leaned back like he didn’t even notice. “No one’s kiss is as lovely as yours, Feyre. It’d be a pleasant death.”

“No,” she said. “Why… why are you here. What does a faerie want with me?”

“What do I want with you?” He chuckled. “You’d get a shorter list asking me the inverse. I can promise that—”

Tamlin had said Rhysand liked to hear himself talk. There were only five steps between Feyre and the door and she figured it was as good a time as any to make her break. She pivoted sharply on her backfoot, sprinting towards the door. One moment, there was empty space, and the next there was Rhysand.

“—I can promise that I’m not here to hurt you,” he finished as though he’d never been interrupted, bracing himself comfortably against the only exit. He was spinning the tip of the knife casually on his pointer finger.

Feyre shrieked in frustration and snatched her hand towards it, not even caring if she cut her skin on the blade. Faster than her eyes could track, it was in his other hand. He flashed her a lazy smile. “You used to be so impressed by my magic tricks.”

“It doesn’t count if you use actual magic,” she sneered.

He leaned forward, close enough that their lips brushed and she was reminded that he was still naked. Despite everything, even her own self preservation, the sight and proximity of him was enough to warm her blood.

“Surely it should count for more?” He mused. “How many people do you know who can use magic?”

Feyre knew she should be stepping away from his thrall, maybe running towards the window or shouting for Tamlin. But she couldn’t resist snapping, “None. Only the fae use magic.”

“Precisely,” he purred.

“What do you want with me?”

“I have only ever been honest about what I want,” he said, feigning earnesty this time. “I want you, Feyre. Only you.”

“Why?” She asked. Desperately. Needing to understand.

“Because,” he growled, reaching for her now, grabbing her uninjured wrist that still held the faebane. “You’re my mate.”

Her body trembled. And she wasn’t certain it was in fear.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” Rhysand pressed the hilt of the knife into her palm, trading it for the faebane. She watched, frozen, as he opened the lid and guided the blade into the poison. The glass jar shattered against the floor as he dropped it. Careless to everything but holding her gaze as he carried her wrist up to his throat and poised the knife against his skin, just like before. “It means I would let you kill me right now, Feyre. If that’s what you wanted.”

This was a trick. Another mind game.

The blade wobbled as Rhysand released his grip on Feyre’s wrist, giving her full control. As he had promised on the very first night she’d met him.

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he admitted, the first thing Feyre knew was entirely honest. Those violet eyes ensnared her, pleading with her to believe that it was all honest. “I would let you, though, Feyre. I would let you leave this room with my blood on your knife, and I would still love you.”

Love you. Love you. Love you—

“Mate,” she whispered. It pounded in her blood. Rhysand groaned, eyes falling shut for a moment as his head fell back against the wooden door, exposing more of his throat to her.

“My mate,” he repeated, causing the golden cord in her chest to pull.

Feyre stumbled backwards, blinking back the tears blurring her vision. She clutched the dagger desperately, pointing a shaky finger towards the door. “If you care about what I want, then let me go.”

She watched the light drain from his eyes. Somehow, she thought that was worse to him than if she had driven the knife through his chest. “Feyre—”

“Go,” she pleaded, raising the dagger if only so she could use the back of her good hand to smother a sob.

His teeth flashed in the first real anger she’d ever seen on his face. “Tamlin is fae, too,” he bit out. Then he vanished like smoke, leaving her with the dagger and the shattered glass and the weight of that accusation.

Feyre stepped carefully over the sharp fragments, not bothering to clean them up. She feared she’d see too much of herself in the broken pieces.

She fished out Tamlin’s tunic from the debris of what was once a nice, cozy lodging room. Her eyes found the window that she had idealistically left open, hoping her cat would return. Prick had likely been scared off by the fae, so now all that came through was the soft fall of snow. The first snow of the season. If she fled, she wouldn’t make it far enough to survive the cold.

Feyre didn’t flee. She walked across the hall to Tamlin’s room.

He answered after the second knock, eyes sweeping over her for any sign of injury. She could imagine that she was a sight to see. Shaking and choking back tears in her oversized tunic, hair still mussed from an evening of sex that he could probably smell on her.

“Is it done?” He asked grimly.

Feyre burst into tears. Stiff as he was, he still had enough pity in his heart to pull her in for a hug. The fae, it turned out, weren’t unfeeling creatures.

But in that moment, Feyre was.

She didn’t know how it worked—didn’t know if she was killing Tamlin by driving the dagger into his gut, or if it needed to be through the heart to kill. Feyre did know—or rather, she learned—that it could cause him to collapse to his knees, grunting as he clutched the weeping wound in his stomach. That it bought her enough time to snatch the pouch of coins off his bedside table and race, blindly, out the inn’s doors.

Did she have seconds, or hours? It didn’t matter.

There was a couchman sitting at the front of a carriage outside the front entrance—likely Tamlin’s, prepared before the sun even opened its eyes for whenever his Lord wished to embark. She tossed the coachmen the entire pouch, likely a grander fortune than he and Feyre would have ever hoped to have set their eyes on.

“Take me to Velaris,” she panted. “And it’s yours. All of it.”

It didn’t take a fool to measure her urgency and the amount of coin and put together precisely what had happened.

The coachman sat up with haste. “Get in. Now.”

Just as she was about to step on, a glint caught the corner of her eye. She pulled back, turning her head towards the darkened treeline. There, watching her from the brushes, was a pair of violet eyes reflecting back at her.

Relief numbed enough of her fear and heartache that she could afford a smile. “Prick,” she breathed. In the cold it took shape in front of her face. “I have been worried about you, stupid cat!” She glanced nervously towards the inn. “Come here,” she called. “Quickly!”

He stayed where he was, crouched in the shadow.

“I know,” she said soothingly. “I get it now. You were scared off by the fae, weren’t you?”

Not just Prick. Now that she thought about it, the forest near her cottage has gone silent because Rhysand had been there. And it explained why Prick had such a strong reaction to the faeries in the woods.

“It’s over,” she promised, holding out her arms. “Come with me to Velaris. Please. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

You’re all I have left, she nearly said. But it was a pathetic thing to admit to a cat.

Fortunately, she didn’t need to. The shadow of his lithe body slipped out of the bushes, darting over to her arms. Despite the snow crystals collecting in his fur, he was still warm to the touch, soothing some of the ice that had already settled back into her bones. She had missed the way he purred when she lifted him into her arms—so much that she refused to set him down after they stepped into the carriage. She held his small body against her chest, not fully certain who she was comforting as she stroked her fingers aimlessly through his fur.

“You should stop leaving,” she said to him, staring at the window as the inn slowly faded out of sight. “Bad things seem to happen to me when you’re gone.”

The cat didn’t say anything, though he did roll the back of his head against his chest, as if to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere.

They would be going to Velaris—together.

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#Darling Let's Run #Cat!Rhys #Feysand month #Feysandmonth2022 #feysandmonth22 #feysandmonth #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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iwakitsune · 2 years

Photo

I just think he’s neat! And character associations are as well; I’ll ramble (quite a bit) under the readmore about that. Image description there as well.

So first things first, if Wally was a pokemon he would definitely be in the Ralts line (my heart says Kirlia by the time you meet him before the league or in other tournaments, but if he were a final evo then he’d be a Gardevoir--he’s not really the physical attacker vibe so a Gallade doesn’t quite work, even if he is very much associated with it) (Also as a reference to RSE and that his pose in main and side games is a hand reaching forward, like some Gardevoir sprites).

The other two are partially because of AU ideas I had seen while looking around here, @dittolicous' Halves and Wholes AU and @greenix’s aspect AU (hi sorry for the tag you two). In my mind they fit because:

Jirachi is a Steel/Psychic type so there is the Psychic type connection (undeniable Ralts line connection and it being Psychic/Fairy), there’s the whole thing of wishing and working hard for those wishes that feels fitting (which reminds me I wanted to do a thing regarding that because hc of paper stars/paper cranes combo), and that one official art of Wally and May seeing Jirachi. Also Jirachi is very sleepy and tired and I can’t say that I don’t hc Wally has low energy at times because chronic breathing issue.

Now, Rayquaza is kinda because hehe third protag of the game goes with third legendary, the green-association thing, and also because it IS kinda funny that the asthmatic kid is related to the God of the Skies. I do like the idea that Wally climbed the Sky Pillar to help wake Rayquaza and has met the green noodle (thanks pokespe), as well as a little reach-around logic: if you are used to the thin air of the upper-atmosphere, the ‘heavier’ air of the surface would be harder to breathe (I’m using sszelda-hc logic here but shh).

And that’s it that’s my rambling either way I like how these came out.

[ID: Three full-colored + rendered busts of Wally, a young person with floofy green hair, tied in a low ponytail and wearing a white collared shirt and a light gray-blue sweater, looking in the direction of the viewer. He is gripping the strap of his bag on one hand, and is wearing a pendant with a green string. He has pale gray-blue eyes and mild eyebags. The background has splotches of red tones that somewhat resemble abstract flowers. There is an inner border square in white and the word 'ikit' on the top right.

On the first one, there is an outline of Jirachi over him, with splotches of yellow and teal, and his smile is more mischievous. There are small teal triangles on his cheeks.

The one in the middle has the outline of a Kirlia over him, with splotches of red and green, and his smile is casual. There’s a reddish tone over his eye.

The one on the right has the outline of Rayquaza over him, with splotches of green, yellow, and red, and his expression is a bit more serious, only a slight quirk of his mouth. His eyes are black and yellow. End of id.]

#pokemon #pokemon rse #pokemon oras #rival wally #trainer wally #jirachi #kirlia #rayquaza #art #casually edits the bg a little to use as icon on main... genderqueer pride...

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beatleszeppelin · 4 years

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If I asked you to stay, would you?

Summary: After a tough case, Reid stays home from work. You have to check on him. He looks sick, so you take him to the doctor, and it’s your job to take care of him.

Category: Sick Fic

Warnings/Includes: First couple paragraphs are sad criminal minds things, but feel free to skip that, and mention of puke

Word count: 4k

Written in (gender neutral) second person.

The piercing cold, and slight drizzle falling out of the dark sky around, adding insult to injury. Spirits were low, as rain washed a child's blood from the dirt. The case had not gone ideally; two lives lost, and the team just had to walk away.

A somber walk back to the cars freezing water hitting, stinging his face. Reid’s nose was red, clothes and hair sopping wet, freezing. He got to the back seat of the car, he pulled his knees up, and let his head fall onto his hands. Morgan and JJ waited outside the car, giving the kid a minute alone.

The drive back was quiet, JJ glanced back ever so often hoping Reid had fallen asleep, but every time she’d look back she would see his head pressed against the window, eyes darting with every opposing car. The street lights passed over, illuminating his face, and a shine lingering in his eyes. She’d put a comforting hand on Reid’s knee, like a mother would on a long car ride.

In damp clothes he finished his reports, and finally left the office at two.

He entered the subway tunnels, light coming out as a path marker. The eerie feeling that comes with two a.m. is in the lingering, on the streets, in tiled subway tunnels, and definitely present in anything the moonlight touches. There is a surprising amount of people on the subway for being so early. A man in the corner, held a bag with paper towels in it. A little farther along was an old bag lady. Finding someone normal to sit near was going to be too much to ask for, until he saw a woman, sleeping and seemingly destitute, a baby squirming on her lap. He waved. And she returned it.

So he sat. He was talking to her, and playing with her. Doing magic has always gotten him far with kids, except when he was one. She squealed as he pulled a coin from behind her ear and he laughed along. She laughed at the look of him smiling, and when he leaned in to make funny faces at her, her giggle turned into a cough. He patted her back a little bit, to quiet her barking cough, trying to not wake the baby’s mother. If you’re tired enough to fall asleep on those plastic seats, then any sleep you could get must be a blessing.

His stop neared, and he pulled 20 dollars from his wallet and slipped it into the woman's purse. He also shook her shoulder to wake her up, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave the baby unattended.

“Sorry for waking you, I just thought…” He said nervously, and awkwardly smiled and waved goodbye to the baby.

“Thank you,” she whispered. And she started to pat the back of her daughter.

He got off the metro happy, and walked the rest of the way to his apartment, the yellow glowing street lights making the falling rain sparkle as it fell to the earth.

He got home and wanted to get some sleep before he had to get up and go to work at nine. He didn’t want to shower and change, he could do that in the morning. He threw a soft blanket across the couch. He sat down, and kicked his converses off of his heels. He laid down, wet hair hitting the pillow.

***

You walked up the stairs to his apartment. You have twenty minutes until your lunch break is over, but when Garcia told you to check on Reid you knew you had to. He has a tendency to shut everyone out; say he’s fine when he’s actually far from. He would say he’s fine until he literally exploded.

You walked past apartment #19, #20, past an empty coffee cup on the floor, #21, then you ran back, picked up the coffee cup, and threw it away at the end of the hall. Apartment #23, you knocked. “Hey Reid, you there?” You tried knocking harder. “Hey kid let me in!” You were about to pound the door down like you were the cops, but you heard a click. Reid unlocked the door, and squinted at you.

“Why,” he cleared his throat a little, “Why are you here?”

“Hi, it’s 1 in the afternoon, you didn’t show up to work today, and apparently you guys

had a particularly bad case last night.”

“It’s one?” he said walking back into his apartment, to go find a clock.

You walked in, and straight to his kitchen, to wash your hands after touching that coffee cup.

“You didn’t purposely not come in today?”

“No, you’re insistent knocking woke me up.”

“So, you’re wearing your clothes from yesterday?”

“Yeah, I’d gotten home late last night, or actually early this morning, I guess.”

“Are you feeling okay?” You looked at his hair that was sweaty and stuck to his forehead.

“Kinda tired, I guess, but I’m fine.” He said staring off, trying to focus on how he actually felt.

“Here let me feel your forehead.” You reached up and pressed your hand to his face. You couldn’t tell, because you had just washed your hands rendering them cold. You ran your hand through his hair, and kissed his forehead. It was warm. His face turned red, and it came in splotches.

“I think you’re a bit warm. Would you like to try to get to the doctor before they close walk-ins?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then I’m going to go back to the library. I hope you find a good excuse for not going to work today,” You said, but couldn’t make a move for the door.

“If I don’t go, will you leave?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You look really red, your face felt pretty warm, you slept in your wet clothes last night, and you may try to mask the fact that chills have been making you vibrate in front of me, but there is no way your not sick, no matter how many times you tell me you’re fine.”

“Okay, but I am fine.” He said, arms crossed, before heading to his bedroom to get dressed.

You waited in his apartment, absentmindedly flipped through some of his books. There were stacks of books everywhere; every spot you could fit a book, there was one. Two stacks of books were towered on his coffee table. On top of one was The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath, you hadn’t read it since high school, but you remember it being forward, and a bit unnerving.

Reid’s door opened, startling you. He walked out wearing a striped shirt and a sweater, with his signature mismatched socks and Converse. He looked comfortable, and very childlike.

“Are you ready?” You asked him.

“Yeah, I’ll grab my keys.”

“You drive?” You ask, never having seen him drive, you just assumed he didn’t or didn’t know how. How could you assume there was something that Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t know how to do.

You followed him down stairs to the parking garage, to a 65’ Volvo. “This is your car?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s so cool, I did not picture you driving something like this.” You didn’t picture him driving a cool older car, but you also didn’t picture him wearing mismatched socks, or dressing up for Halloween every year without fail. At this point nothing he did would surprise you.

“You didn’t picture me driving something cool? So, you don’t think I’m cool?”

“Well now I think you're cool, I mean after seeing this car.”

He pressed the volume button to turn on the radio, Tchaikovsky, the universe is restored. It was a ten minute-ish drive to the doctors. He signed in at the front desk, and you went to sit down. There were two seats under a window that you chose. The dark green vinyl was hot from the sun, but it was the only two isolated seats that you could see, other than the two girls that had the seats leaning on the wall. One of the girls had her hand under the other's skirt, and were kissing, very passionately. Hope one of them isn’t sick. You picked up one of the magazines next to you to avert your eyes. Home decorating, not the best option, but the bright colors and Pinterest mom’s will definitely keep you occupied.

Reid walked over to you and sat down, you could see him looking at the girls in the corner, and his face had bright red splotches on his cheeks. “Hey, are you into this?”

“What? No!” he said in a high pitched voice, like that of one of the chipmunks in Alvin and the Chipmunks. “Then why is your face bright red?”

“Maybe because the seats under the window are hot, and you shouldn’t be touching those magazines. They are one of the grossest things in here. Actually, the pen used at the front desk is, it has 46000 times more germs than the average toilet seat. That’s why I bring my own.”

You set the magazine down. “Hey is your face warm, you're still bright red?”

He looked over at you, shrugged at you and did his little awkward smile, and looked back down at the ground, head resting on his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

“Spencer, Spencer Reid!” A woman yelled from the doorway.

Reid smiled and waved as he stood up.

“Wait, do I come in with you, or should I stay out here and see if I can join a thruple with those two?” He grabbed your wrist, seeing as to not touch your contaminated magazine hand, and helped you up to follow him in.

You guys walked back and the NP asked him to take his shoes off to step on the scale, he stepped up, a lime green sock and one purple striped sock now showing. “153 pounds,” the nurse said.

“Now stand over here so we can get your height,” You picked up his shoes for him, as she guided you across the hall to mark his height. He stood, back against the wall, “Okay, stand up straight.” He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his chin up. “6 foot 1 and ¼ inches”.

You passed his shoes back to him, following the nurse to one of the rooms in the back. You got to sit in one of the chairs that mom’s would sit in and talk for their kids. He hopped up on the bench, with a crinkle of the paper.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she said, right before the nurse left the room.

Reid scooted back against the wall, letting his head fall back. You looked over at him, his face still looking flush, and his eyes were closed as he sat there.

A knock on the door interrupted your observation, but made Reid sit up, attention now focused on the man. “Hi, I’m Dr. Bradman. What brings you in today?”

“I don’t…” Reid said looking over to you.

“His face has been a bit flushed, and he may have a low fever,” You said for him. “Oh, and he was out in the rain and cold last night, I don’t know if that would do anything.”

Reid piped up to say “Actually, being in the rain and cold doesn’t affect whether you will get sick or not. Being exhausted, stressed, under emotional duress, and having allergies with symptoms pertaining to nose and throat are the main reasons people get sick. Other than catching if from someone who is contagious.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” The doctor said, sitting down on a chair with wheels.

Reid awkwardly smiled, looking down at his hands.

The doctor took Reid’s temperature, asked him a couple questions, and left for a couple minutes.

You and Spencer sat in the room for a couple moments in silence, he was looking sicker by the moment. And after a while of silence, his head resting on the wall, eyes shut, the doctor walked back in.

“It looks like you are sick, your temperature was raised a bit, and the redness on your nose and cheeks is a common symptom of sixth disease.”

“Wait, that’s roseola, right?” You asked.

“No, that’s only for children under the age of three.” Reid said, slightly perplexed.

“Well yes, but it can occasionally affect adults who’ve never contracted it as a child.”

Reid’s shoulders dropped, “How long will it last?”

“It should clear up in the next three to five days.”

“Okay.”

“You can take medicine to reduce the fever, and stay hydrated.”

You two left the office, but not without teasing him on the way out. “I once babysat a kid that had sixth disease. He was up all night crying, do you need me to babysit you?”

“No! Just because I have a baby disease doesn’t mean I’m a baby” He crossed his arms on the walk back to the car.

“Do you want me to drive, so you can get some rest?” You asked, holding a hand out for his keys.

“Is this another joke?” He pushed his eyebrows together, and cocked his head slightly.

“No; no it’s not.”

“Can you drive a stick?”

“Uh yeah, actually. I had a truck that was manual in high school.”

He gave an impressed nod and passed his keys over.

On the way home he laid his head against the cool glass of the window. His breath, making water bead up and fall. You walked him up to his apartment, but before you left you wanted to make sure he’d be okay.

“Do you have a thermometer? I just want to see what your temperature is before I leave you.”

He walked away to his bathroom and came back with a thermometer sticking out of the side of his mouth. He was pouting, you don’t know if it was because you made him check his temperature or if he just felt sick. You pulled the stick out of his mouth after hearing the beep.

“100.3” You put your hands on his face, burning. “Do you want me to stay here for a little bit?”

“You don’t have to…” He said and raised his shoulders to shrug. “I know I don’t have to, but do you want me to? It would be no trouble.” You said walking to his kitchen to wash the thermometer.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I would like you to stay, please.”

“Okay, why don’t you go to bed and try to rest, and I’ll run to the store and get some food for dinner.”

He nodded, “How long will you be gone?” Reid’s voice broke.

“Not too long, I should be back before you wake up, but if you need me just call me.”

“M’kay.”

You walked out of his apartment, down the stairs, running your fingers across the banister. Should you grab some clothes in case you need to spend the night? Yeah, might as well run home and get the car before going to the grocery store.

At the store you pick up some soup, popcorn to eat while watching a movie, cough medicine, ibuprofen (for the fever), and you couldn’t find any Gatorade, so you bought Pedialyte (I mean it’s the same stuff, and this is a baby disease). You also got a few other things you weren’t sure he had, and headed back.

When you twisted the key into the lock is when you started to hear some slight coughing and some whines in between. So, you put the soup on the stove, and went in to check on him. His face was covered in little red spots that trailed down into his shirt; he was asleep and his hands were balled up into fists by his face. Sweat stuck his bangs to his face, and every cough made him subconsciously whimper.

Reid was asleep in front of you, looking like a baby. If people didn’t think he was a baby before, if only they saw him now. It’s hard not being able to help him, other than just letting him sleep, but when he wakes up he’ll feel a whole lot worse, so why not prolong the contentment here.

You decided to go tend to the food, while he slept. In a few minutes though, you heard him get up out of bed and a door slam. You walked over to his couch, leaning on the arm rest waiting for him to come out. A couple moments went by and you were still standing there. If he came out now, it would be like you were just standing there staring at his door waiting for him, which is exactly what you are doing. You went around the couch and sat down, moving the pillows from how he had slept on them that morning. You picked up a book from the top of one stack, and opened it, but his door swung open. Reid stood there, in the doorframe, the sleeves of his shirt pulled down over his hands, his head hung low, and tear streaks down his face. His voice wobbled when he said “I threw up.”

“Are you okay, what do you need?” You asked, looking toward the giant toddler.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Let me check your fever.”

He nodded. You walked over to the kitchen to where you had left the thermometer, and while you’re in there you turn the heat off of the soup. You don’t think he wants it right now.

He puts the thermometer in his mouth and stares at you with puppy dog eyes until it beeps. He takes it out and hands it to you without reading it. “102.4!” You rush over to get some medicine, and a mug to put water in. “Here take this, baby. You must be miserable.”

He closed his eyes and gave a labored smile. Taking the medicine made him wince as he swallowed.

“Why don’t I run you a cool bath, to see if we can get your fever down faster?”

“‘Kay,” he started walking back to his room, stopping to brace himself on the wall.

You wrapped your arm around him, guiding him to his bathroom. You two stood awkwardly for a couple seconds not knowing what the first move was gonna be, but you sat him down on the toilet to wait for the water to fill. You ran the bath with lukewarm water, not hot, but not uncomfortably cold. Reid sat on his toilet, knees hugged to his chest, and his face and body were sweaty.

You turned off the tap and looked at him quizzically. Reid quickly stood up to usher you out, but got a head rush and had to lean against a wall. You walked to the doorway and waited for his next move. He tried taking his shirt off, but only got one arm out; on the second arm his wrist got stuck on the sleeve. He flailed his arm for a second, before giving up and frustratedly slumping against the wall. You walked over to him, pulled his shirt over his head, and helped pick him up. You put your arms around his waist and pulled him up with little to no help from him. You two stood there for a second, holding Spencer; all of his weight leaned into you as you held him. He was shaking.

You helped him sit on the edge of the tub, and asked “How do we do this?”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” He looked up at you with his big brown eyes.

“Absolutely.”

You helped wiggle him out of his pajama pants, and left him sitting in hot pink briefs. Then, turning around, you heard a little splash of him kicking his legs over, and then a slosh of water displacement.

“Okay, you’re good,” he whispered.

You turned back around and bent down next to the tub. He leaned his head on the edge of the bathtub and you folded up a hand towel and shoved it under for him to use as a pillow. You scooted back, and reached for a washcloth off of his counter. A small stack of them fell on top of you. You picked one up, that hadn’t touched the ground, and ran it under some cold water. After squeezing it out, you sat on the back of the tub, and dabbed it across Spencer’s forehead. He leaned his head against your thigh and looked up at you. You looked down at him, “If I knew I was staying here, I’d have run you a bubble bath.”

He smiled; you could tell his fever was going down a bit. Seeing him without clothes on, showed you just how much of his body was covered in little red splotches. They ran from his cheeks, down his chest, and stopped a little lower than his protruding hip bones.

A few moments of you silently dabbing his face was interrupted by a coughing attack, leaving Spence shaking a bit.

“Laying back may not be the best thing for a cough, why don’t we finish up in here so we can sit on the couch, maybe watch a movie or something?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, it’s wet already from the washcloth,” you handed him the washcloth, and picked up the mug he drank water out of earlier.

“Yes please.” He placed the washcloth over his eyes and you dunked the mug in his bath water. You poured it over his head as he leaned back.

“Where’s your shampoo?”

He leaned forward and handed you the bottle. Johnson’s cotton touch 2 in 1 shampoo and body wash.

“You use 2 in 1 baby shampoo?”

“It’s for sensitive skin.”

“It’s for babies.”

“If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.”

“Can we at least buy you some conditioner some time?” You asked, giving him a mohawk with baby soap.

“Sure,” He said, defeated.

You pour the cup over his head again, rinsing his hair clean of soap. You handed him his towel from behind the door, and walked out, leaving the door open a little and sitting on his bed in the next room in case he needed you. In a minute he walked out in pajama pants with little cowboys on them, and a robe.

You got up, went to his bathroom and brought out a comb. “Sit,” You scolded.

He sat on the edge of his bed, you behind him brushing his hair.

Once you were satisfied with the style, you linked arms with him and went out to the living room. He started moving the books and things off of his coffee table, while you went to go make popcorn.

You came back with a box of saltines, a bowl of popcorn, and a bottle of pedialyte with a straw in it.

“Is this another joke?” he asked reading the label.

“No, they were out of the other stuff.”

You sat down, handing him the box of crackers. His laptop was open on the coffee table, and he threw a blanket across the both of you to share.

“What are we going to watch?”

“Star Trek” he said and pressed the spacebar to play it.

“You’ll like it,” he said and put his head on your shoulder. “Hey, thanks for staying with me today.”

“It’s no problem, I like hanging out with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and eventually we will need to buy you some conditioner.”

“It’s a date,” he said and snuggled closer to you.

You played with his hair until he fell asleep on your lap, leaving you watching Star Trek all night, but you do like it now.

#vicficwriterchallenge #Criminal Minds #reid x reader #spencer reid #dr. reid #spencer reid fanfiction #reid sick fic #criminal minds fanfic

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jackalgirl · 3 years

Text

Telling vs. Showing

I had posted an excerpt from the Turkey City Lexicon a while back, about "Telling Not Showing", which is one of those things that writers are recommended not to do.

Violates the cardinal rule of good writing. The reader should be allowed to react, not be instructed in how to react. Carefully observed details render authorial value judgments unnecessary. For instance, instead of telling us "she had a bad childhood, an unhappy childhood," specific incidents--involving, say, a locked closet and two jars of honey--should be shown.

I was thinking about this the other night -- and I stress that it came to me by itself, please please don't anyone think I'm calling you out on this, because I am not -- and thought it might be fun* to provide an example. Stick around (under the cut) if you're interested.

* I lie. Aethel and Felix told me to write this, and woke me up early to do so. Fine. I'm done, you two, may I please go get some more coffee? Thank you.

Telling

Felix found Aethel in the galley, reading one of Max’s books. He made a face, wondering why she was reading it. When he’d first met her, it probably would have never occurred to him to ask her why — she’s weird and more than a little scary — but he had come to understand that she put all that weirdness and scariness to service in the way she cared for people, and he knew she cared for him, so he sat down and asked anyway. She looked, he thought, a little relieved to be interrupted, which did not really surprise him. She was very much willing to tell him about it, and in fact confirmed his suspicion that she found the text…how did she put it? Tedious. But she was reading it to better understand the way the people in the Order think, so she was determined to read it anyway. Good luck with that, he thought, and got himself something to eat out of the fridge.

versus Showing

Felix found Aethel in the galley, a book open before her on the common table and a line between her eyebrows. It must be one of Max’s books, he thought. He sat down and she looked up. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it appeared to him that she had a look of relief on her face. “Watcha readin’, Aethel?” He asked her. When he’d first met her, it probably would have never occurred to him to ask her a question like this — she’s weird and more than a little scary — but he had come to understand that she put all that weirdness and scariness to service in the way she cared for people, and he knew she cared for him, so in this particular moment, he hadn’t hesitated. “One of the vicar’s books on Scientism,” she said, confirming his guess. He made a face. “Ugh. Why? You’re always arguing with him about it.” And driving him nuts. Another point in her favor, actually. “It’s important to him,” she said. “And what’s more, it’s important to this colony. It would be foolish for me to dismiss it. I want to understand it better.” Felix gestured at the book. “Is that helping?” Aethel let out a sigh. “Alas, no. It is tedious.” “That’s why I like serial books,” Felix grinned. He tilted his head. “Why is it, ah, tedious, though?” “The author uses words like a collector,” she said. “But not like an artist.” Felix tilted his head and his expression must have told her he didn’t get it — I don’t get it — because she leaned back and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you remember the Sprat Fancy party in Byzantium?” She asked. Felix felt his face screw up again. “It was awful.” At first, Byzantium had impressed him. It was so clean! But eventually he realized it was as full of trash as the rest of the Colony — just higher-class trash, is all. Plus, the people there were always looking down on him — worse than the crew of the Groundbreaker, if that was possible. Or worse than the crew had been, before I helped Aethel fix the heat. Now they liked him well enough. But in Byzantium, nothing the crew had done had changed the Byzantines’ attitudes towards them. Their disdain is baked in, Aethel had said at the time. And speaking of baking, Aethel said, “do you remember the food?” “Ugh. Do I ever. The prettiest food you ever saw. Tasted like shit, though.” “What would those people have thought of a Boarst Pocket?” Aethel asked. “Ha!” Felix drummed the table with his hands in amusement. “They’d hold up their noses, for sure. Something that plain and simple?” “And yet, it is delicious?” “Yes,” Felix spoke with the conviction of a dedicated cultist. Aethel nodded. She tapped the pages in front of her. “This book is like the food in Byzantium. It is concerned about its appearance, and about all the different colors it can show you — it is very pretty. But it tastes like shit.” “So why are you eating it?” Felix asked, then remembered she’d answered him earlier. “Because you want to understand the system,” he said. She nodded. “I think of it as reconnaissance,” she said. “At some point, I’m going to have to deal with Order people who are higher ranked than Max. I need to understand what they think — or at least, what they’re telling people they think, which may not be the same.” “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if they all turned out to be a pack of hypocrites,” Felix said. “I’ll bet it’s all a show for power.” “Perhaps it’s not all a show for power,” Aethel suggested. But then she relented. “But yes, I tend to think that in the end, that’s the Order’s primary goal.” All that talk about Boarst Pockets made him want one, so he got up and got one out of the fridge. “Would you like one, boss?” He said, waggling the packet, knowing her answer in advance: “No thank you, Felix,” she said politely. He chuckled to himself. I don’t get how she can like spratwurst and not like boarst. Some things just defied understanding. I hope she has better luck with that book.

I liked writing this, because it gave me a little epiphany for another scene (the "Sprat Fancy" party) and an opportunity to put Sprat Fancy magazine into the actual fic, as opposed to it remaining as something of a joke.

[ Image description: cover of "Sprat Fancy", showing an adorable pink-splotched, white sprat from above, looking up at the camera with her gorgeous black eyes. Text reads: "Sprat Fancy Magazine - your guide to Halcyon's Fancy Sprats" and "Volume 22, Issue 8, 2 bits" with article leads: "Sacred Beasts: The Role of Sprats in the Faith", "Refuge: Keeping your precious sprat safe from marauders (and hungry neighbors)", "Ooo La La! Jolicoeur Haberdashery releases an all new line of fancy sprat fashion! Get a sneak peak of the latest on the Byzantine spratwalk!", "Place Your Bets: Your comprehensive guide to this season's All-Colony Fancy Spratstravanaza - who's in? Who's out? You may just be surprised by this year's contenders!" and a corner flag: "Ask Doctor Sprat". The cover image is captioned: "'Bakonu' by Captain Pearl Jenkins. With this large beauty take 'Best in Show' from Lord Reginald Kim III?" End ID. ]

Sometimes, having to write stuff out like this (especially between major scenes) is really daunting, because it generally doesn't come to me all at once like the major scenes do. I know, right from the get-go, that this is going to be a time-consuming process (I call it "sausage making"), and it's scary when I don't immediately see a clear way forward or understand how it will turn out. But I find that once I get going, the characters are happy to cooperate. And it's always worthwhile, because most of the time, I get some kind of revelation or epiphany (as above) that makes the story better, or maybe it's just neat and makes me giggle. But that's reason enough.

This is part of the pros of showing versus telling, in addition to giving the reader more to discover, understand, and react to on their own (rather than simply telling them how to react, which is what you want to avoid). The obvious con is that it takes so much longer. I would think that telling would be useful in contexts where you just don't have the column space, or are limited in the number of words you can provide. And I think it could also be useful -- used judiciously -- if you're deliberately trying to hide something from the reader.

But if you've been telling instead of showing because the amount of work you can see in front of you daunts you (or you just can't envision how it's going to go), I can only say: give it a try. You'll be surprised at what the characters are just waiting to tell you, if you only give them the chance.

#writing #the outer worlds #the journeyman #fanfic #telling not showing #showing not telling #also bathos #turkey city lexicon

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avengerswriter4eva · 3 years

Text

17. Round Two

I paced around the tiny apartment dialing and redialing Natalia's phone number. Always went straight to voicemail. As much as I didn't want to admit it, my ex may be in trouble and – if she was – it was my job to help.

Do something. I sighed.

"Not helping, AV." I sighed and dialed Tony's number. After I explained to him the short version of what happened, he got to work trying to locate the tracking device that lived inside her suit. It was super helpful – pinged an exact location that had me pulling my hair out in frustration. Her tracking device, like her mission suit, was packed neatly and untouched – in our tiny apartment. I thanked Tony for the wild goose chase throughout the tiny space and hung up, rubbing my face with my hands. This wasn't good. Natalie took walks to blow off steam or to recover from nightmares. It wasn't like her to be gone all night, especially if there was a mission at stake.

DO SOMETHING! I threw my hands up in the air.

"What do you want me to do? I can't just conjure her out of thin air. I'm not a bloodhound."

But I am. I blinked, moving to the bathroom so I could look at AV in the mirror.

"You can what now?" The toothy, white, familiar face grinned at me.

I can find her. I frowned.

"How?" AV smiled wide, their teeth showing in all of their glory, and I swear to the name of anything holy that it actually winked at me. Which was really me winking at me, which was disconcerting on many levels.

Genetic Memory.

"I don't know what that means." AV tilted their reflective head to the side as it studied me, looking for the best way to explain.

You punched the small, angry, redhead. She bled. I remember her.

"You can find her?"

We can find her. We are a team.

At that point, it wasn't a thought or a question. It was an action. I changed clothes, looked around the empty apartment one more time, and set out to track down a world-renowned spy/assassin whose job it was to avoid detection from anyone who happened to be looking for her. What could possibly go wrong?

....

As it turns out, a lot of things can go wrong. When we finally caught up with Natalie, it looked like a sticky situation. By that, I mean that I was in the rafters below the roof of some old warehouse, and the angry redhead in question was currently tied to a chair about 20 feet below my present perch. She hadn't spotted me, which was apparently a miracle in itself, but AV had a few tricks up their sleeves that I didn't realize were possible – like the ability to blend into the surrounding background so well that we were rendered practically invisible. "You couldn't have done that when she was tracking us?" I hissed to AV as we examined the scene below us.

But then she wouldn't have found us.

"That was kind of the point," I murmured softly.

We wanted her to find us.

"We did?"

We did. You love her. I hissed and was about to respond when I realized that I was hanging rather precariously from the ceiling, having an argument with myself. I glanced down, looking at the three men who were surrounding her. One was most certainly the boss. The other two were goons. All three were armed, and judging by the state of them, torture did not seem to be outside of their normal wheelhouse. We needed to get this situation under control. Quickly. I winced and then smirked as Natalie took a blow to the face. To her credit, she didn't flinch. I glanced down at goon number two, noticing that he was now reaching for a weapon. Knife.

This had gone on long enough. I lowered myself down slowly, behind the action well outside of their peripheral vision. I held a finger over my lips as we reverted to our normal white color with black splotches. Natalia glanced at me and her eyes widened somewhat, but she made no indication of my presence to the others. Good girl. Three tendons shot out simultaneously, grabbing all three men and hoisting them into the air by their ankles.

At the same time, Natalie threw herself backwards in the chair, smashing the wood on the hard concrete, freeing her hands. "What are you doing?" She hissed at me as she pulled the ropes from her free hands. We slammed the tentacles together in the air, knocking the thugs against each other as our eyes snapped back to Natalie.

"You're welcome?"

"Are you kidding me? What are you doing?"

We have snack now? AV lowered one of the tentacles, and therefore one of the goons, down towards our mouth.

"Not now. Saving your ass?" To my surprise – and horror – AV reached a white tendril towards Natalie's face. She tensed, but didn't move. AV gently – almost tenderly – wiped a smear of blood from her nose. Natalie almost...smiled.

"Does Brock really have a heart?" The sarcasm in her voice was very familiar.

"It wasn't me." AV slammed the three goons to the concrete hard enough to knock them out. Not hard enough to kill. I think. Natalie glanced between the pile of bodies and us. "Are you going to say thank you?" Natalie's eye roll was practically audible.

"Thank you for what, exactly? For blowing the progress I made on the mission?"

Small redhead still angry. Thanks, buddy. I figured that one out for myself.

"I don't know if you noticed this or not, but there were two of us assigned to this mission! Then you went and got yourself caught, and..." Natasha scoffed, stalking towards me angrily.

"Got myself caught? I was exactly where I was supposed to be." I blinked at her as AV retreated entirely. They really didn't like conflict like this. Funny, that.

"You did this on purpose?" Natalie threw her hands in the air.

"Finally. Now you get it." I clenched my fists, now moving towards her as well.

"You could have gotten hurt. Or killed."

"Well then, it would have been your lucky day!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like you would be worried about me?"

"I would be!"

"фигня (bullshit)."

"пошел на хуй (fuck you.)" I ducked out of the way at exactly the right time to avoid a fist flying towards my face. Unfortunately, I ducked right into her knee, which was moving at equally at an alarming speed. For the first time since the accident, I found myself flat on my back on the cold concrete, looking up at Natalie who was standing, arms crossed, smirking down at me. I jumped back to my feet, expecting to feel the familiar fluid movement letting me know that my teammate had my back. To my surprise, nothing happened.

Fair fight. I smirked, chuckling to myself lowly. "It's still not going to be a fair fight," I muttered. Natasha and I engaged, blocking each other's moves with precision. Twenty minutes later, both of us were covered in sweat, on opposite corners of the room, panting.

We will keep her. I've decided. We like her. I rolled my eyes and stretched out my arms, knuckles bruised and bloodied from blocking – no direct contact. Natalie caught me and smirked, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. I shrugged.

"They like you. AntiVenom." She smiled slightly, nodding her head.

"They're not bad."

Snack?

"No, AV – you can't eat them." Natalie's eyes went wide. I shook my head. "I don't want to talk about it." I watched as she nodded slightly, surprised that she wouldn't push.

"I know that it's not possible to go back to the way things were between us." She stared at the ground, shuffling her feet. "But I'd like to try to be your friend." I looked at her for a little longer than necessary, evaluating her offer.

Say yes. We will be friends. She smells delicious. I blinked at the voice in my head but was unwilling to think about it.

"I think I can do that." Natalie smiled – the big, genuine, slightly goofy, smile that made her eyes crinkle and her dimples to pop.

"Too bad we blew the chance to get the intel, though." I smirked and pulled a small device from my back pocket.

"Did we?"

#anti venom #marvel #black widow #female reader #marvel mcu #avengers #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff

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roraewrites · 4 years

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day ten: colors of you and me // collabed with @ss-tyytyy ♥ had a lot of fun writing this with her and definitely something we’re considering continuing!

- - -

"I'm tellin' ya, Teme! I see it!”

Sasuke placed his drink on the counter, dark eyes turning towards his friend that sat on the stool next to him. He could see droplets of ramen broth lining his whiskered cheeks, running down and around his jaw before he brought his sleeve up to wipe the mess from his face. Sasuke rolled his eyes away and back to his own bowl of ramen.

It was their usual Wednesday night: meeting for ramen in Naruto’s favorite restaurant, eating their fill of noodles and usually drinking sake, but tonight, Sasuke didn’t feel like drinking. He didn’t want to feel the burning alcohol crawling down his throat, filling his stomach with an indescribable warmth, or hearing his best friend talk his ear off about this stupid color he had mentioned before.

Purple? Is that what he called it? Regardless, it sounded ridiculous to Sasuke. Some farfetched, fairy tale story and he didn’t have the patience to deal with it today. Naruto didn’t take the hint though.

“It’s such a pretty color. I never thought I’d see a color in my life, but this! I can’t wait to meet my soulmate, whoever she is… Hell, whoever they are!” He corrected and Sasuke merely grunted his response. “The first time I saw it was this weekend while I was hiking with Lee. I barely caught a glance of them in the trees, but there they were, flowers colored in such a soft and light color. I thought I was going crazy or losing my mind!”

He sat back in his chair now, arms crossed over his broad chest while his dark locks fell over his face. Instead of toning out his friend though, he opted to listen, his curiosity piqued by what the blond idiot was saying.

“Not only did I see it outdoors, but I can see it right now. That bottle over there has liquid in it that’s a purple hue. I didn’t believe it either until I visited Kakashi-sensei and told him about it!” Sasuke’s eyes glanced over at Naruto once more, grey and black painting such a splotched picture that jealousy piqued at his chest a bit.

He wondered what it would be like to see colors other than these shades they were cursed with for eternity — that he was cursed with for eternity.

The Uchiha leaned forward in his seat now as Naruto blathered on, talking about how light and how pretty the color was, about how he wanted to see it more often and that he would search for it more often. At that, he decided to call it a night. He couldn’t handle it anymore, and from his day at work, he really just wanted to sleep now.

“I’m leaving,” he interrupted as he pushed his stool away from the bar and stood. The disbelief in his friend’s eyes glistened in the pale light of the room, but Sasuke didn’t bother taking a second glance. He knew the puppy-dog look that was awaiting his dark eyes.

“Teme! Don’t be rude! I wasn’t done—”

He toned out his hearing, toned out the blistering shriek of the blond the moment he exited the building. The crisp night air welcomed him, a crescent sliver hanging in the everlasting sky above as he took long strides towards his home. Cars lined the streets, people meandering down the sidewalks; it was a busy night for it being the middle of the week, but Sasuke merely paced himself on the way home.

It was odd, he thought to himself, how everyone could live in such a dark and mysterious world. Some people have the ability to see a single color, while other are doomed to the voids of blacks and greys; it was one thing he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around, the thought of a soulmate entering one’s life one day, and they’re seeing their world in a different light the next. He scoffed as he opened the gate, feet padding down the stone path to his apartment complex.

Just as he reached the main building, he thought he caught a glimpse of light from the corner of his eye, a tree with blooming petals but it was nothing more than the lightest shade in his visible palette. Upon opening the door and allowing the warm air to consume him, he made way for the stairs, skipping a step to the top floor and finally entering the comfort of his home.

Color was a mere concept. Nothing more, nothing less.

. . .

Bzzzt.

A single eye opened, hair covering his aristocratic features as he glanced at the phone on his nightstand.

Bzzzt.

He blinked, his hand reaching for the device only to find the name and ridiculous photo set to accompany it showing up on the screen.

“What.” His voice was groggy, sleep-ridden and deep before Naruto’s ecstatic voice sounded through the ear pierce.

“You’re not awake yet?!”

He blinked and rolled over on his back, the back of his hand pushing the long strands of dark hair from his face, the side of his hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he stifled a yawn.

“I am now.”

Light filtered through the crack in his curtains, hardly lighting his surroundings as he listened to whatever his friend was going on about. This time, it was about his morning workout and what it consisted of, then slowly asking Sasuke to hang out after work. He merely grumbled to himself as he sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching down to the hardwood and lifting his heavy body from the bed.

It was a Naruto-like gesture, but he scratched at the back of his neck as he wandered towards the window, pulling the curtains open and allowing the light to reveal his room. It was almost immediate, but his heart hitched in his chest, air stuck in his lungs as his eyes widened at the sight outside of his window.

His phone dropped to the floor, nearly shattering the screen as it slid across the hardwood and away from where he stood. From his spot at the window, Sasuke could hear Naruto’s shouts of concern, but he was far more entranced with the view from his window.

Sasuke knew he hadn’t just seen what he thought was white blooming buds, but the color of cherry blossoms in full swing — they were everything but white.

They weren’t black, nor grey or white. They were colored in such a soft and delicate color, a color he had never seen before. It made his tongue go stiff in his mouth, his cheeks hot with a fury he never knew existed, all because that made up myth had come true.

He was seeing color for the very first time.

“Sasuke! Teme! Where are you?!”

The Uchiha blinked and stepped away from the window, hand reaching for the deserted phone on the floor before bringing it to his ear.

“Shut up, Dobe. I’m fine, dropped my phone. I gotta go.”

He didn’t leave room for questions or confrontation; his mind was whirling like a carousel, trying to find a grip as he rushed back to the window to look at his color once more. There were no words to describe the beauty behind it, but a new door in his life had opened, and whether or not he was ready to take that step was up to him — he had a soulmate, and it was now up to him to find them.

- - -

Sakura was a young woman with an esoteric imagination. Ever since she was a small girl, her parents had teased her for her ability to turn nothing into everything. Growing up, Sakura Haruno was never bored or lonely. Through her eyes, even though the world was what many people considered dull and lifeless due to its monotonous color scheme. Unless you were one of the lucky ones who happened upon your soulmate, the only colors you could see were the everyday blacks and greys. Sakura was one of those not fortunate enough to stumble upon hers quite yet, but she was a dreamer.

Over the years, the many novels she had the pleasure of reading only helped to keep her dreaming—hoping—seeking. There were those who didn’t believe in soulmates, those who found the whole aspect of it tedious and exasperating, but Sakura knew it was only because they had yet to find their soulmate. Once they did, they would change their minds. The world would become so much more beautiful.

Then they would be like her.

To see the world around not for what it was, but for what it could be.

Sakura was a believer. Her parents were soulmates after all, granting her aspiration that she, too, would one day find that person. The longing she felt for her soulmate only grew when one of her dearest friends experienced color for the first time. Hinata was on the timid and quiet side, and had been rendered speechless and shocked when it first happened. Sakura just so happened to be with her. The two met for coffee and a breakfast to go at a cafe they frequented when it happened.

It was an otherwise ordinary day, an early Wednesday morning. The cafe was filled with other patrons there for their morning coffees, some rushing more than others. When Sakura first began visiting the cafe it was still new, a one-owner place with little business but it hadn’t taken long for word to spread of their wonderful service and excellent food. Their baristas were knowledgeable, friendly and all four that were employed there had quickly recognized her, memorized her order and she needed to do no more than greet and thank them for their work in the mornings.

When she had time, she took the same table so long as it was open. Sometimes she was with Hinata, sometimes Ino, sometimes other friends, or even by herself. The atmosphere was always the same though. Light and warm, soft, serene music was a constant background noise, often that of mellow harmonics coming from nothing more than a piano. It had a soothing effect on her, even on the busier days when boisterous laughter and enlivened chatter threatened to drown it out.

Today, Sakura was feeling content and pleased. She and Hinata hadn’t spoken much on their walk. They’d finally taken their seats, Hinata having her usual breakfast tea and croissant while Sakura had her coffee and a blueberry muffin. So many scents surrounded her, filling her nostrils with each breath she inhaled. The freshly brewed coffee was her favorite amongst it all, but all the warm, baked goods were pleasant to smell as well.

Nothing was out of the ordinary, at least until Hinata’s face morphed into a ghastly look. Sakura’s delicate brows arched at noticing the change in her friends expression, seeing the way she fidgeted slightly in her chair, the way she anxiously tucked her straight and long, dark hair behind her ear, the worry of her lips as her pale eyes looked upon a small banner wrapped around the tray on the edge of the table by the window. It was stocked with napkins, condiments and sweeteners. Sakura saw nothing that should’ve caused such a look to come to her friend’s face.

“Hinata? What’s the matter?” She questioned carefully, her dainty hands cradling her warm mug while her eyes flickered from Hinata to the tray and then back to her again.

There was no response at first, Hinata couldn’t form any words though her mouth did open time and time again as if she wanted to explain. Sakura was a patient woman, but there was a lingering concern for her friend that had her pressing the matter.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, its—” Hinata’s voice broke as if she couldn’t possibly elucidate. Sakura sipped her coffee, waiting and eventually, Hinata pointed at the illustrated oranges on the banner. “The oranges…” she turned her gaze to Sakura, blinking incredulously at her friend. “They’re not grey.”

“Not grey?” Sakura would’ve shouted in her shock, but her voice came out as barely a whisper.

This was it. Even more proof that soulmates did exist. There was an immediate excitement for her friend, knowing that she had come across her destined person somewhere and hadn’t realized it—but there was also this nagging envious feeling that Sakura couldn’t shake.

When would her time come?

. . .

Thursday began just like any other day. Again, Sakura had a full twelve hour shift ahead of her. The constant beeping of her alarm was what roused her, promptly at six that morning. After silencing it, Sakura stretched on her bed, arms raised high, body twisting from side to side until she felt fully awake and ready to get her day started. She always had her alarm set to wake her a couple hours before her shift; she never liked to rush in the mornings.

Once she slipped out of bed, Sakura padded over to the sliding glass doors that led to her balcony. Her morning was never started properly if she didn’t first walk out to breathe in the fresh morning air while taking a peek at her hummingbird feeder. The small birds and their rapidly flapping wings had always fascinated her. Sakura read stories of the males being beautiful, multicolored birds. When she watched them, Sakura pictured them looking more vibrant than they did from her eyes.

Today, Sakura found that those tales were factual.

It happened as soon as she stepped close to the banister and peered over at the hanging feeder filled halfway with sweet nectar that kept the hummingbirds coming back to visit. A small smile was adorning her features, lighting her eyes and accentuating her soft attributes. It was quick to evolve into a startled look—one similar to that of her friend’s the day before.

While she had several hummingbirds that visited regularly, the first she spotted today. The small bird was one she recognized right away, but it wasn’t it’s everyday deep grey any longer. Instead, it was a fathomless, rich color so unspeakably alluring. The sight of him stole her breath and had her heart stuttered to a screeching halt. With a silent gasp, Sakura raised her trembling hands to cover her mouth, tears pricking at her eyes as she stared upon the little bird’s beauty.

Yesterday, she’d been so envious of her friend seeing a color for the first time, and now it was happening to her. This meant that sometime the day before, Sakura had come across the person destined for her and like most others, was completely oblivious. Dozens of faces flitted through her mind, but of course she had no hope of knowing whom she crossed paths with could’ve been the one. There were too many.

It mattered not though. The only importance there was for now, was that this color had presented itself to her and it had a meaningful connection to her soulmate and regardless of how difficult it may be, Sakura was going to find them.

“Pink.”

His dark eyes scanned the screen of his phone, memorizing the name and the color he had been seeing more and more lately.

It was so soft, a gentle and alluring color that sped the steady beat of his heart in his chest; he wanted so badly to know just who he was looking for, but with no hope, he locked his phone and stood from his desk.

It was another long and painful day at work. It was like any other day — show up to work, type his reports, hand them to his manager, access any extra work that needed to be done, pack up and leave. Yet today, he was now seeing that single color and it was driving his mind wild knowing he wouldn’t find his answers being stuck at work. He sighed as he clocked out, grabbed his belongings and headed towards the door.

With his work behind him, he departed from the building and began his walk towards the bus stop. The blond wanted to spend more time with him, especially after Sasuke exploited that he could now see a single color, and without any let up or relief, the Uchiha was now on his way towards Naruto’s.

As he walked, hands deep in his pockets, he noticed the sky overhead and how beautiful it was in its prime. Pinks mixed with the white of the clouds, softly blurring into the grey that stretched across the horizon. Not only was this color in the sky, but it also appeared among the flowers and blooming trees — even buildings had that single color plastered all over their posters and menus, painted in pink and advertising sweets, drinks and desserts.

It made the corner of his lip twitch as he finally arrived at the bus stop, noting his perfect timing as the vehicle pulled up. As per usual, the people before him started to pile on, paying their fee and then taking their seat and he followed. Once on board, he slipped towards the back of the bus, noting the heat that encased his body as he slid into the cushioned seat and let his head rest against the back.

His eyes closed, sleep beckoning his mind but he knew better than to let his mind slip on public transport. It was when he felt something hard slam into his arm, abruptly moving him and sending a wave of chills through his body that he opened his eyes and glared at the person next to him.

It was there that he found a head full of pink hair, a button nose, and large, doe-like eyes staring back at him. Though it wasn’t the pink hair that caused his breath to hitch in his chest, but the color of her eyes that lured in every one of his senses.

It was such a lively color, glowing with energy and happiness and it drew in his undivided attention before he tore away his eyes and merely turned his back to her. He wasn’t sure if he heard her speak to him or not, but he closed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to discard the presence of the girl sitting next to him.

Sasuke wasn’t sure what had just come over him, but when he felt the bus start to roll, he could hardly feel his heart in his chest as it rattled his entire body with every beat.

. . .

It hadn’t been the best of days for Sakura. The several hours she spent at the hospital moved at a slower speed than she was used to. It was also a particularly busy day and for once, the young woman was disappointed in herself to find that her mind wasn’t fully on her work. The fault belonged entirely to that color she had begun seeing — blue.

Ever since Sakura had taken the liberty of looking it up and putting a name with the color — all thanks to an online chart specifically for those subjected to the vividness of pigmentation. Blue was everywhere she looked it seemed, but the different shades of it had come to her gradually. What started from the deep hues coloring the hummingbird developed into even darker shades amongst different fabrics or posters. Then lighter shades appeared, ranging from flowers growing upon the bushes outside of her home to the sky overhead.

That had amazed her the most.

To think that the soft grey sky was actually such a warm blue and not always the same blue either. It changed all throughout the day and now when she thought back to reading of the wondrous colors of the sky, Sakura found herself dreaming of even more colors. This had caused her to become absentminded and diverted during her work. It was so bad, in fact, that when the surgeon supervising her witnessed her unusual behavior, she had ordered Sakura to go home.

That was the only reason she had stepped foot on the bus at such an early hour, amidst the nine-to-five workers’ commute home when the hustle and bustle was the worst. Still, she found herself getting lost in each shade of blue her eyes spotted; being distracted enough to bump into someone and have them give her a shove which forced her into another body.

The sudden and unexpected push was not what started her into going wide-eyed and breathless — it was the sight of the smooth and soft dress shirt she had pressed into, the color one that was deeper and yet lighter at the same time in comparison to the blue she had already accustomed herself to. Her eyes raised to the face of the man she’d disturbed only to find the most beautiful porcelain face she’d ever seen before.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment at the proximity and the aghast look the beautiful man was giving her.

He didn’t look at her long though before he turned his back to her, making her pout. It gave her time to admire the new color gracing her eyes, but there was just something about this man drawing her in — as if her heart was seeking him out. His hair was somehow tamed and yet messy at the same time, the back in disarray while his bangs framed his gorgeous face perfectly. There was a blue tint to his hair also, captivating her. She couldn’t just ignore the presence of someone so positively alluring.

“Excuse me,” she began, voice cracking slightly and making her blush deepen. Sakura cleared her throat and gently tugged on the man’s shirt when he ignored her. Her lips pursed and she turned her attention to her phone, needing to put a name to the color of his shirt.

Purple.

To be specific, lavender.

“Your shirt is purple… it suits you.” Sakura knew well that most of the population couldn’t see colors and if she had a choice, she would like to know little details like that; even if she couldn’t tell the difference herself. Maybe he could see though and he already knew. Regardless, she didn’t regret telling him.

. . .

Sasuke felt his eyes widen at her comment, completely taken away by what she just said. He always chose whatever looked best with the darker color of jeans he would pick out and the fact that she just mentioned his shirt being a color that was neither grey, white nor black — who knew he was choosing purple of all colors. Instead of keeping his back to the girl, he turned in his seat, allowing his eyes to shift to the woman sitting next to him.

His dark eyes reeled in the color of her hair; such a soft color that it piqued his curiosity and made him wonder if everyone had the color of her hair or if it was only her. He cleared his throat slightly, trying to find something to say.

“Your hair is pink,” he stated in a low voice, sliding down in his seat slightly so he could be a little closer to eye level with her. He wanted her to look at him again, see that light shade that he saw when she sat down by him and looked at him. He wasn’t sure what color he saw then, but it was interesting.

That color and pink reminded him of something natural, a happiness emitting from them mixing together and just when he wanted to turn away once more and enjoy the peace and quiet, he did exactly what she did and pulled his phone out.

After finding the color — green — he glanced back at her once more; different shades of green colored the world around him and not just her eyes. He never realized how many things contained that color, albeit the grass, trees, plants, clothes that people wore and buildings painted in the color. He noticed how much pink and green went together, and not just on the woman sitting next to him.

“And your eyes are green.” He breathed out softly with a click of his tongue.

“Green,” she breathed, those beautiful eyes lighting up in excitement. “Are they pretty? What is green like?”

Sasuke exhaled slowly, feeling his body give way to whatever emotion fluttered through his chest. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but the sound of her soft voice sent shivers down his spine almost instantly. He readjusted in his seat once more, allowing himself to face her and really get a look at the woman next to him.

He studied her eyes once more, noticing just how deep the shade of green the tops of her irises actually were, slowly dissolving into such a soft green that it made his tongue go numb. Words sat on his lips, begging to be said and when he held his breath for a second too long, everything hitched in his chest.

“It almost resembles warmth and living,” he clicked with his tongue before looking away for a brief moment. He wasn’t sure if the bus was hot, but his cheeks and ears felt entirely too hot for his liking.

“Warmth and living…” she sounded completely taken with the idea, feeling amazed and excited at once.

The girl didn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space — leaning closer against him and clasping his hand with both of hers.

“Wow. That truly sounds amazing. Yours are… they’re black. But, not like the everyday black. I mean, they’re like this deep black. Like I’m staring into an endless abyss of emotion. Glossy… and not only black but these lighter speckles are there… almost grey, only different than grey. They’re really pretty.”

His breath hitched in his throat at the sudden contact, making his cheeks and ears grow hotter with each passing second. When he turned to look at her, he noticed the slight pink that dusted her cheeks and not only that, but a different color started coming into play.

It was soft, like the color of her hair only it painted her skin and added another color to his palette. He felt unusual, something strange stirring in his chest the longer he looked at her before breathing out.

Sasuke then looked away, his eyes focusing on objects passing by as the bus continued moving. He wasn’t used to this type of treatment—being close to anyone, especially some random stranger he met on public transport but there was something about her that was drawing him in and he didn’t want to escape that feeling.

He felt comfortable, safe, a sense of relief washing over him as he let his body relax, the tension slowly fading when he looked back at her.

“And yes,” he said softly, trying to force the words out. “Your eyes are pretty.” The corner of his lip turned up into a smirk, hoping she wouldn’t notice that she actually made him do something other than scowl, but it was clear to him that she was inquisitive and paid attention.

The color adorning her face darkened to a shade more vibrant than pink and for a fleeting moment, she averted her eyes. Those dainty hands didn’t release his, but instead held on a little tighter. When her eyes met his once more, she said, “My name is Sakura. What’s yours?”

“Sasuke.” He said in a voice that wasn’t as cold as it usually was. Staring into her eyes was like seeing the world in a different, much more appealing light and although he had just met this girl, he didn’t want to leave her right away.

Unfortunately, the bus came to a halt, his stop for getting off and going to Naruto’s. He sighed, his hand tightening around her smaller hand in his. “This is my stop,” he said, dark eyes flicking back to her to catch sight of her beautiful color palette one last time.

“Oh.” There was a bit of disappointment that flashed in her eyes, but she still smiled at him. “Well, Sasuke-kun, I have a feeling we’ll see each other again soon.”

He clicked his tongue, a softer smile pulling at his lips before releasing her hand and standing from his seat.

“I do too.”

He slid between her and the seats in front of them, striding down the aisle with his heart beating full force, skipping down the steps and finally letting go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. When he glanced back, his eyes searched for her; his beacon of color, a light that he didn’t want to go out and when he found her, his eyes connected with hers and a world of color consumed him whole.

It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, knowing full well that he had just met the person he’d been searching for and while the promise of myth still danced around in his head, he knew it to be true now.

He smirked at her as the bus began to pull away, letting her go along with it because he knew that wouldn’t be their one and only meeting — definitely not the last.

#ssm20 #ssm20d10 #sasusaku #sssk #collab

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skdubbs · 4 years

Text

Let Love Find You

Chapter 1: An Awkward Introduction

Summary: Love has a funny way of finding you when you’re not looking for it. Commander Fox discovered this the hard way when a box arrived on base and pique his interest.

Here it is. I can’t believe I'm finally doing this. A huge huge HUGE shoutout and thank you to @detroitbydark for all of the encouragement, feedback, and listening to my ramblings about this story. You’re the best.

This story will be the first in a collection of three interconnected stories taking place at the same time. I hope you all enjoy!

It all started with a box.

Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard stared at the parcel currently sitting on his desk amidst piles of carefully cataloged holopads. The contents of said package laid innocently next to the box. He’d had part of it scanned and tested, twice. Absolutely nothing alarming to be found. And yet Fox was still unsettled.

In the year since taking up his post, he’d never been rendered speechless. Well, today the boys could mark it down in the books. Truly, the commander didn’t know what to say. Or think. Or do. The mental conundrum Fox found himself in was beyond exasperating. Sighing, Fox shook his head, then glanced at the flimsi note he held. Once more, he read the delicately written script.

To: Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard

Dear Sir,

I’m sure this package and its contents might cause alarm and confusion. Please don’t allow it to do either. This is simply a token to express my thanks to the troopers involved with the skirmish in the market district on Level 3 nearly four rotations ago. Their actions saved my life and that of my daughter. When we expressed our gratitude, my daughter felt the shock trooper didn’t think we were sincere. Hence, this small gift. I ask that you please see to it that the troopers involved receive this token and understand how grateful we were for their timely arrival. For there are citizens on this planet who are aware of the services the Guard provides to ensure our continued safety and peace. Thank you for your help in this matter.

Sincerely,

Arissa Blunt

Fox knew without looking it up what skirmish Ms. Blunt referred to, as well as the troopers involved. Reach’s report had made mention of the two citizens he’d pulled away from the fire fight, a young woman and child. Interestingly enough, Fox had also heard through the guard barrack’s grapevine that Reach spent most of that night crowing about a civvie thanking him and how pretty she’d been. According to Reach, her body was a man’s wet dream.

At the time Fox had scoffed and pushed the matter out of his mind. He had far more important matters to contend with than one of his trooper’s infatuations. All of the men would have one at some point or other. It was a natural result with overexposure to civilians after a lifetime of social isolation. Fox was one of the few he knew to never fall to such an affliction. That didn’t mean he hadn’t dabbled and explored his options. The commander had simply never experienced the magic of someone capturing his attention for more than a moment of a little physical pleasure. Until now.

Commander Fox was intrigued, all because of a box of homemade ginger spice cookies, a short note, and an infatuated trooper’s embellished description. Again, Fox sighed. Maker, he needed a drink. And it wasn’t even 1200 yet.

He commed Captain Stone, the squad leader there on the day in question.

“This is Stone,” came the greeting.

“Captain, round up the troopers involved in the skirmish on Level 3, I’m sure you remember the one,” Fox instructed. “They’ve got a gift waiting for them in my office. Apparently Reach’s story wasn’t completely fabricated.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. It was brief, but Fox knew it for what it was. Shock. “Right away, sir,” Stone replied.

Fox disconnected, then turned to inspect the baked goods still sitting on his desk. Ginger spice cookies. Homemade, no less. Damn, they smelled good.

Fox smirked. What the men didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He plucked one cookie from the pile, taking a small bite to test the flavor. A groan of delight broke past his lips. This was one of the best frekkin’ things he’d ever had the pleasure of eating, and that's saying something. After all, the position of Commander of the Coruscant Guard afforded certain luxuries and privileges that few other clones were allowed.

The commander took another bite, savoring the taste. What he wouldn’t give to have something this good to eat every day. His eyes found the note again, sitting on his desk in stark contrast to everything else. Arissa Blunt. One has to wonder what kind of woman she was. Fox had every intention of finding out.

-----

After giving the boys their gift (the looks of shock and delight on their faces had caused a grin on his), Fox decided to investigate. It took little effort to find the information he needed. Another perk to his position.

Arissa Blunt, single human female aged 22 standard years. Currently a member of the Republic military’s research and development division located here on base. His brows had raised at that. He merely needed to leave his office and walk across the facility in order to find her. Her focus was prototype military-grade weapons. So, she worked on creating better ways for his brothers on the front to do their job. While he didn’t know her, Fox felt a swell of appreciation for this woman.

He was shocked and intrigued to find she held her position with no formal training. Instead, Ms. Blunt came into the program through the recommendation of a member of the board. It was highly irregular. Perhaps some nepotism was involved? But that made no sense either. According to her file, Ms. Blunt had no living relatives, only a young daughter named Gemma. Cute name, he’d thought.

Out of curiosity, Fox looked her up too. Gemma Blunt, single human female aged 5 standard years. Currently enrolled on scholarship at a school for gifted young children located noooo in a more well-to-do area of the upper levels. So, the kid was smart.

A part of Fox was impressed. And even more intrigued, especially as he gazed at Ms. Blunt’s photo. Reach hadn’t exaggerated, she was quite pretty. Not in the glamour model sort of way. But you could see the potential lying underneath her cute veneer should she ever try to be one. And those eyes….well, they’d surprised him too. Most humans didn’t have violet colored eyes, at least not naturally. But on her they were stunning. They drew you in and spoke volumes. As if the secrets they held were more than just her own. She could know yours without you evening realizing. A fanciful thought perhaps, but there all the same.

And that is why Commander Fox found himself making the long trek to the R&D division on base a few hours later. Amazingly, he had an hour free. Plenty of time to pay Ms. Blunt a visit. He could convey the men’s appreciation and slake his curiosity.

He’d found a technician by the name of A’tron Rogers when he arrived. The man had the audacity to scoff at him when he stated who he was looking for. Fox wisely kept his helmet on, knowing full well what kind of person he was dealing with. It was rather obvious what Mr. Rogers thought of clones and about doing anything for them. One had to wonder why he was in a position that required him to help create weapons that helped said clones.

“Yeah, she’s back here,” he’d snapped. “Follow me.”

Resisting the urge to call the man on his insubordination, Fox followed. They made their way further back into the lab and came to a stop at what looked to be some kind of long range canon. However, the weapon wasn’t what caught Fox’s attention.

Fox froze, his brain gone blank. Before his eyes, bent over at just the right angle, was perhaps the most perfectly shaped ass he’d ever seen. His mouth watered while his blood rushed south. Mentally, he cursed. This was not a good way to start an introduction.

“Blunt!” Rogers practically screeched, trying to get the technician's attention. It certainly did the trick, albeit in a painful way. Arissa’s head shot up, caught by surprise, only to have it collide with the paneling of the prototype she’d been working on. A string of low muttered curses followed the loud clang. Fox winced in sympathy.

After a moment or two, Arissa straightened, seemed to take a steadying breath, then turned to face them. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second when they landed on him. However, she recovered quickly, her face becoming unreadable as she turned to her coworker.

Fox wished he could say the same. That beautiful shebs he’d been staring at not long ago should have warned him at what else he’d see. Because, by the maker, Reach hadn’t exaggerated. Not one bit. Arissa Blunt truly was a man’s wet dream. Her hair was up and covered, but he didn’t need to see the dark brown wavy locks again to know how it finished the masterpiece that stood before him. Even wearing coveralls covered in grease splotches couldn’t detract from that hourglass figure or the small waist. And her breasts. By Fett, they were a handful and more. So much more. Again, Fox was grateful he’d chosen to keep his bucket on. He’d have looked like a gaping fool otherwise.

Arissa addressed Rogers, her voice even and devoid of emotion. “Did you need something, Rogers?”

The shorter man huffed, obviously put out by her lack of response to him. Fox made a mental note of that. Maybe it wasn’t just clones the man had a problem with. “You’ve got a visitor. Commander Fox here needs to speak with you.”

The technician’s gaze swung over to him, that violet gaze holding him captive. Again, he noticed a moment of trepidation, as if she feared his presence. Fox scowled, annoyance flaring. Her reaction was classic for a citizen. They either looked at him and his brothers with fear or disdain. He wasn’t sure which pissed him off more.

“I see,” she replied. “Well, I’m due a fifteen anyway. If you need me, we’ll be in the conference room.”

Rogers snorted, then left. Yup, that chakaaryc really didn’t like Arissa Blunt. Fox focused his attention on the woman before him. As he looked closer, her nerves became more obvious. What did she have to be nervous about?

“Ms. Blunt,” he greeted, his voice stiff and formal.

“Commander Fox,” she greeted in return. Grabbing a rag, she wiped her hands off, then motioned for him to follow her. “Whatever you need to tell me, it’d be best said in the conference room. Otherwise, everyone else in the department will know about it before the end of the day. You wouldn’t think it, but the lot here are as bad as a bunch of gossiping housewives.”

Nodding, he followed. As they left the lab and made their way down the hallway, Fox couldn’t help his eyes from looking. The sway of those hips were going to haunt him. Another curse ran through his mind.

Soon enough they reached their destination, Arissa gesturing him inside. He took up a position further in, standing at attention while he waited for her to shut the door.

“Would you rather sit, Commander?”

“No thank you, miss. But please don’t stand on my account. Have a seat.”

He patiently waited while Arissa got comfortable. Once she seemed settled, he dove right in. “I assume you know why I’m here?”

That flash of trepidation was back. It was gone immediately, but still, he saw it.

“I think so,” she quietly answered. Her tongue came out to wet her lips. Despite himself, Fox felt a knee jerk reaction to the tiny movement. Maker, this needed to stop. Now.

“Then explain yourself,” he ordered.

That got her attention. Arissa straightened, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Explain myself? I thought the note I left was pretty self-explanatory.”

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “However, your reaction to my appearance here would say otherwise. I thought you appreciated what the guard does for the citizens of Coruscant. Someone who is appreciative doesn’t respond with fear in their eyes.”

Arissa’s eyes widened, first in shock, then in anger. However, when she next spoke, her voice remained even. “From my point of view, your sudden appearance here is rather suspect. Troopers, let alone commanders, don’t make random visits to this part of the base. Any fear you saw was my worry that I’d done something wrong.”

That made Fox pause, considering. Her words in the note had sounded sincere. And someone who feared or hated clones wouldn't have sent something in the first place, not without it having some sort of repercussion. Perhaps she had a point. Finally, Fox relaxed his stance.

“I suppose your reaction would make sense then,” he conceded. “I apologize for alarming you, Ms. Blunt.”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, you couldn’t have known. I’m sorry I gave you the impression I was like all those ungrateful idiots out there.”

Fox stared at her. Well, that was certainly one way of putting it. Apparently Ms.Blunt lived up to her name. He cleared his throat. “Now that that’s settled, would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to do such a thing?”

Arissa started fiddling with a loose thread of her coveralls. A nervous tick. “I already told you in the note I sent with the package. My daughter thought the trooper who helped us didn’t believe we meant what we said. I was helping to make him see otherwise.”

A scoff escaped him. “Forgive my own cynicism then. I’m used to people having ulterior motives. It’s my job to find them.” He shrugged. “So, it’s a little hard to believe there wasn’t something else behind your actions, appreciated as they are.”

While he knew he was being something of a di’kut, Fox needed to know. He wasn’t lying. Any civilian he’d ever met had some sort of ulterior motive, most often to the detriment of his men.

She didn’t speak for a while, sitting there in quiet contemplation. Then, those violet orbs caught the gaze of his visor and held it. She wanted to get this right, he realized. She wanted him to believe her. “Maybe because men who didn’t have a choice in choosing this life deserve something good once in a while.”

Speechless, that’s what he was. She said it so plainly and without artifice. Fox knew she meant it, every word.

“I see,” he replied, voice quiet and low. “Well, allow me to express my gratitude and that of my men. It may not seem like much, but those sweets were the first gift any of those men have ever received. It might be the only one.”

“You’re very welcome, Commander Fox.” Her voice was quiet too, her eyes soft and understanding. How Fox wished he could get lost in them for more than just a few minutes. It was time to go. Now.

“You’ll excuse me then, Ms. Blunt, for taking up your time. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’ll see myself out.” Fox made to do just that, not leaving her a chance to say anything in return. He was almost to the door when-----

“Commander, could I ask a favor?”

Fox stopped, then looked over his shoulder. Here it comes. “What is it?”

Arissa gulped, her nerves showing once more. Fox smirked. Already in such a short amount of time, Fox knew he’d enjoy setting her on edge on a regular basis. It was a shame their paths likely wouldn’t cross again.

“I know this may seem silly, but would you be willing to write a short note to my daughter? I know it’d mean the world to her to hear how much the troopers that helped us enjoyed the cookies.”

“Can’t you just tell her?”

“I could,” she allowed. “But she might think I’m lying. Sometimes she has a hard time believing things if she doesn’t have evidence. Finding out you came to tell me yourself just how much the gift was appreciated will be suspect without some kind of proof.”

“Is your daughter really that cynical?”

Arissa laughed, shaking her head. Fox had to admit she had a lovely laugh. Fett, he was going soft. “No, not cynical, commander. Just a child who needs encouragement that something is real when she’s had so many other disappointments.”

While Fox was curious as to what she meant by that statement, he didn’t ask. Honestly, what was the harm in writing the kid something? There was none. Besides, he was more than happy to do it.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint.”

The smile she gave him made an answering one pull at his lips. Thankfully, his helmet hid the sight. Yeah, this was definitely not good.

------

“Mommy! You’re home!” Gemma squealed in happiness as Arissa stepped through the door. Arissa was barely inside before her five-year-old daughter wrapped her tiny arms around her torso and squeezed.

Arissa paused, soaking the moment in. A smile pulled at her lips while the hint of tears teased her eyes. This right here made everything worth it. The ridiculously long days. The demeaning remarks and catty behavior from her coworkers. This was her why, the reason she kept putting up with everything.

She wrapped her arms around Gemma and squeezed back. “Hello to you too, Gemma. Did you miss me?”

“Yes!” Gemma pulled back, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing in her excitement. “Did you miss me?”

Arissa chuckled, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Yes, sweetie.”

“Welcome home, Arissa. Long day?”

Arissa glanced up, making eye contact with the teenager lounging on the lumpy pale green couch in the apartment space that served as a living room. She barely withheld a grimace, thinking back over her day. “Just the usual, Trix.”

Although it really hadn’t been. Not when a certain unsettling clone commander decided to pop in and pay an unexpected visit. Gods, she’d thought for a moment there she’d done something wrong, that somehow the gift Gemma had practically begged her to make was illegal. Panic had filled Arissa, assuming the worst. But then he’d thanked her. Thanked her. Like a box of ginger spice cookies was the best gift his men had ever received. That wasn’t really too far off the mark, though, was it? And that black visor. When he’d held her gaze, Arissa had felt as if she were naked. She couldn’t remember anyone ever making her fell that way. Definitely not something one wants to feel upon meeting a commanding officer of the GAR.

Shaking her head, Arissa focused back in on the present. “Did the two of you eat yet?”

Trix suddenly appeared uncomfortable, a look of guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah, we did. I, um, thought it’d be nice to treat Gemma to something. We went to Dex’s Diner and had the works. Saved some for you, too.”

While she knew why Trix might feel guilty, Arissa couldn’t fault the teenager for spending the money instead of eating the leftovers in the fridge. A year of being homeless and dodging traffickers and drug dealers had done a number on Trix. The kid’s useless father had abandoned her just days after her mother passed away. And the lower levels of Coruscant were not kind to the young and innocent. Arissa knew this fact quite well. Trix was finally getting back on her feet, working at a local bakery to make some money while attending school at night to finish her primary education. She lived in the third bedroom and watched Gemma when Arissa had to work late. And Trix positively adored her. So if Trix wanted to spoil Gemma with a night of burgers and shakes, Arissa wasn’t going to complain. She was far too grateful for the help to even think of chastising the teenager for splurging.

“That sounds like a lot of fun. Thanks for thinking of me,” She smiled at Trix, hoping the teenager understood she wasn’t mad. “I can’t remember the last time I had Dex’s. Is it as good as I remember?”

Gemma giggled. “Even better! Oh, and we got to meet Dex. Did you know he’s a besalisk? I’ve never seen one before. He answered all my questions, too. Didn’t act like I was a bother or anything.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. Because he realized right away what a bright and inquisitive mind you have, sweetie.” Arissa’s heart warmed at the kindness the diner owner had unknowingly extended her daughter. Gemma truly was inquisitive, wanting to know anything and everything. And amazingly she remembered it all. However, there were some people who found the girl’s nearly constant questions an annoyance and something to discourage. It was why she’d done so poorly in school until transferring into a private academy. Thank the maker for that scholarship. She bent over and lifted Gemma up, holding the young girl as she made her way to their small kitchen table. “Now spill. How was your day?”

Asking Gemma that question was all the kiddo needed to start regaling her mother with the events of the day. Arissa listened attentively as she went about putting her dinner together. She laughed when Gemma explained how a boy in her class had water come out of his nose during lunch and praised her when told how she’d received perfect marks on yesterday’s exam. Trix stayed with them for a while, interjecting comments here and there before retreating to her room to start on her school work. They wished the sixteen-year-old good night as mother and daughter both knew they likely wouldn’t see the teenager again until morning. Arissa was done with her dinner and working on a mostly thawed nerf milkshake by the time Gemma asked how her day went.

Arissa had thought long and hard how she wanted to present her surprise. She pulled the note from her back pocket and slid it across the table’s surface. “I had an unexpected visitor today. He asked me to give you this.”

Curious, Gemma carefully unfolded the note. Even at such a young age she handled everything with a great deal of care. Violet eyes scanned the note, then widened in shock. When Gemma finally looked back up she was smiling from ear to ear. “He wrote a note. He really wrote a thank you note!”

The smile breaking across Arissa’s face almost hurt. Seeing her daughter’s happiness at something so small was beyond precious. Mentally, she filed the image away to remember when the moody teenager years hit. “I was told not to read it. That it was top secret until your eyes saw what was inside. Think you could read it to me?”

Gemma nodded enthusiastically.

“It says: Dear Miss Gemma. Thank you for the lovely gift of ginger spiced cookies. I have shared your present with the troopers involved in the skirmish four rotations ago in the market. They were very surprised and grateful for your thoughtfulness. They rarely get a thank you for their work. Your mother tells me you are a bright student and love to learn new things. Did you know that members of the guard love uj cake? I highly recommend trying it. Please continue to do your part as a good and loyal citizen of the Republic.

Sincerely,

Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.”

The excitement radiating off of Gemma was contagious. She truly was happy from Commander Fox’s words. Arissa sent a silent thank you to the commander for taking the time to fulfil her request. Maybe she could find a way to let him know how much his note meant. But he must be very busy. Why would he care about any of this?

If he didn’t care, why would he bother in the first place? He could have said no.

“Do you think I could write a reply, mommy?” Gemma asked. “Maybe we could make them some uj cake since they like it so much and leave a note with it like before.”

That made Arissa pause. “Perhaps. But don’t you think the rest of the guard might get jealous when only a few of them get to have some?”

Gemma’s brow furrowed as she contemplated that possibility. “I guess you’re right. I know I wouldn’t like it if only a few of my classmates kept getting something and I didn’t.” Then her face brightened. “Maybe we could make some for everyone! That way no one felt left out. Oh but,” Gemma frowned as she realized something. “That wouldn’t work either. There’s so many of them, aren't there?”

Arissa hmmed, feeling her heart squeeze with regret as her daughter’s face fell. For someone so young, she truly had a compassionate and giving nature. She wanted everyone to be happy. “I’m not sure how many there are, but yes, there are a lot of men in the guard. Far too many for us to make enough for everyone. I’m sorry sweetie.”

The evening wore on, the hours passing as the world outside transitioned from day to night. Despite her disappointment, Gemma managed to recover. They played a few games, took care of Gemma’s bath, and cuddled on the couch to watch a silly holomovie before Arissa announced it was time for bed. Arissa read a story of her daughter’s choosing, sang her a song, and kissed her good night. Once Arissa left the room, she’d make a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with a book, losing herself in the passionate romance of her current novel before heading to bed as well. It was like so many other night’s, this ritual their evenings had become. But tonight would be different.

“Mommy?”

Arissa paused, turning back to face her daughter. Only the top of her head and her eyes were visible above the fuzzy purple comforter she’d cocooned into. “What is it, sweetie?”

“Will you please tell Commander Fox thank you for writing me that note? I really did like it. And I think he’d like to know that, too.”

The breath whooshed out of Arissa’s lungs. She hadn’t expected this. But how could she refuse? “Of course, Gemma. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Now, get some sleep. You have a big day at school in the morning.”

“Can you make rainbow berry pancakes for breakfast?”

Arissa couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, Gemma’s tone was just too hopeful. “I think I can manage that. Now, sleep little one.”

Gemma giggled, happy at her mother’s answer. “Okay, okay. Good night, Mommy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Gemma.”

Arissa closed the door and made her way to the kitchen. She tinkered around the small space, getting things ready for the morning while her tea water boiled, then steeped. Once finished, she grabbed the old and worn romance novel off her caf table, the flimsi pages yellowed with age. She happily made herself comfortable on the couch as she dove into the world of high passion…..

Five minutes later, Arissa was back in the kitchen, a notepad open to a clean page while her holopad came to life. She scrubbed a hand over her face, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” As soon as the piece of technology was up and running, she began bringing up Republic military records, trying to get an accurate head count of how many men filled the ranks of the Coruscant Guard.

------

Now, while Arissa was toiling away at the kitchen table trying to work out a plan to fulfill her daughter’s wish, said daughter was busy working on another matter instead of sleeping.

Gemma waited for her holopad to boot up, reading the note from Commander Fox almost obsessively. She’d never thought in a million years her mother would come home with any kind of news about the gift she’d begged her to make. Instead, she’d brought home a note. A note! Gemma very quietly giggled, pressing her face into her pillow to better muffle the noise. She was in the next star system from how happy that little piece of flimsi had made her. The five-year-old sent a desperate plea to the gods, asking them for the chance to meet this Commander Fox. Yes, she’d asked her mom to thank him, but she wanted the chance to tell him herself how much his note meant to her. And she wanted to show him just how much she could learn when she set her mind to it.

Finally the holopad came on and Gemma brought up a search engine. Adults were always so surprised when they saw how well she could navigate tech at her age. For whatever reason, it was astonishing. Gemma didn’t pretend to understand why. Carefully, she typed in uj cake, then hit search. She skimmed over a promising article. It did sound rather yummy. Perhaps she could convince her mom to help her make some after school tomorrow and she could share it with the class. The kids would probably like that. Maybe it’d help her make a few friends.

The article said the recipe came from Mandalore. Intrigued, Gemma decided to search the planet, not knowing what she was getting herself into. What she read fascinated her. Hours went by and Gemma refused to sleep, far too invested in learning more about this old creed of warriors. She had only nodded off when her mother came to wake her, far earlier than usual.

Gemma’s groggy eyes met her mother’s. “What is it, mommy? Is something wrong?”

Arissa shook her head, a hint of mischief lighting her eyes. “No, sweetie. I just needed your help with something. How would you like to help me make some uj cake this morning? I think a certain clone commander would appreciate it.”

It took a moment for Gemma’s sleepy brain to understand exactly what her mother was saying. When she did, she shot out of bed so fast she almost knocked her mother over. Excitement took care of the exhaustion she’d felt just moments ago.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, then dashed out the door to the kitchen, her mother’s laughter following after her.

What neither realized then was how their actions that morning would come to shape the rest of their lives.....and those throughout the galaxy.

#commander fox #commander fox x original character #original female character #clone x ofc #I am so freaking excited this is finally up and going

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likeanemployee · 4 years

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Weiss’ Portrait

Weiss had been surprised by a number of things today, the first was when Ruby asked if she could paint her. She simply would never have guessed the energetic younger girl would have an interest in a hobby like that. When she thought of painters, or artist in general, she imagined the somber, dignified museums and galleries in which their work was displayed or refined masters focusing intently for hours on end to create the perfect masterpiece. She was pretty sure she had never seen Ruby focus on anything for more then half an hour and anything further from her idea of a refined master then the dolt was hard to imagine. Which is why Weiss hadn’t been surprised when Ruby added only a moment later “I’m not very good but I still like doing it” the image of a painter in Weiss’ mind had shifted suddenly at the comment from a classical master to something more like a child covered in its own finger paint. That was probably an unfair description, despite her tendency to act like one Ruby wasn’t really a child and Weiss didn’t really think of her as one, or at least not most of the time. The imagine which had truly formed in her head had been quite vividly of Ruby herself slashing energetically at a canvas with a brush, paint splashing everywhere as she did. After a moment, the phantom Ruby had leaned back revealing a smock which at some point had been white, but which now was thoroughly besmirched with paint of all colors. As this false Ruby considered her work, she moved her brush absent mindedly to her chin and then blinked in surprise as she accidently left a bright green splotch on her face. Weiss had suddenly found herself trying very hard to suppress the smile her own mental image had created before shrugging and agreeing to let Ruby paint her

It had turned out Ruby looked nothing like Weiss had imagined. She had remained in her usual clothes and while her brush strokes were on occasion faster than Weiss would have imagined from one of those “refined masters” they lacked the grand, if she was honest comic, flair and fervency of her imagined Ruby. On top of all of which the entire process was quite tidy, without the mess of paint she had been certain would define Ruby’s style. That had been the second surprise, although after she thought about it she realized it shouldn’t have been. For one this was hardly the first time Ruby had proven herself to be more skilled then Weiss first imagined and for two, and probably more importantly, Weiss realized her mental image had been entirely unrealistic, with grossly exaggerated motions and truly absurd quantities of paint.

The third surprise she was just becoming aware of as she felt her neck getting stiff. She had imagined when all this started that it wouldn’t take up that much of her time. It wasn’t the first portrait she had sat for so she was familiar with the kind of time it could take for a professional artist but surely Ruby wouldn’t put that much detail into her painting, beside certainly the energetic dork would get bored and lose interest before then. Unfortunately, she had been wrong, and she had already been here for at least as long as the last portrait she sat for. In some ways she didn’t really mind, she didn’t have any other plans and Ruby had chosen a pleasant spot for her to sit and do the painting. Beside she had agreed to let Ruby paint her and she at least should have known what that meant but still…

“Ruby?” She decided to ask trying not to sound too impatient “are you done yet? My neck is cramping.”

Ruby’s response came as the next surprise “NO!” she had answered forcefully “Perfection takes time. don’t rush me!”

Weiss blinked taken aback by the anger, no, she realized slowly, not the anger but the frustration in Ruby’s voice. She hadn’t been paying much attention to what Ruby was actually doing but she did now, and she found the younger girl was doing a lot of glancing back and forth between her easel and Weiss with a scowl on her face and very little painting. “Ruby?” she asked again “I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t look like you’re doing much painting. And” she added quickly as Ruby’s angry face appeared suddenly from behind the canvas “it doesn’t look like you’re having much fun, which I thought was kinda the point of this.”

“oh Ruby I’m sure it’s fine, besides like they say it’s the thought that counts. Just let me see.” Weiss said trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

It was Ruby’s turn to blink in surprise and her expression softened as she did “Fun?” she asked “I guess kinda but it was also… well I wanted to make something for you. You know something that was I don’t know fancy or whatever, but I think I messed it up and I don’t know how to fix it.” The disappointment in her voice was palpable and Weiss smiled warmly touched by the sentiment.

Ruby looked as though she were going to refuse for a moment but then her shoulders sagged, and she said “Ok” gesturing for Weiss to come stand beside her and look at the painting.

Weiss stood preparing herself to pretend like she liked whatever she saw, she didn’t want to hurt Ruby’s feeling especially since Ruby was trying to do something nice but she wasn’t sure how convincing she could be after all they didn’t call her the…

Her thoughts cut off suddenly as she stepped around the easel and caught sight of the painting. “Ruby it’s…” she paused sheer shock at the greatest surprise yet rendering her speechless. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but it hadn’t been something so “incredible” she finished the thought out loud.

“Don’t tease!” Ruby huffed back “I was trying to be nice.”

“I’m not!” Weiss answered the words came out in a far more confrontational tone then she had really intended, and she forced herself to pause and continue in a far sweeter voice “Really, Ruby this is fantastic.”

“Yeah, right, sure I know sarcasm when I hear it.” Ruby continued grumpily

Weiss rolled her eyes and let her frustration show this time “Apparently you don’t, dolt. Why can’t you just take a compliment!”

“Because you don’t mean it!” Ruby screamed back but then fell back and continued quietly “how could you? I mean look at you and look at that.” Weiss didn’t know how to respond to that and silence hung between them for a moment before Ruby continued “I should have known better you’ve probably been painted by some famous professional potraiterist who made you look as pretty as you really are and me...” she simply plopped sadly down on the ground instead of finishing the sentence.

“Ruby” Weiss hummed sweetly as she crouched down next to her “You’re right you know, I have, or my father at least, had a professional paint my portrait before, I don’t know that he was all that famous but he was very well paid and I can say with full certainty and honesty that I like yours much better.” And she thought as she stood to look at the painting again I really do mean that, the professional’s might, and I mean might, be a little technically better but I hated that painting I looked so stiff and lifeless and in this..

“You look ridiculous!” Ruby protested jumping up next to her and pointing at her painting “Look at your smile, I made you look crazy.”

“You made me look happy, you dork!” Weiss retorted half laughing, and half frustrated

“but it doesn’t look like you” Ruby insisted refusing to give up

“You know if Yang were here, she’d probably say something like that’s just because I never look happy.” Weiss countered but Ruby didn’t look amused “Ruby, I like it! Wasn’t that the whole point. I mean look I’m smiling right now do I look crazy to you?”

Ruby tried hard to stay upset and grumpy but her folded arms loosened and a smile crept across her face “Well…” she started and Weiss was delighted to hear a playful note in her tone “Yang does have a point, you aren’t ever happy…”

“Ruby Rose” Weiss said trying to sound intimidating while stifling a laugh “Are you saying I do look crazy?”

“Maybe not crazy so much as unnatural and unnerving, and only when you smile.” Ruby teased back.

“Just you wait till next we spar, I’ll show you unnatural and unnerving!” Weiss retorted and they both laughed before turning as one to look again at the painting.

“You really like it?” Ruby asked one last time

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” Weiss asked in response

“what?!” Ruby stammered out in surprise “I said..? umm see what I meant was…”

Weiss just laughed back and interrupted

“I love it, Ruby”

This fic was inspired by this I’m not so sure this is actually anything at all like the sort of scene the artist was portraying but it’s where my mind went after seeing it

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #whiterose #fic

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theclosetpoet7 · 5 years

Text

Reunion in the Slums

A CloTi fic by theClosetPoet7

Rating: MA, So, do you guys want a little smut? With some angst? Okay. This one takes place before my fic "The Honeybee Inn". This is kinda more lengthy than my other one-shots. A scene here was inspired by the amazing hugo-the-starving-artist , whose art really just blew my mind. The title of his work is "Privacy", a part of his Midgar series.

Summary: She stops the sob from coming out of her pink lips. She almost missed him. Almost passed him by. Almost left him there to nod his days away. 'Cloud, what happened to you?' [Prequel to the Original Game]

She nearly stumbles when she kicks the door open. Carefully, she drags his body into the pristine floors of Seventh Heaven, muddied boots leaving scuffled marks onto her recently mopped deck, dark splotches painting the wooden panel. She doesn't care though, and with bated breath, she adjusts her hold on him while carrying the enormous sword she swears belonged to a man she hasn't seen in a while.

She wonders if he knows about what happened to their hometown, wonders if he now saw Shinra as the enemy like she does and maybe that is why she found him at that train station, with clotted blood disguising his blond hair, rendering him unrecognizable.

She stops the sob from coming out of her pink lips. She almost missed him. Almost left him there to nod his days away.

What if she didn't come closer to further examine him? What if she just went about her own way; hurrying to Sector 7's Market because she had run out of eggs? Or worse, what if someone else found him? Decided to mess with the crazy boy slumped over by the steps? Midgar has no shortage of thugs; evil men and women alike, looking to take advantage of defenseless people.

Cloud.

How is he here? Seven years after she last saw him.

A flash of the shy yet determined boy who promised her he'd make it into SOLDIER passes through her thoughts, and she swallows her emotions, putting herself on high alert. The instinct to heal him overcoming any form of reminiscing. She leans the large sword on the wall before she turns the knob to her own room. Then, she lowers Cloud onto her bed, not caring about the fact that he's dirtying her sheets.

"Hgghn, Tifa."

He had come to his senses when he had seen her.

"Tifa?"

"Tifa!"

He said strange things; told her that it's been five years when she remembers not seeing him for seven. Then again, it's not like she can trust herself either. Waking up in Midgar all those years ago, being told that Nibelheim was no more, Tifa had felt lost and confused.

It had taken some time for those memories to come flooding in.

Sephiroth at Mt. Nibel.

Zack following in.

Her chest hurting...

Hurting a lot.

He's still out of it, unconscious after falling to his knees on their way back to the bar, catching her off guard as he held his head between his shaking hands, groaning and murmuring indistinguishable words until he nearly toppled over only for her to catch him.

'Cloud, what happened to you?'

The floor is dampened by the droplets of water falling from the tub of tap she's brought over to place on the table next to her bed. Cloud is still asleep, whimpers coming out of his mouth. He smelled of blood and dirt. Tifa scrunches her nose as she dips the cloth on the water mixed with her bath soap and carefully wipes the grime off his face. She cleans up the blood first, to make sure that it isn't his own; and, because the iron scent always made her think of her father's. A memory which served to only remind her that she had once been too late. Not this time though.

She found him.

Just in time.

There is some sense of relief when she concludes that the blood isn't Cloud's. And, as she examines his head for any scratches, she sees that he isn't at the very least, in any danger of losing his life.

She focuses her attention on his sleeveless shirt.

Tifa recognizes the uniform, it was one members of SOLDIER wore, she remembers how Zack Fair had donned it with pride, his charming smile marveling at their town's landscape as she showed them around. She shakes her head at the thought, the renewed hatred she had for Shinra pumping even more resentment into her whole person.

She hates them. Hates them with her entire being.

Tifa shakes her head again, to direct her focus instead on the man in front of her. She needs to see if he's injured underneath that shirt of his. She gulps, trying to ignore her girlish shyness from overpowering the sense to do what is necessary. Sure she's always held favor for Cloud Strife, ever since that promise, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Tifa holds her breath, hands shaking when she's about to tug his zipper down.

His hand suddenly stops her.

"Tifa..."

"Cloud."

"Where am I?"

His voice sounded different, deeper than the one she remembers. He pushes himself up, grimacing when the change in position leaves him dazed and nauseated.

"You're at my bar, Seventh Heaven."

"Seventh Heaven."

"At Midgar."

"Midgar."

He's absentmindedly repeating her words, as if he's chasing after reality while whatever is giving him headaches obscures his other senses. He looks like he's about to slip away again. So, she puts her hand over his, shifting his attention to her.

"You're safe."

There's a look in his eyes, a peculiar color she notes, because she could swear that he had deeper blue. On that night. Even so, she shakes the doubt off her mind. This is Cloud Strife here. She knows as much. He's alive and in front of her.

After all these years.

The barmaid grips the washcloth hard to stop herself from wrapping her arms around him, lest she ends up making things uncomfortable.

When she guides him to the bathroom though, and tells him to leave his shattered clothes on the floor, Tifa leans her back against the bathroom's door, the sound of the shower relaxing her senses at the realization that she's been reunited with a precious person from her past.

Not just any person.

Her first love.

___________________________

It takes some convincing before Barret accepts Cloud into the group. And with his past exploits as an ex-SOLDIER, Tifa couldn't blame their leader. They are after all fighting the very company that her friend used to work for. She puts her foot down and raises the fact that she's the one who owns Seventh Heaven. And accepted or not, Cloud is going to stay with them.

She supposes that her insistence has managed to convince the other man. With the way he curses under his breath though, Tifa can tell that he still isn't completely fine with Cloud being here. So with a huff, she takes off, leaving the other members stunned at her strong words, probably not used to seeing this side of her. Biggs has this look of disappointment in his eyes while Jessie and Wedge merely give her an awkward smile as she storms off to her room to check on her friend. Thankfully, Marlene is already asleep.

She doesn't know why she's letting her temper get the best of her. Maybe it is because she didn't like the way they painted Cloud in such a bad light, when they've never even met him. They don't know the boy whose dreams had stirred the beatings of her heart, don't know the timid smile he gave her when she arrived at that water tower, don't know the way he reminded her of better times, when all she cared about was for him to come home.

Except that...There's no home to come home to.

Not anymore.

He immediately straightens his back when she opens the door to her room, probably eavesdropping on her earlier conversation. Cloud is still shirtless, wearing a black pair of pants which she had asked Biggs to let him borrow. He looks like he's been caught red-handed, although he has that confident aura about him, one that she still can't place with the boy she once knew.

"Maybe it isn't such a good idea for me to stay, Tifa."

She shakes her head at this, casually tossing his clothes into the washtub with powdered detergent.

"I want you to."

He seemed a bit hesitant in her claim. Already, she remembers the way he'd watch her and her friends from afar, like he had been wanting to join in the fun. However, as quickly as that expression appears, Cloud replaces it with a smirk on his face, a bit uncharacteristic of him, yet provides her with some ease nonetheless.

"If you say so."

She answers him with a smile, and takes off her boots while she pulls her thigh highs along with them, already in her sports bra. Tifa notices the way he averts his eyes, veering off from her state of undress. She's used to wearing her current outfit when she's training, so really isn't conscious of the fact. The brunette sits on her bed, the squeak of the old springs filling the room as she prepares to do the laundry. Then, she walks towards the other side of her quarters. Cloud makes a move to stop her when she hunches over the small tub, indicating that he should be the one to wash his own clothes. However, she tells him to sit.

He needed to rest.

And while she's cleaning off the remaining blood on his cotton uniform, she couldn't help but realize how mundane it all seems. He's cross-legged a few feet away from her while she scrubs away, a look on his face that honestly intimidates her a little and awakens the butterflies in her belly at the same time, her slumbering feelings nudged awake at the sight of him.

She tries to fight the feeling of self-consciousness as he fixates his gaze on her, tries to stop herself from asking more about what happened since he left. There's time for that later. Besides, she's just grateful that he's here.

With her.

___________________________

He's improving day by day.

A week into having Cloud live with her, Tifa notices that he's already becoming restless. One day, he comes out to watch her spar with Biggs. There's an astonished look in his eyes, like he's surprised to see that she's as skilled as she is. At first, she finds this pride within herself to let him see that she didn't need to be saved anymore, like she had been when she was thirteen. At the same time, a part of her still wants him to come to her rescue, to take her away from all this death around her.

She knows though, that it's merely a fantasy, one she shouldn't hold on to. Especially because she isn't so sure about what he remembers.

Sometimes, he stares at her like he's trying to find something. And sometimes, he looks at her with suspicion, even though he thinks he isn't being obvious. She can see it alright. He has his doubts. The same way she has hers. Even so, it is a rare occasion, and one she doesn't dwell on.

Biggs almost lands a punch on her face only to abruptly stop himself before he can make contact. She is left stunned because this has never happened before. She's never been caught off guard. Well, it isn't everyday when your childhood crush makes an appearance and watches you train. The way Biggs looks at her held some understanding in them, and she knows that he has deduced correctly. She did tell him about it.

"How is it that someone like you is still single?"

"I dunno, maybe I'm still waiting on my hero to come save me."

She still feels a little guilty about rejecting him. And it wasn't like she didn't try. She had said yes to a date with him. Although the night didn't end well when she had to stop him from stealing her first kiss. She'd nearly given in, however, as she stared at his brown eyes, she couldn't help but want to drown in blue ones instead.

Biggs steps away and bows towards her, a signal that their spar is over. He doesn't say anything when he turns his back and proceeds to go inside while playfully crooning that she owes him a drink, leaving her and her childhood friend alone.

Cloud pushes himself off the wall and walks to her, that look of intrigue in his eyes.

"I don't remember you being a fighter, Teef."

He's taken to calling her that way, a sign that he's beginning to feel comfortable around her, even when they still held each other with cautious regard. A step forward if she must say.

"I couldn't just sit by and wait for my hero."

She isn't able to stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. In an instant, the friendly atmosphere shifts. Cloud stares at her and Tifa tries, tries hard to find any semblance of recognition there, if he remembers their promise.

But it looks like he doesn't.

The very fact dampens her mood and consumes her thoughts the rest of the night.

___________________________

The first time Barret finally allows Cloud to join in a mission, Tifa worries. Already, she's telling their leader that she definitely isn't staying behind. Despite that, Barret glances at her with a serious look in his eyes and strictly informs her that he wants her to stay with Marlene.

Tifa bites into her lower lip to stop herself from saying anything rash. Barret was right anyway, if there was someone who could watch over Marlene closely, it was her. The implication of the order has her nervous, because it meant that the mission this time is more dangerous than the past ones.

Why else would Barret want to make sure that someone can take care of Marlene?

Cloud just watches as they discuss the details, his sword strapped to his back while he crosses his arms in front of him and leans against the wall, the side furthest from the rest of the team. He nods his head as Jessie lays out the blueprints to the Mako Reactor they're attacking the day after, and he offers some information about the military grunts' usual formation and battle strategy. These contributions make Tifa eye Barret, silently challenging him to say that Cloud shouldn't be trusted.

Seriously, he's been staying with them for a month now. Occasionally, he'd take over Barret or Bigg's place, acting as a bouncer once in a while. He'd also make himself useful around the bar too. Would even assist Wedge as he fixed the lights, or run errands for Jessie to secure certain mechanical equipment for whatever she's building in that workshop of hers.

Tifa doesn't miss the way the red-head's whole demeanor would light up once he's in the room. A fact she actually finds cute considering that not too long ago, Jessie had been putting the moves on her.

Cloud had slowly wormed his way into the team. So, it frustrated her when Barret would give him that look of distrust.

Perhaps it is his papa bear instincts coming out? He had been treating her like a daughter, had been protective of her. Maybe he disapproves of the fact that Cloud has been sleeping in her room?

Still though, Cloud doesn't deserve this.

Later on that night, she takes Barret aside.

"You have to stop treating him with such animosity."

The gun wielder releases a grunt.

"You can't expect me to trust a member of Shinra."

"I don't. I expect you to trust Cloud."

"Tifa..."

"I know him. I know his heart. He isn't the kind of person you think he is. Cloud is a good man." The emotion in her eyes must have shown because the warrior she has come to trust with her life remains silent, quietly studying her.

"You can't let your feelings hinder your judgment, Tifa."

"I'm not. Please. Give him a chance."

Barret tries.

___________________________

"You really should stop trying to defend me."

The rest of AVALANCHE have already retreated to their quarters. And, since she wouldn't be going on the mission, Tifa opens the bar an extra hour to secure their upcoming expenses. Surely, they will be needing more funds for equipment after the next bombing. For some reason, Cloud lingers behind, even though she tells him to go rest. It's sweet actually, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't happy that he was willing to stay up with her.

"And why is that?"

He's sporting the glass of scotch she's poured while she wipes the counter top and sprays some bleach over it.

"If they don't want me to join, then I can find work elsewhere. I may have overstayed my welcome."

Again with this. It hurts her whenever he talks about going away. As if she didn't matter to him as much as he mattered to her. Like their reunion didn't hold any meaning.

He had called her to that water tower years before right?

They were friends, right?

She chews on her lips while she breathes in deeply to calm her distress. Already, the prospect of him suddenly leaving had her heart torn to shreds.

"You're really leaving? You're really going to leave your childhood friend?"

She gulps, she had said too much this time, sounded like a jilted lover, feeling bitter that he's even thought about abandoning her.

Didn't she matter at all?

Tifa's eyes widen.

He suddenly has her pinned between the bar and his own hard body. She pauses, fingers still wrapped around the washcloth she's been using to dry the glasses, the skin on her nape heated with careful anticipation while she waits for him to say something. His arms are caging her in, gloved clad hands gripping the table.

"Cloud?"

"I..."

He's hesitating, that cocky aura replaced by one that reminded her too much of the boy she was neighbors with.

"I don't think I want to be just your friend."

The confession comes out in a huff, fanning her hair while he waits for her response and leans his head to the back of hers, making her feel numb, or perhaps she was feeling too much, the implication of what he had said awakening her desire not only to reciprocate his advances but to do something more. To give in to her girlish fantasies of that young man coming home to her, to ask her father's permission for her hand in marriage, and for them to seal their promise with a ring. Her own personal happily ever after.

Except that, life is just full of tragedies, so full of unfulfilled dreams.

He didn't come back.

Her father is dead.

And, she has too many scars for someone to want to marry her.

Still though, when she places the items she's been holding and turns her body to his, the barmaid doesn't stop herself from lifting a hand to brush his hair out of his face. So she could see that boy again.

See this man.

His eyes are not the ocean blue she had remembered, with greenish specks and a roguish glow to them, she traces her fingers down to his cheek, carefully examining that look in his orbs.

When he suddenly puts his hand over hers, turning it over so he could kiss the inside of her wrist, Tifa tries not to let her knees buckle.

Cloud is looking at her with intense heat, his tongue coming out to lick the skin where his lips had been, never breaking their eye contact. The brunette moistens her lips, and it is all the permission he needs before he takes hold of her chin and tilts it to him, pressing his mouth to hers in an action full of want and need.

She doesn't even think to stop him.

He brushes her lips with his; gently at first, then with an eagerness she couldn't help but return with equal fervor when she opens her mouth to his tongue's intrusion, gasping when his hands find purchase of her waist and pull her more tightly against him.

It starts to get to be too much and when they separate to take in the much needed oxygen, Cloud leans his forehead on hers, the smell of scotch teasing her senses as she closes her eyes to rest her hands on his shoulders, breathing deeply, to calm her pounding heart.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that."

She giggles lightly.

"Me too, since the water tower."

The way his body stiffens is not one she could miss, the hold he has on her slackens and Tifa's heart aches when he pulls away and looks at her with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

The question shatters any form of hope she has for that dream of hers to come true. Does he really not remember? She'd always questioned his memories of that night five years ago, when their village had burned down to the ground. He had remembered things that he shouldn't have and now she sees proof that he's also forgotten things that he should.

The realization hurts her heart, crumples it like a discarded sheet of paper until what was once beating as fast as it could out of excitement, is only dead now.

Pulseless

and unmoving.

Maybe she should remind him of that promise, maybe she should question why he's placing himself in the last days of Nibelheim when she doesn't remember seeing him at all. She nearly opens her mouth to tell him, but suddenly recalls how he'd put his hands over his head and scream, scaring her to the point that she fears that she'll lose him altogether if he undergoes one of those attacks again.

So instead, she keeps her mouth shut, and shakes her head in defeat to say that she didn't mean anything by it.

She doesn't miss the way his eyes glowed as he watched her leave him after that.

___________________________

He comes and goes sometimes; disappearing for a few hours without telling her where he's going, rousing that feeling of worry before she shakes it off, and reminds herself that he will return.

He has to.

When he comes back with an air of triumph on his face, carrying a few more items for their mission and occasionally bringing back a tropical fruit he's haggled out of a wandering merchant, Tifa would let out a sigh of relief, lips tilted up as she watches the rest of AVALANCHE get excited over what he's brought, her heart skipping a beat when he glances at her and smirks.

Barret has even taken a liking to Cloud when one day he comes home with a flower in his hand and gives it to Marlene, quite a charming move which only led to the four-year old associating him with the prince in her bedtime story books. And her, the princess.

Except that she isn't a princess, and he isn't a prince.

On some days, he flirts with other ladies, that confident exterior of his showing through. And by flirting, she means that he rewards them with his smirks as well, perhaps to get more tips. Or, something else. It was obvious how much the number of female patrons have increased since Cloud arrived. Jessie jokes about this incidence while puffing her cheeks, a tint of jealousy over her features.

Tifa would offer her ear as the young mechanic goes on and on about how forward some women were, agreeing with the red-head though still trying to appear apathetic about it. They haven't defined what they were yet, except two adults messing around once in a while.

One night, she sees a dark haired beauty lean in and whisper seductively in Cloud's ear, the curve of her red lips forming into a suggestive smile while she runs a hand over his bicep, eyeing him with her womanly charm. The mercenary had stiffened and looked dazed for the remainder of the night while he held on to the napkin with the woman's number in it.

During times like this, Tifa feels a renewed feeling of discontent, a hint of bitterness in her person when she too flirts with her customers. It comes with the job description. Every time she realizes the fact that she's treading into dangerous emotions, the martial artist stops, berating herself of the fact that what she is doing is immature and so unlike her nature.

She would be lying though, if she denies the fact that she just loves it when Cloud clenches his fist when she lets another man's touch linger a second too long, and she loves it when his eyes would follow her throughout the night, lightly giggling when he would click his tongue as she gives her smiles to someone else.

When Jessie notices the tension, she drunkenly proposes that she would love to have a threesome with her and Cloud. The barmaid laughs it off but could not miss the way her friend had meant every word she said. Jessie had developed feelings for Cloud. It wasn't surprising, considering how handsome he really was, with his intense eyes and his Adonis form, stirring something within her, making her think about how absolutely delightful it would be to have her body pressed against his hard physique. For him to show her what it was like to be a man and a woman.

He would catch her staring, only to look away with that smug expression of his. And she notices when he awkwardly adjusts his gauntlets or runs a hand through his hair, seemingly aware of the fact that she's still keeping her eyes on him.

His lips would find hers during closing hours, a touch of longing in them, hands heating her up with the temptation to cross the lines of their friendship. And with her legs around him while he lifts her onto the bar's counter, and her fingers tangled in his smooth locks, Tifa wishes that he'd take the initiative to move things further.

Especially when she feels his desire for her.

___________________________

She's in love with him.

This much Tifa knows.

Of course, maybe she has always been in love with him. He was the reason why she could never find chemistry with anyone else, the reason why she never went out on a second date. Because, she couldn't help but compare all of them to Cloud Strife.

And she knows that he wants her. Maybe not in the way she wants him. Notwithstanding, the attention still flutters those butterflies again.

Tonight, she pours him his third drink while she works on her second glass; scarlet eyes boring into his blue ones, silently telling him what she has been thinking of ever since he first joined AVALANCHE.

Her face must have mirrored her desire because her childhood friend had suddenly leaned in to claim her pink lips.

Since the first time he's kissed her, Cloud has become more forward, more honest with his intent. And his intent was to fuck her. He tells her. With his hand on her thigh and his tongue in her mouth, Cloud pulls away to tell her that he wants to do more.

"Can I? Tifa?"

Maybe she should've said no. They are playing with fire, blurring the lines of their friendship, advancing past the threshold into something that can potentially destroy the bond they have rebuilt over the course of his stay. But she loves him. And she wants him as well.

Gaia, she wants him.

So, with alcohol flowing through their system, flushing out the nerves and only heating up their bodies, making them crave for human touch, making them crave for each other, Tifa leads him to their shared quarters.

When she closes the door to her room, Cloud's hands pull her back to him, mouth crashing to hers as he closes their distance. She accepts his aggressive approach, basks in his forwardness while wondering if he's had this experience before, if that is where his confidence stems from; taking the lead without hesitation. A stark contrast to how she is currently feeling.

The thought of him with another woman, perhaps that beauty the other night, stirs a feeling of envy in her that Tifa couldn't stop herself from deepening their kiss, her tongue pushing past his lips to tangle with his, feeling a sense of boldness she can't quite comprehend, except that she wants him to know that he's hers.

Tifa gasps when his hand suddenly touches her breast, moaning at the way he rotates it in a clockwise motion while he watches her with his eyes. It is a sight so raunchy, that it manages to make her wet with anticipation. The thought of what they are about to do, already making her moist with want. He pulls away to cross his arms and tug his shirt off, rewarding her with the sight of his sculpted form.

She's seen his body before, they had gotten into the habit of washing clothes together. But to see him again, his chest taut and his abdomen defined by the lines of his muscles, with the intent to have her beneath him, Tifa feels her mouth dry at the sight.

To keep her hands from running over his rugged form, she settles with snapping the ends of her suspenders off, carefully sliding the straps one by one. She doesn't miss the way Cloud's eyes glinted in the moonlight as she does this. And she could see it. The fact that his pants looked more strained against his crotch.

With this sense of rare daring in her, Tifa meets his eyes and maintains the contact while she takes off her boots and then her white shirt. He stands four feet away from her, like he's enjoying the sight of her stripping in front of him. The barmaid tries to swallow her shy instinct, womanly aches encouraging her to continue, especially when he's looking at her like that. She's about to take off her skirt when Cloud puts his hands over hers, effectively stopping her.

"Keep them on."

It takes all of her to not fall on her knees then, his touch, albeit rough yet hesitant at the same time, tease her incessantly, he starts by running his hands over her waist, one hand palming the flat of her stomach while he ascends to cup one breast, thumb brushing over a nipple which allows a spark of electricity to pass through her body and onto her core.

"Cloud."

He takes hold of the small of her back and pulls her close to his hips, taking one thigh and holding it against him.

"Wrap them around me."

He whispers into her ear. Tifa wastes no time in wrapping her legs around his hips, mind already lost to the desire to have a man inside her, to have him inside her for the first time in her life.

Cloud drops her onto her twin-sized bed, lips already finding their way back to her neck, biting lightly and then sucking; effectively marking her as his even though she always has been. His strong body encompasses hers as he places both his hands on either side of her head while he holds himself up and watches her. Tifa averts her eyes when he runs a hand over her breast again, only to huff in disappointment when he merely glances over them, following a path down her stomach...

Her breath hitches, because suddenly he's palming her through her panties, her skirt lifted off her while he spreads her to his attentions.

He plants another kiss on her clavicle while he follows the trail his hands left heated in their wake, pleasing her with his tongue here and there until he's before her core. It is then when he looks up at her, silently asking for permission.

In answer, Tifa spreads her legs wider and lifts her hips up when he hooks his fingers at the hem of her panties and pulls them down, kissing the inside of her thigh while he sheds the last barrier between him and her maidenhood.

She arches her back when his fingers brush over her damp center. The feeling foreign yet sensuously good. His eyes held that sense of wonder in them, and he watches her features while he continues to brush two of his digits over her moist heat.

"Does it feel good?"

She never would've pegged him for a talkative lover. That being said, it's not like she has anyone else to compare him with.

"Teef?"

He touches her deeper, thumb parting one fold while his fingers continue that back and forth motion, teasing her every now and then. When he touches that part of her she's always tended to on her own, spreading her wetness over that bundle of nerves, Tifa gasps. And he asks her again.

"Good?"

She could only nod in reply.

He leans over her, pressing open mouthed kisses against her neck while he continues to caress her with indecent intent. Maybe it is because she's beginning to feel herself crest into something she couldn't define, or maybe it is because she's just as overwhelmed by the fact that it's Cloud she's doing this with, Tifa couldn't help but moan wantonly at the ex-Soldier's ministrations, and she couldn't help but claw at his back while he flicks her clit gently at first, and then with purpose, letting her reach the point of no return. When she feels like she's about to come undone, he pulls away, that teasing spark still in his eyes.

"Cloud, wha-?"

He swallows her words with a kiss, indulging her in another round of their tongues sliding against each other, mixing their saliva, the taste of scotch still hot in his mouth while he unzips his pants and lowers it down. She cups him through his boxers, her cheeks warming at the feel of his hardened shaft, stiff with want, ready to drive deep within her virgin sheath, already wet with pre-cum at the tip.

Cloud hisses when she strokes him through his shorts, burying his head in the space between her neck and shoulder while he instinctively moves his hips to her hand, seducing her with his thrusts, giving her a preview of what is to come. He grabs her hand that had been touching him lewdly and pins it to the side of her head, eyeing her with such intensity that there was nothing else to do but lean up to meet his lips again, pulling his body to hers while she lets him settle himself between her legs.

"I can't wait anymore." He's humping into her moist heat, his underwear the only thing keeping them from coming together.

"Then don't. Cloud, I want you."

It feels like a confession, even though it isn't. They're just two adults, having consensual sex. Letting their bodies take control of anything else. Caution thrown out to the wind for one night of passion.

She helps him with his pants, along with his navy blue boxers, while he helps her take her sports bra off and discards her skirt along with it, so he could finally take a taut nipple into his mouth. The feel of his cock nestled between her thighs gives her a sense of unease at first. When he touches her with his fingers again though, Tifa wishes for him to just fuck her already.

So she can finally give herself to him.

And he could give himself to her.

"Have you done this before?"

The question had always lingered at the back of her mind since she's closed the door to her room.

"I don't know. Maybe?"

The admission nearly causes her to retreat in disappointment, then again, how could she fault him for that? Surely a virile man such as Cloud would have catered to his sexual appetites during his many travels? Of course, who wouldn't want him? Still, a part of her wants to know who it was. Who was lucky enough to have charmed Cloud Strife into her bed?

Her jealous thoughts are cut off when he shifts her attention to him, telling her with his eyes that it isn't what she thinks, and this isn't some meaningless fuck. That their past means something to him too.

"I don't remember with whom. I don't know why, somehow, I know my way around a woman's body."

The sentence sounded cocky at best but the way his eyes yet again held that wonder in them, Tifa questions if it bothered him as much as it bothered her. If he's trying to chase after that thing in his head that she can't quite see.

"Cloud, where are you?"

She helps him shake away the fog of his intrusive thoughts, hand coming up to catch his cheek as a form of comfort. The action makes his eyes clear, and there's a tint of tenderness there, a gentle look full of meaning when he says;

"In Seventh Heaven. In Midgar."

He leans down to kiss her once more, while he showers her with other pleasurable sensations as he grabs hold of his hardened member and guides it into her warmth. Taking a sharp intake of breath when the head of his cock makes contact with her moist sheath. He inserts an inch or two, but she gasps at the sharp pain that slashes through her when he stretches her in a way that she hasn't been stretched before.

She notices that he looks a bit perplexed at the fact that she had just given her virginity to him, yet doubt is quickly replaced with determination when he puts a finger in his mouth and lubricates it with his saliva, carefully flicking her clit as he eases into her.

Inch.

by.

delicious.

Inch.

"Cloud."

His name is the only thing she can gasp out, and when she has him buried deep within her, the feel of him blowing her mind, Tifa envelopes him in her arms and clenches her legs around him as she hesitantly tells him to start moving.

It is an uncomfortable feeling at first, granted that he seemed bigger than what she expected. He's as gentle as she's always dreamed of, slowly sliding out, only to push back in while he holds himself back. The way he clenches his jaw and the way he calms his breathing, shows her just how much he's preventing himself from being too rough with her. It makes her heart swell; the fact that he's treating her with such care.

When the pain has eased and what was sharp before only becomes aching, Tifa begins to adjust to his girth, and she begins to feel the pleasure he had already invoked within her just moments ago.

It is then when she tells him that he needn't hold back. She was a strong girl; and she wanted him to show her. Show her what it was like to fuck. Show her what he was like once he'd lose control.

The fact that she had used such a foul word stirs something in him, and the next thing Tifa knows, Cloud's thrusts become quicker and harder. He rolls his hips to hers roughly, pressing her onto the bed, the springs singing to their bodies' tune while the headboard bangs against the wall as he moves within her. Pumping wildly, while she remains soft and pliant, letting him rut against her, his hurried pants puffing against her ear, telling her that he is enjoying this as much as she is.

She moves with him, nails leaving crescent shaped dents on the expanse of his hard back, emitting a deep guttural growl from him as Cloud digs his knees into her floral sheets and rams into her, unhinged and unyielding, moving to his own release. A hand grabs her ass cheek, using it as leverage while he continues his harsh jackhammers until he suddenly comes inside, the feel of his warm cum heating her walls while he grunts her name and slumps against her.

She doesn't know if this is the way it's supposed to end, aching and feeling like she just missed something.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs against her breast.

"It's okay. I enjoyed it."

He shakes his head and lifts it up to stare at her.

"You didn't cum."

It's funny how intimate this conversation already is. A few minutes ago, she might have laughed at the prospect of them ending up in bed together tonight. But here they were, Cloud's ejaculate dripping from her core while he talks about how he wasn't able to give her an orgasm. Not that she knows how it feels like anyway.

It's enough though, feeling him inside her is enough, and she tells him so. He shakes his head again and slides down her body to pleasure her with his tongue.

And my oh my was it divine.

He knew just how to get her going, and Tifa, could only hold onto him while she feels herself taper on to that foreign edge, fingers threading through his chocobo hair while he sucks and licks intermittently, fingers curling deep within her until she feels herself burst, eyes rolling to the back of her head, sparks going off while he rubs her cunt as she arches her hips to his mouth, legs shaking and bucking up.

"Fuck."

She hasn't even come down from her high before he's parting her legs and settling himself between them to slide into her again, the head of his cock parting her folds as he drives in. He gives her a second to adjust to his intrusion before he resumes his passion-filled thrusts; hips pumping hard and with such precision unlike before, hitting something deep within her that only makes her pant with need at how good it felt.

It felt so good.

He forces her legs wider apart, fucking her without restraint. She comes again with his cock still buried deep, her walls sucking him in while she embraces him tight, nearly pausing his movement because it feels like it's too much. However, he's still pounding into her, still thrusting harshly.

"Cloud, I can't... It's too..."

"You can."

She feels like she might shatter if he doesn't stop. Everything inside her has become too sensitive, and with Cloud hitting a spot that's more sensitized than any other place on her body, Tifa raises her hips to his, meeting his thrusts in wanton abandon, as he leans in and flattens his body against hers, connecting them intimately while he continues his strong pumps.

"Cloud... I can't..." She tries to tell him again.

"Open your eyes."

She hasn't even realized that she had slid them shut, mind too lost in all these sensations. She opens her carmine eyes, and the sight before her becomes her undoing. Because there was Cloud Strife, keeping his eyes locked with hers, an expression of intense desire on his face as he continues his rough thrusts, lacing their fingers together. He meets her lips again, hips increasing his pace. Tifa whimpers at the feeling, returning his passionate kisses until he pulls away to murmur in her ear.

"You can, Tifa."

Her eyes are brimmed with tears when he takes her to the edge of oblivion, fucking her to such heightened pleasure that all she can do is hold on until he pulses and swells inside her and cums with a deep and hard drive, spilling his essence again, hips assuming a broken rhythm as he prolongs the pleasure;

A sheen of sweat covering his whole body,

Making it glisten in the moonlight as she gazes up at him.

Beautiful.

Simply beautiful.

___________________________

She thinks that she doesn't really mind if the Cloud before her no longer holds any resemblance to the boy she had once waited on. Even when she wishes that he gave her some hint that he was still there. But then again, even if he's different now, it wouldn't change things. Because here they were, seven years after she'd last seen him, and she still managed to fall in love with him all over again.

She's in love with him.

The current him.

All cocky and rude sometimes, yet gentle all the same, considerate, and protective.

Her hero.

And as she traces his cheek, and slides his blond tresses off his face to look at him closely, Tifa knows that he's still the same boy either way.

He's still Cloud.

The boy she grew up with, the shy teen who called her to the water tower, the young man waving goodbye, boyhood dreams lighting up his cerulean eyes.

She swears that she'll never leave his side. Not as long as he wants her beside him. She'll protect him. Watch over him. Make sure he's alright.

Every night.

Every day.

Maybe every lifetime.

She smiles when he opens his eyes, greenish hue filling her with doubt yet that flicker of familiarity in his deep orbs fluttering her heart.

He's still Cloud.

___________________________

Author's Note: Special shout out to Senigata and Denebola Leo, whose fics have had a heavy influence on mine lately.

The idea of Jessie being bisexual is originally from Senigata's "Journey of a Barmaid", it's an awesome fic over all. So, I wanted to explore their first time, granted that I left out the details in the Honeybee Inn, though I've been shying away from putting in too much, but then again, I'm looking for some CloTi smut. By the way, for any background of the Biggs/Tifa thing, my fic "The Fighter" covers it. :D

Er, Read and Review?

#cloti #cloti fanfiction #cloti fanfic #cloud and tifa

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alwayssunnyprompts · 6 years

Note

I recently read a fix where the gang played chardee macdennis and dennis tolled emotional battery and since I read it I keep imaging what would happen if Mac got it. Basically I imagine dennis would just go for the throat and talk about how mac is delusional and nobody really loves him (a lie in my mind he’s literally everyone else’s favorite member of the gang) how his parents never loved him and it basically just destroys mac and dennis is just confused cause it was just a game...

“You’re so pathetic, I almost feel sorry for you. We all hate you, you’re just too delusional to see it. Your own parents want nothing to do with you, they’ve never loved you. None of us have, but you keep trying anyway. It’s disgusting. Sad, really.”

Mac’s face is unreadable. There’s a steely glint in his eyes and splotches of color high on his cheeks. Jaw clenched, creating lines of tension on his face. To the untrained eye, he looks like he’s going strong. But he blinks, and Dennis can see the glossy shine of moisture collecting on his eyelashes.

It’s only a matter of time.

“None of us give a shit about you, Mac. We wouldn’t care if you were gone–your parents wouldn’t care, either. I bet some days your mom forgets she even has a son–”

He watches as Mac’s face crumples, dissolving immediately in to quiet, muffled sobs as he covers his face with his hands.

Dee crows beside him, slaps a crisp high-five against his left hand. He feels a swell of euphoria as the pleasant high of victory spreads through his body. Even after all these years, and countless wins, he and Dee still get the same satisfaction every time they win the game.

Charlie looks angry, but resigned. Sends them a dirty look before turning to pat Mac’s shoulder gently. Mac flinches away and stands, hand planted firmly over his mouth, and walks quickly to the front door, letting it slam behind him.

Dennis pushes down the tiny tendril if guilt that begins to claw at his insides, lets it burn away as he flicks the lighter and sets Mac and Charlie’s game pieces ablaze. Relishes in the release of tension and anger in crushing the weak, brittle plastic toys beneath his shoes. Yells and squawks with Dee as they stomp in unison, and thinks it’s times like these that he really likes having her as a sister.

Once they’re done and pack everything up—Charlie does most of the work, as another rule is that losers must clean up the carnage left behind by the game—Dennis grabs his wallet from behind the bar where he’d stashed it for safekeeping, and walks to the lot to head home for the day. They’d decided to close early—all the customers, even the regulars, had been driven away by the insane displays the Chardee MacDennis demanded of them. It doesn’t really matter to him. He got a decent day out of it, and an evening off work, which is more than he can say for about 95 percent of the time.

He stops when he sees Mac, curled up in the passenger seat, head pressed against the glass. He doesn’t make any attempt to acknowledge Dennis at all. Dennis reaches for his keys, only to realize that Mac has already started the car. He climbs inside, letting the warmth of the heater defrost him from the frigid December air.

“What are you doing out here, man?”

He tries to keep it casual. Conversational. He isn’t sure why Mac is acting so distant. Maybe he’s feeling sick.

“Nothing,” Mac murmurs.

Dennis feels a little stab of irritation in his stomach. Obviously something is wrong.

“Mac, you aren’t fooling anyone, and you’re starting to annoy me. What is it?”

He reaches out to brush Mac’s arm and Mac shoves him off.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Dennis.”

There’s heat in his words.

Heat in Dennis’ chest.

“What the hell, Mac? I’m trying to help.”

“Oh, thank you, Dennis. I appreciate it.”

His voice is dripping in venom, sarcastic and sharp, striking Dennis in the gut.

He’s wracking his brain for something, anything he could have done out of the ordinary, anything worse than his usual shitty love-hate relationship with Mac. They’d been on relatively good footing lately, their moods syncing up nicely so that they almost always ended up on the same page. Synchronicity had always been a cornerstone of their friendship, for better or for worse.

“Mac, I don’t…” he trails off, and he hates this. Hates that he’s letting Mac’s feelings affect him like this, rendering him powerless, speechless. Anger flares, white-hot in his head.

“Don’t play dumb, dude.” Mac fires back, his jaw set and his eyes glossy and full of badly concealed pain. “I know you’re not this stupid.”

“Mac…” something clicks in his brain. “Is this…is this about the game? You know it’s just––”

“Of course it is, dumbass! What the hell is wrong with you, Dennis?”

His face is pale, and his words sound choked and weak. There’s anger behind them, sure, but it barely registers in Dennis’ brain. Mac’s cheeks are flushed red again, and he can see the small beads of sweat collecting on his forehead, and shit, it is really hot in here. A stray tear drips down Mac’s cheek and Dennis doesn’t know what to feel, isn’t sure if he’s feeling anything at all. Shock, maybe. Surprise. Guilt? He’s not sure, it’s all happening so quickly and he thinks that his brain needs some time to catch up.

“Mac, it’s a game, you know that. You know that Dee and I will do anything to win. Hell, you did that shit to Dee and she tried to kill herself. It’s what we do, man. It’s…” he tries to make himself keep going, to find the excuses, the words that he needs to absolve himself of this feeling. “You know how it goes.”

The words sound hollow, even to him.

Mac looks impossibly devastated.

“But it’s us. I thought that we…I don’t know, I guess I’m an idiot for thinking––”

More tears roll down his face, and he doesn’t bother wiping them away, so they leave shiny tracks against Mac’s skin. Dennis feels sick, for some reason. He wants to brush the tears away, for some reason. He’s never felt this way after winning. Usually it leaves him on a winner’s high for a few days, at least. But now, he’s crashing, hard, and he doesn’t even know why. He feels like shit.

“What do you want, Mac? Do you want me to apologize? Tell me what to do.”

It comes out harsher than he wants it to. But he’s grasping at straws, anxious and guilty and he’s not supposed to feel this way right now. He pushes down anger at Mac for putting him in this position.

“I don’t know if you can do anything.”

He looks so pathetic and small and Dennis wants to scream, he wants to kiss the pain away, he wants to cry right along with Mac, he wants to drive the car into the river, he wants to run away, he wants to curl up in a ball in his bed and stay there forever. His hands feel cold and his face feels hot and he wishes he could be anywhere but here.

“Mac, I––I’m sorry. Okay? I didn’t…I didn’t know…I mean, I guess I did know how much it would hurt you, but I was just following the rules. I didn’t mean for you to take it to heart…I––shit. I’m terrible at this, okay? You’re not worthless, of course you’re not worthless, why would I live with you for so long if I hated you? Why would I let you take care of me? I think I’d…I don’t know where I’d be without you. So just…Please let me return the favor.”

Mac looks stunned.

“Do you mean that?” He sounds guarded, his mouth still set in a firm line.

“Yeah, man.”

“Can I pick the movie tonight?”

Dennis feels a tiny smile pull at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, sure.”

Mac smiles back, small and hesitant and a little sad.

#this is sad and I hate myself #you're all coming at me too hard and I'm so sad #i'm unzipped #iasip #its always sunny #dennis reynolds #mac mcdonald #macdennis #writing #prompts #asks #thanks anon #i'm crying??#you guys are too much #I love you #also mac and dennis are so emotionally repressed and it makes me want to scream #mac has an anxiety disorder

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their-destinys-writer · 6 years

Text

Infection

Based on the Infection!AU by @thebirdfromthemoon-art (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Ladynoir July Day 4 - Puns and Clumsiness

First | <Previous | Next>

AN: When the characters talk about temperature, they are talking about Celsius, not Fahrenheit.

Ao3

“Marinette, go home!” Tikki pleaded for the third time that morning. “You shouldn’t be here. You said it yourself: something is wrong.”

“But I have class,” Marinette insisted as she entered the locker room, just as everyone else had walked out. “So far, it only hurts a bit, and it’s a little black. I think it can wait until after school.”

“A spot of unusual color on your skin, after a magical hit, is never a good sign,” Tikki said. “That is not the color of a bruise or freckles. It looks like someone tattooed a big black splotch under your skin.”

“You worry too much,” Marinette sighed, as she took off her jacket. “Wow, it’s really hot today.”

“It’s twenty-two degrees.”

“Is it?” Marinette took out her phone, only to confirm that it was, indeed, twenty-two degrees. Why did it feel so hot then?

“Go. Home,” Tikki repeated. “From there, you can call Master Fu and take a much needed rest, in the meantime.”

“I can’t have Master Fu come to my house!” Marinette said as she saved several books and her jacket, before closing the locker. “You know all the questions my parents will ask. It’s not safe. They could figure out I’m Ladybug. I’ll just visit him after class.”

Marinette took a step to leave the locker room, but a sharp pain rendered her immobile. Suddenly, she collapsed against the lockers, dropping her bookbag and trying to even her breath. For an agonizing minute, the pain felt like a thousand small knives stabbing her continuedly. Then, the pain subsided, but slower than when it came.

The girl took the opportunity to lift up the hem of her shirt all the way up to her ribs. With Tikki’s gasp, she knew it before looking: the black portion was larger now, hundreds of large black spots spreading across her skin. It was already reaching her back and upper leg.

“Please,” Tikki begged, her tiny paws together. “Please go home. Call Master Fu. He’ll take care of you.”

Marinette chewed on her lip. On the one hand, the fact that it grew larger in the span of two hours since she woke up was an obvious red flag, but on the other, she didn’t want anyone suspecting her actions, especially her parents. If they found out she is Ladybug, she would be putting them in great risk. And if she skipped school, Principal Damocles would call them. He threatened to do so last time she missed class for an akuma.

“I-I… I don’t kno—”

The door swung open and a janitor walked in.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be in class, unless you want me to take you to the principal.”

“S-sorry,” Marinette stuttered, grabbing her bag from the floor.

Knowing she would get in trouble if she didn’t head straight to a classroom, the girl walked directly to Ms. Bustier’s class. Maybe she could fake being sick (not that it would be too hard, considering her current condition). That way, she could go home with a reasonable excuse and not get in trouble for missing class.

As she entered the classroom, Marinette tried to not make eye contact with her teacher nor classmates. Of course, that didn’t help for her conspicuousness, for she tripped on the step before her desk. Several students laughed, while she quickly righted herself and sat on her desk.

“Nice of you to join us, Marinette,” the teacher commented.

“Sorry, Ms. Bustier,” the girl mumbled, wiping some of the sweat off her forehead.

As the teacher continued with her class, Alya leaned closer.

“Hey, M, are you okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marinette breathed.

“Are you sure? Because you’re sweating like crazy.”

Marinette waved her hand dismissively. She knew she needed to get out soon, but she couldn’t do it too soon. She had to first make sure at least two people suggested her to go home. That way, it wouldn’t seem like she was doing it on purpose.

Although, in all honesty, she actually did feel pretty crappy. Marinette took a quick scan of the room, noticing how refreshed everyone looked. From the looks of it, she seemed to be the only one drenched in sweat. When her vision started swimming, she looked back to the front, hoping to hear, at least, five minutes of the lesson.

“Girl, seriously, you look awful,” Alya whispered again.

“I’m… I-I…” But she couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she felt additional saliva form in her mouth. When her stomach did an uncomfortable lurch, she clapped a hand to her mouth. Pushed by adrenaline, Marinette rushed out of her chair, directly to the trash can next to Ms. Bustier’s desk. Where she retched her guts out.

She heard a collective groan of disgust behind her, but a second round of vomit drowned the noise.

“Enough!” she heard Ms. Bustier. “Marinette is obviously sick, and you would do better helping than complaining.”

Marinette took a breath, finally able to draw back from the trash can. It allowed her time to look at the mess she made…which did not look like vomit. It looked more like black ink splashed over the contents of the trash can.

“Mari—”

The girl startled, quickly covering the crime scene from Alya, who had gotten up to assist her.

“Hey, girl, it’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s just me. Can you walk?”

“I-I…I’m not sure,” the girl on the floor responded honestly, remembering the incident in the locker room.

“Ms. Bustier, I need help taking Marinette home,” Alya spoke to the teacher.

The haze was returning. The pain of a thousand knives was there again, but she tried her best to not show it. The last thing she needed was for anyone to take her to the hospital and be questioned about the black spots on her body. She had to make sure they thought she had the flu, or something similar.

Marinette felt herself leave the ground, carried by two sets of hands. The noises around her were jumbled, only Chloé’s screeches about germs making it through the mess. But she didn’t care about what her classmates thought. She was more concerned about what came out of her. And how to fix it.

Many steps later, her vision started clearing, Alya’s red hair quickly invading it. The ground felt less like fluffy clouds and more like solid concrete. She looked to her other side, seeing a mop of blond hair. Chat? Wait, no, Chat Noir wasn’t in her class.

“We’re almost there,” a boy’s voice said.

Marinette blinked, her vision slightly clearer. She could now make out Adrien’s face, watching her in concern. The girl would have freaked out, if it weren’t because of her current condition. She barely had the strength to make it to her house on her own, as it was.

And just as she thought that, she tripped on the last step to the apartment. Luckily, Alya and Adrien managed to hold her up.

“Mari—”

“Clumsy me,” Marinette forced out a giggle. “You know me. I’m actually feeling a bit better.”

“We’re still not leaving you until we know you’re safe,” Adrien assured.

The girl’s cheeks couldn’t help but warm at his words. And as he promised, both he and Alya made sure Marinette was safely lying back on the couch before letting go and placing her bookbag in the kitchen.

“You want me to bring your maman here?” Alya asked.

“No!” Marinette yelped, sitting up so quickly she got head rush. “No, I’m fine. I just need rest.”

Alya and Adrien looked at each other, unsure. Nevertheless, they shared hesitant shrugs and bid her farewell. As they were exiting the apartment, Adrien stopped under the doorframe.

“Marinette,” he called, turning back to her. “Let us know if anything else comes up, please. We care about you, you know?”

The girl couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Will do,” she responded, but almost immediately felt a sense of déjà vu. Like last time she said that, everything went completely wrong.

Before she could say anything else, though, Adrien gave her one last wave and closed the door. Marinette let out a breath of relief and sat back, accidentally turning the television on. With the new noise, she groaned and plucked the remote from underneath her. She was about to turn it off, but the news distracted her.

She could hear Tikki had started talking to her, but her eyes were trained on the images of a tour bus with no brakes running amok in the streets of Paris. Absentmindedly, she stood up.

“What are you doing?” the kwami asked.

“They need help,” Marinette breathed. “I think I can make one rescue before straightening this thing out.”

“Marinette, no,” Tikki pleaded once again. “You have to call Master Fu.”

“I can’t stand by while people get hurt!”

“But—”

“Tikki, transform me!”

Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Ladybug couldn’t help but think, as sweat continued to drip from her chin as she ran on rooftops. She only hoped to do this as quickly as possible, to get back home and call Master Fu. And she was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice the cat boy in her path, crashing against his back with a loud ‘oof’.

“Nice bumping into you too,” Chat Noir quipped as Ladybug rubbed her nose.

“Isn’t it a school day?” she asked.

“I could lecture you about that too,” the boy retorted with a smirk.

“Please, no puns today,” Ladybug said, stepping aside to continue their path. But on her way, she tripped over…nothing.

“You seem clumsier than usual,” Chat Noir commented from behind her. “Something bugging you?”

“What did I say about the puns?”

Chat Noir opened his mouth to say something, but Ladybug jumped from the building before he did. Unfortunately, the stabbing pain returned on full force, and with the jerk her body made, she ended up crashing against a lamppost.

Buy me a Hot Chocolate?

#LoveLadyNoir #Ladynoir July #Infection!AU #Miraculous Ladybug #writing #Des still on schedule #yay me!

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mortaljin · 6 years

Text

Colorblind

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: None Genre: Gets a little fluffy at the end. Soulmate!Au Member: Taehyung

Summary: Making it in fashion is hard. It’s even harder when you’re colorblind and the only person who can bring color to your world is your soulmate. Will Y/N be able to find out who her soulmate is after seeing a splotch of color for the first time?

Masterlist | Afterstory Drabble

“Why should we hire you,” the man asked what is probably one of the most common interview questions known to man, his next words were dripping with doubt, however, “Y/N, you are colorblind after all, and the use of color is a vital tool in the fashion industry.”

You knew this quality, or lack thereof, was to be brought up at some point during the interview. This was an answer you had rehearsed for the past week after you had gotten a call back from a well-known design studio. A great deal of thought had been put into the answer you would provide because this studio was the first one to move you to the interview process; all other studios had turned you down after seeing that you had, unfortunately, checked off the colorblind box. Praises were given over your impressive resume, and they had all ended the conversation with a simple ‘call us when the color comes to you, we would love to have you join our team then.’ Throughout your seven-month-long process of hunting for a better position, however, the color never came, and you didn’t think it would anytime soon, but you weren’t going to let that stop you.

“It is no lie that I cannot see color, but it has not stopped me from creating what I think are exceptional pieces.” You could practically feel your heart trying to escape your chest as you feigned confidence. “Statistically, over half the population is rendered colorblind like me, and that is the audience I will do most of my catering to. As you can see with the examples I’ve brought with me, I have managed this far with my own strategies, techniques, and system to create clothing that is appealing to those who cannot see, and even to those who can.” You paused for a moment, and when you saw the interviewers unchanging facial expression, you continued. “In a world obsessed with the idea of color, I want to prove that in this world, and in fashion, color is not what makes or breaks a work of art.” You finished with a shallow exhale and prayed that your determination for success had seethed through your words enough.

“Well, Y/N,” the interviewer shuffled your paperwork as he stood, and you stood with him as you prepared to say goodbye, “it looks like your determination compensates for your colorblindness, and we are excited to have you join our team of designers.”

You stood there dumbfounded for what seemed like an eternity with your jaw slack and slightly open. When you came to your senses, you brought your chin a little higher, back a little straighter, and your voice that much more confident. “As am I, sir, you will not regret this,” you gave his outstretched hand a firm shake, and then followed him towards the rest of the building so he could give you a rundown of the workplace.

Pleasantly exhausted, you made your way to the large, overly-fancy doors to the entrance of the studio. It wasn’t even your first official day at the studio, yet the amount of information was almost enough to wear you down. You were shown your workspace as well as the two designers who would be monitoring you for the next month while the company decides if you are worthy to keep around. The fabric room at the back of the building was filled with what had to be the best quality fabric you had ever seen; there was no doubt that the color selection had to be vast as well. Glancing one more time at your new location, you pushed open the doors to make your way home.

Thud.

“I am so sorry! Are you okay?” A voice rambled as it picked up the folders and items that were now sprawled on the ground. Your eyes had been lowered to the ground as you walked out the building, causing you not to see the man rounding the corner and running straight into him. You just laughed, nothing is ruining your high spirits.

“It’s fine, really. At least neither one of us was carrying coffee!” You joked with him to calm his worries and picked up the rest of your things, “thank you for helping with my papers, take care!” You didn’t give him a second glance, or even a first, as you made your way down the street, a newfound pep in your step from landing such a great job.

This must be a dream, you thought to yourself as you made your way down the final few blocks towards your apartment. Most people to make it in the fashion industry were older, and well, usually married. Color was the world’s wonderful gift that was only bestowed to those who had found their special someone; it was something people could see only after meeting their soulmates. Most people found their soulmates in their twenties, some in their teenage years, few are rarely older than forty, and unfortunately, some never meet them. Your great-aunt was one of those people; no matter how much of a social butterfly she was in her youth, her soulmate never came and neither did the color. Your parents, on the other hand, were just barely eighteen when their entire world became drenched in the beautiful colors, and had you not long after. Maybe I’ll be the medium of the two, you slightly snickered to yourself at the thought. Twenty-five and still without a soulmate, not the end of the world, right? It wasn’t for your great-aunt; at thirty-three, she met a man that, despite not bringing color into her life, made her feel as if he had. They fell in love, although it’s not recommended to do so with someone who isn’t your soulmate, and have spent the last forty years in a blissful, black-and-white world.

Right before you reached your apartment, you stop dead in your tracks in front of the cute little bakery you buy your desserts from. Your mouth grew dry and your throat began to close a little as you stood in shock of the sight before you. It wasn’t the view of extravagant cakes or the heavenly smell of freshly baked goodies that caused your entire world to stop. It was the sign above the door with its once black cursive name now flaunting the horrendous green color that everyone had always told you it would. You squeezed your eyes shut and violently shook your head, reopening them only to find out the sign was still green. Without trying to process whether you even liked the color, you ran into your apartment and began searching every square inch for another sign of it.

“Why did I only see one color?” This phrase had been repeated almost twenty times in the last hour. The house was practically turned upside down, the disastrous aftermath of your quest for color. As you began to place your pots, pans, and cooking utensils back into their respective places, you noticed that at the very back of the cabinet stood a single, lone pepper shaker. Here, Y/N, you can have this pepper shaker. It’s an ugly green color that I know you can’t see anyways. The conversation with your mom from three weeks ago replayed in your head. With shaky fingers, you grabbed it from its place and turned it in your hand, observing how it held the exact same green color from the sign outside.

“Hoseok, please. Will you please calm down and let me finish?” You scolded as you sat across from your best friend. After accepting the fact that you could now see what people said to be one of the worse shades of green, you immediately rushed to Hoseok to figure out what it meant. When you knocked on his door unannounced and quickly blurted out your new ability to see color, Hoseok was ecstatic and began to pull you towards his closet so he could show you the new purple shirt he had gotten yesterday.

“Oh right, of course, I need to know what your soulmate is like! I bet he’s super tall, and smart, I know you’ve always wanted to marry a doctor!” Hoseok began rambling all these predictions before you finally had to cut him off.

“I didn’t meet my soulmate Hoseok,” his eyes went wide and you continued, “well obviously I must have, but not like everyone else has. And I can’t see all color, only this shade of green.” You held out the pepper shaker that you brought with you, as proof to him that you could see that it was green.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Y/N. If you can see this green, then that means you met your soulmate, which means you should be seeing all kinds of color right now.” Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone and began typing away.

“I know, I don’t get it either. I was around so many people today after getting that job. I got the job by the way!” You beamed, you just realized you hadn’t even told him about your new job. “So, I came across and met a lot of people today, some of them were pretty attractive I won’t lie, do you think that has my body thinking it’s trying to meet someone?”

“Firstly, congrats on the job! I knew you’d land one eventually, you have a knack for fashion and once you get the rest of your color, you’ll be unstoppable. Secondly, listen to what I just found. About five years ago, some research was done about the phenomenon that is soulmates and color,” he looked up to make sure you were listening and continued, “it says here that the majority of people who meet their soulmate, meet them in a circumstance where all of their attention is on each other. Like me and Yoongi for example, when I met him at the bar it was like no one else existed but him.” You rolled your eyes and grinned at how cliché and cute their story was. “These people are the ones that see color immediately and in everything, however, there are people, presumably like you, who begin to see splotches of color here and there that gradually bloom. These people weren’t focused on their soulmate or didn’t have a proper meeting. These scientists discovered that briefly touching, bumping into, or talking to, does not fully bring out the essence of the soulmate and causes the person to see few, if not one, color.” You stared at him blankly.

“You mean to tell me, I finally meet my soulmate and I didn’t even do it right?” You were fuming and honestly annoyed at yourself.

“Not necessarily. You were probably just so caught up in getting this new job and meeting all those new people that you didn’t have time to focus on anyone for longer than five seconds.” Hoseok’s smile grew more mischievous as the seconds counted on.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” slight fear in your voice without knowing what he was thinking, “what are you planning?”

“I’m thinking that you need to get yourself a makeover! Now that we know that your soulmate is tied to your job, we have to make sure that you look the best at all times! No more mismatched clothes!” You grimaced at the word mismatched. “No offense, Y/N, you usually do a good job and while those earrings aren’t a total fashion disaster, they’d be better in a different color.”

“I’m going to roll my eyes out of my head because of you. I don’t need new clothes. And excuse me if I can’t tell that this hint of gray isn’t the proper shade.”

“Fine, fine. At least let me come to your house and rearrange and label your closet? You’re due for a new outfit range.” You glared at him before relenting. Having someone label and arrange your outfits for you so as not to wear green shirts with orange pants is nice, but every so often they needed to be relabeled and rearranged so that you could keep the outfits looking fresh. You snatched your green pepper shaker and made your way out the door, forcing Hoseok to run after you before you changed your mind.

The following morning was nothing short of stressful as you ran around your apartment trying to get ready for work. After rearranging your outfits last night, Hoseok became your saving grace and helped you tidy up your destroyed apartment. All this for a pepper shaker? You laughed as his exasperated statement came back to your mind. Pulling on the pantsuit and choosing its new matching accessories, you stood back and looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Hoseok said that this pantsuit is burgundy colored and that it looks good on me. I can’t wait to see this color!” This thought had been said aloud, but your voice trailed off towards the end. What if I don’t see my soulmate again and I never see more color? What if I’m stuck with one shade of green? You inwardly laughed at this last thought, because one color is perhaps better than none.

The commute from your apartment isn’t that difficult, and you felt a little different now that you knew you would be passing that green sign every day. It was strange, everything was once black-and-white, but the closer you look, the more you notice that shade of green found here and there. You saw it on a magazine rack, and then you later saw it on someone’s shirt. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen; how can people say this color is hideous?

You were greeted by the secretary at the front and you made your way to the workspace you had been assigned. A couple of the older women that you had met yesterday came over to you and started up a friendly conversation before the day’s assignments were to be distributed.

“I looked at your portfolio yesterday, Y/N, the way you are able to mix such odd colors together is amazing! I’ve never seen someone mix colors like that and have it still look good!” One of the women, Catherine, had complimented, holding up a picture of one of your dresses you designed.

“Thank you so much! That’s such a compliment,” you gushed, surprised that someone complimented on your skill with color. “Most people brush off my color choices, and focus on my designs themselves seeing as I’m colorblind.” This merited a gasp from the group of women surrounding you.

“What do you mean you’re colorblind, how could you hope to ever work in fashion if you can’t even see color?” This remark came from the woman you met yesterday that seemed to be a little cold, and now she proved your suspicion.

“Well, I mean-” but you were cut off by another coworker, John you think his name is.

“Oh, be quiet Brenda, if you took the time to look at her portfolio like we did, you would realize that she obviously knows what she’s doing despite her color deficit.” He countered her snarky remark and turned to you with a smile. Wait.

“Wait, ‘look at her portfolio like we did,’ does that mean you’ve all seen it?” You asked meekly, fear creeping into you as you learned that all these skilled people, who have the ability to see color, have seen all of your work.

“Of course! We see every newcomer’s portfolio so that we can assess them properly. I think it’s safe to say that we all think you’re brilliant, despite being colorblind!” Catherine praised you and patted your shoulder. Suddenly your boss and another man in tow were approaching you.

“Ah Y/N, good morning! Glad to see that you’re here early!” The man said. Mr. Boudreaux was in his early sixties but didn’t look a day after fifty. He was a legend in the fashion world for this area. The others had returned to their work and had left the three of you alone.

“Of course, Mr. Boudreaux, I wouldn’t be late even I wanted to be!” Shooting a smile his way, he laughed at your enthusiasm.

“That’s good to hear. By the way, this is Mr. Kim. Taehyung got here a few months ago, so he’s new as well.” You shook his hand and introduced yourself, but you were not able to give him much thought as Mr. Boudreaux was talking a mile a minute about all the work he had planned for you. Before turning away to get to work, a ring on Taehyung’s right hand caught your eye. A large stone glistened under the bright lights of the studio and it was a wonderful color you weren’t sure of. This observation made you gasp slightly and left you staring after him as they walked away.

Did I ignore my soulmate again? This thought screamed inside your head as you wracked your mind as to who it could possibly be. There are a couple of the younger men here that you’ve briefly talked to since yesterday, but none of them seem to be your type. Then there’s Mr. Kim. Nonsense, I didn’t see him yesterday. Did I? You wracked your brain trying to come up with any memory of seeing Taehyung and came up empty. Your mind drifted back to the stranger that you bumped into without looking at, and you almost squealed in realization. His voice! Their voices are the same! After making this connection, you added Taehyung to the possibilities on your soulmate list and continued to work your way into your assignments. Apparently, Taehyung and a few of the other workers were invested in a tedious project downstairs, and so you didn’t see any of them for the rest of the day. You didn’t see any color either.

“Hoseok,” you huffed into the phone as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, “I see another color.”

“This is great Y/N! What color is it?” You could practically feel your best friend’s excitement for you.

“Well I wasn’t exactly sure at first, it was a light color, but when I walked outside I saw it in the sky before the clouds came in, so I’m assuming it’s blue!” Blue had always been a color you had dreamed of seeing.

“That’s wonderful, I’m so glad you can enjoy the sky now!”

“Me too, Hoseok. Me too. I wouldn’t have seen the ring on Mr. Kim’s finger if I didn’t have a problem of staring at my feet.” You confessed, wishing you had paid more attention to Taehyung instead of listening to Mr. Boudreaux’s rambling.

“Try to pay attention to him more! Maybe he’s the one!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”

Due to being constantly busy, you were hardly able to pay attention to yourself, let alone any of your coworkers. Thankfully, however, over the past few weeks you were able to narrow it down through a process of elimination. Your two possibilities as to who your soulmate could come down to Park Jimin, the guy that you see once in a blue moon downstairs, and Kim Taehyung, who you also rarely see. You decided to test your possibilities and headed downstairs to make conversation with Jimin. For the first time, you gave him your full attention; the two of you held a pleasant conversation about favorite styles and designs. No matter how much attention you gave him, however, your world never changed. The hidden colors that were left to be seen didn’t come out, causing you to accept defeat and head back upstairs. Time for Taehyung.

This time you were nervous. Through your quick, half-hearted conversations in the coffee room and hellos in the hallway, you began to enjoy his presence. You were scared though. Anything could happen if you found out you were each other’s soulmates. What if he was your soulmate but you were not his? The thoughts ran through your head as you made your way to his office. Quickly you knocked on his door and entered after he called.

“What can I do for you, Y/N?” His eyes never left his papers as he questioned you. Your heart fell to your stomach. You were completely paying attention to him, yet there was no burst of color.

“Oh, I was wondering if you had seen Mr. Boudreaux lately, I went to his office and he wasn’t there. I needed to speak with him.” This was a total lie, you could see Mr. Boudreaux clearly on the other side of the studio.

“He was just in a meeting, he should be back soon.” He never bothered to glance up at you, nor did he say anything as you turned on your heel and shut your door. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes, and suddenly you felt incredibly sick to your stomach. Thankfully, Mr. Boudreaux had swung by almost immediately after.

“Y/N? You look awful, no offense, but are you feeling well?” He looked at you with concern, and all you could manage was a simple shake of your head. “Get out of here then, leaving an hour early so that you don’t puke on the clothes is not the end of the world. Feel better.” With that, you were practically running out of the studio.

You didn’t know where to go to, everything had begun to have color in it and you couldn’t stand the thought of seeing it. Despite this, you found yourself sitting in a park for over an hour. This had become your favorite place as of recent; all shades of green had now been bestowed on you and you came to the park to see it almost every day. A few shades of different colors had come into your life; blues, reds, and yellows could be seen more frequently now, but your world was still mostly under a black-and-white filter. Green was your favorite color, and you still adored the sign above the bakery near your home, despite everyone’s protests that it was awful. Your eyes were glued to the ground in front of you. Throughout the area of the green grass were holes of grey and black. Dirt. I’ve become greedy with seeing color and I’m mad that I can’t see the color of dirt. You wanted to laugh at this thought, but you couldn’t. Tears began to form in your eyes, and suddenly you were sobbing in that secluded part of the park.

“This isn’t fair! Why did I ever have to see color at all!” You screamed, cursing yourself for ever getting that stupid job.

“I thought you were colorblind, Y/N?” The voice came from the right of you, and instinctively you turned away when you realized who it belonged to.

“Not completely, Mr. Kim.” You muttered under your breath. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him again and having your dreams crushed, so you hastily stood up and began to walk away. A hand caught your wrist and froze you to the spot.

“Y/N, wait. I need to tal-”

“Please let me go, Taehyung. I don’t want to have a conversation about color with the person I had mistaken for the one who gave it to me.” By now you were crying again, but you didn’t care. You felt beyond defeated. Suddenly you were being yanked back into Taehyung who quickly spun you around. His hands were on your shoulders and shook you a little bit to get your attention.

“Damn it, Y/N, look at me!”

So, you did. When your eyes met his, a slow spread of color began to flow out of his skin. First, his eyes became colored, brown like the dirt below your feet, but so much richer. Then you could see the slight tan of his skin, and the burgundy of his shirt. The world around you started to erupt with color, and you had to cover your mouth to prevent the obnoxious gasps coming from it.

“I don’t understand. Why now?” You had the mixture of every emotion welling up inside of you, irritation, confusion, and especially happiness. “Some people only see color with their soulmate after paying attention to them, and I went to your office to talk to you and I didn’t see any color, so you shouldn’t be my soulmate. I-” your rambling was cut off when Taehyung engulfed you in his arms and ran his hand along your back, calming you down.

“That’s true, technically,” after breaking from the hug, Taehyung reached a hand up to caress your cheek. “But what they don’t tell you is that it doesn’t count if both people don’t have their full attention on each other. That’s why I’ve only gotten a few colors here and there, I always seemed to be at the back of your mind, and perhaps you’ve been at the back of mine sometimes.”

“Can you see everything, too?” you whispered, the sound of your heart beating in your ears seemed to drown it out. Taehyung nodded.

“I can see the color in those beautiful eyes of yours now, the blush in your cheeks is more prominent, and I can finally admire all the beautiful clothes you wear and make.” You giggled slightly as you could feel the heat rising to your face.

“How did you know I was going to be in the park?” You wondered how he even found you in the first place.

“I didn’t,” Taehyung shrugged, “this became a place of solace to me when your green dress became the first color I saw that day I bumped into you.”

#bts fanfic #bts au #bts fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts one shot #pls don't hate me if this is bad omg #bts fanfiction

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