#this piece made me love painting again after that big commission burned me out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

occassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

Note

Heyhey! May I request childe x reader where the reader has been badly abused in the past? As a result she doesn’t mind when childe kidnaps her because childe has never hurt her, and treats her nicely? So since childe has work lmao he leaves a fatui agent to watch his s/o. But since his s/o has such a small appetite she doesn’t eat much. And since the fatui agent has a bad temper, what if he slaps her across the jaw so hard it breaks? So since then she can’t handle leaving childe’s side?Thank you

anon who hurt you? (•ω•`)this childe has yandere undertones but anyways you're welcome and enjoy.

Content warning for everyone else: allusions to domestic violence ,and non-graphic depiction of violence against women.

No Misfortune Without Blessings

Summary: Among the many myths about Tartaglia, few were dedicated to his love life. Even fewer dared to speak of the gentle love between him and his lady but in the soft and hushed whispers of the crowd, all would admit that they painted a pretty picture.

There was a boy.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of him. Shy and stuttering but with bright blue eyes that reminds you of the starry sky in the village. You liked him, in the same way you liked the morbid stories and descriptions of the adventurers in the tavern. You liked him too, in the same way you liked the rare flowers that grew in Snezhnayan winter.

And maybe the boy with the starry sky in his eyes and bright red hair liked you too. But it wasn’t something you paid attention to, there were stories and adventures to be had, knowledge to be shared and you decided it was more important.

More important than understanding what everyone your age liked or what accounted for normal. You never did quite understand everyone else in the same way you immediately understood Ajax. It was precisely because of this that you simply didn’t quite fit in, you were just as much of an outcast as Ajax was with his shyness and occasional stutter. You didn’t care for it, you found comfort in the knowledge you’d never be involved in messy affairs of the romantic and platonic kind.

Your world was peaceful.

There was Ajax, the stories from adventurers, and your hidden desire for something more beyond what the small seaside town you call home had to offer.

There used to be a boy with bright blue eyes that takes your breath away sometimes. Who had a burning red hair and warm smile that reminded you of the warm sunshine.

You loved to follow him around, notebook in hand filled with scribbles and experiments of different shorts. And Ajax loved you, perhaps, with the way he took you along for adventures on the edges of the woods, in the frozen lake, and taking small commissions from the neighbors.

The two of you had grown taller, childhood fat turning into muscles as your bodies hit puberty. Both of you had changed in so many ways, gone were the days when no one minded the two of you staying out together for a long period of time, without any companion. Whispers followed when the two of you held each other just a bit too long for what was appropriate.

Your world could not simply consist of Ajax and the growing longing you had for what the world had to offer. You didn’t like the change, neither of you two did. But you were much better at pretending than Ajax, so you studied and observed the rest, told this to Ajax and somehow the restrictions on you two became a big game of pretend. You pretended to understand the beauty that others found, pretended to fit in the scale of accepted normalcy.

And then, without you noticing the boy you loved dearly was gone. You stared blankly as you watched his parents cry and search parties used for a boy lost in the woods.

There used to be a boy and you weren’t quite sure what to make of him when he came back to you three months later.

You weren’t quite sure when it started, when your world expanded and collapsed until the only things left are the ashes of things you don’t quite recognize. You weren’t quite sure when you stopped yearning for a life of adventure. When you began to settle for whatever it was that was given to you.

Maybe it was when the boy you loved came back with dull blue eyes and a sharp look that told stories only the hardened and veteran adventurers understood. Maybe it was when you could no longer keep up with him, when trouble seeks him out and your parents dragged you away from him.

Maybe it was when one night he sneaks into your room bids you goodbye and makes you realize that the stars in his eyes never left, they were just clouded by something brighter and bigger than whatever it was that Morepesok had to offer.

Maybe it was when you woke up the next day and the boy you loved was taken away into a brighter and bigger place than the small sea-side village.

But that didn’t matter now, not when your whole body hurt and you laid limp on the cold wooden floors of the place that should be home but isn’t. You weren’t quite sure when you accepted this as normal, when the man your parents swore would take care of you became the one who hurt you. You weren’t quite sure when you started to forget all of that you loved dearly.

“...it hurts” you say out loud as tears prick on the edges of your eyes and you simply lay on the floor, ignoring the pain on your ribs, the blood on your mouth and countless other bruises that littered your skin.

You don’t recognize yourself anymore.

And you hate yourself for it.

You think of the boy you loved who had stars in his eyes and the sun in his soul and you yearn for him and what could have been.

There was a man with a charming smile and blue eyes, and the mask of the Harbingers. You weren’t quite sure what to think of him when he held your hand gently, and spoke to you about topics you used to love.

You weren’t quite sure what it meant when his eyes grew cold at the bruises on your skin and the whispers that followed you. Maybe you loved him, in the same way you loved Ajax, and the man you lived with. Maybe you loved him in the same way you loved the preserved heart in a jar that used to be yours.

There were a lot of maybes but you were sure that Tartaglia would never hurt you. The day he takes you away felt like a fairy tale, as if the boy you loved came back for you but you knew that Ajax was gone. And Tartaglia was the one who came for you so you stupidly went along with him.

You gave him your everything.

You gave him the tattered pieces of what could have been you, and allowed him to reshape you, until you were stronger than before. You relearned how to be human, how to be yourself, and you loved him for it. You learned how to speak his own love language, stayed by his side and accepted all of him until you weren’t sure where you ended and where he began.

Somehow, you stupidly believed that all of this would remain as it was. Until he had to leave for a long while and you can’t help but feel as if your world would collapse.

“Don’t go” you whispered as you held onto his clothes like a child.

“Don’t leave me” you begged as you shrink your frame and tried to fight the fear of being hated for something like this.

“I’m sorry” Tartaglia tells you, voice soft and gentle as he hugs you tenderly.

You want to cry but you don’t because you had always understood that he was meant for bigger and brighter things. Instead you sank in his chest, you wanted to imprint yourself in him, so that no matter how bright and beautiful the world outside of this home you built was, he’d never forget about you.

“Come back quickly.”

“I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

You don’t tell him that you’ve already begun missing him.

You never bothered to get along with Tartaglia’s subordinates. Not when you decided to ignore anything Fatui related since it meant that Tartaglia would never have to worry about you being used against him. You refused to be a burden.

This ignorance meant that despite treating them civilly you had no deep impression on them. It meant that when none of Tartaglia’s trusted aides were available to watch you and take care of whatever your needs were, some new recruit was given to you.

You didn’t care about it much. The new recruits tend to be distant and careful upon knowing who you were to Tartaglia. You didn’t care about what they called you behind your back. What mattered was Tartaglia and his thoughts.

Your heart was too small to include irrelevant matters.

Maybe if you learned how to be human properly, you would have realized the danger you were in. An upstart recruit from a noble lineage coupled with a bad temper would never be suited to your cold and distant attitude. The snark and biting remarks you ignored only added fuel to a fire you weren’t aware of.

You were too busy counting the days until Tartaglia’s return to pay attention to someone you found insignificant.

“You didn’t finish your food again” The recruit complained.

“Feed it to the dogs or whatever” you answered dismissing him with a wave of hand as you drank your water.

No one would care if you ate less than usual. Tartaglia would only ask if anything was wrong and you’d be quick to assure him that it was nothing. You knew that he would overthink and his subordinates would pay for it.

It was best for all parties that his mood remained good. You didn’t want others interfering with your time with him and you were quite sure that after the glamour of sparring with him faded off, his men had no want of being beaten to the ground.

This thought that you believed to be true made you blind. It made you let your guard down when malice was directed at you and you found yourself suddenly on the ground.

The harsh sound of your jaw breaking echoing loudly as you stared blankly on the marble tiles of the dining room. Somehow it felt like you were back in that place, and you could hear shouting and swearing around you.

‘I’m stronger than this’ You thought as you tried to force your body to move.

‘I’m stronger than this!’ You stubbornly insisted as your body remained frozen in the ground.

‘I’M STRONGER THAN THIS!’ You screamed inside your head as you felt like you were drowning again. You couldn’t breathe and you could no longer see anything.

The next thing you saw was Tartaglia on your bedside, asleep and visibly worse for wear. You stood up, opening your mouth only to quickly stop at the dull pain you felt. You could only stare at him with longing. The room was dark and only lit by the moonlight that seeped in through the windows.

You reached out for him, three soft squeezes on his hand as you gingerly kissed his calloused hand. You could tell that he was already awake and you waited for him to open his bright blue eyes that took your breath away.

“I won’t leave you alone anymore” Tartaglia says with sadness in his voice as he cradles you in his lap. You closed your eyes and tapped his lips thrice.

‘I love you’.

There was a girl with bright curious eyes that seemed to see through him. Ajax couldn’t keep his stutter out as he shyly introduced himself.

He loved her at first sight.

He loved her more when she took his hand and showed him interesting stuff. Each moment spent with her was an adventure. He loved the spark in her eyes when she talked about the nations beyond Snezhnaya.

He loved her eccentricities and never wanted her to change. But Ajax knew that if he remained as he was, he would never be able to keep her by his side.

The girl he loved yearned for something bigger and brighter than Morepesok and Ajax wanted to give it to her with his own two hands.

There used to be a girl with bright eyes and rarely smiled but could take his breath away when she smiled at him. Who loved all sorts of things without any care, who loved him in the same way she loved the animals they came across.

She was bright and warm and Ajax knew that she was destined for bigger things. That she was meant to explore the world beyond the sea and Ajax wanted to take her away and give her the greatest adventure.

He wanted her world to be made up of him, their adventures, and everything she loved. But the Abyss had no place for gentle dreams and soft loves. So he fought and fought until he realized his dream and set out for something bigger and brighter than him.

‘I want to give her the world’ Ajax whispered in the silence of the night as he fought for his life and then for fun.

He thought of the girl he loved who walked among the stars and he yearned for her. The Abyss had no room for the weak so he hid away what he could and threw away what he couldn’t for the sake of growing strong and paving the way for the girl he loved.

He came back and found solace in the stupid girl that didn’t understand everything yet. He protected her innocence even as she stared at his blood stained hands. He protected her soft and loving heart even as he felt his being torn apart.

He wanted to keep her by his side but he had always been the better fighter. She was better at pretending but she could never bring herself to fight back mercilessly. So he decided to fight for the two of them.

The Fatui was like the Abyss but it could never reach the harshness and brutality of a place seeped in desperation. He hid his heart away, keeping it with the girl he loved who cried for him. He fought his way up the ranks and thought of the girl he loved.

He thought of her as he took missions upon missions, thinking of her soft lips and sweet tears that made him want to take her with him. But he wasn’t strong enough to protect her yet so he leaves her behind, promising to return to her once more.

There used to be a girl who seemed to like she could take the world by storm.

There used to be a boy who loved her secretly and openly.

Now there was a woman whose light was dying, bright eyes dulled and heart trampled upon.

Now there was a man named Tartaglia whose heart burned and raged for those that dared to hurt the woman he loved.

He takes her away, leaves no traces and keeps her far away from the burnt down house that used to be her childhood home. He keeps her by his side and gives her pieces of the world.

Tartaglia with his bloodstained hands gently and lovingly held her in his arms as he dealt with the recruit. It was brutal and inhumane but all of his humanity was meant for the girl he loved and his family.

He gives her the best doctor and waits for her to wake up.

Thrice he made the mistake of leaving her behind.

‘This time, no matter what, I’ll keep you by my side.’

Among the myths about Tartaglia few were dedicated to the lady he always took along with him, be it in the battlefield or anywhere else. It was rumored that she was as gentle as Liyue’s glaze lilies, and as deadly as the ruin guards that littered across Teyvat.

But one thing was constant, where Tartaglia goes the lady follows. A warrior and his lady dominating battle fields across Teyvat.

There would be no surprise if one day the entire world fell at their feet.

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere childe x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact x reader

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myelocin · 3 years

Text

the kind that blooms | iwaizumi h.

Synopsis: Hajime thinks of how fragile the moment that love brings can be.

Genre: fluff, domestic | WC: 1500+

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime

A/N: this is a commissioned piece from @hvnlydmn :D

eyes in the sun - florist | jewel - adam melchor

commissions

Iwaizumi Hajime counts the amount of times he thinks about the way he loves you in just one car ride to and from the farmer’s market on a Saturday and loses count within minute seventeen.

It’s nice, he thinks. The roads aren’t too busy, plus the nine AM sun that doesn’t burn on his skin feels good. You’re sat in the passenger seat, nursing a cup of something that eases you awake on weekends, and the way your head lolls to the side every time sleep tries to pull you back is a familiar sight to him.

He thinks to himself that he loves you, smiling in the silence, and drives.

Red lights, yellow, then green. Back to red, a turn here, and drive up the road there. His palm flat against the wheel, foot on the clutch, the other either on the brakes or the gas. Hajime likes the feel of routine. He lives not having to think through every movement, to the point of over analyzing the situation deep enough to cease being present in it.

Moments such as this.

Saturdays and you. Your blue, blue, sky blue eyes that completes the palette of the earth to his forest green and emerald irises. The light of the sun at nine in the morning, just soft enough to have him slumped in his seat with his hand in the wheel, thinking that sometimes control truly can flow as easy as this.

The light push of the brakes where the pressure is more than familiar to him, and just the slight turn he makes that feels next to second nature against his palm. By now, Hajime already slows down nearing the speed bumps before he even sees them ahead, only chuckling softly when you’d jostle awake and look around the streets only to sleep again for a couple minutes more.

And he’s in love with you, he thinks again.

You’re the face sketched next to the word love, the photo in his wallet, and the presence that centers him within the swirling mess that’s bound to come with the world. It’s the nine AMs on a routine like Saturday that suddenly has him praising his thanks to every God in the books—even though he never was one for religion in the first place.

At the last turn before the parking lot comes into view, the car jostles you awake. Then you blink at him, slow, just barely squinting at the light that streams in through the car window. Hajime hums his good morning before you even tell him you’re awake, and with one hand, reaches over the center console to squeeze your thigh hello.

You grin. His palm is just the right kind of warm that you’ve always liked, and the volume of his voice when he hums his words instead of sounding them out just enough to remind you how routine feels like this. It’s the sentimentality of the mundane that becomes redefined. Saturdays and nine AMs, painted in the shades of the fruit stalls you pass by hand in hand at the farmer’s market. The aunties that sell you fruit, always winking at the two of you when you’d walk past, and the uncles that always clapped Hajime on the back, telling him he’d found a good one.

He’d smile every time too.

(Because he loves you, he thinks.)

He doesn’t exactly say much, not take much of an initiative to break the silence. Instead, he takes the keys out of the ignition, unbuckles his seatbelt, and sits back. The silence that comes after the click remains with the intention to settle, but it feels nice.

The silence feels nice.

It’s loud outside, a fact that he’s sure of as he catches sight of the aunties unloading cartons of produce from the back of their trucks into their stalls. He sees an uncle from across the makeshift street right around the corner call over to what he thinks is wife, because even if she rolls her eyes at whatever he said, the way he smiles when he turns is a familiar one to him.

“You’ve been smiling a lot,” as a comment Oikawa has told him one too many times by now, but he supposes there’s more than just observation to that. The smile he carries is the manifestation of the love that’s shared. Love, like the inside jokes that he knows still has you snorting in laughter even though they’re a couple years old now.

Rehearsed words where he memorizes the context by heart; an I love you, every day; “I’m home,” then a “welcome home,” as a response from another room in the apartment that’s yours and his. Your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom sink, and a bottle of shampoo whose brand he can remember without having to text you for confirmation when he’s running errands.

So he smiles some more; within the silence in his car, while you sit beside him, still trying to squint through the bits of sunlight that remains.

His eyes catch yours on the rear view mirror of the car and he grins his teasing good morning at the sight of you blinking away the last few remnants of your sleep.

You mumble your hello, voice quiet, and just like that things click into place. The smile on his face remains, and the sounds of the world moving about outside dull in comparison to your voice. There’s a tranquility that’s long settled ever since he found his space in the world with you, and this is it.

This, as your eyes against the sun. The color of the skies and of life, all caught in a single reflection painted in your eyes. The nature of love, of how fragile it truly is made known to him through just a slow blink of your eyes as you sit up, unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to him.

You’re smiling and the word forever is what rings in his mind.

Hajime thinks of the home he knows he can always return to, and the sheets on the bed that neither of you decided to make this morning before you left. The slippers you left by the door are probably flipped over, but it’s home. Love like recognizing the fragility of the moment and falling in love with it. Your wordless exchange of conversation; his hand on your thigh, you offering him a sip of the drink he can just tell has gone cold by now, and the chuckle exchanged that lightens the atmosphere even more.

“I think,” Hajime starts, mirth in his voice as he turns to you afterwards. “I think that Oikawa’s got a good point about some stuff.”

You hum, leaning back against the seat again and following his eyes that trail to the old couple by the stall passing boxes, exchanging words. “About?”

Hajime chuckles again, crossing his arms over his chest. “I remember before we met he was the one telling me that if I got along with him so much then I would loooove you.”

You snicker in response, recalling how Oikawa used exaggerate how alike the both of you are. “And he has a point,” you nod, leaning over to poke Hajime on the cheek.

His shoulders relax, the weight that comes with the world suddenly gone, because in the moment Hajime allows himself to just stay here. The couple across the parking lot is smiling now, and he realizes to himself that when you’re in love, you truly do bloom.

Like the red in his cheeks, and the glimmer of your eyes. The glow of the sun as it rises in the morning then sets at night. The ring that sits on your finger now, and the tenderness that the moment cradles the two lovers in.

“That fucker was right,” Hajime laughs, his voice booming in the little space of your car. The stillness of the moment remains, because as fragile as love is, the kind that you share is unbreakable.

The memory from last night is quick to replay in your head:

Sunsets and wearing his shirt that’s a few too sizes too big. Your arms around his neck, pulling him close, and both of your feet bare against the wooden floor as you sway—to a song unsung, and unheard, but the moment is still so much yours. A call from a mother telling a child to come home a few streets over, and the ice cream truck’s bells ringing as it rounds the corner. You listened to the slow inhale and exhale of Hajime’s steady breaths as he kept his eyes on you and thought that the sounds of your mumbling was melody enough.

Then, a break in the pattern, in the routine, as Hajime turned to you and whispered a quiet “will you marry me?” that still rings in your ear up until now.

In the present Hajime turns to you again, and remembers that the rest of your lifetime and his was now rewritten into a story as if it’s made for one.

“You’re not gonna regret agreeing to marry me are you?” you hear him laugh.

You shrug, cocking your head to the side and lifting your finger with the ring that reminds him of your forever yes.

“You’re never getting rid of me,” you laugh, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek.

He’s warm, he thinks. Warm like your lips on his cheek, and his heart that does somersaults in his chest. The sunshine and the light it brings; cast on your eyes, your ring, and on the dashboard of his car.

So he thinks about how he loves you, again.

(And again and again and again and again.)

for a love that’s meant to linger.

#nc.commissions #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime scenarios #iwaizumi hajime imagines #iwaizumi hajime fluff #haikyuu commissions #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi x reader

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kataang-dungeon · 3 years

Text

Beautiful No Matter What

When a new beauty trend starts to increase in popularity, Katara struggles with her image of herself.

Rated: M

Word count: 1891

Read here on ao3.

ooo

It starts out as a new trend, mostly in the larger cities where more people reside, and in the areas where news comes quickly. Katara hears it first in Ba Sing Se, because of course she does. Of all the places she has been, this city is by far the most baffling. She guesses that she should not be surprised when she hears the first giggles and whispers on the streets.

"Oh Liling, your breasts are so big! They look so much better than mine," exclaims a rather prissy-looking woman. "I bet Diu will love them, especially in that dress you're wearing tonight."

At first, Katara thinks it is ridiculous. She thinks nothing of it. Then, she passes the winding districts in the Lower Ring on her way to help heal at a clinic with neglected funding. She sees drawings and pinups for sale in back corners, lewd imagined pictures of women with breasts popping out of their blouses, cleavage bigger than she has ever seen in person. Men salivate over them, turning in coin for a picture or two, and some of the wealthier ones even commissioning paintings of women in provocative poses through their servants.

She hates it, thinks it is demeaning to women. She scoffs at the idea. Still, she cannot help but notice that as the months pass by, more and more women walk with their chests puffed out, backs straighter, shoulders high. Everywhere she and Aang travel, she sees padding in local markets and shops for enlarging breast size and giving the illusion of a heftier bosom. Dresses with extra pieces of fabric sewn into the front become heavily advertised.

By the time half a year passes and summer arrives, the trend has even reached Kyoshi Island, a feat that Katara thinks could have never happened. Girls in their battle armor compare sizes and snicker when something looks particularly flattering on one of them. Katara is shocked when she hears one of Suki's girls say, "I only like women with breasts big enough for me to squeeze, of course!" when she is asked for her preferences. "If they're too small, it's not fun at all!"

She is not bothered by it except for at that moment, ever so briefly. She thinks that this could not be the new standard of beauty now, not when no one has cared about this before. But she supposes seven years after the war should be enough for people to find other things to worry about.

Aang latches onto her hand as the two of them walk through the streets of the capital city in the Fire Nation. The caldera rises around the buildings and pavement, casting a perpetual shadow upon them that serves as permanent shade in such a hot country.

She is content, her arm swinging with Aang next to her. They pick a place to eat that serves Aang’s favorite spicy potato curry.

She hears it then, the whispers that she dreads, the judging ones. They have followed her for years since she and Aang began dating. Sometimes, it is Aang they criticize. An Air Nomad taking a Water Tribe woman as a significant other, and he is bald at that. Other times, it is her they make snide remarks at. “That Water Tribe wench is only with him because he’s the Avatar. She’s taking advantage of his status,” is something she has heard.

Usually, they do not bother her. They bother neither of them. She and Aang love each other too much for things so trivial as what other people think to cause them to wedge apart.

But Katara listens anyway when a gaggle of people at a nearby table make their presence known.

“How crude of the Avatar to take such a hideous woman to bed,” laughs someone. The voices sound like they belong to young adults or teenagers, and perhaps of noble birth.

“Yeah, imagine Shi bringing that home!” laughs another. “Her boobs are the size of my pinky finger!”

“A piglet couldn’t even suck on one,” adds someone else.

She sees how Aang reacts first. His fingers start to curl, and she can tell he is trying to hold his anger in. The other table is not exactly subtle. But before he can say or do anything, Katara stands, her chair toppling over behind her.

A fire burns in her chest, her cheeks are hot with embarrassment, and she storms out of the restaurant without another word.

She makes it back to the palace, unaware that she has thrown open the doors to their chamber until she has already gone to the bathroom to furiously untangle her hair from its braid. She hears footsteps run behind her, and then Aang stands behind her. She can see the worried expression on his face in the mirror.

“Katara,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“I’m going to bed,” she states, finally throwing her hair tie on top of the countertop. She pivots into their room and grabs her sleep clothes.

“It’s still sunset,” Aang speaks again. The door to their bathroom shuts. “Please, Katara. You know they were out of line. You’re—”

She swivels around to face him, mouth in a scowling line. “You heard them. I’m ugly and my breasts are too small and—”

Aang tries to grab for her flailing hands. Her sleep clothes fall to the floor. “You never cared about looks before,” he says. His eyebrows are scrunched together. “And you know that no matter what you say, you’re still the most beautiful person in the world to me.”

A tiny part of her wants to burst with affection for him because she knows he is right, and she knows he means it. Yet, all those months of being shown that she is not desirable enough, that she isn’t pretty enough—sinks into her head and suddenly all she knows is that all those things are true. And if they are true, she is not enough for him.

She wants more than anything to be enough for Aang.

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes before she can stop them. She hastily begins to wipe them away, but Aang is there again. His hands on her face, thumbing her cheeks.

“You’re beautiful, Katara,” he murmurs. So soft. “I promise.”

Her breath heaves. “But what if I’m not?” she asks no one in particular. “I am small-chested, and people are more attracted to larger chests and—”

“And nothing,” Aang insists. His eyes are upon her. They sparkle with adoration. “It doesn’t matter to me. You’re perfect just the way you are.” He pauses to press a kiss to her forehead. Then, lowly, he says, “I can show you exactly how perfect.”

Their gazes meet, and she remembers just who she is with.

He guides her in a slow circle, a gentle dance. The sun sets through the window, and they move to their own tune. His hands are on her shoulders, asking for permission. She shudders when he makes his promise to her again, that she is beautiful no matter what.

He slides the fabric of her tunic down one of her arms and kisses her shoulder. He slides the other sleeve down to her elbow and his lips are on the crook of her neck. Her tunic pools on the floor and she is left with her trousers and undergarments on.

He looks at her, the fading sunlight lining his face, his strong jaw, and there is desire there. She feels it.

Still, she crosses her arms over her chest, covering the bindings that hide her breasts from him. She should not be afraid to bare herself to him. They have done this and more before. The lingering notions of shame grasp at her thoughts. She looks away.

“Katara,” Aang says. He brings her face closer to his until they are but a breadth from each other.

And that is all it takes.

He moves her so that she sits on the edge of the bed. His fingers find the fasteners of her bindings and unlatch them. In his hands he cups the sides of her, trails butterfly kisses in between her breasts, hovers over her stomach.

His touch is magic, melts something inside of her that she did not know was festering. He makes her feel like a panda lily that blossoms in its rarity on the cone of a volcano. A pinprick of loveliness even in the depths of destruction.

He lavishes her with his fingers, moves up her torso so that he kisses every part of her. He gently sucks on her nipples, one at a time, until they are swollen and wet and turgid with want.

His teeth graze her chest, and she feels him smile into her. He enjoys this, and it fills her with glee.

“Do you see how perfect you are?” he mutters, “How lovely you are?” The tip of his tongue then subsequently peeks out to the side of her breast.

She bites her bottom lip, trying not to moan her delight.

He has always made love to her well, but something about this time is different. He focuses solely on her, emphasizing the parts of her that she had started to hate. When he touches her, it is both with ease and affection. He does not move to remove her trousers, and somehow, that makes her want him more.

“Aang I—” she begins, quivering, “Please.”

His hands are on her back, and he finally moves so that she is laying down on the mattress. His body is so close to hers that she can feel his hardness against her leg.

His nibbles her breasts again and she groans.

“Tell me how beautiful you are,” he gently commands. He kisses her wrist, the inside of her elbow, her thigh. He moves up again, so they are looking each other in the eye. “Tell me,” he practically begs.

She shivers and shakes her head. “I can’t.”

Aang sucks a nipple again, teasing at the drawstrings of her trousers. He glances upward, waiting for her reply.

Katara feels the warmth building in her core, the wetness between her legs. She sees the pleading in his expression, the ripe and raw emotion in the way he looks at her. He holds himself back from her, and it is all she can take. She wants more.

She rises in a rapid motion until she crashes against him. Her arms are around his neck, her lips locked against his. She pulls away only for a second to say, “I’m beautiful,” before she is on him again.

She says it because she needs him. She says it because if anyone can see the magnificence in anyone it is Aang.

They fall to the floor, and he laughs because he has won. She believes him wholeheartedly now as her underwear and trousers disappear below her knees, and he adores her again. The way he loves her at this moment makes her remember that this is one of the many reasons she too loves him.

Aang makes her love herself.

When her back arches and she is thrumming with pleasure on the floor that evening, she forgets for a moment that anyone could make her feel inadequate when she has a man that can make her feel everything but that.

#body worship #fornication scrolls #mod mooning

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sugarsugarmoon · 4 years

Text

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Summary: Your boyfriend, Hoseok, takes you to Disney World for the first time, and after the first day, you are exhausted.

Genre: Smut, fluff

Warnings: unprotected sex, tooth rotting fluff

a/n: This is the first of my commissioned pieces for the BLM donations. If you’re interested in commissioning something from me, with or without money, you can check out this post. I love writing a soft fluffy Hobi ☺️ This, as always, is unedited.

Word Count: 1768

Your eyes flit around from one sparkling, lit-up ride to another. The sounds, the smells, and the sights fill your sense entirely. You hold your arms out and throw your head back toward the sky. You giggle, and when the warm palm slides into yours, you grip it firmly.

You turn your grin toward your boyfriend, Hoseok, who is smiling his bright, gentle smile back at you. You can’t stop the giggles that spill from your mouth as you take in the whole experience. This is your first time at Disney World, and Hoseok has done everything in his power to make it the greatest day possible.

You started your day in Adventureland, and he was leading you section by section around the Magic Kingdom portion of the park. Hoseok had bought the most inclusive package, and he was determined to do the entire park, every section, in the 5 days that you had booked there. It’s nearing the end of the first day, and the two of you are waiting for the parade on Main Street.

“Hobi, baby, this has been such an amazing, exhausting first day,” you say as you beam at him, “but I really can’t wait to get back to the hotel and take a bath to soak my feet.”

He seems to sense that you’re implying that you can watch the parade one of the other nights, and he nudges your shoulder with his, pulling you gently by the hand away from the gathering crowd. Before you know it, you’re walking out of the front gates and loading on to one of the courtesy shuttles back to the hotel.

You hold his hand the whole way back, even when you feel your head starting to lull back onto the headrest. You swear that you didn’t fall asleep, but it feels like only a moment passes as you pull up outside the hotel lobby. Hoseok nudges you to get you out of the car, and you sleepily clamber out.

Everything inside is bright and shiny and golden, and you smile softly to yourself as Hoseok lazily leads you to the room. Once inside, he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the bed. He leans down, and his hands slide gently down your legs, untying your shoes and slipping them off your feet. He tosses them to the side and stands again. Hoseok leaves the room, then you hear the bath running in the bathroom. You sigh to yourself, thinking about how lucky you are and smiling again. You wonder if your face will be stuck in a smile after this week with him. You wouldn’t mind that.

When Hoseok reenters the room, he wordlessly walks to you, and he sweeps you up off the bed into his arms. He carries you into the bathroom, and you are speechless at the sight of it. Candles line the counter and are the only light in the room. The tub is filled with bubbles and flower petals, soft floral scents filling the air. Hoseok reaches up and brushes your hair behind your ear gently.

He sets you on the floor, and he begins to undress you. Once you’re naked, he picks you up again and places you gingerly into the tub. Hoseok stands above you smiling for a moment before he turns to leave.

“Wait!” your voice is tiny, and you hardly recognize it.

When he turns to you, you make small grunting noises and reach toward him with grabby hands. He has seen you do this enough times to know that this is you telling him to come over. Smiling, his feet carry him to where you are soaking in the tub. You reach out and start to pull at his clothes. Once again, he gets your point without you saying anything. He strips down in front of you, his skin smooth and beautiful.

You scoot forward in the giant tub so that there is room behind you, and Hoseok climbs in, wrapping his arms and legs around you. His lips find the skin of your neck and shoulder as he sinks in.

He holds you there like that for a while, and you lean back against his chest, the water and the smoothness of his skin making you feel calm and relaxed. He starts humming under his breath. You recognize the tune of “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” from Cinderella.

Hoseok’s love of all things Disney is as precious as he is, and you plan on sneaking off sometime tomorrow to get him a new Mickey plushie and some ears. But for now, you are perfectly happy being cuddled up in the tub with him, gently singing “Whatever you wish for, you keep.”

As his arms are wrapped around you, you take a washcloth and tenderly scrub his arms and legs, as much as you can reach in this position. Then Hoseok takes the washcloth from you and does the same. In these intimate moments, you feel like you see a side of Hoseok that he doesn’t normally show, peeling back the layer of outward sunshine to see the true light within him. He continues to hum into your ear, and, when the water is started to get lukewarm, he stands from the tub. You follow his movements, and he gives you his hand as he steps out.

He wraps you in the plush, white hotel bathrobe then does the same for himself. You flop down on your stomach on the bed, exhausted from the sun and walking and thrills of the day. Soon, you feel the bed shift next to you and Hoseok’s arm wrap around your waist. He pulls you closer to him, and you melt into his arms.

After a few minutes, you peel off your bathrobe because you need to feel his skin against yours. When you scooch back, you feel his bare skin on yours. Hoseok’s fingers are skating over your skin. Everything is slow and soft, but now, you’re turned toward him, tongue exploring his mouth. Your fingers lace into Hoseok’s wet hair, and you run your nails gently down his neck and back.

“Hobi, thank you so much for everything. This is so wonderful,” you pull away from his lips and whisper.

“I’d do anything for you, baby. I’d do anything to see you smile and laugh.”

You crash back into him, exploring every inch of his mouth with yours and every inch of his skin with your fingers. You kiss him, trying to communicate how much you love him and appreciate him, how much you need him in your everyday life.

Hoseok grabs the back of your head, and his fingers press down gently on your scalp, massaging it. You didn’t think that you could melt even further, but you do. You moan into his mouth and pull him closer.

“Please, Hoseok, I need-”

“I know. I do too,” he smiles at you again then shifts his weight on top of you.

He kisses you again, deeply and desperately before he grabs each of your ankles and pushes them up toward your chest. He aligns his hard cock with your dripping entrance, and when his eyes meet yours, he slides in slowly.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers.

Once you’ve adjusted to his girth inside you, he begins to move his hips slowly. You savor every moment of the sensation of his cock gliding through your arousal deep inside of you. He begins to pick up the pace, and he leans down, pressing his torso against your shins to get even deeper inside of you.

Your hamstrings burn with the pressure, but you don’t mind because his cock feels so wonderful inside you, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm.The way that his body is positioned, his skin is also stimulating your clit. You are overwhelmed by the pleasure that you’re experiencing. Hoseok dips his head and takes your nipple into his mouth, and you explode. You cum hard all over his cock, and you can feel it dripping down you into your butt crack. You don’t care, you are floating on a cloud of orgasm. Now that you’ve cum, all you want is for Hoseok to paint your insides with his cum.

You can feel his cock growing harder and harder inside you as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

“Hoseok, please, please cum inside me. Fill me up,” you coo and run your nails down his back.

He thrusts hard and deep a few more times before he moans deeply, spilling inside of you. You sigh in pleasure in having him fill you with his cum. You lace your fingers into his hair again as he collapses on top of you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, until he leans back and looks at you. He brushes your hair from your forehead and plants a kiss on the sweaty skin. He rolls off of you and pulls you close to him.

You lie there for a moment, wrapped in his embrace, face on his chest. Then you pop up from the bed and head to the bathroom. You get a new washcloth and wet it slightly. You go to the bathroom then clean yourself, not wanting to deal with the sticky mess in the morning. You get another towel and take it to Hoseok.

He’s curled up in a ball on the bed, already asleep and breathing heavy. You make your way to him and kneel on the bed beside him. Gently, you clean him, trying not to wake him in the process. Once he’s clean, you move to get up from the bed.

“Wait,” he moans.

He turns to you and makes the same little grunting sounds you made earlier, fingers sleepily grabbing toward you. You giggle at the sight but toss the washcloth toward the bathroom. You climb up the bed and wrap yourself around him. This time you get to be the big spoon, curled around the man you love.

“Hoseok, this day has been so perfect. Thank you so much.” You kiss his ear and his shoulder before you rest your head on your pillow.

“It was, wasn’t it?” he yawns. “Just wait until you see what I have planned for tomorrow.”

The two of you, curled up together, fall asleep just like that, you wrapped around him. Sometimes it feels good to be the one comforting and holding him, since he’s always been the one to care for you, you think as you drift off to sleep.

#ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #jung hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #jhope smut #hobi smut #hobi x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #jung hoseok smut #bts fanfic #bts hobi x reader

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animeniacss · 3 years

Text

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 19 - Date Number 2

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 5.2k words

Chapter 19 - Date Number 2

It had been a few weeks since your…enlightening lunch with your younger sister. After her little conversation with those two men at the entrance, she returned to the table, attempting to continue your conversation as if nothing had changed. However, you couldn’t stop thinking about her comment. As playful or fabricated as she intended for it to be, she agreed with your doubts regarding your romantic standing with three men who you still were unsure if you wanted to have any romantic standing at all. It wasn’t something that could just be pushed away when the pizza was brought out to the table and Bong-Cha began talking about her own love life.

Despite that, however, you managed to keep up appearances at work as to not worry any of your coworkers. Yoongi’s team had placed second in the high school basketball tournament, and Yoongi had just returned to the preschool to continued his physical education teachings with the kids, much to their delight. There was one day, a Wednesday, where you and Hoseok dropped off the kids on the field with Yoongi, who eagerly herded the kids towards him in fits of excitement. Hoseok headed to the classroom once again to sneak a snack and rest, tired after a long morning of teaching small groups of children the names of shapes and colors. It’s a taxing job. Meanwhile, you were walking down the hall when you saw the door to Taehyung’s room open. Stopping in the doorway, you watched the man run his hands through his fluffy hair and pace the room. He was looking all over the room as if each location held a new secret to whatever answer he was so desperately looking for. He didn’t notice you at first, so you crossed your arms and rested on the door frame, silently continuing to watch him.

“…You look like you’re losing your mind.” You finally said, and dark eyes turned to look in your direction. It made you chuckle. “If that’s what it is, you’re a bit late to the party. In a preschool, one is supposed to lose their mind within the first week of employment, or else they’re considered crazy.” Once Taehyung offered a small chuckle, you stepped into the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” He admitted. “President Kim said that his higher-ups want to come and evaluate me.” You blinked. “I thought I was only hired here as a recreational thing, not a real teacher. I don’t have my teaching degree.”

“I know. But you work full-time here, and I’m sure Seokjin speaks your praise at all of his evaluation meetings. Don’t worry too much about it, they probably just want to come and finally meet you.” Taehyung’s shoulders slumped. “If you want to trade, you can easily do my educational evaluation.” You said simply. “I have to show all of my lessons for the past four months, along with all of the student’s progress and how I plan to help continue to keep their progress going. It’s lots of paperwork.”

Taehyung shook his head. “No, thanks…” A smile formed on his lips. “But that makes me feel a little better.”

“Don’t stress, you’ll be okay.” You assured.

“But it’s not just that,” Taehyung said. “I got invited to another art show this weekend and I wanted to try and have a few new works prepared for it, but I haven’t hit my usual quota.”

“Is something on your mind causing all of the artist blocks?” you asked curiously. Taehyung looked over in your direction. He was silent for a moment as he studied your features, unsure of what to say. You offered him a soft smile, and his heart swelled a bit. It felt as if it did a flip, and Taehyung had to make sure he wasn’t having a stroke at that moment before responding.

“…No, not particularly.” He said simply. After a brief moment of silence, he coughed into his hands. “How’s your sister?” He asked. You glanced at him, hands at your sides. “Has she been well?”

“…Is she causing the block?” you cooed, grinning a bit. Taehyung’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“No, no, no! Maybe that was a bad shift to different conversations but trust me, she is not the reason I’m having this block.” You forced a little laugh out, and a feeling of guilt sat right on Taehyung’s broad shoulders. He only felt that way because as the giggle subsided, the corner of your lips turned downward, and he hated that sight.

“I see…” you said simply. “I was just kidding, anyway.” You smiled. “But Bong-Cha is just fine. She’s as obnoxious as ever. She even got upset with me the other day because she asked if I wanted to go shopping with her. But she told me an hour before she left. So, when I told her that I was busy working on my education reports, she tried to guilt me into not coming with her.” You scoffed. “She’s lucky she’s got a cute face because she’s a little devil.” Taehyung chuckled. “Anyway, on a different topic…” you began, and Taehyung walked towards his desk, before turning his attention back to you. For a moment, you knew what you wanted to ask. You knew that you wanted to initiate getting together after your educational evaluation had ended. However, you knew bringing that up would only cause you trouble, and the worst part of it was, you had no idea when that trouble would hit. After racking your brain for a moment, you shook your head. “Tell me more about this art festival.”

Taehyung coughed into his hand. “Oh, well it’s actually by Haneul Park.” He said simply. “I found it online so I messaged the people doing it. It’s a bit small, they just started holding it a few years ago. But artists just kind of get together and paint, and people who pass by stop and look and sometimes will buy or even commission a painting right there.” You smiled.

“That’s amazing. I hope it goes well.”

“I’ll do my best.” Taehyung smiled. “If you want to come, Uhm-.”

“I’ll see how much of my work I get done, okay?” you said happily. Once again, the appearance of that infectious smile made Taehyung’s only grow wider.

“Right, of course.” He said happily. “I understand.” Your eyes wandered to the clock, and a small hum escaped your lips.

“I should probably go try and get some of it done now, while I have the time.” You said simply. “I hope you get over your artist block and do well this weekend at the show.”

“Right.” He said, opening up one of his drawers. “Thank you. See you later~.” Both of you waved one another off, before you disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind you. Taehyung took a moment, embracing the silence that enveloped him before plopping down in his seat. Quickly, he grabbed hold of a nearby pencil, sharpened to still untouched perfection, and grabbed a small piece of paper that he kept several of inside his drawer. When the two combined, Taehyung began sketching a big circle on the paper. As he smoothed out features, darkened lines while erasing others, he smiled to himself as a familiar smile breathed life onto the once blank paper. As he continued to scribble, he could feel his mind chipping away at the artist block that so stubbornly sat within his mind.

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Namjoon was approaching the daycare at the end of the day, the bright school coming into view as he rolled up. The windows were down, and despite the wind whipping in and out of his car, he could hear children shouting in excitement as they ran around outside waiting anxiously to be picked up. As Namjoon got closer and closer to the school, immediately, something flashed in his mind.

An image of you, bright red in the cheeks, staring up at him in shock as your fingers grazed your lips; lips he had just taken the liberty to kiss. Just the thought, as cute as it was, slammed his hands on the wheel, cursing himself. He still had yet to see you since then, having Jungkook drop off and pick-up Kai at daycare ever since. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you more uncomfortable, and seeing you could make it worse. However, Jungkook couldn’t make it in time to get Kai, leaving only Namjoon to do it. As he pulled up to the front of the daycare, another car pulled away. When he looked out the window, he saw Kai immediately. He was sitting on the swing with Kim Taehyung, both swinging side by side as Hoseok pushed the little boy, who was grinning ear to ear. After a moment of scanning, he saw only Kai was left, hence the undivided attention from all of the teachers. That included you. You were standing beside the swing, smiling softly as you watched the little boy flying on the swing.

The sound of Namjoon’s car turning off alerted the attention of those on the swing set. Seeing your eyes flicker in Namjoon’s direction. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he had to force down a gulp as he stepped out of the car. Before turning into their view, Namjoon made sure his glasses and suit jacket were fixed and that he looked presentable. Once he was ready, he turned around and waved to the group.

“Daddy!” Kai cheered, kicking his legs. “Mr. Hobi, stop me, please!” Hoseok laughed a bit as he grabbed the swing, settling Kai before he hopped off and hurried to meet his dad at the door. “I thought Kookie was picking me up.”

“Kookie has to do schoolwork today,” Namjoon said as he scooped his son up, kissing his cheek. “Why, would you rather he picked you up instead of your favorite dad?” Kai giggled, little arms wrapping around his father’s neck as he offered him a tight hug. He looked towards the three of you and smiled.

You seemed to be the only one offering him a kind smile, but honestly one out of three smiles was more than what he thought he would receive. Hoseok paused for a moment, before following your lead and offering a gentle smile and a nod. Taehyung, however, offered no smile, instead of keeping his lips in a tight and thin line with no intention of saying anything. Namjoon nodded. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Kneeling, you grabbed Kai’s backpack and walked over to Namjoon, passing it to him with a nod. “Have a good night.”

Namjoon was hesitant, glancing down at your hand that tightly held the colorful backpack. Nodding, Namjoon’s hand outstretched and took the bag. When he smiled, his dimples poked out. It made your smile just slightly wider. “Goodnight.” He said gently. “Say thank you, Kai.”

“Byeeee, Teacher! Thank you!” Kai said, extending his hand to wave. You quickly waved back, grinning more as Namjoon carried his son to the car and buckled him up in the back. You watched him slide into the front seat, starting up his car. He did not drive away immediately, instead of turning back to watch as you, Hoseok, and Taehyung headed into the daycare once again. He let out a sigh, but the sigh must have been too loud, as he heard Kai shift in the backseat. “Daddy, are you okay?” he asked. Namjoon looked over his shoulder to his son, who stares at him with a look of confusion etched on his face. He had to rack his mind of something to say to his son that made sense, something that he would accept without a second thought. Kai was wild, but he was also smart. Namjoon liked to think that’s one thing he passed down to his son.

“I’m okay,” Namjoon assured gently. “I just wanted to make sure I had all of our stuff…” Kai looked to his side, patting his backpack and offering a grin.

“I packed all my stuff by myself today.” He said, and Namjoon chuckled a bit.

“Oh, good.” He hummed. “I’m proud of you. Let’s head home and rest before dinner.” Kai nodded in agreement as he looked out the window, watching as his dad put the car in drive and pulled away from the daycare center. As Namjoon drove away, he kept thinking back to his interaction with you just now, hoping that he did not do anything that would make you uncomfortable. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

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“Taehyung.” Jimin hummed, glancing over at his friend. Despite the bustling air surrounding the duo as they sat together at their little art festival, Taehyung was in his world since he arrived. Many different people passed by the groups of people who were creating or trying to sell already created artworks, the clear sky and beating sun shining their paths. It was a welcoming and friendly atmosphere around the art fair, and everyone seemed to be infected to act that way as well. That is, except for Taehyung.

Taehyung was sitting comfortably under a tree, his paintbrush hovering over the blank canvas before him. Jimin, who was watching him from his seat under the tree, let out a sigh as he got no response.

“Tae…” Jimin said again, but once again fell on deaf ears. He sighed, lifting himself from his spot in the grass and walking over to him. “Earth to Taehyung.”

The boy’s head spun around in a whirl. “Hm?” he asked, eyeing his friend.

“How’s your painting coming?” he asked curiously. “You’ve been so busy with it, it’s almost as if you’re in another world.” Jimin sat beside his friend, curiously tilting his head as Taehyung turned back and ran a hand through his hair. Upon closer inspection, Jimin saw that little to no progress had been made on the painting, and all that he saw was scribbles of various colors in small spots. It made Jimin smile. “This a new abstract piece you’re working on?”

“No…” Taehyung sighed. “I thought being outside would be good for me but it’s not doing much good.” A sigh escaped his lips and he set his canvas down onto the grass, his paintbrushes lying beside it. Quickly, Taehyung dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. Jimin watched as he unfolded it, and examined it for a moment.

“Oh…is that-?” Taehyung nodded.

“We spoke during work and afterward I wanted to draw her again…” Taehyung said softly. “I thought it kind of cleared some of my blocks. Normally it does, but this time I just…” he sighed. “I’m not sure, my head is foggy lately.” Jimin offered a gentle rub to his friend’s shoulder. “It sucks. I can’t remember the last time I was this block.”

“I can,” Jimin said simply. “When you first came to my house. We were what, eighteen, and you had that huge fight with your parents over the summer break. You were trying to paint enough so that we could move you to Paris…” Taehyung chuckled a bit. “But you couldn’t get anything to come up for weeks.”

“…Yeah, I remember now,” Taehyung said softly. “But it still sucks, and I hate it.” Jimin snorted a bit, grinning.

“I know. But you’ll get your groove back. For now, why don’t you just enjoy the time out here with your best friend, loyal companion, and favorite manager?” Jimin asked. Taehyung pursed his lips.

“Because none of those people could make it today.” Jimin gasped, shoving his friend as a playful grin formed on his face. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He teased, but to no avail as Jimin continued to shove him, both of them laughing in amusement. Taehyung sighed, taking another look at his picture of you he had recently made. He scanned each detailed line, each glimpse of an eraser mark that remained ever so faintly, ones that only he could see because he knew exactly where they were. He had no idea how long this artist’s block would last, but he had one idea of what he could do to try and fix it.

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“The Leeum Museum of Art?” You hummed softly “Why?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung said simply. “I wanted to go to a museum to get some much-needed inspiration.” You leaned back in your seat, resting against the comfy back of the couch as you nursed a half-empty glass of wine. “So, I thought I would ask if you wanted to join me?”

A long silence followed Taehyung’s question, mostly because you didn’t know how to respond. Yes, you wanted to go and enjoy the time out with Taehyung. However, how would Taehyung take the offer? You had already suggested seeing him again but…well, that was then. You felt differently then, things felt differently then. Taehyung caught wind of the silence, and when he let out a long exhale, even over the phone it sent a shiver up your spine.

“…You don’t have to consider it a date if you don’t want to,” Taehyung added quickly. “I just want to spend time with you, as friends. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know.” You said softly. As you took another sip of your drink, you sighed. “But it sounds fun. I’d love to join you.” Taehyung grinned on the other end.

“Okay. I’ll plan the entire thing, okay? Is there anything that doesn’t work for you?”

“No, I’m free as a bird the same times you are.” You grinned. “Just let me know.”

“Okay.” He hummed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m excited to go. You’ll like the museum, it’s amazing.” You couldn’t help it, you had to grin, even more, the sound of Taehyung’s excitement making you feel excited right along with him. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I set it all up, okay?”

“…Okay.” You said softly. “Have a good night, Taehyung.”

“You too.” He said happily. “Goodnight.” The both of you hung up the phone and you looked at your wine glass. The contents were almost empty and you tossed the remainder of the drink down your throat. The glass settled on the coffee table, and your head lolled onto the back of the couch.

“Guess I have another date.” You hummed softly to yourself. “Let’s see how this one goes.” As another grin formed on your face you hopped out of your seat and headed to your room. Arms stretched above your head, you let out a loud groan.

As Taehyung set his phone down, he looked over to his work station, where tons of uncompleted sketches and small paintings waited patiently for the day Taehyung would finally finish them. As he walked over, he set himself into his seat and lifted some of the papers. A few were bent, crumpled up in fits of artistic anger only to be reopened hours later when Taehyung felt regret at throwing away something that could be so perfect. Taehyung sighed, staring as if somehow, the longer he stared the more likely inspiration would jump out at him. For now, nothing. Sure, he’s doodled, sure he’s put paint to canvas. However, nothing he’s created recently was anything he would ever attempt to sell anywhere, and his completed paintings were growing older with each passing day. As he rested his head back on his chair, he let out a deep sigh.

Hopefully, a trip to the museum would help spark the dull part of his imagination that was normally oozing with inspiration. If not, then he can take solace in the fact that he got to spend time with you for the day. That was a win in his book too.

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“I can’t believe you got another date with her,” Baekhyun said over the phone. Taehyung offered a confident grin even though he knew his friend couldn’t see it. He was waiting on a bench by the entrance to the bus station for you, his most recently received text saying you were on your way and would be there soon. Despite the cloudy skies and rumors of rain later, Taehyung felt the sun shining throughout his body. “Sparks are flying, hm?”

‘Well, I don’t know if she considers it a date.” Taehyung admitted. “I’ve noticed she’s been a bit off these past few days so I don’t want to push her too much. But-.”

“Buuuuut you want to go on a date with her so bad anyway, right?” Baekhyun teased. Taehyung chuckled a little along with his friend.

“Of course, I do.” He said simply. “I just hope she isn’t uncomfortable.”

“If she agreed I’m sure that she’s not uncomfortable,” Baekhyun assured. Taehyung nodded, his eyes scanning the crowds of people for any signs of your arrival.

“I’m going to get going. She should be here soon.” Taehyung said. With a quick goodbye, Taehyung slid his phone into his back pocket and crossed his arms, continuing to scan the area. He had yet to catch a glimpse of you, wondering if five minutes had passed since your text. As he continued to look, he heard a voice gasp behind him, and it shocked him a bit. When he turned around, he saw two girls, most likely a year or so younger than Taehyung, standing up straight and tall with stunned expressions on their faces. “Uhm…”

“I told you, Seohyun, it’s Taehyung from Instagram. That seriously attractive artist!” One girl whispered to her friend, though Taehyung heard it and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh my God, you’re right.” She squealed. “Wow, nice to meet you, Oppa.” Taehyung smiled a bit.

“Nice to meet you too. Always makes me happy to meet fans, you know? Makes me feel like some sort of celebrity.” The girls giggled at each other.

“You are talented, Oppa. I went to that art show you said you were going to last week in the park. I saw you, but you were so busy that I didn’t want to bother you.” Taehyung smiled a bit.

“Busy being artist blocked, maybe.” He hummed playfully. “But hopefully that’ll be gone soon.”

“Hopefully,” Seohyun said. “Fighting, Taehyung-Oppa~!” both of the girls giggled like school girls, and Taehyung once again had to let out another laugh. “What are you doing today, Oppa?”

“Oh, uh…” Taehyung thought about his next words carefully. He didn’t want to admit that he was going on – what he considered to be – a date. Not because he was worried it would create issues, he was in no way popular enough for that. He honestly, didn’t think it was anyone’s business. “Just going to the museum so that I can get some artistic inspiration.” The girls offered each other smiles.

“I hope it works out.” They said happily. “Maybe next time, we can join you.” Taehyung blinked.

“We’ll see…” He laughed nervously.

“Oh! Can we take a picture, Oppa?” Seohyun asked curiously. Taehyung nodded, smiling as he watched the girls dig into their purses to grab their phones. Taehyung took this moment to look back over his shoulder to see if he caught you arriving yet. He didn’t, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Ready!” they cheered, and Taehyung turned back around. He watched as Seohyun lifted her phone, angling it so that both girls and Taehyung were in the shot. Seohyun put up a peace sign, her friend threw up a finger heart, and Taehyung put a peace sign over his eye. The click of the camera sent that picture into Seohyun’s photo’s app, and she gasped in excitement. Almost immediately, she pulled it up and showed her friend, who immediately begged for it to be sent to her phone. “Thank you, Oppa.” They gasped, looking up at Taehyung. Their eyes were sparkling and they were grinning like little children. It made Taehyung feel a warm and fuzzy sensation throughout his body. He had met a lot of fans at shows and in random spots, but most of them have usually only commented on his looks. These girls mentioned his art somewhat, and that alone made him feel happy.

As the girls continued to look at the picture, Taehyung once again turned around to look for you. As his eyes scanned the crowd once again, he saw you. You were approaching the entrance to the bus station, fixing your bag that rested across your chest as you walked. Your hair, unlike almost every other time he had seen you out, was not tied up in cue ribbons, but instead was released, and fully resting on your shoulders. You were wearing an oversized beige sweatshirt that was decorated with brown and black stripes. It was tucked into a brown skirt, one that clung to your hips much like the skirts you wore to work, however, this one was much more casual, and looked a lot cuter on you. Taehyung let out a breathless chuckle as he watched you get closer, and quickly called your name. When you looked up in his direction, so did the two girls.

“Hey~!” You grinned, hurrying over to Taehyung. “I heard it was supposed to rain so I brought my umbrella just in case, and wanted to make sure I’ve dressed appropriately so I was running a bit late. Then, I got lost in the crowds when I got here so I had to find my footing a bit, and-.” When you looked up at Taehyung, you saw him grinning playfully as you continued to ramble. It only made you laughed nervously. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, not at all. I was able to keep busy.” He grinned. “You look nice, once again,” Taehyung said. You smiled, smoothing out your skirt.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what I could wear to a museum that made me look sophisticated.” Both of you laughed a bit. “I’m glad I look okay.” Taehyung nodded, offering you his arm.

“Shall we go?” He asked, looking down at you. You hummed, smiling up at him before nodding, hesitantly taking his arm. Taehyung could see that hesitancy and bit his lip a bit.

“Let’s go.” He said happily. As the two of you began to make your way inside, the girls were standing in front of you. “Hello again.” He greeted. You raised an eyebrow, staring at the two girls who looked less than amused.

“You have a girlfriend?” Seohyun pouted sadly. Taehyung looked over at you and saw your cheeks tint pink. However, you said nothing. Taehyung had no idea what to say to them, not sure if confession that you were not a thing yet could ruin everything, he had been working towards with you.

“I’m not his girlfriend.” You said quickly. “We’re coworkers…but who are you two, anyway?” The girls exchanged glances.

“Fans,” Taehyung said simply. “I took a picture with them while I waited for you.” You hummed, nodding your head before offering them a smile.

“Yeah, and he can’t have a girlfriend, Seohyun, because while we were talking to him, he was-.” The girl was interrupted by you lifting your hand in her direction, and she blinked.

“We’re going to miss our bus….” You said simply. The girls, nor Taehyung gave a response. “…Well, it was nice to meet you. Have a good day.” You said simply. The girls tried to but back in, but you calmly nodded your head and led Taehyung into the bus station. “So, Taehyung, how long ‘til the bus arrives?” You asked curiously.

“About 30 minutes. We have enough time to grab a snack on the way if you’re hungry.” The girls watched the two of you create small talk, heading deeper into the crowds of people both entering and exiting the station along with you. Once you were out of their sight, the girls stood there, defeated in their failed attempt to try and intimidate you.

Taehyung looked over at the door when you were deep enough in, to see if those girls ended up following you. They didn’t, and Taehyung let out a sigh of relief, glad to avoid any issues. Upon looking back at you, he saw you staring up at him.

“…What?” he asked.

“Was that girl going to say you were flirting with them before I got there?” You asked curiously. Taehyung ran a hand through his hair.

“Probably. But I didn’t. They were just asking for a picture and talked about my art. It made me happy, I was trying to be nice.” You nodded, shrugging.

“It doesn’t matter to me.” You said simply. “They were very pretty so I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I wasn’t,” Taehyung said again, harsher this time. A smile formed on your face, and you squeezed his arm just a bit.

“I know.” You replied simply. “I’m just kidding.”

“Not very funny…” Taehyung pouted, causing a giggle to arise from your stomach. Taehyung sighed, smiling a bit as well from your infectious giggle. “Come on, now. Let’s get going.” You grinned, nodding as you followed Taehyung down the hallway and towards the faster-arriving bus.

As both of you stood waiting for the bus to pull up to the station, you looked at Taehyung. He had pulled out his phone, typing away on the keyboard with his hand, his other arm still extended to provide you with something to hold. You had yet to let go, but he didn’t seem to mind the position. You stared ahead as the bus pulled up to the stop, and people got off the bus and headed onto the streets of Seoul, some listening to music while others chatted with friends both in person or on the phone. Taehyung gently led you onto the bus and motioned you towards the first available seats he could grab. You smiled at him as he seated himself beside you. “Are you excited?” he asked, smiling at you.

A quick nod, followed by a smile was your initial response. “Yeah. I think museums are pretty fun.”

“You always struck me as the kind of person who loves museums.” He said simply. You shrugged.

“Guess I’m not as much of a stick in the mud as you thought, hm?” Taehyung laughed a bit.

“I guess not.” He cooed. “But even if you were, I don’t think I would have minded either way.” You felt your cheeks tint pink, and you immediately looked out the window, watching as the bus started up and pulled from the stop and into the traffic on the streets. You didn’t know how to reply to that one.

So, you didn’t.

Upon reaching the bus stop, it was another 5 minutes to walk to the actual museum, but neither one of you minded. Despite the gloomy weather, you would most likely get inside before any major rainfall occurred. So, arm in arm, you made your way down the block to the museum. As you both arrived, the museum in view along with crowds of people exiting and entering, you felt Taehyung’s arms flex a bit. When you looked up at him, his eyes were sparkling more and more with every step closer.

He was so entranced in what he was looking at, and you were too invest in him, that neither of you noticed two familiar figured that caught immediate glances at you as you headed inside.

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vtscasefiles · 3 years

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Case File 563-7

Trigger warnings: blood, gore, death, infant death, guns, gun violence

[Editor’s note: this is one of VT’s shorter cases. It does not have a happy outcome. You have been warned.]

Case begun: 1/12/20**

Case concluded: 1/13/20**

Case locale: [REDACTED], Nevada

Marked as Closed

From the outset, this case stunk. Even Ramona had misgivings. She practically begged me not to go. “VT, there’s something wrong here. I don’t know what, but I just have this feeling.”

“It’ll be fine.” I’d assured her. “It’s a simple shakedown. It’s just a spirit. It’s nothing too insidious.”

Famous last words.

This case came to my from a friend of a friend. It was a simple haunting, the spirit was pestering a young family. Nothing a few sprinkles of blessed water and a liberal application of smudging couldn’t fix. Worst case, I’d have to exorcise.

Still, Ramona’s words bothered me, so I packed up a few extra goodies. Salt, my saint bone necklace (It’s only a toe bone, don’t ask where I got it.) and a few rounds of my most potent ammunition. I don’t want to say what it was made out of, due to the...questionable nature of how it was sourced. Point being that they’d deal with anything short of a god.

My friend, [REDACTED AT SUBJECT’S REQUEST], met me at the bus station. My car was out of commission, due to it being a piece of shit. Though [REDACTED] was more than happy to loan me their car.

I really wish I’d listened to Ramona.

I arrived at the client’s house around noon. They were a friendly enough couple. Due to ongoing SC investigation, I’m only going to refer to them as Husband and Wife. I could get in a lot of hot water if I put their names out there and someone fucked up the investigation.

Husband was tall-ish. Only a scant few inches taller than myself. He was your typical, hipster fella. Too tight pants, a band tee with a band he listened to “before it was cool” and a scruffy little beard with an overly manicured mustache. Wife was more my speed, though. Overalls, splattered with paint and a tank top. We love a handy lady.

They welcomed me graciously, introduced me to their newborn, who shall be known as Baby. She was a cute, little thing...even I could admit that and I hate babies. They scream, puke and shit, usually at the same time. Not for me, nope. Even so, I held the kid at their insistence and the girl just...stared. I couldn’t help but pull faces until the child started to laugh.

So, maybe “hate” is a strong word.

They took me to the room where their little spirit friend was causing the most havoc. It was to be Baby’s room. A crib settled in a corner, toys strewn around for the child’s amusement. A light fixture shaped like a unicorn.

Oh, and let’s not forget the words “HELP ME” painted on the wall in bright, yellow paint. Perfect décor for an infant, right?

“So, Husband.”, I’d said, turning to face him, Baby still in my arms. “We going for an escape pre-school motif or something?” he laughed a strained laugh.

“We didn’t have this problem when we moved in.” he said, rubbing at his eyes beneath the glasses that I don’t think he actually needed. “After Baby was born everything sort of...escalated.” he shuffled his feet and frowned. “We don’t want to move. We put a lot of work into our home, VT.”

“Well.” I said, foisting Baby off into Wife’s arms. “It might be a wandering spirit...might even be a kid. They tend to gravitate towards new parents, in hopes someone can help them. I’ll come back tonight to see if we can’t contact the spirit and figure out what’s going on.”

“Tonight might be...problematic. We have a little ceremony planned for Baby.” she said, smiling and dimpling in the *cutest* way. “All the neighbors will be there!”

You see where this is going now, right? Fuck, I wish I had.

“I mean, so long as it isn’t in this house. Large gatherings might upset the spirit.” I said, softly. Baby was already dozing in her mother’s arms. “If it has to be here, I can always come afterwards.”

They agreed and [REDACTED] had me drive them home before I took the car to their motel. I was scheduled for another walkthrough around ten, tonight. That gave me time to shower, check my gear, take a nap and check my gear, again.

Then it all went to hell.

It’s no secret that most PEs are riddled with ink. I’m no different, but all of mine are on my back and upper arms. It took time to learn which portion of my skin would react to whatever was in the air.

The dead center of my back, right on top of the upper portion of my spine, lit up like fire. Usually, it’s a small, specific spot, but it felt like there were three or four of the small, inked runes lighting up at once.

Necromancy.

Blood magic.

Demonic presence.

Those are the big three tattoos. If one of those goes off, I know I need back up. If all three go off...run. Just run. Necromancy in of itself isn’t a strictly forbidden art in the SC, but blood magic is. Demons, on the other hand...well, they’re just like other members of the SC. Some are good, some are bad and some...some need a hot lead injection right between the eyes.

That tattoo only lit up in the presence of a demon with evil on the mind. Feeling the pain in my back, my fight or flight responses kicked in. I strapped Peace to my thigh, shouldered my bag and made for [REDACTED]’s car.

I made it to the house at 9pm, a full hour before I was due. Cars were lined up down the block, so I just parked in a vacant driveway. I could apologize later. My phone jingled it’s clarion call and I answered immediately. I always answer Ramona as quickly as I can. “VT!” she was practically in the midst of a panic attack. “I was scrying and I had to call. VT, you need to come home now. Whatever case you’re on, drop it.”

“There’s a kid in there, Ramona.” I protested, eyes on the lit up windows of Husband and Wife’s home. “I can’t walk away.”

“VT, you don’t even like kids. And honestly...all I saw was blood. I hate to say it VT, but that child is probably -- “ “I know!” I shouted, the burning in my back getting all the more intense. “I know. Look, I know I don’t like kids, but that doesn’t mean I want to let one die. If there’s anything I can do, I have to do it.”

Ramona went silent, and I waited. “...I’ll pray to the spirits for your protection, VT. Come back to me alive, okay?”

“You got it.” I responded, my finger making for the screen to terminate the call. “Bye, Ramona.”

“Wait!”, her sudden shout stilled my hand. “Give ‘em hell.” I smiled and terminated the call.

The time for subterfuge and lockpicking had passed. I emptied a box of Elinor’s “special blend” into my pocket and checked Peace’s cylinder. Everything looked ready.

I bolted for the door and hammered on it. No answer. No sound beyond the door. I kicked, just next to the deadbolt and only got a wonderful jolting sensation that sent me limping and cursing in a circle.

I wasted no time in stepping back to the street and running, full tilt, for the nearest window and diving straight through. I felt the glass slice open my arm as I covered my head for protection.

I rolled across the carpet as I landed and came up with Peace in hand. Nothing. No one. The house was completely empty.

All of these houses were built the same, so it was a fair guess this place had both and attic and a basement. My leg still smarted, so the thought of climbing stairs up didn’t appeal, so I resolved to check the basement.

It’s always fucking basements.

The door was easy enough to find, right beneath the stairway to the second floor. It was locked, so with some creative ingenuity, I had it open.

[Editor’s note: Creative ingenuity means VT shot the lock off.]

The instant that door swung open it felt like someone had pressed a branding iron to my back. I ignored the pain and sprinted down the stairs, slamming into a wall as I reached the bottom.

The metallic scent of blood hit me with all the force of a sledgehammer to the nose. Corpses. Corpses everywhere. All in various stages of decomposition. I recognized Husband and Wife, not by their clothes, or faces...but by their hair. Wife’s golden mane of unruly curls and Husband’s stupid little manbun. (Why don’t they just call them buns for fuck’s sake?)

Every corpse in here wore the same robes, bore the same jewelry. I recognized the design. They worshiped Death. Not Elinor’s Death, the supposedly nice lady with the kid. They worshipped violent Death.

They worshiped murder.

I fought valiantly to keep my dinner in as I saw what they’d had on the altar in the center of the room. I lost.

I couldn’t bring myself to unwrap the bundle that had no less than thirteen or fourteen daggers sticking out of it. The amount of blood on the altar told me, if the daggers didn’t, that they’d finished their sick little ceremony.

Baby was the sacrifice.

Human sacrifice has been a thing since the dawn of time. So has child sacrifice. It’s become taboo in the SC, due to the fact that pure innocence is a force so powerful that it often rages out of control.

Doesn’t stop a few fuckwits from using it and dying for their trouble. I felt no sympathy, in fact I’d dearly hoped their deaths were slow.

“Do you want to kill them?” a voice, so sweet in my ear, practically lulled me straight to sleep. “See them suffer? I can make that happen. I can make every sick fuck out there pay for the wrongs they do.” it was my voice I was hearing. “We can slaughter them all. Val, we can -- “ That snapped me out of my daze. “Only my mother calls me Val.” I said, squeezing Peace’s grip. “And I hate that bitch.”

I turned and saw who’d been whispering. It was a mirror image of myself, albeit a perverted one. My features were too fine, too distinct. It was like someone took my face and stretched it over my bones. It smiled in a way that if I ever say that expression on my own face, I’d lay down on some train tracks and wait.

“What? You don’t want to make them suffer? They killed an infant, and for what? Power? To summon something they shouldn’t? C’mon, VT, we both know better.” the mirror me scoffed and threw up her hands. “You do this job because you like the blood.”

“Not really.” I said, conversationally. I knew what this was, this was what they’d summoned. After killing it’s summoners it still wanted more. There was only one way to deal with something as malevolent as this. Deprive it of power. “I do this job because it pays the bills and I was born into it. Plus, I just so happen to be very good at what I do.”

“Murdering living things? Banishing non-living things?” it asked, grinning.

“No. Dealing with trash like you that only exists to hurt others.” I smiled right back. “So, I suppose you could call me a glorified garbage woman.”

That pissed it off. It’s face warped into an unholy mask of fury and it lunged. When a demon takes on a form, it’s trapped with that form’s physical ability. The demon was just as strong as I was, with none of the training. Meaning it’d be dangerous, but manageable.

It grabbed onto me and we both tumbled to the floor. Peace skittered away from my grip as the demon slammed it’s fists into my face. I felt my nose break and my lip split beneath the melee onslaught. It seemed to notice the gun and lunged off of me to make a wild grab.

I took my chance. The instant it’s weight left me, I made a wild grab for it’s hair and yanked. It screeched it’s rage and continued to paw for the gun as I mounted it’s shoulders and slammed it’s face into the concrete floor again and again and again. I couldn’t kill it, not with my bare hands. The more effort I wasted on the demon, the stronger it’d get. I shoved to my feet and aimed a hard kick to it’s ribs, leaning down to grab my gun. The demon was already on it’s feet, thick, black blood oozing across my distorted features. “Yes...yes...fight. Struggle. Feed me.”

“Nah.” I said, wiping my bloody, broken nose on my sleeve. “It’s garbage day, bitch.” I pointed Peace dead at the demon’s head and fired. My ears rung with Peace’s gunfire scream. The demon’s head was decimated and it’s true form started oozing out. A thick, gray mist that hung in the air and screamed. I couldn’t very well shoot that.

A demon can’t be killed. Some make physical forms for themselves, examples being incubi or succubi. Some take on forms of those they find aesthetically pleasing. Some take on the forms of their victims...but when the body dies, their true self escapes. The dingier looking the cloud, the more evil the demon.

And this bitch looked like pollution.

I made for the stairs, determined not to let the demon try and slide it’s way into me. Possession is tricky enough to deal with, I didn’t want to cause another PE more trouble than they already had.

The second I topped the stairs I realized I’d made a mistake. Someone was already waiting.

And she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was olive in coloring and flawless. Her hair hung about her like a veil made of pure shadow. Her eyes glowed an unearthly green, devoid of pupil. I barely even noticed that she was wearing a billowing robe that seemed to want to suck me in.

“Run.” I panted, trying to push past her to no avail. “Demon. Very angry demon.”

She smiled, softly and nodded “I know. Please, stand aside, VT.”

VT? She knew my name?

She brushed by me, leaving my skin like ice. I couldn’t move, speak or think. I don’t know how long I was standing there, staring into space. A horrifying screech pulled me from my hypnotic trance and sent me barreling down the stairs. The demon was trying to cling to the pipes that ran along the ceiling of the basement.

The woman was inhaling it. “Stop!” I shouted, grabbing her shoulder “It’s going to kill you!” she paid no attention, continuing her upsettingly long inhale. “Stop!” I shook her, but too late. The last of the demon had just vanished past her full, stupidly kissable lips.

Fuck.

She coughed, swallowed and smacked her lips. “Unpleasant.” she said, rubbing her throat. “But slightly tangy.” she smiled and looked to me. “You’re covered in blood, will you be alright?”

I wiped the blood from my face and nodded. “Yeah, nothing serious. What...are you?”

The woman laughed and I felt my stomach drop. “Oh, silly, little girl...you know already, don’t you?”

That’s the first time in my life that being called a silly, little girl was a turn on. “No.” I whispered, softly. “I have no fucking idea.”

She laughed again and approached the bundle. One by one she pulled the daggers free. I take no shame in saying that I looked away. I just wanted to go home, at this point. When I was finally able to look back at the woman she held a baby in her arms. No. Not a baby. The Baby.

The bundle was still slack and bloody on the alter, but Baby was sleeping peacefully in this woman’s arms. Either I’d gone crazy or -- “Its her soul.” the woman said, conversationally. “It had been locked up in here as bait for the demon.” she caressed the infant’s cheek with a finger.

“No!” Husband’s voice sounded off like a gunshot. “No, you can’t do this to us! We command you.”

The room was packed. The robed figures were all standing atop their corpses, slowly approaching the woman still toying with the sleeping infant. Wife spoke next “She was our ticket to immortality! To godhood! You can’t stop us! We own you, now!” they weren’t paying any attention to me...and the woman wasn’t paying any attention to them.

A voice I didn’t recognize rang out “Kneel before your masters!”

That brought the woman from her trance. She didn’t look angry, only mildly annoyed. “Kneel? Own? Command?” she asked, frowning. “No one commands me, fools. I cannot be contained. I am not some dog on a leash.” she snapped her fingers and the spirits all dissipated with a clarion scream. “This is tiring.” she said, shaking her head. “It’s my granddaughters’ birthday party today, can I not get one hour’s peace?”

“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step forward. “What are you?”

The annoyance fled her face and she smiled, sweetly. “I said you already know.”

The entire world dropped from beneath my feet. Primal fear exploded through my being as every atom of my being screamed at me to run. Run and never look back. “Death.”, I whispered, causing the woman to laugh. “Elinor’s Death.”

“I am everyone’s Death, child...but you may call me Isali.” she smiled. It was a smile only a mother could possess. “My...husband gave me that name. Isn’t it so strange. You exist for so very long by one name...and someone gives you another. One that you love with all of your being.” her eyes met mine “You know that well, don’t you...VT?”

VT. Ramona had given me that name and I’d latched onto it with all my might. “Yes.” I whispered, nodding slowly. “I do.”

“Do tell dearest Elinor I send my regards.” she said, enveloping Baby in her robes. “Oh, the corpses here have your payment for this job. You may empty their pockets, if you wish. I believe it shall more than cover your expenses.”

“Isn’t that...disrespectful?” I asked, feeling squeamish at the thought of looting corpses.

“Are you implying they are deserving of respect?” Isali asked, an elegant eyebrow raising. That was a fair point. I immediately started to rifle though the corpse’s belongings. She watched me, carefully as I did. “I must go. My granddaughters will be ever so upset if Grammy isn’t in attendance. VT, we will meet again.”

“Wait.” I said, pushing to my feet, still waring with that primal desire to bolt. “Elinor...Elinor said you have a son? How?”

She laughed, brightly and shook her head. “Love, child. Love.” she looked thoughtful for a moment then turned her back to me. “Come with me.” she took a step forward...and I followed.

The world went topsy-turvy, and my brain felt like a block of ice in my skull. When my feet stopped moving I was at Ramona’s bedside. Alone. I didn’t know how much time had passed, or if any had passed...but Death -- Isali, she knew what I wanted more than anything in the world at that moment. And gave it to me.

I pulled back the sheets to Ramona’s bed and crawled in next to her, snuggling up to her back and trembling. Even in her sleep, Ramona’s a caregiver. She rolled and threw an arm over me, squeezing me close. Come morning, she raised hell for my staining her sheets with my blood. Isali was never mentioned.

Case closed

#tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: infant death #tw: guns #tw: gun violence #VTverse #OC #writing #horror

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riseandshinelittleblossom · 5 years

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Unfinished Business (1/6?)

A/N: So a while back I posted a six sentence Sunday for this. Sorry its taken so long to pull it together, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. As always if you’d like to be added or removed from the tags let me know.

Summary: Today is the day that Renee will become the Queen of Cordonia, but oh how her mind still wanders...

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, we’re just having a good time. Also this series will contain smatters of Canon dialogue that I also do not own

Masterlist

Tags: @ritachacha @fullbeaumonty @leelee10898 @tornbetween2loves @zaffrenotes @hopefulmoonobject @ownworldresident @alj4890 @writerxdreamer @stiles-o-dylan24 @lettersofwrittencollective

Renee was already staring blankly out of the window when her alarm sounded. She knew that Maxwell would want to wake her up as usual, but this morning-the morning of her wedding to King Liam- she felt that she needed a few moments alone to gather up her thoughts.

She rolled to her back, the royal linen plush beneath her bare shoulders. They were some of the most comfortable sheets she'd ever slept in, nothing at all like the cheap polyester ones on her own bed back in New York.

'I wonder what the thread count is,' she thought rubbing a pinch of the material between her fingers.

She groaned aloud, hating her brain for trying to distract itself from the fact that she was getting married today, and not to the love of her life.

It wasn't that Renee didn't love Liam, because she definitely did. He was kind and gentle and quite possibly the best man she had ever met. He adored her and wanted nothing but for her to be happy.

And Cordonia needed this wedding. It was bigger than her feelings for Liam; bigger than her feelings for him. All three of them knew it, just as all three of them were well aware that that had been the only reason Renee had accepted the King's proposal. Hers was to be a political marriage, one that would heal a nation. Renee just hoped that one day she could love Liam- really love him - the way he deserved to be.

She checked her phone again noting that she didn't have much time left before Maxwell would come to wake her. She turned,peering out the window once more, her mind traveling back to when it all began.

************

Renee stared at the ceiling of her bedroom inside the Beaumont Estate, her mind still reeling from the events of the night.

Someone had wanted Liam to choose Countess Madeleine tonight and they had been willing to devastate her reputation over it.

Duchess Olivia had left in haste, withdrawing from the social season. Had she received an ominous letter tonight as well?

She sat up, twisting her body to fluff her goose down pillow for the millionth time. Deciding the effort was fruitless she flung back the heavy quilt and stepped into the slippers that laid next to the bed. They were at least two sizes too big-a pair of Maxwell's that he had graciously lent her shortly after her arrival in Cordonia. She wiggled her toes within them for a moment before throwing her long, tan cardigan over her and striding out of the room.

The halls of Beaumont Manor were wide and darkened, although in the light of day they boasted many fine works of art. Most of them were commissioned portraits of Beaumonts long since passed, but there were many landscapes as well. Renee's favorite however, hung at the back of this very hallway- a ballerina in a royal blue tutu. It was in a gilded frame, one that by itself would have fetched the brothers Beaumont a pretty penny, but Maxwell had told her that painting had been his mother's favorite as well and neither he nor Bertrand would ever dream of touching it.

She cast her gaze longingly toward the piece only for a moment before turning in the other direction and padding down the hallway.

She entered a great room on her way to the kitchen, the ornate French doors which headed out onto the open air patio hung ajar and a warm breeze entered the room through them. Renee tugged her cardigan closer, partially because the wind chilled her slightly but mostly she was afraid.

She paused a moment, assessing her surroundings, taking note of the heavy candle stick which sat not far from her ready to be used as a weapon if the occasion suddenly called for it.

Renee stilled herself, her ears perking up. She could hear the sound of someone dropping ice cubes into a glass on the patio, and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no intruder, one of her favorite brothers was helping himself to the dry bar.

She made her way towards the doors. Peeking around the edge she saw Bertrand on one of the outdoor couches, tumbler of amber liquid in hand. He didn't notice her so she didn't announce herself, opting instead to simply observe the older Beaumont for awhile.

Bertrand Beaumont was certainly handsome, Renee would give him that, though his arrogance and patronizing demeanor were somewhat off-putting.

She watched as he stared out into the modest vineyards behind the estate his hand absentmindedly swirling his tumbler, gold, wire framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. Renee took note of the letter she had received earlier, now sealed inside a large Ziploc bag, on the table before him.

He sipped his liquor slowly, seeming to savor the burn as he swallowed. The moon was high in the sky- not yet full, but in two days time it would be- and it cast it's eerie glow over the man with an almost ethereal brilliance.

Renee sighed as she leaned into the doorway, very much enjoying this side of her sponsor. She smiled noticing that he wasn't wearing his usual sweater vest and blazer, but instead a plaid pair of flannel pajamas and a deep blue, silk robe.

“So he does take the vest off some of the time. Drake owes me 20 euros.” She smirked to herself.

Bertrand leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, both hands grasping his glass between them. He looked tired and she wondered why he hadn't gone to bed yet.

“Care to join me, Lady Renee?”

She stumbled back at the sound of his voice, surprised he knew she was there. Silently she stepped onto the patio, tugging her cardigan ever closer.

Renee settled into a spot on the adjoining love seat as Bertrand rose from his perch and shuffled to the bar.

“Pick your poison, milady. We are still pretty well stocked from hosting the court.”

“Whatever you're having is fine.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Gran Patron it is, then.” he declared. “On the rocks?”

“No thank you, Your Grace.”

Bertrand paused, his blue eyes meeting hers briefly, an uncharacteristic grin tugging at his lips. He poured her glass and sauntered back to his seat before passing it to her.

They sipped their tequila in contented silence for quite awhile, Bertrand rising to refill his before Renee finally spoke up,

“Can I ask you something? And I expect an honest answer.”

Bertrand flourished a hand between them.

“Feel free to ask anything you'd like, Lady Renee. You will likely never find me in a more candid mood.” He chuckled.

“Why did you come get me? From the airport, I mean.”

He sipped his glass and pulled it from his mouth, sucking his teeth as if it had quenched his thirst and a soft “aahh” sound escaped him. He didn't look at her, training his eyes instead on his bare toes wiggling them freely as he considered his answer.

Renee, however couldn't have pulled her gaze from the Duke if she had tried. Suddenly feeling exposed in the silence, she kicked off her oversized slippers and brought her legs up tucking them under her in an attempt to shrink. Bertrand seemed to have that effect on her. With his no-nonsense attitude and authoritative tone, he commanded the attention and respect of those around him. Where Renee was normally strong-willed and brazen, she always felt more subdued in his presence.

“Renee, I meant it when I said that I consider you to be a member of this house, and as long as I am it's head no one will ever get away with scandalizing one of its members. That being said, I have found myself taking a liking to you, aside from our arrangement and what can be gained should the King choose you for his bride. It has been...nice to feel a woman's presence at Ramsford again. To have a feminine perspective on House Beaumont.”

Renee smirked. “You mean we're friends,B.”

Bertrand sighed, but smiled in response raising his glass to her. “And I count myself lucky because of it. You are…. remarkable, milady. But if you ever tell a soul, I will deny those words til the end.”

She let out a loud guffaw, dramatically knocking back the end of her drink and when she corrected her head she found her sponsor directly in front of her. His fingers grazed hers as he collected her glass, turning to refill it.

“Well that was... prompt.”

“Let it never be said that I am not a gracious host.”

“And so modest! I don't know how you manage, Your Grace.”

Bertrand returned handing her a filled glass, but this time he sat down beside her on the love seat, his knees falling open and, had her legs been outstretched, they would've knocked into her.

They fell into a companionable silence, the Duke taking in the moonlit grounds, the lady taking in the Duke. He was in a rare form this evening and she was sure she didn't want to miss a second of it.

After a while an audible breath escaped the man's nose-not quite a snort, but close.

“Tell me, Renee, what was your life like before all of this?” He gestured widely before continuing, “ I know you were a waitress, but often one's occupation is merely a sliver of who they are.”

“Well I wasn't just a waitress. I also sang the blues.”

Bertrand frowned, his neck craning to look at her. “Surely your life wasn't that dismal.”

“No, B!” She chuckled, “I literally sang the blues. I was a lounge singer in a jazz bar. I was also an aspiring songwriter, though I guess that part is still true.”

The Duke nodded knowingly. “A woman of the arts, then? My mother was as well.”

“Maxwell said as much.”

“I would very much enjoy it if I could hear you sing one day.

Renee blinked at him, her lips parting to speak but nothing came out, so she closed them instead offering a nod in response.

“One more question for you, milady, then I will head to bed. Did you mean what you said at the airport tonight? Have you fallen in love with someone that isn't our King?”

Again she opened and closed her mouth unsure of what to say. She dropped her head and peered into her glass.

“Yes.”

Her voice was so soft that Bertrand wasn't sure she'd spoken at all.

“Hmmm, I see. Then why, may I ask, did you decide to stay?”

“For you, Bertrand. And Maxwell, of course.”

*********

A light rap at the door returned Renee to the present. She wiped her eyes, not even realizing that tears had begun to form at their edges.

She twisted the knob, inhaling deeply and exhaling loudly before she opened it. She expected to see Maxwell, but what she found instead was her entire wedding party.

"Rise and shine, little blossom!" Maxwell called.

"Ah! What are you all doing here?" Renee questioned, eyes going wide.

"Celebrating the big day, of course. We're not going to let a little drama stop us from memorializing Wedding Day 2k18!" Maxwell grinned throwing his arm around her shoulders.

Her friends explained how they wanted to spirit her away for the morning for some pre wedding pampering and seeing the excitement on everyone's faces there was no way she could say no even if all she wanted to do was put on her dress and get on with it.

Renee's eyes met Liam's as everyone shuffled towards the door to let her get dressed. She could see his wheels turning, the concern that seemed ever present when he looked at her swirling in his dark eyes.

"If fine, Liam," she tried to reassure, quickly kissing his cheek. "I'll meet you all at breakfast."

#choices #choices fanfiction #play choices #the royal romance #the royal romance au #the royal romance fanfic #choices the royal romance #trr fan fic #trr mc #trr king liam #trr bertrand beaumont #liam x mc #bertrand x mc #unfinished business #riseandshinelittleblossom fic

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 5 years

Text

His Smile Will Keep You Safe - Chapter One

Warnings: slight injury, f-bomb

Word Count: 3 593

Huffing in annoyance, you brushed a strand out of your face, leaning against the harsh wind that blew heavy drops of rain across the city. It had been blazing hot for the past few weeks, and most parks resembled deserts rather than the green oasis they were supposed to be. And of course you were happy for the change in weather, but why did this have to be on your way to the office? Now you would have to wear wet trousers for the rest of the day. Great.

An extra strong gust of wind blew the hood of your rain jacket off, making you curse under your breath. Reaching for it, to pull it back up, you brushed the newly cut, short hair at the side of your head. It had been a brave choice, to have one side of your otherwise long hair shaved off, but the new look made you feel so much more like yourself, and you did not regret this decision in the least.

Just when you had pulled the hood up again, and tied a knot into the strings that made sure it would stay in place, something hit you hard in the shoulder. Before you even managed to realise what exactly had happened, the impact send you to the floor, and you painfully landed on your hands and hip. Pain shot through the parts of your body that had collided with the floor and the man who had run into you just stormed past you, as if nothing had happened.

Embarrassment mixed with the unpleasant surprise and the stinging of the pain, causing tears to shoot into your eyes.

Hoping that nobody had seen you fall, you quickly tried to get up.

But before you had made it back to your feet, someone gripped you by the arm, and pulled you up, as if you weighted less than a feather.

Great, so much to nobody noticing, you thought, feeling the embarrassment increasing.

Looking up into the face of the person, you found a young man looking at you with an expression of great worry. A strand of blue hair stuck out from underneath the hood of his raincoat. It seemed you were not the only one who had decided to make some brave choices concerning your hairstyle.

“Are you alright,” he asked in concern, his hand still resting on your upper arm, as if to make sure he could catch you, should you tumble.

“I-” trying to form a coherent thought, you looked down on your body.

The trousers were stained not only with rainwater but also with the dirt of the sidewalk. Furrowing your brows in annoyance, you focused on your hands. Your palms felt like they were burning up, and on your weak hand you had even scratched off a little bit of skin.

“I think I’m fine,” you finally managed to stutter out.

“Yeah?” The young man still gave you a concerned look.

“Just a scratch,” you replied and showed him your palm.

Letting go of your arm, he carefully took your hands in his to take a closer look.

“May I?”

He gave you a questioning look, and you nodded, as if the deep brown eyes that stared at you, had hypnotized you.

Quickly he pulled out a fresh handkerchief, and brushed away the little stones that had pressed into the soft skin of your hand. You flinched at the stinging the careful action caused, but he only gave you a quick, tight lipped smile before he continued cleaning your hand in the still pouring rain.

While he was busy, you had a moment to take a closer look at him. The single strand of blue hair that dangled from underneath a black raincoat hood was drenched, and drops of water dripped off the end of it.

The sudden stinging in your hand, as he pressed the by now soaked handkerchief against the scratch, brought you back into reality.

“That’s all I can do for now,” he apologized, but you shook your head.

“You did more than enough, thank you. Wasn’t you who ran into me after all.”

The guy shrugged and glared into the direction into which the other man had stormed off.

“Unbelievable,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Anyway… Thank you, but I really gotta get to work”, you apologized, hoping not to seem unthankful, but really, you had a team meeting, and you did not want to be the last one at the table.

“Oh shit, the time-”

The man suddenly seemed to remember something because he simply turned around, and started speed walking off.

Confused you watched him basically run down the street, wind and rain in his back. Just when you did not expect him to say good bye in any way, he shortly stopped, turned around, and lifted his hand as a greeting before he continued running off.

~*~

The office in which you spent your time between commissions was small. Every time you walked through the entrance into the part of the property where customers were welcomed, you could not help but feel embarrassed by the gigantic print of a picture you had taken several months ago while attending a concert, which you were documenting. Your boss had been so impressed by this particular shot, that he had made it the new decoration for the entrance.

This particular picture was one from the back of the venue, over the heads of fans, smoke allowing the laser-light-show to paint intricate patterns into the air, while at the side there was the guitarist of a band whose name you had already forgotten, playing his instrument dramatically.

As photographer, you had managed to gain one of the very few jobs in the cities most requested photography company. Every one of the seven photographers, who were employed here, was specialized in certain settings. One of the co-workers you were closest with was focused on architectural photography, then there were two women, who you admittedly did not get along with very well, who mostly did photos of weddings, their preparations and the after-parties. Others were mostly working in press conferences, galas and other official settings.

And then there were you.

Since you had first started reading up on bands you had been intrigued by the difficulty of taking good pictures in this difficult environment; quick movements, little general light, flickering spotlights. So it had been the greatest moment in your life to find out that you had gotten the job at the company.

Leaving the customer area, and taking your jacket off, you stepped through a door into the office that you shared with your co-workers. Kayly, one of the wedding photographers was already sitting at her desk. Her long, red painted fingernails clicked against the screen of her phone aggressively. When she noticed you entering, she looked up.

“Oh my god, (y/n), what happened to you,” she asked in shock, swivelling the chair to have a better look at you.

“Someone ran into me, and I fell,” you answered, shooting your dirty trouser another glance before you reached for the small band aids that were stored in one of the drawers of your desk.

“Not your clothes, your hair!”

You could not help the smile that tucked at your lips, as you reached for the short hair at the side of your head, and ran your fingers through it.

“Cool, right,” you asked, knowing fully well, that Kayly would not approve.

“It’s absolutely terrible,” she screeched.

“I like it,” you shrugged, unimpressed by her comment.

She loved trashing you, just because you were not someone who liked walking around in red or white lace dresses, wearing high heels and inches long fingernails that, with their red polish, resembled rather claws of a predator than human fingernails.

“It’s super punky,” the warm voice of Colin, the architectural photographer, interrupted the protest that was undoubtedly going to erupt.

“I know, isn’t it?”

You grinned at him and sat down, finally being able to take a closer look at the scratch.

The skin had been torn of in a few places, but nothing seemed to have been bleeding. Also the blue haired stranger had done a surprisingly good job at cleaning your hand. There were no traces left of the sand and stone chippings, which had been stuck to your hand.

“What happened,” Colin asked, as he dropped into his seat.

“Someone bumped into me and I fell,” you repeated slowly while concentrating on putting the band aid on.

“Prick,” Colin commented, making you chuckle.

In exactly that moment the door to your boss’s office opened, and he stepped out, a soft smile on his face as he hurriedly walked over to your desk.

“What are your plans for the next two months,” he asked, placing his hands on the surface of your desk, looking down on you seriously.

“Uhm-,” you shot Colin a confused glance and shrugged. “Work, I guess? Why?”

“Because you’re going on tour. If you like, that is.”

You furrowed your brows, not understanding what he was talking about.

“What- what kind of tour?”

“I got a call from a band manager yesterday night. They desperately need someone to come on tour with their band for the next months, taking pictures of the shows, like on the road, and all that. They saw your pictures of concerts, and specifically requested you. What do you say?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest. Never in a million years would you have expected to get the offer to go on tour with a band. This was better than the best dream ever.

“When?”

The impatience and excitement in your voice made your boss chuckle happily.

“Tour kicks off tomorrow, last meeting for the crew is in… about an hour. Here is the address,” he handed you a piece of paper with an address messily scribbled down on it.

“That’s the other end of town,” you exclaimed shocked, already jumping up, and reaching for your dripping wet jacket.

“Then you better get going!”

Your boss grinned and handed you the big bag in which you stored your camera, the batteries, and the charger.

Not sure how to thank him, you just stared at him for a moment before he reached for the door, and opened it for you.

“Go on,” he encouraged, which earned him the brightest grin he had ever seen on your face, before you dashed out, past a middle aged couple who had just walked into the customer area.

Outside the rain had luckily stopped being as heavy as before, but you still managed to be seriously drenched once again by the time until you reached the bus station. With shaking fingers you traced the lines of busses you had to take until you would be close to the address that you had been given, and just in time you found the right connections. The bus stopped in front of you with squeaking wheels, and you quickly climbed on board, being careful not to slip on the puddles of water other passengers had carried into the bus.

Since the morning rush hour was already over, you found a place by the window where you sat down, brushing the hood of your jacket off. While your eyes followed passing cars through the rain wet and fogged up windows, your mind was doing cartwheels.

Would you really go on tour with a band? Your boss had said it would take a few months, so was it a tour through all of America? You had never been outside of Utah, your home state before, so that would be a great adventure. And what if all of this was a misunderstanding? What if they had accidently called the wrong company? Or maybe the other crew members and the band would be total assholes? Maybe they did not think a woman could be a good photographer, or maybe they were all super racist, or homophobes? No way would you get along with them if that were the case.

You had gotten so lost in your thoughts that you almost missed your stop, and just in the last second you managed to slip through the already closing doors of the bus. The air outside was not as stuffy as inside the bus, and here the rain had completely stopped by now. You took a quick look around to orientate yourself before you headed down the rain wet street into the direction of the street you had the address to.

While you had been quick at finding the street itself, it took you a fair while to finally find the right house. Many house numbers were covered or not even put up due to shops being placed in the ground floors, and in the beginning you had been walking into the wrong direction for several hundred meters. But now you were finally standing in front of a simple, dark brown door that had a small sign at the side, with the name of a record label.

Taking a deep breath, you felt your nerves starting to kick in. Your hands were shaking terribly, and your knees felt like jelly. Before you had the time to freak yourself out even more, you decided to quickly press the button for the doorbell next to the sign.

You had expected the door to be opened by buzzer, but instead you heard heavy steps approach from the other side, and moments later it was opened, revealing a middle-aged man, who was slightly taller than you. He had somewhat of a pot belly over which a worn out Metallica shirt hung down, and his brown hair was pulled back into what you assumed to be a ponytail. On his nose rested a pair of fragile glasses, which did not really match his otherwise rather rough looks.

He quickly scanned your face, then noticed the bag with the camera hanging at your side, and a smile spread over his bearded face.

“You must be the photographer,” he recognized correctly, “I’m so glad you agreed on this; we really wouldn’t have known what to do. I’m Lucas, the tour manager, why don’t you come in?”

He stepped aside, making space for you to enter the building. The floor was tiled, and the air smelled a little bit of plastic.

“I’m (y/n), nice to meet you,” your voice was slightly shaky, but you managed to give a proper handshake.

How important a good handshake was, had been taught to you by your father. Not too weak, or the other party will think they can do whatever they want, not to strong, or they think you’re a brute. Find the middle, establish that you know what you want and how to get it, but not without ignoring the other party’s goals.

Lucas shook your hand and sent you a kind smile, before he close the door, and turned around to lead you down the hallway. With slight amusement you noticed that your previous assumption, his hair was tied into a ponytail, had been wrong. He was wearing two tiny buns.

You followed the man up a staircase, and into the next floor, where he continued walking down another hallway until he opened a door, and held it open for you.

The room had white walls, which would have seemed boring, had it not been for the band tour posters that were hanging on them. The windows were looking out into the street from which you had entered the building; a single dragon plant was standing in the corner of the room. Other than that the room was barely furnished. The centre of the room was filled with a huge table, with several black chairs at the sides, and at one of the short ends of the table, a whiteboard was placed. The top page just had a bunch of doodles on it.

Having analysed all this, you finally turned your attention towards the five people who were sitting around the table, and had turned towards the door when Lucas had opened it. The guy on the very left had short-shaved, brown hair, a beard and was wearing black rimmed glasses. In front of him rested a cap on the table.

Opposite him sat a guy in a tank top, showing off his tattooed arms. He was wearing a baseball cap backwards, which irritated you for a moment, but then he shot you a dorky smile.

Next to him sat a young man with dread locks that were bound into a sort of tail by a colourful scarf, contrasting beautifully against his raven black hair. His black eyes glimmered with a hint of joyful mischief when he saw you step into the room.

The next person was a young woman, the only other female in the room apart from you. She had honey coloured, long, wavy hair that fell over her shoulders, and big brown eyes. For a second she reminded you of a friend you had had during high school, but the impression was fleeting. She smiled softly at you, and gave a little wave, which you returned hesitantly.

The last guy was had short black hair, and wore a blue shirt. He seemed so unnoticeable that it was almost suspicious. His face was a little roundish, as if he still had puppy fat, but was rather lanky otherwise.

“Please, take a seat,” Lucas pointed to the empty chair next to the young woman, and you quickly walked around the table and sat down, an embarrassed smile on your face, knowing that everybody was watching you.

Lucas closed the door, and pulled a chair out for himself, sitting down unceremoniously.

“So everybody, may I introduce to you our tour photographer: this is (y/n).”

You smiled again, trying not to get into eye contact with anyone. You had always been on the shyer side, and this was showing once again.

“Why don’t we all introduce ourselves, then we can get started,” Lucas suggested, and when everyone nodded, he continued, “So, you already know who I am. I’m Lucas, I’m the tour manager. My job is to make sure the bands get where they need to be in time, and that everything is going smoothly.”

You nodded, and your eyes automatically moved on to the man in the blue shirt.

“I’m Charlie,” he introduced, “I play the bass for ‘Three Beats’.”

“It’s you guys’ tour then,” you asked curiously, but Charlie shook his head.

“Nah, we’re just the opening band. ‘iDKHOW’ is the main band, but they’re still in the studio or something.”

Lucas nodded.

“Dallon randomly decided he needed to do some last minute recording, that’s why they’re not here.”

“Where’s light guy, by the way,” the young man with glasses and bear asked.

“You know how he is, never on time,” Lucas shrugged. “Come on, Jay, you’re next.”

The man with the dread locks nodded, and started talking.

“I’m Jay, I sing and play guitar for ‘Three Beats’, yeah…”

“And I’m Luis, I play the drums,” added the man with the tattoos on his arms.

“Hey, I’m Bill, I’m the roadie. I basically make sure all the tech on the stage is working and stuff,” explained the man with the glasses, who had asked after the light guy, as he had called him earlier.

“That leaves me,” started the woman by your side. “I’m Lisa, I’m doing the merch on this tour; nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you mumbled your response.

Lucas seemed glad that the introduction was finally over, because he immediately dove into the details of the tour. He explained which cities you would visit, how many days you would spend everywhere, and handed out lists with all the dates.

You felt like you had fallen into a dream, as your eyes scanned over the paper in front of you. There were so many cities you would visit, so many states. And everything started tomorrow. You could hardly believe it. But here you were, holding all the information about where you would be, at what time, what the weather would probably be like, which hotels you would stay at, and all the other things that proved that this tour was planned thoroughly.

“Now let’s go home, and get packing everyone, but remember, only one suitcase per person, our space is fucking limited!”

Everyone agreed again with a mumble, and got up.

“So, what do you think,” Lisa asked curiously, pulling over a green rain jacket.

“I’m just super excited, I’ve never been on tour before,” you smiled shyly.

“Oh you’ll love it, I promise,” she grinned.

“I hope so, I’m totally freaking out on the inside!”

You both chuckled at your comment, and together you left the room, walking downstairs.

“So I guess we’ll see each other tomorrow,” you asked, refereeing to when everyone would meet here to load the bus.

“Yes, I can’t wait for it,” Lisa grinned.

The band members walked past you in the small corridor, and just before they had reached the door, it opened, and someone stepped inside.

“Light guy, the meeting’s over mate,” Jay announced, causing the newly arrived to huff in annoyance.

“How many more times, my name is Lars, just use it, okay?”

It was not the sound of the name that made you freeze in your tracks, but the voice. And sure enough, mere split seconds after, Charlie had stepped to the side, and you looked at a pair of eyes you had hoped to never see again.

Chapter Two

#ryan seaman x reader #ryan seaman x reader fluff #ryan seaman fluff #ryan seaman #ryan seaman imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #idkhow #I don't know how but they found me #his smile will keep you safe #chapter one #multi chapter

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thedreadgay · 5 years

Text

a promise sealed with a kiss

word count: 2473 author’s notes: mhawke/varric commission for my buddy @punkdeaf !!! i had a lot of fun with this one, pls enjoy some gay losers reuniting after inquisition

—

The sky was dark with smoke and night around Adamant. The aftermath of battle began to seep into survivors' bones, the crash after the sweat and adrenaline of survival. Varric could feel it, heavier than stone.

He figured Hawke felt it, too. They sat side by side on a fallen block, tucked in a lonely corner of the now crumbling fortress. Armor clanked as Inquisition soldiers passed to and fro, just beyond the jut of the half-broken wall. Their voices washed over Varric: someone calling for the nearest healer, cries of victory, breathless exclamations and barking orders. Words, words, words, the words of a successful siege, the victorious in the face of an army of demons—all the stories of all those people, wrapped into one like threads of a rope. All those damn words. And yet, for once, Varric had none. He and Hawke sat in unusual silence.

“You’re really going then, huh?” Was the best Varric could manage. His voice was scratchy from desert air turned acrid with death and wicked magic. He watched a tower of pyre smoke roll high, high into the sky, sparks reaching up, as though freeing the fallen to become burning stars.

Hawke didn’t respond right away. Varric tore his gaze away from the massive pyre to Hawke. His broad shoulders were hunched, his robes covered in soot. The dark circles under his eyes persisted, as they had for years now. “You know me,” Hawke muttered then, scratching his beard; “Trouble finds me no matter what. May as well try to stay a step ahead and dive right into it.”

Varric gave a half-hearted chuckle. Hawke tried for a weak smile. Both looked about ready to fall apart.

Their gazes simply held, then. Words hung on the tip of Varric's tongue that felt too terrifying to breathe into fruition. He inched his hand closer to Hawke's; the other took it, entwined their fingers. It was the closest inkling of home Varric had felt in a while.

What could he say? All those words were so much that he couldn’t pick them out, like grains of sand sifting through his fingers.

“Just, uh,” he tried quietly, then sighed. “Just… come back. Okay?”

Hawke pursed his lips for a moment. “And what about you?”

Varric remembered their hushed conversation in front of the war room, just before marching from Skyhold to battle. He remembered leaning heavily against the wall, like without some tether he would be swept away in the chaos. “I think… I need to finish this out,” he had rasped.

Hawke had been a mirror before him then, and he was again now. A world of guilt carved lines around his eyes; Varric couldn’t know for sure—didn’t want to know for sure—but he could have sworn some whisper of the Fade still clung to Hawke, a smell like lightning in his clothes; and he could see, in the hunch of Hawke's back, where the demon's echo still slithered down his spine.

“Varric will die, just like your family.”

Not on my watch, Smiley, Varric thought.

“I’ll come back, too.”

Hawke released a sigh, deflating like the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He squeezed Varric's hand, and for just a moment, his eyes sparkled in that way that made Varric's heart skip. “Call it a date, then?”

It drew a laugh from Varric, a real laugh, that felt better than any sugar on his tongue. “It’s a date.”

Hawke's goofy smile was like a ray of damn sunlight in the gloom. He leaned in, and Varric followed. Their kiss tasted like smoke, love, and dare Varric think it—hope. A fine way to seal a promise.

—

Varric came back from the ruins of a prophet's temple, where he saw an ancient evil crumble to ash.

Varric came back from some of his least favourite places: the Deep Roads, yawning caverns with out-of-place carvings, now swallowed beneath water and lyrium. Places hidden behind mirrors, tucked in between the physical and the dreams that were foreign to him. The Winter Palace, a snake pit built upon greed and painted over with gold.

Varric returned home. But Kirkwall was emptier without Hawke.

He rebuilt, and watched, and waited. He trembled where he held their promise, close to his heart, so pure and lethal. Varric wasn't the kind of guy who did promises. Hawke wasn’t either, he knew.

Always an exception, huh? He thought, lying alone and unsleeping in bed. It became a habit of his.

Varric knew what hope and promises did. The risk of a broken heart was a terrifying thing to hold on your own.

Yet, he held.

—

There was a rapid little knock on the doorway of his suite. “Serah Viscount?” A voice squeaked. “I have your mail for you here.”

Varric sighed. Even in the Hanged Man, with the drunken clamour drifting up the stairs to him, he couldn’t escape. Bran must have told the carriers to deliver to him directly now.

“Alright, come on in,” he relented. “You can leave it on the table.”

Varric set aside his writing, not for any intent to actually read his letters, but so none could glimpse a work in progress. A scruffy young mail boy tip-toed in cautiously, setting the stack on the table as though it may bite him.

Varric did a double take as he did. Sitting precariously atop the pile, stark against the crisply folded papers, was a small roll of parchment, tied with red string.

He must have been staring at the scroll, because the carrier stuttered nervously, “S-Serah?”

Poor kid. Probably wasn’t paid nearly enough to see the Viscount have a damn heart attack.

Varric smiled reassuringly, and stood. “How much you being paid to deliver my mail, kid?”

The boy shifted on feet that looked too big for him. “Uh. Five sovereigns, Serah Viscount.”

Not nearly enough. Varric dug into his pocket, and tossed him a pouch; the boy fumbled, but caught it. “Here’s another fifteen. No matter what the Seneschal says, don’t deliver directly to me, unless—” Varric held up the roll of parchment— “I get another letter like this. Sound good?”

“Very good, Serah!” The boy was just about to run out in his glee, but hastily bowed first. “Fine day to you!”

Varric watched him scramble out with the pouch clutched tight to his chest. With no one to see him, Varric held the letter much the same.

The rest of the pile lay forgotten on the corner of the table as Varric retreated to the bed. He was of two minds: to simply hold the precious paper, untie the little red string with care, and carefully pour over the words; or unfurl and take them in voraciously, like a man starved.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and his hands were so torn in what to do that they froze. Varric stared at the letter, his heart pounding.

With shaky fingers, he slid the tie off the scroll, and gently rolled it open.

I'm okay, were the first words. He sighed like he hadn’t relaxed in years, and he traced the letters with his fingertips, as though reaching for Hawke's.

Varric felt full of mush as he read Hawke's quick account of Weisshaupt. Love, fear, and relief pushed and pulled at his insides until they ground him into pulp. The words carried him through his turmoil like a light in the dark. And isn’t that what Hawke always did? Varric chuckled to himself at the thought, fond and soft.

Don’t think I've forgotten our date. My memory may be shite, but never when it comes to you, love.

Varric guffawed, a full and happy sound that melded with the din outside his door. He fell back on the bed, staring up at the words and the sigil of a hawk signed beneath them. He laughed until those beautiful words and familiar sign became blurry through tears.

Giggling like a lovesick fool wasn’t on his list of things to do today, but he was always flexible.

—

“Well, finally he sends word,” Aveline huffed. Though she looked stern with her arms crossed, Varric knew from just the way she leaned on her desk that she was relieved; relaxed, even. The Guard-Captain still needed a hobby. “How Hawke manages to stay alive like this, I'll never know.”

Varric shrugged with a grin. “It’s part of his charm.”

Aveline rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now, too. “You’re downright chipper.”

“You think?” Varric scratched his stubble, and his grin turned wry. “I’m only acting as sappy as you did when you got married.”

She lightly smacked his arm, which wasn’t light at all considering she was built like brick, but Varric snickered nonetheless.

Despite his elation, Varric remained apprehensive as he left the Viscount's Keep, and looked into the cloudy sky. There was still a storm brewing, and he would have Hawke by his side when it hit.

Come home soon.

—

Some days, it hurt to walk past the ancestral seat of House Amell. Others, it brought Varric a fond sense of joy.

It had been ransacked more than once when it sat empty after the rebellion. If not for goods, then information; Cassandra and her Seekers had been among them. He tried not to think of being hauled and thrown into the place, once so full of life, turned harsh and cold. That house was a home, he reminded himself. Hawke's home—and Hawke's home was a home to them all.

That was the joy to it, the feeling he tried to call forth when he did his part to take care of the estate. It lingered beside the hearths, in the books he had carefully sorted back on the shelves, on the stairs where Isabela carved dirty things. It seemed to nurture the people who came in and out, those down on their luck who needed somewhere to stay. I'm sure the Champion wouldn’t mind, Varric would always say.

The Hawke Estate shouldn’t be a lonely place.

It didn’t have any occupants at the moment. The last resident gave Varric a loaf of bread they baked in the kitchen, with a warm smile kindled by the fire, and left with thanks and that joy. Varric couldn’t remember the last time he'd had home-baked bread.

He ate a piece as he wandered the estate, dusting here and there as he went. Pristine places didn’t have much character that Varric liked, but he didn’t want it to go overlooked. Unused. Unappreciated.

That was when he heard an unusual creak from Hawke's bedroom.

Bianca practically never left his side, and he slowly unholstered her then, carefully creeping forward. With his back pressed to the wall, the Amell crest hanging proud above him, Varric peered around the corner, past the open door.

A hooded figure slipped quietly through the window. They turned back and held up one finger, gesturing for silence, but Varric couldn’t see who—or what—lay beyond. The person looked broad, even beneath their fur-trimmed cloak, and they carried a staff in one hand… then, they pulled back their hood.

“Hawke?”

Hawke whirled around, just as shocked, and whatever was still outside scrabbled against the tiles in the garden. Bianca hung slack in Varric's arms, as through a sliver of the doorway, the two met eyes for the first time in years.

Hawke's beard was thicker, and his boots and hem of his cloak were dirtied. He looked as though he had maybe a few more scars and wrinkles, and Varric could say the same. But brown eyes met brown eyes, lighting up with the same joy that sang through the place—Varric understood deeply then, that it was created when a family was brought together—and it was Hawke.

Hawke's face split into a huge grin, and he spread his arms wide. “Honey, I'm home.”

Varric laughed. And laughed, and laughed more, as he remembered how to move again. He holstered Bianca as he rushed forward, and Hawke's staff clattered to the floor as he met Varric halfway. They collided in the middle of the bedroom, crushed together, and Hawke's laughter joined his own in the sweetest chorus Varric had ever heard. A bark sounded, and it was Hawke's mabari that leapt after her master, running in excited circles around the two of them.

It was Hawke. Varric's hands framed his face and brought him down; their noses bumped, Hawke's beard scratched his stubble, and their kiss didn’t taste like smoke. It was hope realized; it was a promise kept; and it was Hawke.

His scent surrounded Varric, and he had the most wonderful ache in his heart that thumped with love. They kissed again; Varric's knees felt weak with emotion, or maybe from Potato headbutting him affectionately. When they parted just so, there were tears heavy in Hawke's eyes. “I made our date,” he murmured thickly.

Varric's cheeks hurt from grinning. Tears sprung to his eyes now too as they sank to the floor together, face to face, wrapped in one another. “So did I.”

Potato nosed her way between them to give Varric her own slobbery kisses, but Varric didn’t mind; he and Hawke kept laughing as Varric scratched behind her ears. “I missed you too, girl.”

She seemed satisfied with the attention, resting her head on Varric’s shoulder. Hawke asked jokingly, “Am I permitted to keep kissing him now?”

Potato's response was a happy rumble. Varric chuckled. “You heard the lady.”

Hawke's kiss, with his thumb stroking the apple of Varric's cheek, felt like home completed.

—

They stoked a small fire in the hearth of Hawke's bedroom. Coats and boots shed, they sat together beneath a thick blanket, sharing the loaf of bread that Varric retrieved. Potato dozed across their laps, basking in warmth and idle pets.

They talked—about everything. Weisshaupt. The Exalted Council. Kirkwall. Tevinter. What was yet to come.

“You're collecting another loaf in your beard,” Varric interrupted, his lips quirking up at the mess of crumbs.

“Snacks for later,” Hawke said without missing a beat.

“You’re such a damn dreamboat.”

“Of course I am. Only the finest man about for me.”

“We ruggedly handsome do tend to flock together, don’t we?”

“Don’t forget gentlemanly.”

They grinned at each other. He could taste the earthy bread on Hawke's lips.

“So,” Hawke murmured, “ready to help save the world, love?”

Varric sighed. “It’s always us in the thick of it, huh?”

“Seems that way.” Hawke kissed a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “But we'll be in it together, hm?”

Varric held him like close wasn’t close enough. Against all the odds that kept him up at night, they were reunited in their home—and Varric knew he could take on anything. “You bet we will.”

#dragon age #hawkevarric #vawke #mhawke #varric tethras #this was so gay i love it..... im so glad i could write this #THANK U FOR THE COMMISSION EM!!!!!#writing #da fic

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botgalhs · 6 years

Text

An NSFW commission for @achromaticbibliophile, involving Troll OCs Miuani and Dracul.

Thanks so much for the commission, friend~

“I have to say, it feels sort of weird to actually be invited over to your hive instead of having to invite myself.” Dracul looked around the familiar hive of his kismesis, humming at the sights he was so used to. “Love what you've done with the place. I haven't been here since... breakfast. Excellent crepes, by the way. Loved the strawberries this time.”

Miuani grunted but didn't respond. He was leaning in the doorway between the living room and the hallway leading to the upstairs like he thought he was sooo smooth (which, knowing him as well as she did, she knew for a fact that he did). Yet another trait of his that was just so irritating. She hated it and he knew it... which was probably why he did it. The effort he put into it was honestly appreciated in some vague way. Or so it would if it wasn't so annoying that he put so much effort just into aggravating her.

Ah, the ever filled with duality life of maintaining a kismesissitude.

“Well, I'm sure I would appreciate you complimenting my cooking more if you didn't stoop so low as to steal food from my cullee's plate. Or mine,” she huffed. He just grinned and shrugged.

“What can I say? I just liked it that much. Besides, Amaryl was more than happy to let me have some of her breakfast.”

“Yes. After you bribed her with more of your ugly comics. You know I hate it when you give her things I haven't had the chance to look at yet. What if there was something inappropriate in there that scared her? You know how delicate she is!”

“Yeah. 'Delicate',” he snorted. “Miu, I know for a fact that your innocent little cullee has thoughts in her head that would make your pretty painted toeclaws curl. She likes her horror. Girl after my own pusher, really.” He reached his hand up and tweaked the tip of one of her horns between his thumb and forefinger, making her jerk. “Then again, you get your toeclaws curled when someone shifts something an inch to the left in your sewing room, so I guess the bar isn't too high on what'll get your blood boiling~” Miuani seethed quietly at the oh so smug aura of his that seemed to permeate the air around him. Oh, he could keep laughing for now...

“Well, not all of us engage all of our time in writing childish East Alternian comics that rely entirely on gore and characters who all have the exact same face and call it 'art',” she sniffed. Oh, that seemed to rattle him. He gave her a look, violet eyes flashing at the insult. He did take so much pride in his work, it had to be a blow to his stupid, overinflated ego to have her poke at them.

Good.

“Well, those people that don't waste their time making what you doubt to be 'art' also use their time to come up with different clothes for cullers to put their little wrigglers in. I'm so sure that you can take so much pride in the fact that you spend your day working in frills and ribbons.”

“I do as a matter of fact. Better than getting my fingers stained with ink that gets everywhere I touch all night! It's no wonder your hive is such an oinkbeast sty!”

“Oh please. Like you're ever complaining what my inky fingers are staining when they're knuckle deep in you.”

Her lip curled in disgust at the blatant innuendo, but then she realized she may have just found her opening. He always got sloppy when he got confident. All she had to do was guide him towards it...

“Yeah. And you only like sticking your fingers wherever they can reach because you know you wouldn't last two minutes if you left yourself at my mercy. Big tough violet blood? Ha!” She let out a single, derisive laugh, before flipping her hair over her shoulder. One last piece of bait to lay out on a line, all he had to do was take it. “If I had my way with you, you'd be staining my fingers so heavily that I'd have a nice new violet topcoat.”

The look in his eye said it all. That offended, affronted, utterly insulted curl of his lip and the glint of the light in the violet of his eyes. She had him.

“Is that a fact?” He loomed over her, tilting his head to make him look even more like he was looking down on her. Not a hard feat, in all reality, with him being beanstalk and her a very... vertically challenged individual. But it was hardly intimidating. More of an exhilarating challenge, as it should be.

“Yes. It is. Why? Does it bother you how right I am?” She gave him her own smug, self satisfied look, one which he returned with gusto.

“If you wanted to see me naked, you could have just said so, you know,” he growled deeply in his chest.

“What? You don't want to make a good fight out of this? And you say I'm the one who's no fun~”

A near palpable static filled the air between them, Dracul had leaned in closer and Miuani nearly felt the urge to go up on her toes just so she could get in his face even more.

Whoever made the first move was uncertain, but what was certain was that they ended up in a deep, wild kiss filled with suppressed frustrations at one another alongside a sense of near euphoric release of said frustrations. She pulled at his stupid, ugly ironic shirt, not holding back with her claws, and he pressed her into the wall, holding her close by the waist as he used his weight to hold her in against him. Yet even then there was an edge to it, holding something back in each of them from going all the way. A steady build up to a grand explosion of hot, black, heavy hate.

It was Miuani who finally pushed him back away, when she felt him start to paw clumsily at her backside. She nipped on his lower lip and pushed her palms into his chest. Gazing up at him as she lapped up a single drop of violet from her lips.

“What did I tell you? You can't even keep your greedy touchstubs off of me for a minute,” she teased. Before he could answer, she grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him in close, breathing heavily against his lips. “Go upstairs to my respite block. Take off all your clothes while you can, or else I'll tear all those ugly things to shreds. Then wait for me on my respite platform. I'll be joining you in just a minute.” She patted him on the cheek, more of a cheeky half slap than anything close to a pap, before she pushed away from him completely and breezed on past him.

Miuani went right up the stairs into her big ablution block and locked the door behind her, unwilling to give her kismesis the chance to get the drop on her if she could help it. She was going to make it quick anyway.

Her clothes fell from her body with a few practiced motions, and she carefully checked herself in the mirror. Thankfully the kiss downstairs hadn't rubbed her clothes against her body too much, so the painted on scales were still intact. She would hate for all her moirail's hard work to have gone to waste.

From under the sink, she retrieved her special outfit for the morning and slipped it on. A special bra patterned to resemble the scales of a snake and a pair of crotchless tights with a small loincloth which hid her nook and sheath behind a sheer white swath of fabric. After a quick touch up to add the scales to her face and style her hair (and make sure she had her little special trinkets for this little event), and let out a breath before leaving her ablution block.

Showtime.

Miuani knocked on the closed door to her respite block, no matter how odd that felt.

“I'm indecent~” she heard the sarcastic call in reply. Oh, he could act smug for now.

“Are you sure you're ready for me? I don't want to blow your thinkpan out of your head before I so much as touch you,” she called out to him.

“I think I'm ready for whatever weak burns you have to throw at me,” Dracul snarked.

“If you say so~” Knowing very well he would not be ready, she threw open the door to the respite block, showing off her outfit to him in the doorway. It was to her great satisfaction that she saw his eyes widen and his mouth open ever so slightly. There was a certain sort of satisfaction when one managed to fluster their kismesis so badly. “What? Did I shock you so badly that you short circuited?” she teased, leaning against the doorway, showing off more the scaled pattern of the tights. “You're not the only one who cosplays now, you know. I made some big promises to my moirail to paint me up with these scales, so you'd better appreciate them.

His mouth opened and closed a few times like a beached fish, before he finally managed to get out a few actual words.

“I mean, it's not bad,” he tried to say casually. “Though you're probably going to give me a run for my money if you want me to keep my hands off you while you're in that.”

“Oh, I know,” she replied. She stepped forward, letting the door shut with a final sounding 'click' behind her. She just kept stalking closer, up to the bed, but then got closer. Still moving forward on her knees until his back hit the bedboard. “That's why I had something special prepared.” She pulled her special 'toys' from her sylladex. A few ropes patterned similarly with snake skin. “I unfortunately couldn't get a full sized snake tail, so these'll have to do for you for now.”

“... And here I thought you had such a dedication to authenticity,” he managed to laugh, before she grabbed hold of his hands, glaring into his eyes.

“Hands above your head, don't even think about moving them when I tie them there. It's the only way I'll get you to keep your hands to yourself, but I don't think you'll mind it that much.” To his credit, he did obey her demand. Leaning back and letting her tie his hands together and then to the headboard. He did attempt to make a few verbal jabs, but her grinding her knee into his crotch, where his bulge was just barely peeking from its sheath, shut him up real quick. “You're doing surprisingly well, here I thought you hated following directions... Now for the real fun.” She pulled out a few more ropes, thicker, but special. His hissing and shrinking from them told her enough to know he felt how they were filled with ice cold water, just enough to make sure it would feel like the clammy scales of a cold reptile clinging to his skin as she tied his calves to his thighs. Then a few more up his arms and over his chest for good measure. By the time she was done, a heavy amount of violet rose in his cheeks, and her sheets and his nook were likewise glistening with a hint of violet.

“Aw, would you look at what we have here.” She glided her fingertips over his nook, relishing the shiver it sent through him as they glided over the cool slickness. “You're this excited already? And here I thought that the oh so suave Dracul would be able to last more than a few minutes.” She massaged the folds gently, watching how he bit his lip and clenched his abdomen, as if trying to will against his bulge slowly slipping out of him. As soon as it did, she likewise took hold of it, only increasing how much he shivered and squirmed. Her own nook was starting to moisten at the sight, as was her bulge, but she wouldn't let him see that just yet.

“W-well,” he tried, despite whining softly at how her fingers teased at his nook. “Little hard to keep control when my k-kismesis...” he shivered again. “... Is dressed like my fantasy character in my favorite East Bef-Beforan,” another brief inhale and a hiss, when she curled her fingers inside of him, “comics... Thought you were more into the spider girl.”

“I am,” she replied willingly. She lifted the drape over her crotch, revealing her own moist, distended bulge to him. “But then I wouldn't get you this riled up with my favorite character, would I?” She brought her bulge closer to his nook, letting it replace her fingers in pressing into the sensitive flesh. “But enough about me, let's fuck you into a shivering mess.”

She wasted no time, pressing her bulge into his nook, feeling the strong, clenching press around her. Her claws dug into his legs, even as he futilely tried to move his hips for a deeper, stronger feeling. But she wouldn't let him have the satisfaction. She purposefully withheld her full length, choosing to curl her bulge up closer to the front of his nook over pressing it into the deepest reaches. Both their breaths came ragged, but she refused to let him see it too much. This was supposed to be about tormenting him, after all. She wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of seeing her get winded over something so small.

Her claws dug into his thighs, thrusts and curling of her bulge. The contrast of the cold restraints and her warmer bulge (and her hand still wrapped around his bulge) made him feel oversensitive and weak to each of her movements. And she knew that.

She relished each curse under his breath that he tried to muffle by biting his lip, but she gave him no rest. She kept pushing and thrusting, feeling his body wind tighter and tighter, all while she fought not to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cum first after all her effort into getting him right where she wanted him.

Eventually, she got the very satisfaction she craved. With a final shudder and a long, loud groan, genetic material spilled from his bulge and nook, coating her hands and clenching down on her writhing bulge. Only after he had coated her in a generous amount of violet did she finally give in as well, pumping his nook full of cerulean to the final, lingering twitches of his nook. It was all she could do not to collapse against his chest in relief after that, even as his head dropped back against the bed, limp and breathless.

“Wow...” he finally managed, after he finally caught his breath. He shivered at the feeling of her bulge retracting from his nook, annoyed at how she got him like this, but sated. “Well... if this is what I get for not being handsy, maybe I wouldn't mind letting you do that more often.

“Oh, we're not done here yet,” she smirked, dragging her claws down his chest just on that precarious edge between teasing and dangerous. “You may have gotten my bulge off, but you haven't satisfied a lady until you've gotten her off all the way.” She grabbed hold of his spent bulge, making him jerk and cry out as she started to stroke him smoothly with the help of his own genetic material. “Let's hope your bulge holds up better than your nook did, because you're not getting out of here until you've suitably ravaged my nook, Dracul~” His bulge finally went stiff from her ministrations, and she lifted her hips up until her nook was rubbing against the sensitive ridge. He growled, bulge lashing futilely in her grip as she started to lower herself onto it.

“I... I fucking hate you,” he managed breathily. All Miuani did was smile, and let herself drop all the way down, growling in pleasure as his bulge pressed all against the walls of her nook. So her hips met his and his head pressed back into the pillows.

“I know.”

#homestuck #fantroll #fantrolls #fic #commission #sfw

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cole-winchester · 6 years

Text

I Won’t Run Away

Lethal Weapon Fic

Clayne Crawford - Seasons One and Two based ONLY! Don’t even get me started...

Summary:

A girl from Riggs' past surfaces and they discover they’re both as screwed up as the other. Alcohol, depression, PTSD...You name it, they’ve got it. When feelings develop, will their past trauma stand in the way of healing one another...or will it be their downfall?

Song inspiration for Title and Pic Quote: I Won’t Run Away

Original Characters:

Aiden Gallagher - Main character opposite Martin Riggs (pictured her as me in my head while writing - picture her as you wish with the descriptions given in story)

Robby Anderson - Main character’s ex (Pictured as Stephen Amell)

Mike Callahan - Main character’s friend/co-worker (Pictured as Dominic Purcell)

Warnings:

This is a whump fic. There will be characters beaten to hell and back. Some depression and PTSD flashbacks and suicidal dialog. Read at your own caution.

Tag List: Tags are always open, hit me up if you want on it!

@adorkabletiff91 @garcywinchester @t-rexprincess

Part One

"You good to close up, Mike?" I sighed lightly as I leaned on the doorway to the bar’s office, running my hand absently through my dark brown hair. The metal door frame was cool against my bare arm as I gazed down at the man.

"Yeah I got it." He smiled as he closed the safe and stood, turning to me. His tall broad frame making the office look much smaller than it was. "I'll walk you out."

I nod, grabbing my flannel and small cross-body bag off of the hook and met him at the front doors.

"You know you don't have to walk me out each night." I smirked as I stepped up behind him.

"Oh don't even start, Aiden." Mike chuckled as he opened the door for me. "There's too many psychos around this part of town at night."

"Yeah, but I'm a big girl." I joked and lightly bumped his heavily muscled arm with my shoulder.

He barked out a laugh. "Not as big as me, sweetheart. You're what? All of 130 soaking wet?"

I giggled as my boots scuffed the sidewalk. As much as I wanted to be tough, Mike was right. Any creep on the street would have to think twice with him walking beside me. He was tall, built to the nines with his wide jaw and shaved head...he was intimidating.

Mike had taken me under his wing when I came to LA a while back looking for a job. His bar needed the help and plus, he didn't want me getting caught up in a shitty situation that most pretty girls end up in out here. He was a sweetheart and with two daughters of his own, he couldn't turn away the option of helping a girl like me out.

We headed around the corner to the small parking area next to the bar. The cool air snaking around my legs. Mike's gaze scanned the surrounding streets for any movement in the shadows.

I turned to him as we reached my jeep and smiled. "Thanks, Mike." I embraced him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "You're a good friend."

Mike chuckled and pulled back, ruffling my hair with his large hand. "See ya Sunday, kiddo. Have fun at the barbeque tomorrow."

I smiled as he back stepped, shoving his hands in his pockets. "G'night, Mike."

"Night." He waited until I was safely in my jeep and pulling out of the lot onto the street before he made his way back to the bar.

* * * *

I walked into the house, closing and deadbolting the door behind me. I dropped my bag on the hook in the entry way and tossed my keys onto the small table. I stepped down the hall towards the bedroom when the kitchen light flicked on, stopping me in my tracks. My gaze snapped to the right and landed on the figure in the middle of the kitchen, my heart pounding.

"I missed you, Aiden."

Robby...

"No!" I screamed as I took off down the hallway. How could he be here?! He's in jail! This isn't happening!

I reached for my cell in my shorts, but found nothing. It was gone...as if it disappeared out of my pocket.

Shit!

I neared the corner of the hallway desperately trying to get to the landline in the dining room before he could. A force slammed into my legs, knocking them out from under me as he came around the corner. I crashed to the floor and quickly scrambled to get to my feet when his boot collided with my head, sending me backwards against the wall.

Wake up, Aiden! Wake the fuck up! This isn't happening! My thoughts screamed as my vision spun.

"You should've never opened your mouth!" Robby's hand dug into my hair, pulling me up from the floor and slamming my back against the wall. "You stupid fucking whore!"

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Wake up!" I whimpered as his face came into focus. His ice blue eyes glaring at me with pure hatred as an evil grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's fuckin' happening, sweetheart!" He spat at me and lunged his right hand towards my stomach.

A white hot pain pierced my midsection sending fire throughout my body. My eyes widened in shock as his face was inches from mine. He eased back and I looked down as he pulled a crimson knife from my body.

"I told you I'd kill you for what you did to me. You can't hide from me."

My knees weakened and my body went numb as he lunged forward with the knife again.

* * * *

"No!" I screamed and flailed as I woke from the nightmare, tumbling off the bed in a tangled heap of sweat soaked sheets. I panted frantically as I clutched my stomach where the knife had been in the dream. The dull phantom ache of it still lingering.

I've had the same nightmare at least once a week since I'd testified against Robby, resulting in him being locked up for the next twenty years. My shrink said it's perfectly normal in these type of circumstances...but for three years?

He's locked up in max. He's 3 states away. He can't get to you. You're safe.

I repeat in my head, trying to calm the shaking in my hands. I absently reach up and trace the jagged scar running from my temple down to my jaw in front of my ear. It seems to burn at my touch, bringing back memories I've tried to put behind me. I shake my head, willing the images away. Untangling myself I look over to my alarm clock...the bright red letters blazing back at me...530am. I sigh and flop back against the side of the bed. I'd only had a couple hours of sleep since my shift at the bar. Deciding that it was useless to try and get any more sleep, I hauled myself to my feet.

Well... time for whiskey and some paint therapy.

I head over to the spare bedroom that I'd turned into my art studio. The floors covered with old flat sheets, stacks of fresh canvases tipped against one wall, finished pieces tucked in protective boxes ready to be sold against another and my large easel in the center with a fresh canvas. Aside from the bar, I had a part time afternoon shift at a local coffee shop and in my spare time, I created and sold paintings. Some were hung in the coffee shop advertised for sale, and every few months I did a small showing downtown. That's where I'd first met Trish Murtaugh. Her daughter, Riana, was a regular at the coffee shop in the afternoons when she got out of school. She'd eyed my paintings and had brought her mother to one of my showings. Trish had fallen in love with my art immediately. I was more of an abstract emotional artist. Most of it consisted of blacked out female silhouettes, some profiles, some full body, with bright colors splattered, slashed or dripped down around them. I also dabbled in realistic portraits and some custom commissioned work.

Today? Today called for some paint throwing.

I grabbed my bottle of whiskey and downed a shot, slamming it down on the table. I popped a can of paint open without looking at the color and reached my fingers in, coating them in the bright purple liquid. I stepped about five feet in front of the canvas....and flung my hand toward it like I was throwing a baseball.

I got lost. My mind blank with whiskey buzz and zoned in on the task at hand. Grabbing random colors and splattering them against the sheer white background of the canvas. The paint slightly dripping and mixing together to form its own shade. I was in my element. Lost in my own universe as the world around me ceased to exist.

After a while I stepped back a moment, gazing at the splattered canvas in front of me. The contrasting splotches of neon colors scattered across the face of it. It needed something. I set the can of paint down and stomped the few feet to the canvas. I drug my fingers through the wet paint, creating swirls and spirals in strategic order around the piece. I eyed it for another moment, gauging its story. Satisfied with my work, I wiped my hands clean on a rag and downed another shot of whiskey, plopping down in the corner of the room. I sighed and leaned my head back against the wall and gazed out the side window at the rising sun. A new day had begun.

* * * *

I had managed to catch a few more hours of shut eye thanks to Mr. Daniels, when I was awoken from a text alert.

Shit, what time was it?!

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand as I sat up against the headboard.

1130AM

Oops, guess I got more than just a few hours..

I rubbed my eyes as I opened my Messages.

Trish: You're still coming today right?

Yes. Wouldn't miss it. You need me to bring anything?

Trish: Just yourself! :) I can't wait for you to meet everyone.

Awesome. I'll see you then!

I locked my phone and tossed it on the bed as I stretched my stiff muscles. I had two hours before I had to be at the Murtaugh's. Thank god Trish had texted me.

* * * *

I eased my Wrangler at the curb across from the Murtaugh residence. I felt weird not bringing anything to the barbecue but Trish insisted, and from what I'd gathered so far in our friendship, you don't argue with her. I glanced around at the few cars in the driveway and along the street as I stepped out onto the pavement. At least I wasn't the first one here...that's always a little awkward. I made my way across the street as I heard laughter coming from the backyard. Assuming everyone was outside, I let myself in the side gate. As I rounded the side of the house I was greeting by a decent sized group. Some teenagers Riana's age but majority were adults that most likely worked with Trish or her husband, Roger.

"Hey! You made it!" Riana bounded off of the deck to me, embracing me in an excited hug. I laughed and hugged her back. "Mom's inside grabbing some more wine. Come on!" She grabbed my hand with a big smile on her face as she led me over to the grill. "Dad!"

A man looked up from the grill at her call and he smiled as he stepped to us. "Ah, this must be the famous Aiden I've heard so much about. Roger." He held out his hand to me. I took his hand and smiled, laughing off his comment. His eyes darted to my scar and quickly back to my gaze, his smile only faltering slightly before he recovered.

"Nice to meet you." I said as I released his hand.

"Likewise. Trish has shown me some of your work. You're really talented."

"Thank you." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I was never one that accepted praise very well.

"Oh!" Trish's voice sounded from the deck behind us. "I'm so glad you could make it!" She stepped down and handed Roger a plate of burgers before embracing me. "You want something to drink?"

"Sure." I glanced around at the coolers lining the deck.

"There's beer in the coolers and wine inside." She smiled and turned slightly to Roger, dropping her voice to a heated whisper. "Is he coming? Where is he?"

"I don't know he said he'd be here." Roger wasn't as quiet as his wife so I was still able to catch the conversation...and then it hit me.

"Oh, god, Trish. Tell me you're not trying to set me up with someone?" I smirked and crossed my arms over my chest.

Both her and Roger snapped their attention back to me. Roger looked guilty as hell and Trish plastered on a mischievous smile. "I-I wouldn't call it 'setting you up.' More of ... just a friendly introduction."

"Ugh." I sighed and dropped my head back chuckling. "While I appreciate the offer...I'm not looking to date anyone right now." I gave her a small smile.

I hadn't opened up to her yet about my past. This was the first time aside from my art gallery shows that we'd actually hung out. We'd become friends but not to the point yet of sharing our deep secrets. I'd caught her and Riana eyeing my scar each time we'd seen each other, but they both had the respect to not ask about it. I just wasn't ready to share that dark part of my history yet with anyone.

"I'm not asking that you read anything into it. He's a great guy. A little rough around the edges but-"

Trish was cut off by a commotion from the side yard at the corner of the deck.

"Aw, you guys didn't have to wait for me to get here! Let's get this party started!" A loud male voice echoed through the yard.

"Speak of the devil." Roger muttered as Trish threw me a smile before moving behind me towards the man.

"Martin! I'm glad you came! Come here, I'd like you to meet someone." I turned as Trish laced her arm through the man’s and guided him over toward me.

I froze.

Martin stopped abruptly when I’d turned to face them. Trish didn't seem concerned and stopped with him, smiling as she motioned for me to come forward. Martin removed his sunglasses and his shocked amber gaze bore into me. Everything around me seemed to stop as my pulse pounded in my ears as our eyes remained locked with each other.

"Martin, this is my friend-" Trish began.

Martin breathed out in disbelief, cutting her off. “Aiden..?”

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alphawave-writes · 4 years

Text

Experimental Design Chapter 4: Actions have consequences

Synopsis: Stone reminisces on his past, and how he came to become Agent Stone. Robotnik gets the bright idea to get handsy with a collar. Feelings ensue.

Read it here on or AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

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Actions have consequences. That was the first thing Stone was taught back in school, long before he was given the identity of Stone. As a child, Stone wasn't too different from his adult self, with a few exceptions. The most blatant one of all was his utter disregard for any and all authority figures. But in his defense, it was utterly hilarious to see Teacher Deidre try and wobble over to chase him, her big gangly arms wafting with the breeze. Teachers had words to describe people like him. He was too nice to be a bully but too much of a nuisance to be a good kid. He was kind and friendly to his peers and his family, but showed absolutely no consideration for his teachers.

Thus, he was labelled a 'troublemaker'. For a boy with no future goals in mind, it suited him well enough.

There was one victim above all else that young Stone liked to tease. Mr Khoury was a new science teacher in his school, with slicked back hair and a wide grin and a crazed look in his eyes. As a teacher he was OK—this was his first job as a teacher and so he was still a little wet behind the ears—but it was the experiments he did during break time that awarded him his reputation amongst the students. As a son of a chemical manufacturing giant, he was able to get easy access to all sorts of chemicals and materials for his experiments, and then some. He'd mess with chemicals in bunsen burners. He'd steal compost and seeds from the school garden to experiment on the plants. More often than not, he'd make sculptures and robots from scrap metal that he fished from the school's recycle bin.

He may not have been the best teacher, but there was no denying that he was incredibly and devoutly passionate about science. That made him the best target for pranks, Stone thought.

It started small. Stone would steal little things from Mr. Khoury when he wasn't looking. A piece of scrap for his experiments, the fancy gold pen on his desk. But of course, it quickly escalated into hiding all the valves for the bunsen burners and locking the room and drawing silly stuff on his classroom's whiteboard. The best moments were when Mr. Khoury caught him in the act and tried to chase after him. He'd laugh, just a silly little kid enjoying the moment as he ran and ran, glancing behind his back to stare at his teacher's flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. Mr. Khoury was slow compared to Stone, so sometimes he’d let himself get caught. And then he let himself get caught more often. One time, instead of taking him to time out or detention, Mr Khoury forced the young child to help him with his experiments. And then he became an active participant. He claimed it was just to observe his teacher, and in a sense he was. He remembered Mr. Khoury's quiet look of concentration, the glitter in his eyes and the fire that burned deep in his soul. He remembered it so well that those looks stained his dreams, making him feel fuzzy and warm and happy.

It all seemed so fun and idyllic. Until one day, when Stone found Mr Khoury clearing out his desk.

“But I don’t understand,” the young Stone said. It was another lunch break, and he was expecting another experiment. Instead, Mr. Khoury was packing up his stuff, his normally calm face twisted into a scowl. “You didn’t do anything. You can't be fired.”

“It’s that incompetent headmistress," Mr Khoury said. "Her and her backwards views of the world, of progress. It’s only because of her that I have to go.”

“But why?”

“I’m…” Mr Khoury pouted, then turned to young Stone. Behind his glasses, his eyes were dark but focused, a swirling and shimmering vortex. “Will you keep this a secret between you and me?”

He nodded obediently. His chest felt light, knowing that his teacher trusted him so much with such an important secret.

“I’m married.”

Stone frowned. He wasn’t surprised, Mr Khoury was very good looking for an adult. Or at least, he thought he was. His friends didn’t agree. Then again, most of his friends were boys like him. “Is that a bad thing?"

“To another man. I'm married to a man," Mr Khoury replied.

Stone tilted his head in confusion. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing."

"It's not, but of course your headmistress seems to think otherwise, the troglodyte," Mr. Khoury spat. "Not all love is equal in this society. People of walks of life are expected to fit into society's expectations of love, and when you defy it, you’re punished.”

"I love someone," Stone blabbed. His small eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching up to cover his lips. He didn't mean to say that. Not to Mr Khoury of all people.

"Oh? Who?"

Young Stone looked away shyly. A small chuckle escaped Mr Khoury's lips, gracing his sharp features with a rare softness.

"I'm flattered, but I'm afraid you're a bit too late. Five years too late, to be specific," Mr Khoury said.

"Most people say it's just a childhood crush," he quietly admitted. "They don't think it's real."

"All love is real, to some extent. It's the same neurotransmitters firing in our brains whether it's a fictional entity or a real person, someone close to you or someone that's completely and utterly unattainable." Mr Khoury smiled. "Perhaps you do have a childhood crush, but if you learn from who you love, and why you love them, maybe you'll learn a little bit about yourself from these experiences."

He nodded slowly, a frown playing on his young and childish face. He knew nothing would ever happen between them, even if Mr. Khoury stayed at school forever. In the presence of someone greater and better than him, why would they ever fall in love with someone so weak and dumb?

Mr. Khoury's face sharpened. "You've learned something from this experience, have you?"

He nodded. "I did."

"Perhaps not everybody in this school is a complete idiot," Mr. Khoury said, rubbing his hand through the kid's short hair.

He stared up at his teacher's face. He did not know how or why, but something in his gut told him that this would be their last conversation ever. "I'll be smarter," the young boy continued. "I-I'll be better than smart. I'll be strong and cool and smart, and I won't let bullies tell me off."

In all his life, he'd never seen Mr. Khoury smile like this, soft and gentle like his favourite teddy bear. It shouldn't suit his face, and yet it did, this rare moment of softness transforming him into another person, a better person. In the reflection of Mr Khoury's eyes he saw his own expressive face, wide and beautiful. A selfish thought popped into his head, of someone looking at him with the same adoration that he looked at Mr Khoury. It couldn't be anyone. It had to be someone great. Someone brilliant and smart, who saw the world in a way no one else did, who'd grant him the kindness of letting him be by their side.

It didn't have to be Mr Khoury, but someone like him. Someone just as great and brilliant.

"Tariq?" Mr Khoury asked.

"Stone!!" Robotnik yelled.

Stone jolted in surprise, turning his head to the source of the sound. In the present, Dr. Robotnik was glaring at him from his usual spot behind his desk, his stubble peeking out a little bit more than usual.

Stone put on a smile. "Sorry, sir?"

"I was going to ask you to do something, but it seems your mind is filled with ridiculous nonsense. What is it? Did you suddenly remember that red and blue paint combine to create purple?"

"It's nothing," Stone handwaved. "Just remembered something. Nothing important though."

But Robotnik didn't seem convinced. "You've been staring into space a lot lately. Do I have to get your brain checked?"

Stone blinked rapidly. From anyone else it was an insult, but from Robotnik it sounded almost like concern. "If you're talking about the nightclub incident, I'm fine. What about you, though?"

"Obviously I'm fine," Robotnik scoffed. "Unlike you, I haven't been affected whatsoever. My superior intellect means I do not get inundated by such insignificant things like death, and dildos, and other miscellaneous things in that category."

Except that was an obvious lie. Since the nightclub incident a few days ago, a few things had changed between them. For one, Senator Willingham didn't take too kindly to being tortured, so they needed to keep a low profile for now, which meant more hours being by Robotnik's side. Robotnik in turn had devoted more time to his research, working late into the night to work on a mysterious new project he'd concocted. Normally the doctor was eager to talk about his experiments, but when Stone tried to ask this time, Robotnik would stiffen and clamp up, pretending not to hear him.

And then there were those...other moments.

They were insignificant in the grand scheme of things but Stone took care to notice the insignificant things, because in his line of work nothing was ever insignificant. The twirl of a moustache, the way the doctor chewed on the very tip of his gloves, the snap of leather gloves to the doctor's pale but firm wrists, the way he licked his bottom lip all too slowly when he was deep in thought.

It was earlier that day, as Robotnik scratched and itched at a red rash growing at the base of his stubble-lined jaw that Stone realised he had been staring at his boss for a whole ten minutes.

It wasn't polite to stare. He was sure if Robotnik actually paid attention and caught him, he might have been given some form of punishment. But then that only made Stone think about his punishment, and what Robotnik would do to him. If Robotnik made a threat, he always followed through on it. It could be any day now, perhaps even today, that he'd be punished. But usually Robotnik was rather swift with his threats, claiming that it took precious time away from his experiments. So why was Robotnik delaying it? Did he forget, or was he planning something big? If it was something big, why was it big? Would it be painful or humiliating, mild or serious?

Would Dr. Robotnik glance down at Stone with that heated gaze once again, ready to take whatever he wanted from him? Was Stone willing to give his boss whatever he wanted?

Stone glanced at his reflection, only to see a wide, excited smile grace his features. He clamped it down, trying to relax his face into a more normal smile. He was not getting excited about getting punished. This was just the adrenaline talking, or maybe that newly-discovered kink of his. This had nothing to do with his boss.

Robotnik waved his hand frantically in front of Stone's face, making him blink.

"You're doing it again, Stone," Robotnik said.

"I-I'm sorry, sir."

Robotnik stood up from his chair and dramatically took a step forward, closing the distance between their bodies. With his gloved hand, he pulled Stone's face up, forcing him to look into Robotnik's cold, dark eyes. "What's going on in your mind?"

"Nothing," Stone said quickly, even as his eyes glanced down to Robotnik's salt and pepper stubble. He always wondered what that'd feel like on his hand. Would it feel different on his lips?

"It shouldn't be nothing. There should be something to fill that enormous head of yours," Robotnik cradled Stone's head roughly, as if looking through his eyes to see his dark, festering mind. "Perhaps there's something wrong with your head after all. The neurons aren't firing, or perhaps your frontal lobe just isn't responding to stimulus."

A strange thrill grew in Stone's chest as a smile grew on his lips. "Wouldn't it be the parietal lobe that's not working? If I'm not paying attention?"

Robotnik's eyes widened for a second, blinking rapidly as crimson fury crept up his face. Stone was correct, and they both knew it. In an instant, calm and logical Robotnik was unraveling at the seams. It always entertained Stone, seeing his boss lose that carefully crafted veneer of his and the madness and the brilliance peek through.

"You know, I never got to punish you for your insubordination the other day," Robotnik purred, a predator sizing up its prey. "Perhaps I've been a bit too lax with you recently. You should be taught more...discipline."

Stone couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to. Something about that crazed look in Robotnik's eyes made him feel bold and cocky, as if he was the one in charge and not the man with the army of robots at his disposal. But that was silly to entertain, especially given how tightly Robotnik was holding his face. "How would teaching me discipline help me with my head?"

Robotnik chuckled darkly, exposing a bit more of his throat. They were almost nose to nose, so close he could almost taste the doctor's sweat. This was the moment Stone was all too familiar with, the charged energy building between their bodies, rising and rising, only striking when Robotnik so commanded. This was the moment when Robotnik's breathing increased and his pupils dilated and his cheeks went a gorgeous rosy pink. It made him look ridiculous. Human.

Gorgeous.

Stone sharply inhaled. Oh god, he didn't think that, did he? Not about his boss. Not about Ivo Robotnik.

"Stone," Robotnik said.

He couldn't stop staring at Robotnik's pink lips. Were they always so kissable?

"Get down on your hands and knees," Robotnik ordered.

To his credit, Stone did it all without shaking. Whether he would hypothetically shake from fear or excitement, Stone didn't know anymore.

"Stay there, and don't move an inch.," Robotnik said, disappearing for a short while to grab something from his desk. That act alone limited the possible punishments he might be given. What did Robotnik have planned?

He heard Robotnik's steps approach him. "You can move your head up now."

Stone did, taking his time to let his eyes trail up Robotnik's legs, torso, neck,before finally resting on Robotnik’s devilish face. In his hand was something circular but thick, wires and electronics sticking out of the fabric interior. It resembled a dog collar, but it was much thicker and wider than a normal one, with strange wires surrounding it. But Stone didn’t remember Robotnik owning a dog.

Stone gulped. It couldn’t be…that wasn’t for him?

“Don’t move a muscle,” Robotnik commanded.

“Sir, this is unconventional.”

“Oh, but you’re an unconventional man, Agent. I thought I was dealing with a government lapdog with a modicum of intelligence. But you’re so much more than that, aren’t you?”

Stone went silent, keeping his face neutral. Robotnik chuckled darkly as he undid Stone's tie, letting it drop to the floor. His lithe, leather-bound fingers traced the sensitive skin of his neck before clamping the collar on. It wasn't tight, but it wasn't loose, as if it was made for him.

"I must admit, you keep stumping me. There's no records about you. Nothing about the man you were before you became Agent Stone, what school you went to, your parents' names, whether your mommy tucked you into bed or not. Even I couldn't find anything." Robotnik leaned forward. "I find that very strange, Stone. Or whatever your real name is."

"Ben," Stone said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Ben Stone. My name," Stone swallowed tightly. "And as for everything else, I graduated the academy top of my class, I kept getting transferred to too many schools when I was a kid, my parents' names are Ali and Mary, and my mom tucked me into bed every night until I was 12."

"I've read your file—or should I say, I've read Stone's file. I know all about your cover identity. You're supposed to be an obedient little dog with a gun. And you know what happens to dogs that don't do what they're supposed to do?"

Robotnik pressed his thumb to a button on his gloves.

"They get a little shock."

An electric current rippled through Stone's neck, making him gasp, more in surprise than actual pain. It only lasted a second, but it was enough for all the muscles on his back to firm up in attention.

"Does it hurt?" Robotnik grinned.

Stone let out a chuckle. "You'll never hurt me, doctor. We both know you can't."

"Wrong answer," Robotnik said.

An another electrical current at a slightly higher voltage. Enough to make Stone wince, but still far from painful. It all but proved Stone's point. The doctor could take the air out of his lungs, but he was always careful never to harm him.

Robotnik crouched down so he was face to face with Stone. His smile was condescending, but not completely malicious. The doctor was far too excited to be that cruel. "You're going to be wearing this collar all day. If you slip up even a little bit, I press a little button on my glove and you'll get shocked. The more times you slip up, the longer the electric shock lasts. I'll take it off when the shift ends. No earlier, no later. Understand?"

Stone stared at Robotnik for a few seconds, taking in those flushed cheeks and eager grin. This was a test, Stone realised, and he was the sole participant. Was the doctor's plan to reduce his will? To make him beg? Robotnik would love to see that, it'd stroke his massive ego even more, but Stone would never give him that satisfaction. He'd do many things, but not everything. It'd take away the fun.

Another chuckle escaped from Stone. Robotnik's lips thinned into a line. "What are you laughing about?"

"Don't I get a reward for this?" Stone smiled devilishly. "If I'm a dog, I deserve a treat for behaving, don't I?"

Robotnik smirked. "And why should I give you anything?"

"To reinforce behaviour. After all, isn't that why you put a collar on me?"

Instead of laughing, Robotnik scoffed sharply, the corner of his lips pulling up against his will. "Perhaps." He stood up suddenly and went to his chair. It spun approximately 70 degrees before Robotnik placed his feet down, grinding to a halt. "You know, Stone, all this talking and moving has made me thoroughly parched. A nice latte with steamed Austrian goat milk sounds like it'll do just the trick."

They both knew that the coffee machine was in the breakroom for the other guards, on the opposite side of the compound where the mobile lab sat. The chances that Stone would be seen wearing what was very clearly a BDSM collar were fairly high, but there was just as high a chance that the person who caught him would report it to both their superiors, and Robotnik wouldn't have that. This was just another one of those games of 'Simon says' that they played. A dare to see how far Stone could be pushed.

Stone slowly stood up, stuffed his tie into his suit pocket, and gave his most award-winning smile. He always liked a challenge. "Of course, sir," he purred.

Robotnik's cheeks seemed to get redder, but if he had something to say Stone didn't hear it as he opened the door and strolled outside.

Whether it was Stone's luck or some other supernatural force, the base was surprisingly empty given the time of day. Not that there weren't people, but the few he did pass seemed far too engrossed in conversation to notice him walking past. All the better for him. Less questions asked, less answers he needed to give.

In the breakroom were two coffee machines: one that was used fairly often and one that wasn't. Stone went to the latter, preparing the coffee beans (a special blend of his own creation based on a South American recipe) and steaming the goat milk and making the foam. The resulting latte is rather sweet, with a chocolate-y aftertaste. Not everyone's cup of coffee, but Stone liked it, and Robotnik loved it. It definitely earned him a few brownie points when he first came into the doctor's services.

Stone had just finished making a latte for the doctor (and of course one for himself because why not?) when he heard someone call out his name. "Stone?"

He turned his head, letting out a breath when he realised it was Agent Jared Aird: low-level government agent and high-level weirdo. In other words, the closest thing to a friend Stone had outside of Robotnik.

"What's up?" Stone asked.

"Someone's looking for y—" Stone winced suddenly as an electric shock hit him. Aird's eyes flickered between the collar and Stone’s expression, the dots connecting slowly but surely in his mind. "I, uh…OK then. I'll just talk to you later."

Stone stifled the need to explain himself. He didn't need to make this more embarrassing. “You said someone's looking for me. Not the doctor?"

"No, they're looking for you specifically. Or at least…it sounded like they were talking about you. Described you to a T."

"Name?"

"Called themselves Lara Stein." Before Stone could comment, Aird said, "Obviously a pseudonym. We’re pulling ID checks on her though. Should take at least an hour." Aird glanced at the collar and coughed loudly into his fist. "I'll just…tell her to come back later."

Stone didn’t know a Lara, or anyone that could be looking for him specifically. Not many people knew of Agent Stone, as part of the whole cover identity business. He shook his head. "Tell her to come after my shift's done, please. And, uh…don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t, I won’t, we all know the doctor is a freak. But a shock collar? Bit kinky for his tastes.”

Stone let a frown slip. The doctor was strange, but certainly not a freak. He was a genius with limitless knowledge, unburdened by the expectations of society, but no one else saw him like that. Everybody thought he was dangerous. Everybody thought he was crazy. Not Stone though. Stone knew the doctor was just a drama kid with a need to please. Dangerous men weren’t capable of such innocent, child-like smiles when they tinkered away with their machines. Crazy men didn’t see the world with such fascination and awe.

Times like these reminded Stone that he might literally be the only person in the world who liked Robotnik, let alone tolerated him.

Stone forced a chuckle. “He’s certainly gotten some weird ideas lately. But I’ll manage.”

“I hope so,” Aird muttered with concern.

The trip back was equally uneventful, with even fewer potential witnesses. By the time he got back to the mobile lab, Robotnik was sneering at him, stamping his foot for dramatic effect.

"You're seven minutes late." Robotnik snatched the latte out of Stone's hand and took a sip. His face, as it often did when he drank Stone's coffee, softened considerably. "At least the coffee is the correct temperature this time. Nearly scalded my tongue yesterday."

Stone smiled warmly. The only compliments he ever got from Robotnik was for his coffee. Not that he minded. He made some damn good coffee, and any compliment from Robotnik was worth its weight in gold. "You're welcome, sir."

The rest of the day went surprisingly normally, give or take a few electric shocks here and there when Stone looked like he was daydreaming again. Robotnik did little to hide how much he enjoyed the way Stone twitched in surprise, catching him off guard. Even when Robotnik left to get a quick snack, his presence could still be felt on Stone' throat. The collar tethered him to the doctor, a physical mark of his servitude. It was sobering, realising how far he let himself get subjugated by Robotnik's whims, to the point of humiliation and shame. This was just the start, and if Robotnik got any more crazy ideas from BDSM, this might not be the last time he'd be punished like this. No more 'pin yourself to the wall'. It'd be 'get down on all fours and bark like a dog' or 'lick my shoes'.

He saw his wide grin in the reflective walls and forced himself to stop smiling.

When Robotnik came back, he continued his usual work on his computer, stopping every now and then to quiz Stone on the collar and how it was working. After Stone answered, he would then ask him to write it down anyway. The first two times, Stone did it without question. The third time, Stone felt brave enough to ask Robotnik why he wasn’t taking the notes himself if he was so much smarter. He glanced over his shoulder, ready to ask, only to realise that the doctor was already behind him.

"Sir?"

Robotnik was silent as he turned Stone's chair to face him, his normally expressive face toned down into something that almost looked soft. He clicked a few buttons on his gloves, and then fiddled with a strap on the collar. It opened up easily, sliding down and off of Stone's neck, before gently being dropped on the nearby table.

Stone rolled his head slowly, frowning at the stiffness. The cool air felt so much colder on his now-sensitive neck, which was in stark contrast to the hungry flames in Robotnik's eyes. He felt like those women in those B-tier horror films, waiting on bated breath for the vampire to sink their teeth into his neck and make him feel the most writhing ecstasy.

"Does it hurt now?" Robotnik asked, his voice suddenly quiet. Unsure.

Stone glanced at the clock. "Is it time already?"

"Clearly you need to get your eyes checked as well," Robotnik huffed. He grabbed Stone by the jaw, twisting and turning his head to observe his neck. He let out a small tut. "There's a few spots of redness on your neck. Was it from the collar?"

"It didn't hurt," Stone said. Which was partially true. He was aware of a faint itchiness but they weren't painful. He got shot with a blank to the stomach once. No pain could compare to that.

"You should have told me. Or written it in your report. You have seen me work, you should know by now the importance of writing down every single observable detail for data collection."

Robotnik slowly tugged at the tips of his gloves, pulling them off his hand one by one. It was a simple act, done without show or boast, and yet somehow it was the most erotic thing Stone's ever seen Robotnik do. Stripping away his gloves felt no different from watching him strip away his clothes. The way he folded up his gloves so neatly, those dexterous yet thick fingers moving so freely now that they weren't bound to their cloth prisons. And the way they moved, gently tucking the folded gloves into one pocket before retrieving a small jar from another, was an act that was far too intimate for a scientist and his agent. And yet Stone stared at Robotnik, his neck exposed and his cheeks flushed, wondering if this was a dream.

The cool sensation of Robotnik's lotion-covered fingers on his neck quickly told him it was very much real.

"Doctor?" Stone breathed.

"Let me work," Robotnik replied, sounding out of breath himself.

"What is this?"

"It's just lotion from the supermarket. Won't cure the redness right away, but at least it shouldn't distract you any more than you've already distracted yourself."

This felt wrong, just as much as it felt right. There had to be a reason Robotnik was being so nice as to rub lotion on his neck. There had to be a reason why those dark eyes seemed so warm and brilliant. There had to be a reason why he was leaning in, drawn in to the dark fire.

"I'll ask this for the final time. Is there anything else about the collar that was uncomfortable? The fabric, the voltage, the tightness. Anything at all?" Robotnik dabbed his fingers and let his fingers dip lower, near Stone's nape.

It took all his willpower not to sigh or gasp. This didn't just feel good. It felt great. It felt amazing. How could one man's touch feel so amazing? "Why are you so concerned about whether the collar hurts or not?" Stone asked quietly.

"I'm going to be making improvements for next time. Obviously, I don't want it to harm my best agent."

Stone chuckled, if only to disguise the warmth creeping up his chest and dipping to his limbs. His smile must have been big and wide, but Robotnik was still applying the lotion with the kind of careful touch he usually only reserved for his robots. Best agent. The doctor thought he was the best. He was getting excessively giddy from those two words alone.

"Everything's good, doctor. Perfect as always." He smiled. "Have I been a good boy then?"

The question didn't register for Robotnik for several seconds, applying the lotion before stopping, his fingers paused near the tight ball of Stone's throat. He blinked rapidly, glanced up into Stone's eyes, then turned his head away abruptly. "You have, for once." He cleared his throat loudly. "You're lucky I didn't punish you firmer. I was hoping the collar would have more…observable results."

What was this energy floating between them? What was this urge to get closer? Their noses were almost touching and their breaths were fusing and it was making Stone dizzy. Despite his position, despite the creative punishments Robotnik could dole, he felt powerful. Like he could lean in and purse his lips and do whatever he wanted without consequence.

"So does that mean I get a reward?" Stone breathed.

Robotnik smirked. "You're not getting any more sick days from me."

"I wasn't thinking sick days, doctor."

"Oh? So what were you thinking? What's going on in that microscopic mind of yours?"

Stone pretend to think before grinning. "I'll let you decide, doctor. You're the genius."

Robotnik had stopped massaging the lotion, putting it back in his pocket and wiping his hands on Stone's jacket. His eyes were unfocused as he continued to stare at Stone's neck, as if scanning him for his blueprints, looking for weaknesses. It was so uncharacteristic and so firm that Stone wasn't sure he'd refuse any command Robotnik would give him. If he was asked to strip, he'd do it. If Robotnik bit his neck like a vampire, he wouldn't refuse. He'd do anything if it meant Robotnik stared at him like this, like he mattered, like only he mattered.

Was this really a punishment kink, or was there something more to what he felt? Did his feelings for the doctor perhaps run deeper?

Did Robotnik perhaps feel the same?

A knock on the door took both of them by surprise. Robotnik had stood up, quickly snapped his gloves back on, and pressed a couple of buttons. The security feed for outside flickered on, the edge of a white skirt flapping in the wind near the entrance. A woman in a white business jacket and skirt came in holding a file. Her eyes flickered around the room before narrowing on Stone.

"You must be Tariq," she said. "My employer has been looking for you."

For a second, time stopped, a bevy of uncomfortable, horrific memories surfacing. Then, in a flash, Stone had rushed forward with superhuman speed and punched her square in the face. She went out cold in an instant, her nose ruined and bloody, bruises already forming near her cheek where his knuckles had connected with the facial bone.

"Stone?!" Robotnik yelled. "What in tarnation is going on?"

He didn't react, instead searching the woman's jacket for something, anything. A file, a USB, an incriminating something or other. But nothing. Just her ID, and a card at maximum clearance level, the same level as Robotnik's and Stone's. The mysterious Lara Stein. Robotnik's legs seemed like jelly as he wobbled over to his desk and hurriedly typed away. Lara Stein's name was compared through hundreds of databases, but there was no one high enough to have maximum clearance. He tried to go through every filter, every database, too fast for Stone to comprehend, but even he knew that there'd be nothing.

There was another knock on the door. Robotnik grabbed Stone by the shoulder and said, "Don't do it," but Stone shrugged it off and readied his handgun. The door opened, and Stone pointed his gun at the person who opened the door.

Behind that person was a swarm of G.U.N agents, all pointing their weapons at Stone. He recognised a few of them. Sarah, Flores, Jacobs, they were all here, and they were all blank and emotionless like dolls, or mannequins. A pity he couldn't reacquaint with them under better circumstances.

The person at the door shook his head casually. His military-buzz cut had now gotten a bit longer, and his face was sagging, but Stone knew this man all too well.

"Still shoot first, ask questions later, huh, Tariq? Or should I say, Agent Ben Stone?"

Stone flicked his gun off safety. "My primary job is to protect my current charge, Commander. If you do anything to him—"

"Didn't you hear? We want to talk to you. Or, well…you would've heard it if you haven't bashed that poor girl's head in." He glared at Robotnik. "We only want to talk to Tariq."

Robotnik's eye twitched. "I am Dr. Ivo Robotnik. I've caused more wars than you’ve sired fatherless children. If you think I will—"

"Who do you think has been giving you those orders?" The Commander interrupted.

Robotnik's eyes widened. "You can't be…b-but the Commander is just some stupid character from a John Wick movie. "

"Doctor…" Stone warned.

"You are not touching my agent without my express permission,” Robitnik continued. “And since you've been so nice as to introduce me to your inferior weaponry, I shall introduce you to my means of destruction."

Stone grabbed Robotnik by the wrist, just as the turrets and sentires activated. He squeezed hard, hoping to the heavens themselves that Robotnik realised how serious this was. The Commander wasn't just any man. The Commander was a dangerous man who knew thousands of ways to kill and torture people. The Commander had a hand in every major war operation from the US since 9-11. The Commander had informants all over the globe, and was considered utterly untouchable.

The Commander was the man who taught everything Stone knew. And if someone was on his bad side, hell hath no fury.

Stone pressed a few buttons on Robotnik's gloves and the turrets and sentries deactivated. "I'll be back shortly," Stone said as he flipped the safety of his gun back on and holstered it.

"Stone?"

"Wait for me," he said.

"Don't you dare go," Robotnik's voice warbled. "T-that is an order, Stone. You won't like me when you disobey me, so don't—"

But Stone stepped out of the mobile lab and toward the Commander. Neither of them said a word, because there was no need for them. Stone knew the Commander too well to not know what he wanted to do, and he was not going to disobey the Commander. As he followed the Commander and the G.U.N agents out of the compound, the man known as Agent Stone disappeared, and a different man emerged—identical and yet different—to take his place.

Actions have consequences. That was the first thing Stone was taught back in school, long before he was given the identity of Stone. When the headmistress initiated a slam campaign after Mr Khoury left, slandering him as a pedophile who liked young boys, nobody expected it to go viral on the internet and get him taken to court on criminal charges. She was a white lady with a respectable career and numerous connections, whereas Mr Khoury was a relatively young teacher who had yet to make his mark on the world. His family wanted nothing to do with him. His husband could only provide moral support. Legally, he was on his own.

No one would imagine a little kid like him to have that much pure anger and rage, to punch and kick and win in a fight against an adult. It didn't matter that she had started the fight by slapping him on the face for providing evidence to refute her lies. It didn't matter that he was trying to protect himself. It didn't matter that his parents whole-heartedly supported him, and even helped him retrieve the evidence. In the end, he was expelled, and his school record was completely tarnished. Mr Khoury was declared innocent solely due to lack of evidence, but no one would ever hire him again.

It'd be many years before people took interest in Stone. Until then, Stone kept his head down and his ears peeled, learning as much as he could about the world and the evil that festered within it.

#Stobotnik #Ivo Robotnik #Dr Robotnik #Agent Stone #Sonic movie #sonic 2020 #Well he's not exactly 'agent stone' in this fic is he? XD #Any support you guys can give me will really help me out in these trying times

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years

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Kurtbastian one-shot - “Passive, But Still Aggressive” (Rated T)

Sebastian forgets an important anniversary. Kurt doesn't. And Kurt handles it ... well, like Kurt. (2554 words)

Read on AO3.

Sebastian pulls his Porsche into underground parking, rolling in at about five miles below the speed limit. He stays between the lines, conscientiously following the yellow arrows that lead to his assigned spot, taking his time to maneuver his car into the dead center of his space. He’s stalling, and since he’s alone, he won’t bother denying it. He seriously considers sleeping here the seven hours until morning … in his car … underground. He’d wake up with a crick in his neck and a kink in his back, but he’d deserve it.

Kurt had expected Sebastian home hours ago. They were supposed to have dinner together. They eat dinner together most every night, but Kurt had stressed the fact that tonight they needed to have dinner together. He emphasized it not only like it was important, but like Sebastian should know why it was important.

But Sebastian didn’t catch on, even when the universe itself tried to give him clues.

He misplaced his wedding ring twice today. Sebastian never misplaces his wedding ring because he never takes it off. But he had to today twice – once when he accidentally stuck his hand in maple syrup, and the second time when a blue ballpoint pen exploded in his hand. He had to take his ring off both times to clean it, and then promptly misplaced it, but only for a minute – long enough to give his heart a jolt.

That should have been the only clue he needed, but being a rather dense male, it wasn’t.

The wedding party limo that passed him on the highway, decorated with white paper bells and silver tinsel, should have been his second clue. But when Sebastian saw it, he rolled his eyes, thankful that on their wedding day, he and his husband were able to escape the reception for the airport in his Porsche instead of taking the limo that his groomsmen had decorated with hundreds of inflated condoms.

The Heppermyer’s 50th Anniversary celebration, taking place at a table not too far from his during the dinner he should have been sharing with Kurt, should have been the hammer that clobbered him over his thick skull. He even sent a bottle of champagne to the happy couple’s table, and they sent him a piece of their cake – a green tea flavored Japanese inspired confection that he thought for sure that Kurt would enjoy.

But, ironically, it didn’t.

Kurt’s uncharacteristic radio silence after two, “Where are you?” texts didn’t do it, either.

No. Unfortunately it wasn’t until Sebastian left the strip club (girl dancers only so he felt safe entertaining there) and the song “I Have Nothing” by Whitney Houston came on his iPod over the car’s speakers that it hit him.

When Whitney sang the verse, “I have nothing if I don’t have you,” it hit him hard.

Today (technically yesterday, but Sebastian was leaping over shock and starting in the denial stage), was his and Kurt’s fifth wedding anniversary. The wood anniversary - oddly appropriate since Sebastian Smythe was officially a humongous block head.

But instead of realizing early enough to come home and salvage the night (by the skin of his teeth the way he usually does), it’s after 1:30 a.m. when Sebastian returns home from his new client meeting.

He could have bowed out hours ago; this client in particular wasn’t that important.

Nothing’s as important as his husband.

But Sebastian was having a moment.

He was riding high on scoring a win, so to speak, which came with it a moment of, “Why do I have to answer to anybody?” and, “I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I want.” Both of those moments may have been fueled by adrenaline and alcohol, but they were still significant at the time.

“It’s only the fifth year anniversary,” Sebastian consoles himself, making the decision to leave his car, go up to their penthouse, and face the music. He feels to onset of a mild hangover coming on (mostly from the adrenaline – he only had two beers, and he’d burned those off before he got behind the wheel). Plus, he has to shower. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes, and even though he didn’t order a lap dance, he somehow managed to come home wearing glitter. “How big a deal can someone make over a wood themed anniversary?”

Sebastian apparently forgot for a second who he was married to until he opened the front door and got a great, big, cedar-scented reminder.

Positioned five feet in front of the door, so it would be the first thing Sebastian would see when he got home, sits a round table draped in a white cloth, and covered in gifts. A handful of them are wrapped, but after seeing the ones that aren’t, the ones that are simply set up on display, he’s not sure he wants to see the wrapped ones. The ones he can see are so perfect and sentimental, the wrapped ones must surely be devastating.

In the center of the table is a polished wood vase, carved with Celtic knots, with a bouquet of red paper roses inside. Sebastian knows Kurt made the roses. They’d taken an origami class together at the Museum of Natural History about a year ago. Kurt excelled at it. Every chance he got, he practiced the craft, creating swans and cranes and little nesting boxes every time his hands got bored. Sebastian, however, could only manage a frog. It hopped to the left once, landed sideways, then never hopped again.

Next to the vase, he sees a wooden photo album that has their names and wedding date burned onto the cover, along with a mandala so intricate he can only imagine it took months to create. The album doesn’t close flat, bursting with pages Sebastian knows Kurt scrapbooked himself. Beside that sits a wooden plaque, again with their names burned into it, and on individual slats below that, important dates from their relationship. For most people, it would probably start with “first date”, but Kurt has listed “first fight”, then “first date”, “first I love you”, “first time”, the day Sebastian asked Kurt to marry him, the date they got married, followed by a handful of empty slats, presumably for special dates to come (provided their marriage doesn’t end tonight). He sees a wood wine rack filled with his favorite imported beer; a hand painted sign (in Kurt’s crisp but chaotic writing) that reads – I love you. You annoy me more than I ever thought possible, but I want to spend every irritating minute with you; and a neatly constructed Jenga tower, each block of this version bearing penned words along the side describing something dirty they could do to one another – things they could have been doing to one another all night long if Sebastian hadn’t been such an imbecile.

Sebastian sighs, breathing in and catching a whiff of a final touch that might bring him to tears. While he had been munching on subpar Chicken Alfredo in a hotel restaurant, Kurt had made Sebastian’s favorite – parchment wrapped salmon and burgundy poached pears.

And for Kurt on this special day, Sebastian has only his sad self, smelling like liquor, covered in glitter, with a grand total of nothing planned. He hadn’t even remembered to stop by somewhere to pick up a pathetic apology bouquet.

Of course, he never would have imagined how much he’d have to apologize for.

Oh dear God, Sebastian thinks to himself. I really dropped the ball on this one.

Sebastian has no idea what to do – absolutely no idea. He hasn’t heard Kurt yet. Maybe he’s asleep. That would give Sebastian time to run back out and try to find him … something. But what? Anything that Sebastian could buy at a gas station or a Walmart would be an insult to the exceptional and thoughtful gifts that Kurt had obviously taken months to put together.

He could take a shower, slip into bed, and feign illness – claim that the tuna tartar he ate at lunch gave him an epic case of the shits and he was stuck at the office till just an hour ago. Then he could stay home tomorrow, email his personal shopper and tell her to break the bank, up her commission and just go gaga.

Gaga! Lady Gaga! Kurt’s still head over heels for her. And Sebastian’s heard that if you slip her foundation a couple mill, she’ll come have dinner with you. Before he can jump on his iPhone to check if that’s true, he catches a tired and unhappy Kurt peeking out from their bedroom. Sebastian’s stomach lurches, which he takes as a sign, so he goes with his gut.

“I’m sorry,” he says, rushing past the table of wonderful presents and heading towards his husband with arms outstretched. “I am so, so, so sorry. I …” He was about to say that he completely forgot, but that would be heartbreaking. “I have no excuse,” he goes for instead as Kurt slowly steps out, walking towards Sebastian with red eyes and a wobbly lower lip “I ... it’s just, I brought in a new client at work, and I was so excited, I …”

Kurt walks up to Sebastian with a mixed expression in his eyes. Sebastian doesn’t know what he’s thinking, or what he’s about to do. On one hand, Sebastian expects Kurt to break down and start crying.

On the other hand, he can also see Kurt kicking him in the balls and punching him in the nose.

“It’s been a while since I’ve brought in a new client at work,” Sebastian continues, trying to earn sympathy he doesn’t deserve. He’s telling the truth, but it feels like he’s chumping out, “and I thought …”

Kurt puts delicate fingers to Sebastian’s lips and shushes him. “Sebastian,” Kurt says in a thick voice that’s incredibly even, “I understand.”

Sebastian scrunches his nose, looking at Kurt as if he’s never seen this man before. Where’s the high-pitched wail? Where’s the crossed arms? Where’s the splotchy red cheeks? “You … you do?”

“Yes. I do,” Kurt says, tight smile notwithstanding. “I talked to your secretary. She told me everything. I know this account was important to you. And even though it’s our anniversary, and I must have reminded you that tonight was important a dozen times, it’s alright that you went out and wooed your client instead.”

“It … it is?”

“Yes.” The shadow of a scowl plays on Kurt’s lips as he runs a finger down the slope of Sebastian’s shoulder, picking up traces of glitter and sweeping it away. “It is.”

“So, we’re … we’re cool?”

“Of course, we’re cool. We’ll … just … let it lie for now, and celebrate tonight … right?” It sounds more like a threat than a compromise, but Sebastian is in no position to turn it down.

“Right,” Sebastian says. “Absolutely.” Sebastian takes Kurt’s arms, feeling bolder since Kurt’s being so lenient. “I’ll take you to your favorite restaurant, your favorite nightclub, and we’ll spend the evening living it up. Just you and me. I’ll even rent a limo.” He pulls Kurt in to his embrace and nuzzles his husband’s neck. “We can feed each other strawberries, drink some champagne … we’ll tell the driver to put the partition up, crank the music on high, and we can go for a drive … a nice long drive …”

“Sounds great.” Kurt lets Sebastian kiss him on the lips. Or it will sound great, his tone relays, after I’ve slept, and after you’ve made this up to me.

“I’m gonna go get out of my suit and take a shower,” Sebastian whispers seductively. “You wanna join me?”

“Sure. Why not?” Kurt says it, but he doesn’t sound too happy about it. “Let me just get dinner put away. We can eat it later.” Another threat, but Sebastian’s just happy this is resolving itself painlessly.

It’s a little creepy, but Sebastian’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Kurt pats Sebastian on the arm, then walks past him to the kitchen. Sebastian waits, watches Kurt go before he heads for their bedroom to take off his suit and get his pajamas. Well, that was … interesting, he thinks. He’s tempted to pat himself on the back for that one, revel in getting away from his heinous act without a scratch, but he can’t, because all he can think about is his excited husband putting together that fabulous dinner, setting up that table full of gifts, probably dressing up in one of his gorgeous designer suits, and then waiting all night for his louse of a husband to get home.

And when he didn’t, Kurt got upset. Of course, he got upset. He was livid. He cursed, called Sebastian ever name in the book. Maybe he even considered packing up a bag and going to a hotel.

He definitely cried.

And yet, here they were, preparing to take a shower together, and Sebastian can’t help feeling lucky that they’ve finally gotten to a point where Kurt doesn’t fly off the handle when Sebastian makes a mistake. Because they’re only five years into this. Sebastian’s pretty damned sure that he’s going to make plenty more mistakes.

Thankfully, Sebastian married a fair and even-tempered man.

But …

… it hasn’t always been that way, and Sebastian can’t imagine why the change, the sudden change, especially tonight. And that kind of bothers him. It feels like the calm before the storm.

So, if this is the calm, when’s the storm going to hit?

Sebastian goes to their room. He sheds his suit and hangs it in a bag, trying his best not to rain glitter all over their wood floor. He’s going to have to pay extra to get that glitter out. He sweeps up the detritus so that Kurt won’t have to see it in the morning. Hopefully a good night’s … or morning’s … sleep is all he’ll need to smooth out the rough patches that are still being rubbed raw. But Sebastian has to fix this. He has to think of something that will equal that table full of presents and all the thought that went into them.

He opens his underwear drawer. He’d normally go to sleep naked but tonight that might not be the way to go. When he pulls out a pair of briefs, he discovers that that’s a good call. The storm has hit, and the casualties are numerous.

He grabs a pair of his underwear and heads towards the kitchen. Kurt’s just about finished putting dinner away, piling Tupperware in neat stacks on the middle shelf.

Sebastian clears his throat.

“Yes?” Kurt turns. Sebastian holds up a pair of his briefs … from the hole cut in the crotch.

Kurt doesn’t acknowledge the defiled underwear, just looks straight into Sebastian’s eyes with an eerie calm.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt nods. “I’m sure,” he says, returning to his work.

“Alrighty then. We’re still cool?”

“Still cool.”

“Good,” Sebastian says, tossing his briefs into the trash. “That’s … that’s good.”

Sebastian backs away slowly to get ready for that shower.

And he’ll hide Kurt’s scissors in case anything changes.

#Kurtbastian #Sebkurt #Sekurt #Frankie writes

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misssophiachase · 7 years

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House of the Rising Sun

For Klaroline Infinity + AU/AH - Day 1 - All my offerings will be NOLA themed (for obvious reasons) I hope you enjoy this!

A talented artist desperate for inspiration finds it in a beautiful blonde but realises there is more to her than he ever expected.

"There is a house in New Orleans...and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy and god I know I'm one."

March 4, 1993

French Quarter, New Orleans: Royal Street

The night was surprisingly warm this time of year as Klaus weaved his way through the busy streets of the French Quarter. He'd been holed up in his studio all day and needed to clear his head. His exhibition was opening in a few days and he'd been working hurriedly to finalise his artwork in time. Unfortunately he was still missing his final showcase piece, his inspiration well and truly spent.

Klaus wearily took in his surroundings. Hoardes of people crowded the sidewalks, the aroma of creole food lingered in the air and the sound of jazz wafted from the many, small bars dotted along the street. The atmosphere was always so lively no matter the time of day and one of the reasons he had made it his home after leaving London five years earlier. Klaus had heard the stories of their vibrant arts scene and was eager to contribute.

It hadn't taken long for the owner at the local Gallery on Jackson Square to single out his talent and commission some paintings which were hung in pride of place only to gain the attention of wealthy New Orleans' residents who too wanted their own Klaus Mikaelson original. Now here he was showing his latest work. The exhibition had been much hyped with a number of buyers heading into town specially for the occasion. Klaus only hoped he could complete his final offering in time and live up to all the building expectation.

He heard a melodic giggle and looked over to its source, his breath hitching in his throat. She was beautiful. Her blonde waves were flowing across her back, her blue eyes were shining excitedly as she spoke with one of the street vendors. Suddenly Klaus realised he needed to know this woman, his feet moving on autopilot towards her.

Dressed in a fitted, white sundress and pearl accessories, she looked absolutely luminous in the dimly lit street. She wasn't the type you usually came across in New Orleans given its reputation and the fact she seemed so innocent as she graciously took the beignets in his outstretched hands was telling. With one last glance she walked away purposefully towards the direction of the Mississippi. Klaus couldn't help himself, instinctively following her lithe figure as those hips swayed in time with the slight breeze. Maybe he'd finally found his muse.

"Are you following me or something?" She enquired, turning around suddenly and surprising Klaus, the remaining beignets in her hand falling onto the pavement in the process. He didn't mean to come across so strange but she'd hypnotised him unwittingly and he wasn't quite sure how to react at first. He wasn't one to be stuck for words either but this blonde certainly had the power to do it. "The least you could do is answer given you've been following me for three blocks now."

"Actually, it was only two," he shared.

"You're really going to argue with me given I just caught you stalking me?" She asked, hands on her hips questioningly. She looked beautiful in the moonlight but Klaus figured that was just her default setting.

"What can I say, I'm a stickler for details."

"You may be a stickler for details but you just ruined my beignets," she shot back, gesturing to the pastry and white, icing sugar spread on the street. "I don't take too kindly to people depriving me of sweets."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, I tend to get quite angry without a sugar fix," she huffed. Klaus couldn't miss just how adorable she looked pretending to be outraged but secretly amused. "You better have a good explanation for allowing these to be wasted."

"Well," he stumbled briefly, trying to block out just how beautiful she looked staring him down. "I'm an artist and it looks like I found my muse."

"Seriously? Do you say that to all the girls?" She snorted. "And does it actually work?"

"If there were other girls then maybe, but you're my first," he replied confidently. "I assure you that I take the discovery of my muse very seriously."

"I have to admit that's one line I've never heard and I've been the recipient of many in my time."

"I have only the most pure of intentions, miss. If you'd be willing to pose for me then I could make you see that."

"If I'm naked right?" She scoffed, her blue eyes rolling as she said it. "I've known plenty of men just like you."

"Well, I'm not most men," he reiterated. Klaus loved women, infact he'd bedded many but she was so very different and Klaus knew she wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. "My motives are purely professional."

"Well, as admirable as that sounds, how about you take my likeness from afar as I walk away and seek out another beignet," she quipped. Before he could reply and offer to replace her baked goods, she'd walked away into the night, those hips wiggling hypnotisingly as she did. Klaus rushed back to his studio hoping that he could paint her from such a fleeting memory.

Chartres Street

Klaus placed the finishing touches on his latest painting, perusing it critically. Dressed in white, she had her back to him. Her blonde waves were hanging down her back as she sauntered through the French Quarter and retreated towards the Mississippi. Although those facial features and expressions were burned into his memory, Klaus wished to retain some anonymity. Plus, call him greedy but Klaus kind of wanted her blue eyes and pink lips to himself, even if he was never going to see her again.

"Is it safe to come inside or are you still being a moody sod?" Kol whined by way of a greeting. It had been two days and Klaus had barely moved from his canvas, desperate to do her image justice. At the end of the day he figured that was more important than showering, eating or sleeping.

"Oh come on you know I only save my grouchiness just for you, little brother," he joked, turning around and finally tearing his eyes away from his muse.

"Someone's in a good mood."

"What gave it away?"

"You attempted a little joke, Niklaus," he shot back, taking a seat on a nearby chair. "Although I'm starting to regret my decision about coming inside now," Kol muttered, holding his fingers to his nose. "When was the last time you had a shower or changed your clothing for that matter?"

"Um.."

"The fact you need to think about that speaks volumes," he groaned. "I hope you're planning on showering before tomorrow night's opening?"

"Yes, Rebekah," Klaus growled, thinking he sounded much more like their bossy, younger sister.

"I can't believe you've summonsed the witch to New Orleans for this exhibition opening. What did I ever do to you, Niklaus?"

"She invited herself in true Rebekah fashion," Klaus offered.

"If only she wasn't still in London like Elijah, why did she have to move so close and shatter our solace?"

"No doubt to keep an eye on us from New York City, Kol. So, what do you think?" He asked turning his easel slightly so Kol could see his latest work from the perfect viewing angle.

"Wow," he whistled appreciatively. "Looks like someone found some inspiration. Who's the mystery broad?"

"Just someone I saw walking around the quarter," he replied dismissively, trying to ignore his brother's terminology. This woman was anything but a broad. She was a beautiful, witty and confident woman. Not that he wished to discuss his mystery muse with Kol given his big mouth in these parts. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I manage a bar, Niklaus, my hours aren't always consistent." Kol had moved over from London a year earlier. Klaus would pretend that he was heavily inconvenienced by it but secretly liked having his brother for company, even if he was completely wayward and immature at times. Currently he was managing the Black Cat Room on Bourbon Street which was owned by Klaus' good friends Marcel Gerard and Enzo St John.

"Marcel tells me you've been quite conscientious at work. It wouldn't have anything to do with the new lead singer by chance?"

"For someone who lives in his studio all the time, I'm surprised you even know the jazz bar has a new act playing."

"I hear things. Sounds like someone's avoiding the question."

"Oh like you and your mystery muse?" He accused. "Bonnie Bennett might be beautiful and alluring but I can assure you I am being quite professional when it comes to her."

"Wow, you must really like her if you're acting professional," Klaus chuckled. If Kol was anything it certainly wasn't professional, there was more to this Bonnie than he was admitting.

"I think you need some sleep as well as a shower," he growled in response. "So, does this mean now all the long hours of painting are finally over we can go out for a little fun, big brother?"

"I'm plenty fun," he argued.

"If that's the case then I'd really like you to define fun," he snorted. "Apparently there is much fun to be had at the House of the Rising Sun."

"The what?"

"That's right you've been living in your cave for the past few months and would have no idea about the latest attraction to hit the French Quarter," he quipped. "It's the newest place to lose yourself."

"Lose yourself?"

"With the finest woman of your choice."

"A brothel?" Klaus scoffed. "This isn't the first time an illegal establishment has tried to penetrate the French Quarter and it won't be the last. The New Orleans police will have it shut down in weeks."

"It's not a brothel," Kol replied.

"Well, what's so new about it then?"

"It's a burlesque club but also offers escorts."

"So, someone comes in and sees a show and then chooses a scantily clad woman of his choice to accompany him falsely to an event to make him look good," he muttered. "Sounds like such fun. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to take that shower you insisted upon."

Jefferson Square

Klaus always considered himself a confident person but standing in the art gallery before the opening he had to admit he was worried. Worried that no one would come and that nobody would buy his work. The work he'd spent months on, if not years. What if they didn't like his art? It was something that plagued him, always had especially since his domineering and at times abusive father had told him he was no good.

He didn't have to wait too long though as people began to filter inside, slowly at first but after Rebekah had sauntered in the throng of people just seemed to build. At some point the space didn't seem big enough to house everyone. His works were bought at a rapid pace the only problem being his showcase piece. He'd been given more offers on that than anything else but Klaus couldn't bring himself to sell it, especially given it was his only reminder of her.

Kol and Rebekah reprimanded him about being so stupid given the impressive offers he'd received so far but he couldn't let her go. If he never saw her again Klaus figured it was all he had to remind him of their impromptu meeting.

"Um, excuse me?" A melodic voice enquired. "How much is this painting?"

"It's not for sale," he said without looking around straight away, used to all the questions by now.

"But I'd really like to buy it," she persisted, making him look around eventually. It was her. His muse. She looked even more beautiful if that was possible in a light blue dress that brought out those eyes. "I can offer you ten thousand dollars." Klaus knew that was by far the best offer he'd had all night and probably forever, the fact she could pay so much was another thing, who exactly was she?

"While I appreciate that I can't sell this piece, miss."

"And why not?"

"It's of personal value to me," he admitted. "I'm not sure I can part with it to be honest." She looked at him curiously for the moment like she was trying to work out why he was being so stubborn.

"I thought this was an art show to buy your work?" She reiterated. "Given we both know who your subject is, I don't understand the issue."

"I'm just not sure I can let you go," he offered, holding her gaze for much longer than usual. "You are my muse after all."

"So, doesn't that mean I deserve this painting then? I've offered you a very generous price, I don't understand why you wouldn't take it?"

"Maybe we should discuss my reasonings later then?" She was silent for a moment her eyes downcast. Klaus wasn't sure what to make of it to be honest. All he wanted to do was take her to his favourite restaurant and talk with her about everything.

"I'll be busy then," she replied, her voice colder than previously. She was gone again before Klaus could reply. He immediately felt bad like he'd crossed a boundary but had no idea why. She may of been his muse but she was bloody confusing.

"I can't believe you had the Madame herself offering you all that money and still you declined," Kol uttered, standing by his side.

"The Madame?"

"She runs the House of the Rising Sun, her name is Caroline Forbes. You didn't know obviously."

"Well, that would explain the enticing offer," he murmured. When he'd come across her in the Quarter a few days ago, Klaus had considered her sweet and pure but now he was realising she was something completely different. Klaus should have wrote her off immediately but after three days of insomnia he decided it was time he paid her a visit.

St Louis Street

Klaus walked into the famed house taking in his surroundings. Most people would define a brothel a certain way and this was most definitely something different with it's high ceilings and large windows attracting the maximum amount of light this time of day. He walked towards the front desk ominously, completely foreign to these kinds of situations.

"Hello."

"Well hello there, sugar," the brunette purred. "How can we help you today?" Klaus was momentarily silenced before the woman in question he was searching for appeared from nowhere. Klaus was beginning to believe that she couldn't look bad if she tried given the black dress she wore that highlighted her creamy skin.

"I know how much you love an English accent Katherine but this one is otherwise occupied," Caroline said dismissively. "What are you doing in my place of business?"

"I felt like we left things on a bad note," Klaus shared. "I have a tendency to be a little antisocial. When you showed up at the exhibition, I was surprised but even more so when you made me an offer. You have to understand it's become something I'm attached to and it's difficult to let go but I'm willing to give it to you."

"Oh, I see you want me to offer more now you know what I am," she surmised, tapping her finger on the desk. "Fine what do you want? $15,000?"

"I don't think you understand," he answered. "It's yours."

"Mine? Let me guess you want something else from me?"

"No, but I did bring you some beignets after the other night's mishap. It's the least I could do."

"So, not only are you going to just give me your brilliant piece of work, I get beignets too?"

"Of course. Look, I admit I was feeling a little possessive but it was only because I thought my painting was the only memory I'd ever have of you. Luckily you turned up on my door and made me realise that maybe I had a second chance." Klaus could tell she was trying not to smile but that he'd gotten through to her at the same time.

"I don't take charity, never have, so we're going to have to look into this deal," she insisted.

"Whatever you say, ma'am."

On FF HERE

#klarolineinfinity #house of the rising sun #misssophiachase #klaroline drabbles

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