#Merlot Suns AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chixkencxrry · 1 month ago

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What Does Yesterday Whisper to The New Day's Sun

Summary: You are on the hunt for your family's history. This takes you from Mississippi to Louisiana, where you meet a man who unravels you. An AU where Smoke also became a vampire. Smoke x Reader.

Warnings/AN: UNEDITED, NOT PROOFED. SMUT. If it isn’t obvious from my lack of ability to write metropolitan, I am not American nor North American-based. Everything comes from Google and books/movies. As such, I do apologise for inaccuracies in describing Charlotte or New York. I am borrowing from the fact that in the Caribbean, we can only trace our Black ancestry as far back as someone can tell it. Only our immediate elders have papers or have even begun to keep records. If I am erring in assuming the same for AA, I apologise and hope it doesn’t ruin your fanfiction!

You feel the shiver of the night on your skin; chill and damp, like a storm was coming.

The Louisiana air was rife with humidity, the sounds of the saxophone player in the bar besides your hotel echoes like a distinct cricket. Your fingers grip the lapel of your coat as you tighten it – looking out of the smudge window, you see a long-haired white boy bum a cigarette light off a brother with a fro thick as an ixora bushes outside your grandmother’s house.

“Looking for someone?” asks a young woman, not a bartender or waitress. Another patron who seems to have noticed your easy watching. She’s dark-haired and pretty with big, brown eyes.

“No.”

She lingers, lean over the back of the booth across from you. “Awfully pretty to be so alone.”

“I’m not alone.” You lie, lighting a cigarette. Your red painted lips suck on the stick and blow the smoke beside you. “Are you?”

“Nah.” She drawls, smiling. “You remind me of someone.”

“You local?” you ask, peeked.

“Been that way for a while.”

“I’m looking for my people. Got some family from here and the Delta.”

“Really?” she grins; smile wide and teeth bright. “What’s your last name?”

You squint, but you’re on your third Merlot and finished a second Whiskey Sour not that long ago so your lips are loose. “Landry. I have a long-lost aunt that disappeared in Mississippi a few decades back. She went by Cormier though. Annie Cormier then Moore. I’m doing research on her for my masters in Cultural Studies out in New York.”

The woman doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure, but you’re certain you saw her eyes grow misty – even for a moment. She plasters on that odd smile again. “Isn’t that something!”

“Yeah.” You finish your drink and smile at her. “You have a nice night, alright?”

“Oh, you’re going already? We just got to talking.” She says with no small intensity.

You slid out the booth, standing. “I’m good on the drinks. Gonna close off before I get reckless.”

“Now that ain’t no fun. You gotta be reckless once and a while. I’m Mary.”

“You here alone?”

You give your name, eyes catching the bartender’s figure moving across the counter. You pick up your jacket and knot it at your waist. “I’ll see you some other time, Mary.”

“I’ll catch you.”

The sentence stings like a promise against your back – haunting you as step into the Louisiana air. Charlotte was a lively city. Music pouring out from everywhere, food as good as any kind of sin. Soon as you turn your head; there was a homeyness to it too. One that Brooklyn didn’t have, that country flair to the city that you were sure you’d miss when you left.

You turn back to the bar; Annie’s, sprawled across the neon sign, hanging like ripened apple. There’s an iron wrought balcony beneath it, a man stands, leaning over – with a fat cigar in his hand. You can’t see his face clearly, but you feel his eyes on you. Unnerving you in a look.

A shiver runs through you, like a river full of life, and you keep on ahead trying to forget that man and his gaze. When you hit the door of your apartment, you find yourself racing to the flat, keys trembling in your hand. You breathe air into your palms and rub them, crafting warmth.

You burn cinnamon that night, all around the flat, and dust salt on the door.

The next night, though fear pushes your heart to your ribcage, you return to the bar. This time, when you see Mary, you go straight to her and ask her to dance with you. She smiles at you; like you’ve been expected and pulls you onto the dancefloor.

The heat of the club burns against your skin, bodies on bodies on bodies, she smells like the root of a peppermint. You think you can feel her on your soul when your bodies press together. Screaming Jay Hawkins echoes from the stage, crooning mean into the air. The muggy heat presses upon you, sealing you closer. You don’t stop though – hips rolling over her, hands reaching behind her.

“Come ‘long, baby.” She murmurs, turning you around and pulling you through the crowd. Her hand is cool in your own. Ice in a flesh sack.

Mary takes you through the crowd, cutting until you met double doors – a circle emblem at the centre, like the roots of a big oak tree.

“Where are we going?” You ask over the sound of the holler at the end of Put A Spell on Me. “You got a secret red room back here?”

Mary laughs. “Child, if you only knew.”

The hairs on the back of your hand stand out and you pull from her hand, but she holds you tighter, brown eyes staring you down fierce. You tug again, narrowing back your gaze at her. “I need to take a piss.”

“There’s a bathroom back here. You scared of me or something?”

“You ain’t nothing to be scared of.” You say, mimicking her accent.

She laughs. “Then why you trembling like that. Looking like a rabbit ‘bout to be slaughtered.”

You roll your eyes about to speak, but a deep vibrato rings behind you.

“Why you don’t leave that girl alone, Mary.”

Turning your face, you catch the look of a young man – about Mary’s age, with deep brown eyes and full, well-shaped lips. He was tall and seem to be of a stern nature. It wasn’t his good looks that took you though; rather, it was his familiarity. You feel tender just thinking of it.

“We just having fun, Smoke. No harm, no foul.” Mary insists.

Your eyes bounce between the two and you clear your throat. “Think I need a drink.”

“You do that, darlin’.” Smoke says, dragging a cigarette between his lips and puffing white into the air.

Brushing pass him, you try not to inhale the tobacco, but you do. You take in his scent too. Eucalyptus and whiskey; like a fire was under him, burning up something furious. Just walking by you feel the heat, dragging you in like a hearth. You’ll be warmed by me, it seems to whisper, you’ll be safe with me.

You look up and catch his gaze on you, its softness stifling.

This time when you ran from the bar, you did not glance back at it though you feel that stare all the same.

***

You go back during the day, knocking on the door to see staff cleaning it out. You seem to have barely made it in time before they closed up. A man scrubs the entrance with high-scented water, he speaks in deep Cajun, “Sis, you gon’ get yo’self in trouble askin’ ‘em sort of ques’ions.”

“All I’m asking is a name. Who owns it?”

“All I know is my cheque clears.”

When they weren’t any help, you head down to city hall. This sort of thing was public record after all. You sift through records and civil servants who want to be less than helpful, to find the name of a famous blues singer – who was about fifty years old and currently touring Japan according to the papers. Sammie Moore.

It is the first clue you’ve had in two weeks.

After you’d been to the Delta, gathering what you could from registries and whoever was still alive to even remember Annie, you’d taken the bus to Charlotte. The history on black folks on paper was limited; if existent at all.

You go through decades of newspapers; find one stray article that Sammie had given when he was a young man in his twenties, interviewed by a short-lived coloured papers. The Ohio Tribune, titles the article “Bluesman of the Century: Barely a Quarter Century”.

…the son of sharecroppers, the seed of a preacher. You sing about the complex relationship you had with your father a lot. What does your Daddy think of you all the way out of that plantation – selling out arena worldwide?

I figure, if he was still alive, he might have hated it.

Did your family outside of him encourage?

My cousins. Gave me the guitar I play with. Annie, my cousin’s wife loved it too. She would ask me to sing whenever I could.

You read on, searching for a name or names. Only to find nicknames – Smoke and Stack. What the fuck could you do with that? You rub your eyes. You were hoping to see Annie’s husband’s name, so that could be a connection. Elijah – Elijah Moore. The name on the tattered journal you’d found while rummaging that abandoned shack in Mississippi. Elijah. Elijah. The man shared the same face as this Smoke fella. But the Smoke Sammie spoke of, an older cousin, could be kin to the Smoke you met? His father maybe? But Smoke looked so much like Elijah.

You sigh. A headache was coming on. You were twisting yourself something ugly.

Could it be another Annie? Sammie and her were from the same community, that much you had gathered. Maybe you could write the archive there, ask them to send a copy of the list of residents to you? If they even had it.

You sigh, head hurting even more from all the questions. The more you uncover, the less you seem to find. Turning your gaze to the window, you see the twilight of the fallen day. Night coming slowly. You could go back to that club. Make sure that Smoke probably had no connection to Annie; but could you risk it? Sammie Moore owns the club, and this mysterious man who was the carbon copy of your great-aunt’s husband was no small coincidence.

Tapping your fingers on the table, you hum. It was about the time that even if the club couldn’t open – that could be there, preparing for opening. Grabbing your bag, you run out, hoping not to miss the bus.

The bar – as you suspected is partially opened. The front is all locked up but the back is spawled, with two workers sharing a cigarette and chatting. They pause, staring at you as you approach.

A lie slips easily; “Mary asked to see me.”

They part in a second and let you in, telling you she’s in the back room. But you don’t go there. You enter the bar, which looks different brightly lit. Clean and aired out. Sitting at a booth, is Smoke and a man who is identical to him. He’s dressed in white shirt and a dark blue suit. The man, in a black to what he’s wearing. The man looks at you in the strange way Mary had before he grins; white teeth glittering by golden grills. They’re a handsome pair; sitting there like two haunts.

“Good evening.” You greet. “If I could speak with you, Smoke.”

“Good evening.” The new man drawls, chuckling. “Girl sound like Dracula. Good evening. Who the fuck are you?”

“I didn’t speak to you.” You say at the same time Smoke says. “Shut the fuck up, Stack.”

Stack whistles, raising his hands. “Well damn.”

“I’m doing some research on the area, well a woman from this area. She’s kin to me, though deceased.” You stammer, going right up to their table. You empty your bag, spreading the photographs, files, and copied data sheets. “Annie Cormier. I’m doing my paper on Hoodoo and its connections to black womanhood. Rather, Black American womanhood and the efforts to drown it.” You pluck the copy of her photograph out, the one with her husband. You look up at them; Stack looking like he was longing to be anywhere else but there and Smoke looking like he might combust. “You look just like him. It’s like a doppelganger. If you’re related to the Moores from there – like Sammie Moore, you could help me find out more about her. I gotta know her. Gotta understand her.”

For a moment, the twins look at the paper. Like it was something sacred and holy. Smoke’s fingers reach for it then pull back. Like it might burn him up. He turns his face away, looking to the wall, as though something might be summoned from it.

“Sorry, darlin’. No clue what this about.” Stack starts, pushing your paper away. “Best of luck. Feel free to come back later and drink some vodka. Straight from Russia. Real pure shit.”

“I don’t want no fucking vodka. I’m just looking for some answers.”

“Ain’t no answers here for you little girl.” Smoke snaps. “You bes’ get to getting befo’ you find yourself in trouble.”

“You planning on doing something to me for asking a few questions?” You dare.

Smoke stands, towering over you by a good few inches. Though, you were sure if you stretched – you could punch him in his fucking throat real smooth. “I can promise you, you won’t like the answers.”

The threat slams into you with a force, fear making your knees buckle but you never dropped your gaze. “I’m not going to be bullied out of this. You aren’t going to stop me from searching.”

“Yeah, well, you keep searching lil’ girl. You gon’ find some shit you never wished you did.” Stack says, placing a cigarette between his lips. He takes along, deep pull.

“I’m a grown ass woman, nigga.” You cuss with a sneer, huffing you pack up your papers and spin out of the room. “Fuck y’all for not helping me. Fucking gangstas.”

A low, humoured whistle follows you as you leave. Anger burning in your chest. You make it all the way to your bus stop before you cool down. Your hands tremble as you hold your bag. Your frustration seeping out like the flood of a broken dam. Those motherfuckers. You steel yourself; they wouldn’t be done with you yet. There was no chance of you leaving now; not when you’d gotten so close.

Why else would they be so adamant you left them alone? They knew what it was. They had to know something about Annie. You weren’t a fool. You might be impulsive – but not foolish. They hadn’t seen the last of you. You’d be there every night until your research months died out. They’d be sick of you. Or they’d kill you.

Knowing your history was worth it.

***

At 3AM, a rapping at your apartment door wakes you up. You tumble out of bed, tripping over books scattered about your bedroom and hitting a broken typewriter at your ankle. Your blurred vision doesn’t help; sleep addled, you open the door without peeking and find yourself startled at the sight before you.

“Mary?” You say, rubbing the cold from your eye. “How the fuck did you find where I was living?”

“You sure as fuck pissed Smoke off.” She says instead of answering you. “I think I might have some answers for you.”

“Yeah?” You whisper; awake. “Well get in then, girl.”

Mary takes a seat on your couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She goes into her bag – a broad designer thing that looks good even in the dim, yellow light of the apartment. You feel self-conscious all of a sudden, shy. “What do you know about Annie?”

“I know she disappeared, along with tens of other poor black people one night. She had a husband who’d abandoned her after the death of her infant. She was known as a witch doctor of sorts in her area and was the sister of my Grandmother. Annie was around thirty-three when she died, though we’re not sure cause my Grandmother isn’t even sure how old she is.”

“And did your Grandmother share much of the practice with you?”

“No. She’d converted to Catholicism when she married my Pops, didn’t want to lose him.”

“Ain’t that some shit.”

“Ain’t it.”

The two of you chatter amongst each other, Mary tells you the twins have kin in the Delta. Roots deep as the Earth’s core. The way she tells stories about Annie, you feel as though she were there. You set your recorder up half-way through the first one. While she speaks, you try to cross check with the limited information you have on Annie and the oral history passed down on Hoodoo, on the roots within your blood.

There is something about what she says that strikes you as true, like she knew Annie.

“It’s getting late.” She says, looking out your window, the view of the city obstructed by another apartment building.

You chuckle. “You mean early. Do you want breakfast? I make a mean cup of coffee.”

“Come by the bar tonight.” She says, moving faster than you’d ever seen her. “The twins will be more willing to talk. I promise.”

“Alright.”

You sleep for most of the day and make notes in the afternoon. Mary had given you information smartly – part here, part there. She teases you and leaves you hanging. There was no choice in going to the bar tonight.

You picked your hair out, nice and wide. Glossed your lips and curled your lashes. You wore thigh high boots with a sensible heels for kicking – just in case those gangstas tried to bully you again. A mini-dress that skirted your bum complimented it, the purple looking royal against your skin as your thighs shun.

When you arrived at the bar, barely a foot in, your purse clutched at your side, Mary greets you. Dark hair curled in big Farrah Fawcet style curls. She gives you a fleeting look, smirking. “You look damn good, girl.”

Shyness fills you up, warming your cheeks with her tone. “Do they have the time to answer my questions?”

“They don’t.�� She corrects, leading you away from the crowded floor. “Smoke will have everything you need. It’s his area of expertise.”

“He related to her? Or got kin in it?”

Mary doesn’t answer you, just leading you closer and further down the back of the club. The same path Smoke had blocked you from entering. This time, she made no pause or gave no look-backs. She opens the door with a key that had been tucked into her bosom and puts you in front of her. “Door opens from inside. You go straight up that staircase, the first door belongs to Smoke. You don’t gotta knock, just open. He knows your coming.”

You follow her instructions, trying not to flinch at the sound of the door slamming shut behind you. The stairs creak as you walk up them. Bleach and pine sol fill your nose, like they clean here constantly, like it was some sterile hell.

Fighting against your natural instinct, you open the door and find Smoke pulling on a cigarette, face the opened balcony door of his office. His silhouette looks drawn out of a dirty magazine; broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He turns his face to you, smoke clouding his head. Then he steps forward, outing the cigarette on the iron flooring of his balcony before he came in. The yellow light casting an attractive glow on his face.

He was a good-looking man. Too bad y’all might be cousins.

“I want to apologise for chasin’ ya out here the other day.” He murmurs, sitting on the side of his desk. “Family is a touchy subject. Annie is a touchy subject.”

“You talk like you knew her.”

He smiles, though it looks sad and forced. “I knew her well enough.”

“I don’t want no trouble. I’m just looking for my history, sir.”

“Sir.” He chuckles, looking at you like he was searching for something in your face. “Got manners like someone from the Delta. Tell me again how Annie is related to you.”

“She’s my grandmother’s sister. My Gran was her little sister, her name was –”

“Marie.” He says. “Annie was twelve years older than her and would write her once a month.”

“Yeah…” you murmur. “Are you Annie’s grandson? You look just like that picture of her husband and her. I knew it couldn’t be coincidence.”

“Nah.” He drawls. “I’m Moore but ain’t kin to her. Too good of a woman for me to have come from her. Too pure a soul.”

“No such thing as a pure soul.” You correct. “I have a few of her documents, like her marriage license and birth certificate. Mary gave me a lot of good data but I still feel as though I need parts of her. Like I’m getting surface level shit.”

He hums, the front of his expensive shoe pushes at the chair in front of him. You take the hint and sit down. “I’m not a practitioner but I know a few things. I don’t have the sensitivity people say she had but I know when my ancestors are speaking to me. They keep sending me here. To you. You have to have some sort of information about her that I can’t get elsewhere.”

“Yo’ gut telling you that?”

“Yes.”

Smoke shakes his head.

He goes behind his desk and removes a paint, one of sunrise across the Mississippi. The face of a safe stares back and you, and he unlocks with his back blocking your gaze. From it, he lays a chest on his desk. When he opens it, there’s a plethora of notes, sketches of herbs and plants, wax coated bottles and letters. You don’t even have to ask to know its all Annie.

When your hand touches the box. Filled with authentic things that holds her spirit, held by her hands. You feel your vision darken and you collapse; hums ringing in your ear.

***

Smoke doesn’t make you feel bad for fainting. In fact, when you awake you’re startled by the look of fear in his eye. Though he discounts it, saying he didn’t want a lawsuit or anything. You sit up, sipping the water he had one of the waitresses bring up for you.

“Can I take these back to my apartment? I just wanna go through them. I’ll go to the library and make copies.”

“We got a copy machine in the office. These,” he presses a ringed index finger on one of the few photographs. “Don’t leave here.”

“How often can I come then? Can I stay till you close?”

Smoke narrows his eyes. “You can stay till we close. You can come tomorrow then after you’ll have to call.”

“The club number?” You ask, removing your purse and taking out your notepad and pen. You stand over the chest and start to go through it. You find a letter addressed to someone named Elijah, her husband.

“Take mine.” A card slides over the letter and you pocket it.

“I’m grateful for this.” You say, for the third time. “You don’t know what it means to have this in my hand.”

Smoke hums. You find he tries not to say more than he has to.

You stick around until the music from the bar is done. Till your boots feel too tight and chafe, till your belly roars in hunger as you feast upon the information laid out to you. Annie had been meticulous. Her knowledge of herbal medicine was something special; not even in the most detailed of interviews garnered this.

A pang of loss stings you; had you not found your way here, all of this ancestral knowledge would’ve been lost. The roots, gone.

“This should be in a museum.” You mutter, half-way through her notecard on herbal treatment for chickenpox scars. “A history tucked away in a box.”

“It ain’t history if you lived it. It’s part of you.”

“Well, I haven’t lived it. Millions of black people haven’t. Millions of us don’t have someone who kept records, or who told us these parts.” You bemoan. You set the notecard down and put your pen and notepad back up. “I’ll be here tomorrow ‘round six. Is that okay?”

Smoke waves his hand. “Just put my shit back in the box.”

On instinct you roll your eyes. Jackass.

That evening, Smoke is who greets you. Looking sharp in a blue jeans, colourful waistcoat that was finely made, and a long-sleeved shirt. You hated when a man knew he was good-looking. Smoke doesn’t say anything, walking you up to his office and taking a seat on the balcony while you took notes.

You’re a few hours into reading her letters to her husband, Elijah. When the door opens to reveal his twin. Stack glances at you briefly before looking straight at Smoke.

“Nigga, we got a problem.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy.”

“It’s urgent.” Stack stresses on the last word, the toothpick between his teeth threatening to snap. Smoke curses low and stomps out, but not before issuing a warning to you. “Don’t take none of my shit.”

“I don’t steal.” Not that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

You set that letter down and pluck another one. This one is one of the later dates. Post-war, many years. This one wasn’t written by Annie, rather, her husband. Elijah writes with flourish to her, his chicken scratch promising betterment through schemes. Yet there is an earnest, mature affection there. A love divine.

Your heart aches for him, you wonder if he panicked when she disappeared. If he mourned. Setting it back, you go to her notes – wishing for a reprieve from sentiment. There’s a cluster of notes based on all kinds of spirits; haints, wendigos, vampires, she had them by the dozens. You buzz with curiosity, slipping the notes into your bag.

Smoke wouldn’t notice it missing. Right?

When he comes back, looking more frazzled than you’d ever see him, you continue reading and note-taking until its time for you to leave. One of his staff brings up some copies you’d asked for, and you pocket them, leaving.

“I’ll call around six to make sure I can still come?”

Smoke nods and turns his face, looking out the balcony with no small amount of longing.

Yesterday’s routine of sleeping and note neatening repeats, settling on a dull rhythm. You unravel yourself in the daylight, lingering over what was taken from you. No. Hidden. You watch the sun set slowly over the horizon of Charlotte. Beneath your apartment, you smell the crawfish stew your neighbour seems to cook every night for dinner. The only thing she seems to know to cook; at first it had sickened you but now it was delightful cause you know it meant you hadn’t disappeared behind your research, behind the maybes and ifs of histories.

Hungry gnaws at your stomach and for the first time of the day, you get up to get some food. You set a pot on the stove to boil, adding some stray noodles. You begin the clean the studio apartment, picking up the clothing you’d stripped off that morning. You pick up your purse and rummage for garbage, finding Smoke’s business card.

Annie’s, the front says in simple script and below the bar’s landline. You flip the back and see his scrawl. You stare at the number for a moment. Then two.

Then you go to your coffee table, which doubles as desk, and pick up the last letter you’d read. From Elijah to Annie. You stare at it. Really, truly stare.

Dropping them, you lock your front door and windows. Toss salt at them and hang cloves of garlic. You curse. You swear. You cry.

The handwriting was identical. Hauntingly. Like you’d copied it.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, going through copies of Annie’s notes. There was a bath recipe for clarity of mind. Maybe that would help. Yeah, that would fix you up. You had almost everything in your kitchen. Rosemary, cinnamon, and white candles. That was simple enough. Even you could try it.

You fill your bathtub of warm water, soak the rosemary, sprinkle cinnamon. You light white candles; seven as written. When you’re done, you wonder what the fuck is wrong with you? This wasn’t just basic protection work, you were doing a bath. A full-fledged one that might have serious consequences.

Filled up with fear, you sink yourself in, dunking your head and staying as still as you could. When you open your eyes; crimson greets you and a story that makes your skin crawl.

***

“I just thought you were passionate about this topic,” your Professor says as you sit across from her, back in New York are weeks out-of-state.

You shake your head. “It was a fool’s errand. I was in over my head. I think this new research will yield better data.”

“But you were getting good, honest to God data before.” She grouses. “We need more black stories. We need African American history written by African American scholars.”

“This will still be African American scholarship.” You remind, folding your hands.

She sighs, raising her hands. “Listen, you’re ahead of the curve. I’ll give you a week to just think about this and make a decision. How about that?”

Frustrated, you nod and leave her office. The campus trees have lost their greenery, brown and yellow coating the flooring. It was fall. The days had gotten darker and you – jumpier. You’d ran from Louisiana so fast you were sure you left skid marks in your tracks. You took a month off from classes and returned with a new research proposal and a reverence for leaving the past where it belonged. What you’d seen when you went under water changed you. Whether it was for the better or worse, you had yet to decide.

You find yourself back home, in your grandmother's brownstone she’d left you in her passing. Her Catholic mementos collecting dust on every shelf. Slivered cross hanging above her mantle. It feels hollow.

At around seven, your doorbell rings.

Thinking it was pizza, you go straight to it without looking out. The ten dollar bill you hold drops and so does your heart. Standing at your stoop, hands in the wool trench coat, was Smoke – his eyes crimson in the yellow stoop light.

“Hello Little Girl.”

You slam the door shut and press your back to it, eyes closed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Don’t be rude.” He says curtly, muffled through the door. “I’d hate to start knocking off yo’ neighbours. I think Imma start with that old lady across the road. Miss Shirley? Then, I’ll go to the family…”

You open it again.

“I don’t want any trouble.” You start. “I haven’t said a thing. I haven’t done shit to you and your brother.”

Smoke tsks. “Liar.”

“I’m not –”

“You stole from me.”

“She’s my family.”

“She was my wife.”

You shiver. You hadn’t expected him to outright admit it. Admit to being a monster. “I have it in a security deposit box. I got to have time – I can only get it in the day.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow evening then. Seven sharp.”

Smoke disappears as easily as his namesake, dusting in the air with the unnaturalness of his nature. You close the door and scrub your face. Your appetite disappears. In the following day, you take everything out of your box and prepare and wait.

When Smoke appears again, you toe the box out and jump back when he takes it. He takes his time inspecting it. The notes you’d stolen are in his hand. The box is tossed into your home.

His gaze rolls over you, he licks his teeth. “Was never gon’ kill you.”

You believe him. “You still one scary motherfucker.”

“You remind me too much of her.” He admits. “I’m gon’ be here for a few months. If you wanna learn ‘bout her, ‘bout your family, I can tell ya.”

“Where are you staying?”

He smirks. “Nah, little girl. You gon’ have to find me.”

***

Smoke looks like he’s waiting on you when you step into the foyer of the Cortez. He’s in the lounge, reading a newspaper with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Not one of those rolled ones you notice he smoked back in Charlotte, but a premade one with the brown tip.

When you enter his eyes look up, drawing over you from head to toe. From your knitted hat to thigh-high black boots. Smoke doesn’t say anything but stands at your entry, hand behind his back as you walk over to him.

“I didn’t think vampires stayed at hotels.”

He quirks a brow. “Where the fuck you think we stay?”

“Graveyards and mausoleums.”

His lips tremble but he doesn’t smile. The two of you find an alcove in the hotel’s restaurant, secluded. You order a malt and he orders a whiskey.

“You can still eat and drink?”

He hums.

You let a moment pass. “Was she allergic to shrimp?”

His brows furrow. “Made her vomit.”

You smile. “Me too. Hate the smell of catfish too.”

“Nah. She loved that. Made the best fried catfish in the county.”

“I read that she cooked.” You say, rubbing your forearms. “How did she die?”

Smoke blinks, clearing emotion from his throat. “The vampire that made me…tried to make her but she didn’t want it.”

You’d read their love, their care. Why wouldn’t she want that forever? “She kill herself?”

“I killed her.”

“Oh.”

The waitress brings your drinks. You take your malt, suddenly wishing you’d taken whiskey instead. “How long had she practiced Hoodoo?”

“Long as I knew her.”

“Did she tell you who taught her?”

He sips his whiskey. “Her Ma. Your Granny told you any stories ‘bout her? Annie told me she was mad as a hare but gifted. Did some bad root and it turned her over.”

You scoff. “My Granny didn’t talk about her Ma. She was ashamed of her. Of Hoodoo and her roots.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I think she was ashamed my Grandfather would leave her. See her as lesser.”

“That ain’t love.”

“Nah.”

“But is survival.”

You shake your head. “Yeah. It was.”

The two of you sit and talk, casual and cool, until the bar closes and Smoke invites you up to his room. You sit by the window and listen to him tell you all he knows. You ask if you can come back – if you can return tomorrow, the day after and the day after that. He lets you. By some miracle. You keep coming back for weeks. Until you memorise cinnamon on his skin. The two of you seem to listen to other, and hear, and wonder and want.

Smoke isn’t the kind of man who screams that he wants you. Or anyone. From his letters, you gleaned that he was the kind to observe you and consider how you might want him. How you might like to spoken to, listened to, kissed, touched, known. His style was to know you. To know you, then romance you. Though, you didn’t want to assume that’s what he was doing.

Maybe he was just being kind.

Maybe you were letting your want of him get ahead of yourself. You know you got dumb when you got wanting something. Oh. You did want him. You wanted him so much that you let Monica – a friend from your political science class talk you into going out with a group of other classmates to a party in Greenwich.

You wanted him so much you were going to will yourself to forget him.

The club was an abandoned factory about two bus rides from your brownstone. The air was filled with weed and good music pouring out of the walls. You could see long-haired fellas sorting lines of power off perky breasts. You turn your head and see Monica with a group of your classmates, giggling behind a bottle of beer. The two of you make four and she calls you over. Removing your jacket, you reveal the black tights, thigh-high heels and mini red dress you’d worn with long sleeves to your knuckles. The dress was snug and made you look like you stepped off of Jet Magazine; it was the ideal mood-lifter for tonight.

“Looking sexy, baby!” she hollers, pulling you into the group. You recognise some face but greet everyone with a smile.

Drinks begin to slowly come out, the drunker you all got, the easier conversation and dancing got. Diana Ross’ voice fills the air and you couldn’t help but drag Monica out, dancing with her to the hymn of love. Your hands went in the air as your hips roll in the air.

Hands that were too large to be hers settled on your waist; you ignored the shiver of want running down your spine and danced. You close your head, leaning against your new partner. When the song changes and he spins you to face him you open your eyes and gasp to see Smoke.

You try to move but he holds you close, settling his thigh between your legs, your skirt riding and he made you grind on his thigh. You open your mouth to say something but words fail you. Instead, you let him control the dance. Your hands on his shoulders as your hips roll against his thigh and his hands slide under your dress.

Smoke and you move like two slippery things, stuck to each other and synchronised as you moved. The song changes and you move from his leg, turning your back to him and dancing against him. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way his hands seem to need to be on you; touching you, feeling you, as though you might slither away.

Monica calls your name; ripping through your moment. And when you turn, Smoke is gone.

You get home at around 3AM, feet sore as you stumble into your apartment. But you find energy to make it to your couch. All your layers too warm. Too much. You peel them off, huffing at the inconvenience of being clothes. When the layers are on the carpet, you try to mimic Smokes hands on your skin, try to imagine that club as your fingers find purchase between your thighs.

You try to think of his hands forcing your legs wider; index pressing onto your clit as he made circles on it, preparing you for him. You close your eyes so you can see his face; his red eyes and full lips. His want. His need. When you come on your fingers, you swear you hear his voice, growling your name in the wind.

There isn’t a next meeting because you don’t schedule it. Shame fills you at the sight of his name. At the sight of Annie’s name. You feel like you’ve betrayed her. Like you’re some low, evil slut.

Instead, for the next month you focus on your new research and get out ten chapters, though your Professor only starts making notes on their first two. Academia, you bemoan, a fickle bitch.

One night, when you’ve been cramming late at the library, you climb your stoop half-aware and find him sitting there. No cigarette in hand. Just his hat and his gaze straight; holding you in place.

“Hello.” You whisper, fiddling with your key.

“Hello.”

“I thought you left.”

“Did ya’ want me to?”

“No.” You climb up and open the door, looking behind you. “Come inside, Elijah.”

Your home feels different with him in it. You’re conscious of its smallness. Of his largeness. Of the Catholic figurines. Your half-opened books on every counter. You scramble to clean it but stop, feeling silly. Removing your coat, you hang it up and leave your bag on the ground beside your couch.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asks in his sweet, deep drawl.

You almost laugh. “God, no.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“I felt bad.”

Smoke’s eyebrows raise.

“Fuck. You didn’t make me feel bad. I felt bad because of Annie.”

A look of realisation crosses his face, then understanding. He nods. “Annie was the best of women. I understand. But she’s also dead. Been dead for forty years. Ain’t no guilt there.”

“I didn’t want to force you either. Make you feel like you had to.”

At that, Smoke looks almost dying of laughter. He steps forward, grabbing your neck and kisses you deeply. His lips soft and mouth melting onto your own. His tongue, thick, cloying into you.

Your back hit the wall and the buttons of your dress pop was his hands travelled further. Your hands fell to his belt buckle, undoing it blindly so you could slip behind the waistband of his briefs to tug his member.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pulling his lips back for a moment, the word soft on your mouth when your lips reconnected. His hands went behind your back, unhooking your bra and rubbing along your skin till he cupped your buttocks.

You released him to let the bra slide, pulling away and pushing him against the wall. Fluttering your lashes at him, you tug his pants and boxers down, sinking to your knees. “Put your hands on the wall.”

Smoke obeys, watching you with desire-tinged eyes. You run your tongue along his length, opening your mouth along its base, over the long vein, spit coating. Your hand circles, tugging from root to base. You put your mouth on the tip, sucking.

Above you, you hear his honeyed voice muttering, moaning.

Beneath him, you command him. You make his knees buckle and made him murmur madness. For a moment you go groin deep and pull back, then again, then again, then again. A muffled, ‘Fuck’, dances in the air.

When you pull him from your mouth, you kiss his tip softly and tug at him faster, firmer. “Are you close?”

Smoke can’t speak but it isn’t hard to guess. You smile. Big bad vampire reduced to this by your mouth. How powerful you felt.

You keep tugging him, giving a languid lick to his sack, putting your mouth on it, sucking it. It doesn’t take long for his to coat your hand. Ensuring your gazes are met, you lick the sensitive tip and the essence on your hands, shivering at the salt in it.

Smoke bends to your level and lifts you up, unto his hips and walks with you until he plants you on the dining table. You hold a breath as he kisses you once more, before forcing you on your back, his mouth on your centre. His lips suctioning on your button for a moment before he licks you from the base of your slit to your nub, lathering you with his drool. It made you tingle, nerves alit by the saliva.

As if sensing your gaze, his red eyes flash up; dangerous.

That thick tongue that had licked your throat divided inside your, swirling around your cove, lapping at the growing dampness, lips pressing against your own as he moved against you, rubbing you along his mouth. Smoke doesn’t raise his head. He drags up onto your clit, kissing, sucking until you ride his face to completion.

You kiss. The taste of the others on your tongue, and mixing with the other. Hands everywhere and no enough places. It’s maddening. You feel a hunger you never have before; a need as if in this touch you would find air – salvation – damnation.

The blunt velvet of his member presses against your trembling centre, he kisses you softly, closed mouth, as if asking for permission. You stretch forward, biting his lip and slipping your tongue for a taste his mouth again.

Yes.

When he enters, you yelp into his mouth, wide and long, he burns for a moment before the giddiness of being filled thrills you. His hips nestle close to you, his breathe cool as it fans on your face. Smoke’s voice drops real low, he says, “You’re beautiful.”

Words don’t get to fall from your lips before he starts, building slow and holding you close, hips rolling against your own. He takes his time, like the sun isn’t rising to kill him, like you aren’t aging, like the two of you have forever.

It’s so delicious, it sends you screaming under him. Hips rolling back and nails digging into his skin like sliver.

“Been thinking about this pussy since I saw you,” he admits, teeth nipping the swell of your breast. “Feels like heaven. Like I came home.”

“You feel good,” you whimper. “You taking such good care of me, baby. God. You’re so sexy.”

“You want me, baby?” He teases, raising on of your legs over his shoulders. The depth of the new angle makes you mewl like a cat in heat. “Fuck, you do. Got me deep in this.”

The two of you lose your power for words and keep going until you become jello from a shuddering climax, and he stiffens in you, flooding you. When you part, you hold each other close and stare at your ceiling. Cooling down in the other’s hold.

His thumb strokes your shoulder, wiping at the cooling sweat.

“When do you go back to Louisiana?” You ask, taking the risk to ruin the moment. His thumb doesn’t stop, his cold body pressing close to you doesn’t try to inch away.

“We leaving there. Been too long. They gon’ notice us not aging.”

You hum, kissing his chest. “Where are you going next?”

“Been thinkin’ of setting a place up down in Harlem.”

You wonder if he hears your heart speeding up in excitement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” You whisper, the sounds of rain starting upon your roof, rolling louder into a storm. “That’s real good.”

Though he leaves before sunrise, you know when the sunsets in the evening, he’ll be in your house again, dragging that honey voice with each step.

#sinners 2025 #smoke x reader #black!reader #sinners #smoke and stack #mary sinners #annie sinners #elijah smoke moore #elijah smokes x black!oc #elijah smoke more x reader #sinners fanfiction #sinners imagine #sinners fandom #elijah moore #sinners smut #sinners spoilers #michael b jordan

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mrs-chonk · 6 months ago

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A waste of blood - Paucity

Part 1 master list here (The story is heavily inspired by this art made by @miracleboylene) tags : sevikaxreader, AU of arcane, set in a fantasy/maleficent-inspired world, reader isn't explicitly mentioned or present in this chapter, brief swearing involved, 1000+ words, third person, can't really think of anything else note : this series will be a bit longer! please don't complain about how many parts this will take, I have to include world-building and add a whole new character. Anyways, enjoy! summary : Sevika is called to the castle. But for what task?

"We're friends, aren't we?" they ask quietly.

She looked at them, a small pause strung in between them, like the highest cord of a lyre. "Of course."

They scoot closer to the second, taking her hand. My golden girl, They think. The girl with the obsidian hair littering the view of her dusty eyes. Eyes so knowing, knowing of things that should've been kept behind closed doors and garden hedges. The girl with the big voice and shifty eyes. The eyes that have seen so many things that should've been left behind fresh linen sheets and starry skies. The girl with the passionate bearings about small things like rocks, sunrises, and the smell of dandelions in her neighbour's garden. Her small chubby hands, which were calloused from squeezing a wheelbarrow too tight. Her chipped tooth from when she'd fallen off her horse when they were 11. The scar on her left cheek that she'd refused to talk about, and the other thought it was because she wanted to keep something close to her chest. Something that the other didn't know. The girl with her early mornings and secret smiles. The girl with her worries.

The girl with a father who slowly smothered her, his binding words and silent resentment.

The girl with her gentle nature and loyal heart, too precious to be exposed to the world. Yet she was not exposed, but instead thrown, dragged, kicked, and beaten into it. Shamefully.

“And we’re always going to be friends?” They ask, fragile, as if a single breath could undo the 13 years of life they had already lived so boisterously.

The girl looked seemingly undisturbed by this question, a skill she had learned so well from her father. Though internally she wonders what follows this conversation, what tragedy the other could have foreseen to tear them apart so suddenly. ”Yes. Always.” She says, with hesitancy you could only see if you paid close enough attention, gently rubbing her round fingers against the calluses at the edge of her palm.

The other smiles and closes their eyes beneath the twilight, and allow the moonlight to swallow them. Emulating a sharp glistening spark along their contrastingly melanated skin. “That's good enough for me, Golden Girl.”

“Fuck.”

Her fingers fumble the sling for what feels like the millionth time. The bend of her chest leaves little room for anything else, forcing the sling of her prosthetic to crawl its way provokingly between the divot of her mounds. A string of shushed audible fucks leaves her deep brown lips, as she finally reaches for her merlot cape. Quickly tossing it over her shoulder. The metal creaking, a once sturdy design betrays her with its age, rust now lining its entrances and crevices against her shoulder. The floorboards were now littered with sun rays that had broken through her window. She makes a few lazy, but large strides to her varnished entrance door stepping on them, and closing the door with conviction behind her.

“In a hurry Sev?” She turns to see a tall, wide man holding a dull machete and a bucket with questionably cut slabs of assorted vegetables inside. And a lucrative addition of dirt smeared across his upper lip and hairline. A small girl behind him begins to make “snowballs” out of the soppy mud below her. Lightly giggling to herself and her silver hair clips reflecting the sunlight above. Sevika fiddles with the lock on her door, knowing that the frame of it is so torn that the door could easily be kicked down regardless. ”Still rushin’ around? Ya know, I’d say that ‘Vanessa’ up there works you too much these days.” he says with a hand on his hip, twirling the machete loosely in small circles.

“Busy, Vander. Unlike some people, I don't have time for mud pies.” She says unamused and in a slightly bitchy tone as she finishes up with the lock, abandoning it and leaving it open. Her weak brown soles slap the stone path as she rushes uphill. Making way for the tall ivory towers of the kingdom ahead. Vander flicks the machete’s handle against his side, the dull thud matching his quiet sigh. “Alright then.” Vander mumbles, to himself almost. With a huff, he turns around to give the small blue-haired girl a frown, followed by a stern index finger nodding in her direction. She drops the congealed ball of mud and wipes her generously soiled hands on her pant leg.

Sevika ponders the inquiries of the queen, the reason she's walking this absurd distance in the first place. She was accustomed to the queen's requests for intel, small things regarding the people of Sevika’s side of the kingdom. A side the queen herself would rather distance herself from.

The queen knows they're not all animals unlike the rest of the council is convinced. She sees them as important; she knows they serve a greater purpose than even they know. But it is about keeping them in line. The lesser must be cultivated to believe in little, dream small, and keep working —all with no hope of achieving above their means. To keep them tamed you must beat them, kill them, and hurt them. That is a queen's duty. But Sevika’s duty lies in a more urgent nature.

“You're late.” The woman's octave reached lower than Sevika was expecting. Spindling her position, Ambessa faces Sevika. Her expression was rather blank, yet obtrusively disturbed. Sevika didn't reply with words, but instead with a bothered expression that rang “Get to the point.” without verbalizing it. Ambessa saw it and promptly ignored it, moving to more pressing matters than the ugly meaning behind Sevika's contorted face.

A gruff expression of hesitancy clouds her face, her dark brows nuzzle their way into the center of her face and her lips tighten their seal; as if careful not to spill unwanted secrets. “You’ve heard of the market spikes I would imagine? Ref among them.” She slowly began her small circle around Sevika, her heavy feet gently meeting the tile floor. Leaving small unseen traces of dirt and bacteria. The small flickering candles down the hall left glints of orange sprinkled in her luxurious coiled hair, the strands of silver emulating a bright white rather than any specific colour. “It's funny how a dried-up flower can cause so much disturbance when left unattended.” Sevika releases a pent-up sigh from her lightly scared mouth. “And you think I know who's eating poppy seeds?” she asks in an almost rhetorical tone. Ambessa, yet again, doesn't give her sass any attention, looking at her when she speaks but not changing her face to accommodate her words. Turning her head to look at a painting on the wall instead, one depicting her young daughter, who could be no more than a couple of years old by now, maybe 8 or 9. Sevika had seen her daughter a few times, peeking around the corner at her and Ambessa’s conversations or sitting with poise and strictness in portraits along the main hall of the castle, which was always dimly lit, heavily guarded, and the location of these curious conversations. Ambessa allowed a small indent of worry to crumple her brows.

“No. I want order. Ref is a distraction, but distractions are costly.” Her face ever so slightly changed to one of frustration and reminiscence. “Someone a little too close to home has let their greediness get the best of them. Someone’s been careless. Their indulgence compromises more than their purse. It compromises us all.” Sevika's interest peaked, the concept of a part of the court succumbing to what must be public humiliation among the council, the thought amused her. “This weed must be nipped before it grows outside of my jurisdiction. I need someone with a precise hand and… good sheers.” she says, questioning her analogy a bit before she continues speaking. Sevika slowly understanding the picture being painted before her. “Find the hidden game, the treasures buried beneath the decay. Bring them to me, before the wolves smell weakness in our borders. I trust you know how to get your hands dirty, coming from a long line of prestigious hunters.” Her smile doesn't reach her ears, and she lets out a low hum when Sevika relaxes her face out of annoyance, and into curiosity as she begins to speak. “What am I looking for?” Sevika doesn't want to feed the rich by any means, but she of all people knows best what happens when the rich go unfed.

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kibblenoodlesnail-requests-open · 5 months ago

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I kinda wanna rant about my characters/OCs/AUs (Specifically the TSAMS/FNAFSB ones)

So uh, yeah ask about them

Characters will include:

Jaws (Cafe owner/Genderfuild)

Acheilus (Cafe worker/Male)

Banjo (Cafe worker [barely does their job]/Nonbinary)

Everest (explorer/Nonbinary)

Nova (Solars Alter 1/Nonbinary fem looking)

BlackHole (Solars Alter 2/Nonbinary masc looking)

Vessy (Nice Lord Eclipse[Eclipse]/female)

Dawn (Nice Lord Eclipse[Sun] /Genderfuild [Fem leaning])

Helix (Nice Lord Lunar [Eclipse]/Genderfuild [Masc Leaning])

Lumi (Nice Lord Lunar [Lunar]/Male)

Merlot (ForcedBlood!Solar/Unknown gender)

Clip (Split Eclipse 1/Male)

Chip (Split Eclipse 2/Male)

C!Sun (Committing Crimes Sun/Gender unknown)

C!Moon (Committing Crimes Moon/Nonbinary)

C!Lunar (Committing Crimes Lunar/Demiboy)

C!Eclipse (Committing Crimes Eclipse(Com)/Nonbinary)

C!Earth (Committing Crimes Earth/Nonbinary)

Doppio (Commiting crimes OC/Male)

Glitters (Commuting crimes OC/Gender unknown)

Please ask I wanna talk about these fucks but no idea what to say,

#tsams #tsams au #sun and moon show #sun and moon show au #tsams solar #tsams earth #tsams eclipse #tsams moon #tsams lunar #tsams sun #fnafsb #fnaf security breach #fnaf secuirty breach #aus #characters #ocs #ask #please i beg

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xxvalkyriesxx · 3 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word.

Thanks for the tag, @foundress0fnothing (BOND) and @wishcamper (STAIRS)! Thank you, lovies! I'll be doing both so get ready yall!

B - But was it considered bravery, when we just ran and hid? The question haunted her most nights, wrapped from the memories of her and Gwyn locked away in the wardrobe of the royal’s summer cabin, sounds of death beneath their feet. Nesta wasn’t sure what took over her that day. All she knew was that Gwyn needed to survive. (Piece for Nesta Week, Modern AU)

O - “Oh by the Mother, I don’t need another romantic in my life. My wife is enough.” Cassian only laughed. “Having a hard time romancing your wife, Az?” (Next chapter TJ&TQ)

N - Nesta leaned back against the booth, her nails resting on the glass. “You told me you found a five thousand dollar necklace on your joint account. A necklace you haven’t seen and bought near the time of your birthday. Which was just four months ago.” She stared at her younger sister. “And recently you smelled merlot on his mouth right?” (Another piece for Nesta Week, Modern AU, maybe a TS song inspired)

D - Dragging one of his hands down his face, he groaned, lying back down. “I’m an idiot.” Cassian mumbled underneath his breath (Next chapter Flying Changes)

S - She landed on her stomach, feeling Cassian tug at her hips as he bent her over on all fours. The new angle made Nesta choke, struggling to remain composed. (Another piece for Nesta Week, Modern AU, maybe a TS song inspired)

T - The wave of blood lingered in the air making Rhys lick her lips. She fed only a few hours ago, but sometimes a fresh kill could make her go for a second dinner. As she cleaned up the broken glass, Feyre emerged from the darkness, blood over her lips and staining her clothes. “What a messy girl you are, Feyre.” Rhys smirked before standing up. She placed the broken pieces of glass onto the table before she stood in front of the new vampire. (Next chapter of LOTN)

A - Azriel chuckled, crossing his arms. “So the dancing is coming along?” Other members of the gym passed by while the two spoke. It was busier than normal on a weeknight. Cassian shrugged. “Somewhat. I’m no ballet dancer, but my memory is currently saving my ass.” He took another sip of water. “But I’m still getting confused on stage directions.” A genuine smile appeared on his lips. “Sometimes I act more confused so I can see Nesta’s reaction.” (Next chapter TJ&TQ)

I - Ironically the sun was gorgeous in the winter’s daylight as Nesta stood in the snow, her black formal dress barely touching the ground from the help of her heeled boots. The wind blew a chill around her, making her rub the sleeves of her jacket, her gloved fingertips stunned by the cold. (Next chapter Death's End)

R - Reaching over, Elain took a sip of her sister’s wine, finishing the remainder of the glass. Before Nesta could do anything, Elain looked up at her. “I think I’m going to talk to him about it.” Nesta blinked. “Tonight?” Elain shrugged. “Is there ever a good time to bring up to your husband that you know he’s cheating on you?” “Touché.” Nesta inclined her head. “But think about it first, Elain.” (Another piece for Nesta Week, Modern AU, maybe a TS song inspired)

S - Somehow his grin only widened. “In fact, I do. Earned my degree while I served as a Marine.” As the two bickered back and forth, Nesta kept her gaze in front then off to the sides. Her stomach soured, hearing his laugh. The same laughter she’s heard for quite some time, but the vibrations from his voice felt in between her inner thighs, that was fairly new before the fuse blew out. “Archeron!” Cassian’s voice snapped Nesta out of her trance, the warmth of his body a discarded memory. Nesta glanced back at Cassian, seeing that he and Gwyn were already at the library doors. “You okay, Nesta?” Gwyn asked, concern edged into her expression. (Piece for Nesta Week, Modern AU)

I'm tagging @unhealthyfanobsession, @kale-theteaqueen, @moodymelanistand @c-e-d-dreamer (and anyone else who wants to join, but also no pressure to the people tagged to do so)!

Your word is

SHACKLED

#This was so much fun!#Ahh I can't wait to read what yall wrote!!#Nessian #Acotar Tag game #Tag Game #Wip Wednesday #xxwip

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bangtanwritershq · 2 years ago

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BangtanWritersHQ Presents: “Bangtanstrology"

The magic surrounding the creation of BTS is a story that is the same, yet different for each of their soulmates in ARMY, since we are all born under the same Milky Way but in different stars.

You look at the spread of tarot cards on the cloth-covered table, surprise filling your eyes in the low light of the psychic’s room. Despite having this recurring dream since childhood about seven men and the providence of the universe, you try to argue with him.

“You’re insane. How can I be yours? And also be fated to 6 others?”

“Yes, my moonchild, you are destined for great things,” his voice is deep, full of sex and smoke. “This card may say ‘Death’, but it symbolizes not your actual death, but the death of who you were before me, before us. This card here tells me that this death and rebirth will happen almost instantly. In the dark nights, we’re each other’s lights. Once you leave this tent, your life will forever be changed.”

You can’t speak, so shocked by his words, so you nod as you stand up, depositing the few bills you had previously readied as a tip as you gather your bag. Eyes looking back at the man, you feel more than hear his next words straight to your core.

“You can’t fight fate, and you are our destiny.”

Back outside the psychic’s building, as you walk to the bus stop, you sense something is off, but are unsure if you’re in danger. You safely board and the trip home flies by so quickly that you’re already off the bus and that much closer to safety. As you enter your neighborhood, the feeling returns. Speeding up, you turn the corner by the convenience store, running smack into a broad chest before bouncing backward and onto the ground.

It feels as if the Earth has shifted. The setting sun has the sky lit up in hues of lavender and violet, a gorgeous purple halo surrounding the seven sets of eyes looking at you.

“This can’t be a coincidence!” you gasp, confused at how they could manifest from your slumber to reality. “I dreamt of you.”

The one you ran into steps closer as the others behind him peer around to get a better look at you. His hand is open, palm up stretched between your bodies.

“Take it,” he says, and the others around him echo the words.

“Take it.”

You recognize one of the voices, sultry and smokey; he smirks at you as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“My hand reaching out to you is my chosen fate.”

This June marks the 10th year of BTS, the fated soulmates of ARMY. Because we are the two, who found our destiny. And to outsiders, the story is so incredible. It must be a myth, a thing of lore. No such thing could be true! But we know the truth.

KEY:

🔞 - nsfw (mature themes) ✅ - sfw (no warnings) 💖 - smut ⚠️ - other warnings

SET UP - emojis: Title (if link is to another platform) | Author [parts] pairings, genre/aus, rating, word count

🔞 💖 ⚠️ Masks & Merlot | @colormepurplex2 [2/2] Pairing: ModernLegacyHeir!Kim Seokjin x Servant!Reader AU Type: Long-time Pining | Drunken Love Confessions Rating: MA WC: 13,961

🔞 💖 Closer | @downbad4yoongi [1/1] Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin AU Type: Mutual Pining | Dinner in Rome Rating: MA WC: 2,571

🔞 💖 ⚠️ If It's Our Last | @moonleeai [1/1] Pairing: BondedPistil!Jimin x Stamen!Jungkook AU Type: Strangers to Lovers | Pistilverse Rating: MA WC: 2,404

🔞 💖 ⚠️ College Nights, Diner Fights | @hisunshiine [1/1] Pairing: waiter!Jungkook x waitress!Reader AU Type: Diner, e2l | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 9,664

✅ ⚠️ What if... | @mrsparkjimin18 [1/1] Pairing: Production Director!Yoongi x Art Director!Hoseok AU Type: Mutual Pining, Hidden Feelings | fluff Rating: PG-13 WC: 2,884

All stories copywritten of the specified author. The authors provided consent for their stories to the network to be shared by submitting their stories. Stories posted in the order of submission to the event.

#BWHQ #BWHQ Writing Event #BWHQ Writing Events #BWHQ Network #bangtanwhq #bangtan writers hq #bangtan writers hq network #bts imagines #bts #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts smut #bts au #bts angst #bts fluff

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tickletorso · 1 year ago

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Finding the Fun - RSS 2023 Fic

Hello @of-princes-and-savages I am your Secret Santa and damn was this a labor of love! The flu almost stopped me, but I said "not today infectious demon, I have a gift to complete." So without further ado, I hope you enjoy this kinda angsty, mostly fluffy, with just a hint of smut Rumbelle fic.

I will also post it to Ao3, but probably not until tomorrow and I wanted to make sure I got this to you today. So, feel free to read it below....

Summary: Belle and Rumple are settled in Storybrooke with two year-old Gideon. One night, Belle has a mishap and it inspires the couple to try and bring back the fun into their relationship.

Notes: This is a little bit AU, because after Gideon is turned back into a baby, the family stays in Storybrooke instead of traveling realms. So magic exists and all of the characters' history is the same but I’m glossing over the whole “Rumple needs to break his Dark One curse” thing. Also, I researched it and baby deer walk 7 hours after being born. - That’ll make sense when you read it.

Finding the Fun

Well, this wasn’t the oddest position Rumple had ever found Belle in.

There was the time in the Dark Castle when he’d found her perched high up on a ladder tugging on the window curtains trying to let light into the room. He’d been about to chide her, because it was called the dark castle for a reason, but she’d lost her balance and fell right into his arms. There were many other “Belle mishaps” (as he liked to call them) to choose from, but the ladder was his favorite. He’d ended up with his arms full of a beautiful woman, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight and she hadn’t looked at him with repulsion. Instead he saw curiosity and kindness in her bright blue eyes. He didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of his love for her.

Currently, he was leaning against the doorframe of their son Gideon’s room. The hallway light behind him cast a luminous glow over the scene inside. Belle was fast asleep propped up by the headboard of their two year-old son’s bed. Gideon was cradled in her lap, equally fast asleep, his head resting against her bosom. He could tell even from across the room that Gideon’s breathing was a bit labored, and he could hear the occasional sniffle from what was undoubtedly a stuffy nose.

Ah, Gideon finally caught a cold from one of the other children at daycare. Well it was bound to happen at some point. An autumn chill had recently swept through Storybrooke and with it inevitably came runny noses and germ-laden hands.

But his beautiful wife comforting their son wasn’t the ‘odd’ part of this tableau. It was what she was wearing. Rumple’s eyes trailed up her legs. They were covered in sheer black stockings and just a peek of a garter belt could be seen high up her thigh. He could just make out a pair of matching panties trimmed in scallop lace before Gideon’s little body hid the rest from view. His gaze continued to drift upward to her top. It was a thin and rather ragged sweatshirt with the words Storybrooke Library stamped upon it. It even looked like she’d done her makeup more than usual. Her eyes were darkly lined with a winged effect and her lips were a luscious merlot color.

He tried to bite back a chuckle. Belle had sent him out for a bottle of wine and there had been a wicked gleam in her eyes. It appears Belle’s plans for a seduction had been rudely and quite suddenly interrupted by Gideon’s head-cold.

Rumple gently closed the door and made his way to their bedroom where he was met with more evidence of Belle’s thwarted seduction. Hanging off the side of their bed was a black corset covered in a black scallop lace just matching her panties. The drawers of their dresser were all pulled out with clothing spilling out of them and several items strewn across the floor. The male part of him groaned at the missed opportunity. The rest of him had a good laugh while he cleaned up the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Belle stumbled down the hallway like a baby deer fresh from the womb. Her legs had fallen asleep while keeping Gideon propped up on her lap. Poor little Gid had woken up crying and panicked because he couldn’t breathe through his nose. He didn’t understand that it was just a cold, and he kept pointing to his nose crying “no no no.” Once she was able to calm him down they’d sat in the bathroom with the shower steaming to help loosen his stuffed sinuses followed by a small dose of cough medicine. He still hadn’t been able to sleep without Belle propping him up making it easier for him to breathe. Thank gods toddlers don’t care what their moms look like as long they’re there, because Belle looked very different than usual.

The house was already dark so it must be late. It was always disorienting leaving Gideon’s room after sleeping with him. It felt like his room existed outside of time and space; the white noise machine, the complete darkness he needed for sleep (he must get it from Rumple), the cozy warmth of his body when he insists on snuggling until he drifts off. It all effectively shuts out the world. So when Belle tiptoes out the door, it always takes her a long time to orient herself to the sounds, the light, and the cold of the real world. She has absolutely no idea what time it is. It could be tomorrow for all she knows.

She makes her way into the kitchen trying to quietly make some tea before she puts herself to bed. The feeling is back in her legs because she definitely felt the chair she just knocked into which, of course, clattered to the floor. The sound echoing throughout the first floor of the house. With a great huff she slouched against the kitchen counter. So much for quiet.

“Well well well. What do we have here?”

Belle jumped with a little shriek turning around to meet the very amused eyes of Rumple.

“Rumple!” She pressed her hand to her heart, “You scared me.”

He shrugged and swaggered towards her pulling her into his arms. He was dressed for bed in his deep blue silk pajama set with a matching robe. The contrast in their attire was very apparent. Most of Belle’s makeup was rubbed off and her hair was a frizzy, tangled mess from the shower steam. She looked up to see Rumple biting back an amused smile. The glee on his face made him look like the imp she’d known during their time in the Dark Castle together. Despite her embarrassment, she found her heart chuckling inside of her along with him. It had been a long time since she’d seen him find something funny other than from sinister irony.

His voice was quiet and laughing when he asked, “Would you like to tell me about your evening?”

“Only if you make me some tea.”

“Deal,” he said, and with a peck on her forehead, left her arms to tend to the kettle.

Belle picked up the chair from the floor and settled herself into it. She pulled a leg up under herself, and the silky slipperiness of her stockings made her grimace. The stockings weren’t made to withstand a steam bath and restless toddler feet snagging on them. They were designed to carefully encase each leg and then dramatically shown off in a big reveal that raises blood pressure (in addition to other things), maybe a short session of eye-fucking, and then finally are peeled off in favor of more naked activities.

“I should get changed,” she muttered to herself.

“And deprive me of the sexy sight before me?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Obviously this was not what I was going for. Gideon woke up with a cold and it all went downhill from there.”

Rumple set the tea tray on the table, and reached for her clasped hands. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Is Gid ok?”

“Yeah he’ll be fine. I think it scared him more than anything.”

Rumple sat across from her still holding her hand. “I suppose you can’t really explain to a two year-old what a head cold is.”

“Not really.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you. The situation is just….”

“Funny.” Belle supplied with a smirk. “I know. It is. It really is.” She fiddled with Rumple’s finger while trying to shake off the feelings of disappointment and frustration. With his free hand, Rumple began to fix their tea trying to pour hot water into the teapot without spilling. When Belle noticed his adorable attempt to make tea one-handed she released his fingers and clasped her own together in her lap.

For two years they’ve been trying to heal together. They are both in individual therapy and in couples therapy. Even little Gideon went to play therapy once per month. Now that he is starting to develop his own sense of self they wanted to make sure Gideon had extra support in case their were residual effects from his time in the Dark Realm and…well, from everything else that had happened to him. Because so much had happened. Sometimes it felt like too much. All of the curses, all of the betrayals, and secrets. There were times early on when Belle couldn’t imagine their little family ever being happy together.

Now, she sees glimmers of hope everywhere. In the way Rumple holds onto her hand even if he needs it back to make their tea; in the way he packs extra snacks in Gideon’s daycare bag “just in case he’s hungrier than usual;” in the way he tells her every single time he has a craving to misuse magic, and instead they talk together until a non-magical solution can be found.

So tonight she had wanted to create something special for him — ok, for them. Not that they hadn’t had sex in the past two years, but this was intended to be different. She wanted to play and have fun. It had been such a long time since they’d just had fun. She thought bringing that playfulness into the bedroom would in turn bring it back into their relationship on a whole.

Rumple sat her teacup in front of her and she grabbed his hand before he could pull away. He looked up a bit surprised at her earnestness.

“I….” She started. “I….” She sighed. She didn’t know how to say it. How to explain what she had imagined for their night together. The simple explanation was not so simple anymore. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what Dr. Hopper had coached.

The emotions behind a simple situation make it feel complicated. Un-complicate it by first stating the facts out loud.

Belle’s blue eyes pierced into Rumple’s. He could see her internal fight, but was mystified as to what it was about. His first instinct was to jump into the conversation and try to fix it, but he knew that wasn’t what she needed. He has a penchant for trying to fix everything and anything for the ones he loves. After hundreds of years and lots of therapy he’s finally curbing that instinct.

You don’t have to fix everything. You just have to be present, listen, and then, if Belle asks for your help, you can work together towards a solution .

Finally Belle blew out a long breath and an even longer stream of words.

“After Gideon went to bed, I sent you out for a bottle of wine even though we have a full wine cellar. I went to our room, put on makeup like Lacey used to wear, and then started changing into some sexy lingerie that I bought specially for tonight. Then everything with Gideon happened — ” she pulled her hands apart and spread her fingers wide as if she could grab Gideon’s untimely cold from the past and show it to him like a picture book at a children’s story hour.

Once the facts are stated begin listing your feelings. Don’t go into the cause or the reasons for the feelings. State just the feelings.

“— and I am frustrated, disappointed, annoyed, embarrassed, and exhausted. Ok, I don’t know if ‘exhausted’ is technically a feeling but if it’s not it should be.”

Rumple brought his teacup to his mouth gently blowing over the hot liquid’s surface. A bubble of quiet contemplation settled around the table. He and Belle had been diligently working to keep their family together which meant they lived a sedate and routine-oriented lifestyle.

“Sweetheart, not that I’m complaining, but may I ask what brought this on?”

Belle groaned internally, because of course that was his response. Any sane person would ask that question. Except most people would say something like ‘why did you suddenly decide to act out a cheesy seduction on a Wednesday night?’

Belle fiddled with the tiny handle of her teacup while her mind swirled with words creating half-explanations none of which would make sense to anyone outside of herself. Several times her mouth opened to say something but all she could accomplish was looking pleadingly at Rumple with big pitiful eyes. He grasped her limp hands and held them tight.

“Belle…is there something -”

“-I’m bored!” She blurted out.

They blinked at each other both surprised for very different reasons.

“Oh”

“No, not in that way. Not bored of our relationship. I’m not unhappy. I cannot stress that enough.”

“…ok.” To his credit Rumple’s grip on Belle’s hands didn’t lessen. “But you’re bored.” He stated it like it was one of the many facts of their life together; Gideon doesn’t like peas, Rumple is the Dark One, and Belle is bored.

“I miss the fun part of our relationship,” and even as Belle said it she winced, because in truth there relationship history wasn’t riddled with lighthearted moments. “I want there to be a ‘fun’ aspect to our relationship.”

“Fun.” Rumple repeated it like it was the first time he’d ever said the word in his life. “Well, I’m not entirely certain what to do about that. Should I do something?”

Belle face glowed with warmth and happiness. The Rumple from only a few years ago would’ve never asked if he ‘should’ do something. He would’ve spent days and weeks plotting and planning without consulting her, and then revealed something ‘fun.’

“Let me try to come up with something and if it doesn’t work out then you can take a crack at it.”

“If its any consolation, what you came up with looked like it would’ve been spectacular.” Rumple placed a kiss on her hand and leaned in close, “Parental responsibilities simply got in the way.”

“So much for spontaneity.” Belle leaned in bringing her lips to his intending for a quick kiss, but the forward momentum of her body kept their lips locked together. She opened her mouth ever so slightly and Rumple’s fingers cupped her chin keeping her steady while the tip of his tongue gently caressed and coaxed hers. She exhaled and sank deeper into their kiss enjoying the comforting familiarity of it, and grateful that even after all these years her lips still tingled with excitement when he kissed her. When a natural break from the need to breathe inserted itself, Belle leaned back in her chair feeling cautiously excited about this new endeavor.

———————————————-

This. Is. So. Horrible.

Belle wished it was physically possible to impale herself on the tiny dessert fork before her. The shiny object was sitting next to a plate of pears gorgeously poached in a spiced red wine reduction, and yet the only thought running through her brain (aside from suicide by fork) was her gratitude that the dessert course had finally arrived.

Gusteau’s was one of the newer restaurants that popped up in Storybrooke after the Black Fairy had been defeated. A quiet curse-free existence seemed possible for the first time and many of the town’s citizens were investing in their hopes and dreams again. Resulting in many new businesses and restaurants opening their doors.

Gusteau’s was the prime example of a fine dining experience. Heavy beautifully carved furniture was spaced evenly throughout the restaurant and crisp white linens covered the tables. Each tabletop was adorned with a low vase of roses and a miniature lamp that cast just enough light that one could comfortably gaze upon their dining companion. The room on a whole was swathed in heavy, rich fabrics and carpeted to dampen the foot tread of the wait staff as they hurried from table to kitchen and back again.

Belle thought, at the time, it was the perfect idea for a fun night out. Gideon was enjoying a play date at the Nolan’s house. Their little boy Neal was a few years older, but he played well with Gideon always making sure to keep their games at a pace suited to a toddler. He had the sweet nature of his namesake and seemed to favor Gideon especially. More importantly, it meant their own house was unoccupied. While preparing for their evening out, Belle had visions of an elegant dinner enjoying sumptuous food and good conversation accompanied by just a tad too much wine. Maybe they would take a stroll in the crisp evening air by the water. She loved the mystery of the sea at night. It was a thrilling contrast, hearing the water churning against the docked boats, but the black night obscuring it from view. Once they were thoroughly chilled to their bones they would warm each other in front of their fireplace finding bliss in the comfort of their own home.

But now…..

She just wanted to go home, throw on some leggings, and crawl into bed until the morning when they would go retrieve Gid. Hopefully he was having a better night.

Rumple was twisting the stem of his glass of port between his fingers. They’d both given up trying to keep the conversation from stagnating. It hadn’t occurred to her that after hours of talk therapy they wouldn’t have anything to talk about. They started off the evening talking about Gideon - that was inevitable - and then Rumple’s shop and the library, but once those topics had been exhausted, neither of them knew where to direct the conversation next. They were in each other’s lives every day. There wasn’t much more to say that hadn’t already been said at the breakfast table that morning. And Rumple tried, he really did, but gods help them at one point he even commented on the weather. It’s colder than usual for this time of year…. That was it. It hadn’t even been something substantial about the weather that Belle could verbally latch onto and run with.

So now she was left staring at her dessert like it was the saddest sight in the world. Resolutely, she picked up her dessert fork and (choosing life) cut into one of the pears. As the warm flavors of cinnamon and nutmeg burst in her mouth, she tried to think of something to say.

“How is the port?” She reluctantly let the question escape her lips, but before Rumple could answer, a cheerful giggling from the adjacent table captured their attention.

Squinting, Belle could make out a very young couple, in their teens, not-so-secretly passing a silver flask between them under the table. Each time the girl took a small sip she laughed producing a delightful jingling sound and the boy looked at her like she was the sweetest thing on this earth. They were tucked together at the table experiencing their first foray into ‘adult’ dating and all that it entails — soft candlelight, fancy food and clothing, and hushed serious tones. But like most teens their natural enthusiasm for being unleashed on the world could’t be tamped down. They awkwardly held hands and fussed with their cutlery as they waited for their next course. They talked just a bit too loud.

Belle’s mind jolted with memories, but she quickly realized they weren’t her memories. They were Lacey’s. Like a book she read long ago and could only recall small portions of the story, Lacey’s memories were vague and full of feeling more than specifics. However, in this moment, she could recall ‘memories’ of Lacey as a fresh teen going to parties and playing drinking games with her peers. She could feel the thrill of drinking alcohol like an adult. Mostly she remembered laughter. Laughing while a bottle spun round and round between her circle of friends; anticipating the person it would choose for her next kiss. Laughing when she proclaimed “Never have I ever…” and watching her friends sheepishly drink a shot and admitting to some embarrassing deed. Lacey’s nights out as a teen were a strange mixture of vulnerability and….fun. Belle could confidently guess that Rumple’s cursed memories didn’t contain anything like Lacey’s shenanigans, and she was positive he’d never participated in even the simple games children played in Fairytale Land.

She reached across the table and took the glass of port from Rumple’s fingers. Gaining his attention, he seemed dazed like a schoolboy caught daydreaming during his lessons, Belle took a big breath and smiled at him. It was time to breathe some life back into this half-dead date.

“Let’s get the check and then I want you to come with me, but before you do, I need you to promise me one thing.”

Rumple’s eyebrows raised at that. They tried not to practice in promises. They were still learning their own limitations as a couple and making promises could be dangerous.

“Belle, sweetheart, are you sure?”

“Trust me. Promise that you’ll keep an open mind.” She tried to infuse her smile with as much assurance as possible.

“Ok, darling” Belle almost missed the sigh that accompanied it, but she wouldn’t be deterred. This was a situation of her own making and she needed to fix it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The rush of wind was wonderfully refreshing. It was just what they needed after the heavy warmth of the restaurant. Belle had insisted on walking through town. They could get the car later. Rumple had never been happier to be cold, because it meant Belle was snuggled tight into his side. The small table at which they’d been seated at Gusteau’s made it feel like he was trying to hold a conversation with someone on the opposite side of a football field. No matter how hard he’d tried to keep the flow of conversation going it was inundated with long pauses and stilted answers. It’d been excruciating. He’d felt like he was failing Belle with each course serving more awkward pauses than the last until finally dessert was served with outright silence.

Another gust of wind blew back the flaps of his coat, and he tugged them closer around him and his beloved Belle. They stood by the harbor looking out into the vast darkness of the sea. Belle was practically molded to him. He buried his face in her thick auburn tresses, once darker and curly they had straightened into waves with age, but it didn’t matter. He loved her no matter what. After all, he had changed too - his hair had been chopped short by his own hand. He was sometimes self-conscious of the change he’d made, but as if she could read his thoughts, at those times Belle would take the opportunity to gently massage his scalp letting her fingers slip and slide through his shorn greying hair. How he loved her. It was the reason he was so panicked about their lackluster evening - she was bored. She wanted to have fun, but honestly Rumple wasn’t sure he was capable of such a thing. His life hadn’t exactly been built on the idea of carefree joy. His parents had abandoned him and, until Belle came along, so had everyone else either by death, circumstance, or outright choice. What did he know about fun?

Belle turned in his arms nuzzling the smooth skin of his jawline which then turned into small kisses and nibbles. The biting cold and Belle’s amorous affection had him fighting for breath.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ‘keep an open mind’?”

Chuckling, Belle murmured, “Not quite.” She pulled back a fraction so she could see his face, “Have you ever heard of Truth or Dare?”

Rumple faltered for a reply. “Uh…yes, it’s some kind of game teenagers in this realm like to play.” He couldn’t keep the perplexed look off his face.

“Yes!” She hugged him tighter and he could feel her jump up and down a little. “I think we should play it.” His comically stunned face urged her to add, “I’ll even go first.”

“Why. Why do you want to play Truth or Dare? Darling we’re a bit old for such things.”

“Nonsense.” Her prim response was accompanied by a tug on his tie. “I think it’s just what we need.”

At Rumple’s raised eyebrows, she continued, “I think we are talked out. We need something fun to do. And unless you want to suddenly become more social and do a…” she floundered for an example, “a pottery class together or some other group activity, then I think playing some silly games together is just what we need!”

Rumple still looked unconvinced.

“Please, Rumple. Try. For me.”

And that was the straw breaking the camel’s back. They both knew he couldn’t deny her this. She never asked for much in their relationship, and how could he say no to a simple game? Even one that was excruciatingly juvenile. A great huff escaped him and after one long exaggerated groan, that made her giggle, he said, “ok ok. But you go first.”

Belle straightened up expectedly. “Ok, ask me!”

With an endearing smile, Rumple muttered, “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth!”

Rumple moved Belle to his side and kept them walking along the pier. He pursed his lips and swayed his head playing at putting some serious consideration into the devious question he would ask. The question she would have no choice but to answer with complete honesty. Rolling her eyes at the theatrics, Belle waited with bated breath.

“What is the last lie you told?”

Belle snapped her head up in surprise. She really should’ve known that the infamous Rumpelstiltskin, wordsmith extraordinaire, would’ve chosen a question meant to disarm her. The look of smug satisfaction on his face made her want to kiss it right off him, but that could wait.

“Hmmm I don’t lie very often.”

“Well you’re a saint, darling, but try your hardest to think of something.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Belle answered, “Last week at Granny’s, Snow and Red were arguing about how often a couple should have sex. I happened to walk in for a cup of tea, and somehow got trapped in the conversation.” At this Rumple snorted and Belle elbowed him in the ribs, “Anyway,” she said pointedly, “Snow was saying that after a couple has children, they’ll be lucky to have sex every few months! She expected me to agree, and well….clearly she and David are going through a dry spell and I didn’t want to make her feel bad…..so I just kind of smiled and didn’t disagree with her.”

“That’s it? A lie of omission?”

“It’s still a lie.”

“Barely.”

“Oh please, it counts and you, sir,” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “are filled with glee to know that we’re having more sex than the king and queen.”

Rumple chuckled and played at trying to bite her finger.

“Your turn! Truth or Dare?” The sparkle in Belle’s eyes made playing this ridiculous game worth it.

“Dare”

“I dare you……to sneak into Granny’s Diner and leave three hundred and fifty dollars in the tip jar. You mustn’t be seen and you can’t use magic.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You have to! That’s the game.”

“What makes you think I have that large amount of money on me.”

“…….”

“Ok. I have that amount, but I don’t see why I should give it to — wait. Is it possible Granny is having trouble making rent this month?”

Belle arranged her face into what she hoped was the picture of innocence. “Life is full of possibilities.”

“Uh huh, only you my dearest Belle could take what’s supposed to be a devious game and turn it into a tool for good deeds.”

“It’s a gift.”

“I only have hundred dollar bills on me. Do you have change?”

“No, but I’m happy to amend the dare from three fifty to four hundred.”

“How flexible of you.”

Belle grinned and grabbed the collar of his coat pulling him down for a kiss designed to leave him breathless. She pressed her body against his and sunk her fingertips into his hair pulling on the short locks. When she let him up for air, she whispered, “Complete your task and, maybe afterwards, I’ll show you just how flexible I can be.”

Without giving him a chance to blink, she pulled away and walked ahead of him. If she hadn’t been wearing such high heels he was certain she’d be skipping. Rumple just stood there reminding himself how to breathe and with a shake of his head thought, So this is what it feels like to know you’re being manipulated and not care in the least.

— - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the end, the dare was quite easy to accomplish. At that time of night Granny’s only had a few patrons, thankfully the kind that liked to keep to themselves, and the only people working were a short-order cook and Granny herself. The plan had been to wait until Granny went into the back, and then Rumple would quietly walk through the front door, slip the money into the tip jar, and continue out the back door where Belle would be waiting.

But as Rumple waited just outside the front door for the opportune moment, a giant crash could be heard and Granny went running to the back of the building.Before Rumple could register what was happening, he saw Belle scurrying down the street and Granny in the back yelling something about “damned raccoons.” Knowing it was now or never, Rumple whipped open the door, ran towards the tip jar sitting innocuously next to the cash register, and it wasn’t so much that he stopped at the counter rather that the counter stopped him—his custom-made Italian shoes weren’t made for quick movements on freshly mopped floors. So after slamming into the counter, he hastily shoved the cash into the jar, and hightailed it back out the front door.

Miraculously, no one saw him.

He found Belle hiding next to the pharmacy doubled over with snorts of laughter muffled by her hands. Her feet were bare and she was holding onto only one of her shoes. She tried to explain between giant huffs of laughter, but Rumple simply held up a hand and said, “Belle mishap.” Before Belle could ask what that meant, he gathered her in his arms and snapping his fingers *poofed* them back to their house in a cloud of magic.

Belle was still giggling as they stumbled into their entryway kissing and pawing at each others clothing. Rumple wasn’t one to let other’s emotions effect him, but Belle’s joy swept them up creating an elation he’d never known before. They landed in front of the fireplace which had magically been lit and several fluffy blankets and pillows spread out before it.

Smiling like a fool, Rumple pecked kisses over Belle’s body as more and more skin was revealed to him. Her lingerie was nothing like the black corset ensemble he’d missed out on. Instead she wore a sheer forest green bralette with matching hip hugging panties. It was staggering in its simplicity, highlighting the fairness of her skin and giving her curves freedom to move. He delighted in it; kissing and biting and even tickling the spots he knew were most sensitive. Between breathy laughs Belle managed to divest Rumple of his own clothes, and they took their time reveling in each other.

Their previous lovemaking had been permeated with an intense need to show their love and devotion with their bodies. Trying to make up for all the past hurt by clinging to each other while they physically connected as close as possible for two humans to be. But this time was about joy and happiness. Their was no rush to reach their bliss. It would most certainly come, but this was about loving each other with light not darkness. Belle found a few of Rumple’s ticklish spots and for a moment lovemaking was paused in favor of a naked tickle fight until one of Belle’s legs ended up hooking over Rumple’s shoulder putting them in a delicious position that neither could pass up. With mirth in their eyes, a wordless conversation passed between them about Belle’s promised flexibility.

They rocked together at a rhythm they both knew so well. The familiarity was far from boring. Instead they loved each other with gratitude as deep as their kisses. They were so lucky to know each other this well and for this long. The happiness on Belle’s face was mirrored by his own. It felt like sunlight surrounded them and clear blue skies were reflected in Belle’s eyes. Rumple realized that this was what fun was - it was turning your face towards the sun even on a cloudy day. It was actively finding joy and laughter, and if you can’t find it, you make it. Just like Belle did.

Afterwards, they lounged by the fire enjoying lazy kisses and caresses. They teased each other about the horrendous dinner they endured, and Belle told him about Lacey’s memories saving their date night.

“So what other games does little Lacey remember?”

Belle thought for a moment before ticking off her fingers, “Well there’s Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Never Have I Ever-”

“Hmmm group games,” Rumple grumbled.

“We could play Two Truths and A Lie.”

“You would dare play a game that requires deception with words with Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Oh I think I could manage.”

Rumple tutted and pinched her side making Belle squeak, “Ok, but you go first.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle secret santa #rss 2023 #finding the fun #prompt #two truths and a lie

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joongieboos · 4 years ago

Text

Colder.

Genre: Angst, might make you cry. (I cried)

Trigger warnings: character death, car accidents, police mention, first responder mention, food warning.

Pairing: Huang Renjun x Lee Donghyuck, college AU.

Word count: 2k words.

Plot: Donghyuck doesn’t come home one day, and Renjun doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Tags: @sombreboy @spacebikerateez @armysantiny @heckydizzle @bisoo @poprock204 @hyunmintae

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“A seven-car pileup that’s stopping traffic on the freeway has now erupted into flames due to one of the vehicles being a tanker truck transporting gasoline. First responders are on the scene and attempting to stop the fire from spreading. We’ll keep you updated.” A reporter states from the helicopter from above, capturing the whole thing on camera. The news always played at home, and it would be on as white noise. There’s always something that’s going on, and he liked to be in the know. There he stood in front of the counter, chopping vegetables as he would do normally, the pans heating up for dinner as he waited for his fiancé to come home. The table was set, the candles lit, and the merlot poured in his glass, his fiancé’s glass still sitting empty on the table.

Sirens fill the air as the fire blazes, police, paramedics and firefighters fighting to save the people in the pile of blazing cars. There hasn’t been an explosion from any of the cars just yet and everyone fighting to save the people involved knows that no one will survive the explosion once one car decides to give up. First responders work diligently to get the cars sorted and sated of the flames, the police rerouting the people onto the off-ramp, paramedics on scene waiting for the firefighters to get those affected out, and the firefighters spraying the wetting agent onto the cars to try to subdue the rapidly charring metal. One of the cars, though, was already sparking into the fuel line, causing the fire to roar, the fuel line leading into the tank.

From his perspective, the liquid leaking out of the truck that was flipped beside him was his first indication. He felt himself grow colder on the inside, shivering as he tried to move to get himself out of the burning metal can. Few thoughts ran through his head, ultimately leading him to think about his fiancé who would be listening to the news at home, not paying any mind to the background noise. It had been a year that he got to know his partner better than he knew himself, and with those thoughts, he looked over to the passenger seat, this car bringing the memories of him singing with his fiancé, the countless dates and road trips that they had been on together. He felt the flames grow closer and he only grew colder, his chest filling with regret as the flowers he was bringing home to his fiancé laid on the ground, the upside-down position he was in making the cherry blossom flowers the sole thing he could focus on.

He shut his eyes once more and brought himself back to the first time he had met his fiancé. How he could remember it like it was yesterday, he could remember the sweater his fiancé was wearing, he could remember the colour of his hair at the time, what time they had met, where, and how they met.

Renjun was sitting in the small café beside their campus, the smaller boy on break from his current shift. This was his final year and he had made his way to go to one of the most popular and prestigious schools in the country. His brown apron bunched on his thighs as he brings one leg over the other. The smaller boy had his coffee and book, finally able to sit and finish this last chapter so he can start his final essay for one of his creative writing classes.

The bell at the entrance of the café made a little ding and a group of rowdy boys walked in, the volume of the building increasing exponentially. ‘Great…’ Renjun mumbles to himself, the only reason he took his break was the peace and quiet so he could read.

‘Might as well go back to work…I can’t leave Jisung alone to deal with these orders.’

He sighs and gets up, his feet moving hastily so he can get back behind the cash and help the group of loud boys. “Hi! Welcome to the Teaspoon! What can I get you today?” He fakes a smile and a customer service voice, now taking the orders of the three boys before one of them. The one going last smiles and it lights up, a small hum coming from him as he goes over the menu situated on the wall above the smaller baristas head, a plethora of machines behind him.

“Surprise me, yeah?”

The smaller barista is taken aback and smiles back to him, nodding.

“Alright, any allergies?”

The other shakes his head.

“Perfect, we’ll get your order made right away.”

The other male smiles down at the barista and pays the difference, now going over to the group.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, it’ll be done in about five minutes.”

The smaller barista quickly gets to work, now working on all the beverages for the group. For the last drink, he had decided on an iced passion fruit tea lemonade. Making the decision to give him a nickname, before finishing the drink, he goes and writes something fitting, something easy to remember. The barista passed all the drinks out when they’re all finished, his hand covering the nickname. He lets it go and goes to help another customer who’s lined up and takes her order.

The boy with the tea smiles at him before leaving the café and noticing the nickname. He grins, one of the boys in the group now noticing and asking what he’s smiling at.

“The sun.”

He smiles, another tear dripping off his face.

‘The sun.’

A nickname that was given to him for his smile and bright personality that could light up whatever room he went in.

Coming back the next day, the boy with the smile like the sun came looking for the barista he was so intrigued by. Though, unbeknownst to him, the barista was off for the next few days due to the copious amount of schoolwork he had to do. This didn’t stop the sunshine boy from coming in daily, waiting for him, ordering the same thing. He would come in and use the excuse of wanting that barista to make his coffee for him, claiming that he made it better than anyone else.

Four days later, the boy had come back and was greeted by his favourite barista.

“Welcome to the Teaspoon! What can I get for you today?” The barista says with a smile, his entire demeanour changing when he sees the sunshine boy from a few days ago. “How was your drink a few days ago? It was you who asked me to surprise you, right?”

The sunshine boy smiles, Donghyuck laughing slightly. “That was me, I couldn’t decide but what you made was delicious. Do you wanna surprise me again? It was probably one of the best drinks I’ve had in a while.”

The compliment makes the barista grin, and he tries not to show the pride that’s blooming in his chest. “I’d like that, did you want a coffee or a tea, today?”

“Your choice.”

“Bold of you to trust me.”

“You haven’t failed me yet.”

“I don’t plan on failing you.”

If only they knew at the time that he said that, that the sentence he had spoken would stay with the sunshine boy for the rest of his life. And it was true. Renjun wasn’t one to fail others, especially those he cares about.

Looking back to the first responders, Donghyuck had felt an array of emotions; anger, sadness, regret, longing, remorse, and what hurt the most was the acceptance that he had come to when he knew he wouldn’t be able to be saved. He had noticed the quiet sound of air flowing out of a hose, and with that sound, everything drowned out. He was pulled back into the memories of him and his fiancé, and the time that the two of them had spent together. His eyes shut and the air from the hose got louder, a single tear slipping down his face as he trembled, his final words dripping from between his lips.

“Huang Renjun, I will always love you,” He had whispered, the puddle of gasoline igniting beside him.

With that, time was up.

The cars erupted in a magnificent roar, the only people to survive being the first responders who weren’t anywhere close to the vehicles which were now charred.

Renjun had been cooking, and hours had passed, the worry that was building in his mind, he had sat at the dinner table. He sat, looking at the empty seat in front of him and had finished the bottle of wine that was sitting on the table. With a sigh, he had gotten up and brought his plate to the sink, the food untouched as he put everything he had made into containers for leftovers. While cleaning, a knock on the door had pulled him out of his trance and his legs brought him to the door; there stood two police officers whose faces were stoic but showed some semblance of regret.

“Mr. Huang Renjun, may we come in?”

His voice was as stoic as his face was, and Renjun had let the two officers in, a pit in his stomach growing into something that felt like it was eating him alive. The two officers had him seated back in the kitchen and he had been staring into nothing, the words that the officers had just spoken breaking him from the inside out. He looked over to where his fiancé would sit, the silence in the room deafening. Everything eventually started spinning and his ears started ringing. The room went cold, the previously warm and loving home he and his fiancé had built for each other now crumbling and breaking down into the frigid and abandoned building. Looking towards the police officers, his face went blank, and tears streamed down his face. The police officers had taken this time to leave a few brochures and escort themselves out.

This house had so many reminders of the love of his life:

The candle on the table, the shirt Renjun was wearing, the ring on his finger, the shampoo that they had both used just that morning, even the day. Their anniversary. Renjun needed some time to think, think about what’s happening, what’s coming next, what he would do. The male sat in silence; the door unlocked after the police officers showed themselves to the door. What was the smaller male to do now?

The news hit him with a wave of exhaustion, him now being in the same spot as he was. Was he to love again? No, surely not. He was promised to his twin flame, his person, his everything. He got up and wandered around the house aimlessly, his hands fumbling with each other as the ring he had on his finger twists. “Donghyuck… baby it’s time for dinner, it’s time to eat, and I made your favourite…” he calls out, his voice cracking and his heart breaking when he looks to the door. “Donghyuck, welcome home, my love… happy anniversary, my sun.”

This is the sentence that makes him break, finally dropping to his knees, his sobs loud and coarse. After a little while, his sobs exhaust him and he lays where he dropped down, his body aching as he tries to shift in his spot. Renjun can’t be bothered to move, his entire reason for existence now gone. He manages to shift onto his back, eventually just falling asleep in this spot.

The next morning he gets up and manages to stand, being faced with photos all around his home of him and his fiance. His body seemed to move by itself, bringing him to their shared bedroom, the room untouched. He looks around, feeling his heart shatter all over again.

“Life seems to be much colder now that the sun is gone…”

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miss-writes-a-lot · 4 years ago

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Rwby 1920's party au (aka the idea I can up with last night that I'm inserting into several of my series.)

This is an outline of ideas for an idea I had last night about our Rwby characters and some ocs of mine in a 1920's party having their own adventures in love, life, and food all in this one night. A few notes: a. I normally shove Oscar into my Cloqwork ship, but not in this au, so he will not be related to Maylea, Garnet, Oz, or Qrow in ANYWAY in this au. Other than platonic. B. Don't expect me to be good at writing anything, especially this. C. Lot of ships, some of which people don't like. If you don't like it, please skip. D. This isn't really meant to delve into serious topics. This all meant to be a fun anthology thing. If I do end up putting in a serious topic, there will always be a warning.

Now, onto the character notes!

Ruby Rose - Age: 15. From a middle class family. Reluctantly crashing the Schnee's big winter ball with her sister and her girlfriend.

Yang Xio Long - Age: 17. Ruby's half sister. Party animal. Crashing the Schnee's party to see her girlfriend.

Blake Belladonna -Age: 17. Yang's not-so-secret girlfriend. Invited because she is friends with Weiss and Weiss insisted to have at least one of her closest friends there. (They wouldn't let her invite all of her other friends hence why the majority snuck in.)

Weiss Schnee - Age: 17. The middle child of the Schnee family. Singer for a majority of the night. Waiting for a fun night with her friends and her love interest.

Pyrrha Nikos - Age: 17. Daughter of the famous socialite Nikos Family.

Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie - Age: 17. Very close couple. Nora's in Pyrrha's dance class. They snuck in at Nora's insistence.

Jaune Arc - Age: 17. The awkward kid who is trying to be a good business man like his father. Like Pyrrha.

Oscar Pine - Polendina - Age: 15. Adopted son of Pietro Polendina of Polendina electronics.

Sun Wukong - Age: 17. Weiss' love interest. Snuck in with his friend Neptune.

Garnet Merlot - Age: 15. Foster child of Ozpin. Got dragged along by her sister Maylea.

Aurora Hemlock - Age: 15. A waiter working at the Schnee Manor to earn some extra cash along with her friends.

Qrow Branwen - Age: 40 something (I don't remember their ages) Ruby and Yang's uncle. A teacher at Beacon.

Ozpin - age: 40 something. Headmaster at Beacon. Qrow's crush. Only came because Glynda said it would be a good idea for the school's funding.

Hopefully, this will be an interesting series to those who actually like my shit. These are the following ships to be involved so you can actively seek or avoid the posts I make on this au:

-Rosegarden

-Sunflakes

-Bumblebee

-Ozqrow/Cloqwork

-JNPR berries (poly jnpr)

-Pinning Poly Team HELL + Garnet

More characters will appear, maybe if you want to request something in this verse you can. I will always specifically tag these posts. Most likely I'll tag it as #Rwby1920s unless someone else has tagged it as such.

Hope this was interesting.

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aravas-writing · 4 years ago

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councilman arc au) ruby has become an unholy terror to the grimm ripping through them with silvered steel her eyes blasting out like a miniture sun. and she's not the only one yang is also ripping through the grimm her aura like a bon-fire burning most grimm well before they get to her. pyrrha has snapped. unbridled rage finally let loose as she fights to reach her man. but for all thier fury none can reach jaune before merlot makes his escape. watching the ship sail away they begin to cry.

It had been hopeless from the start.

Any smart man would have come up with contingencies in case everything went south. The councilman was smart, but in the end, he was just a boy.

Merlot chuckled at Jaune as he sat still, having apparently lost all hope.

The scientist of the future was ready to gloat in his triumph.

"Well? We're a mile away from mount Glenn now. Still think I won't get away?"

"You won't."

Merlot's smile curdled. This was not the boy's voice.

A large hand attached to pure, bulging muscle grabbed his head, shoving him into the console face first.

The sparks fried his eye, and Merlot screamed in pain.

"Part of me wishes for you to pass my regards to my partner," port rumbled as his face appeared in the scientists vision. His eyes had opened; steel blue gazed into his one remaining eye, bereft of mercy.

"But I know better." The head housing a genius mind was pulled from the console of the descending craft. One last time, Peter Port stared down his most hated nemesis ever since the fall of mount Glenn.

"Burn in hell."

The scientist never had his aura unlocked, leaving him helpless before vengeance personified.

A once great mind, corrupted by delusion, sprayed through clenched fingers as the skull that housed it was crushed to bits.

"Just in time," Jaune laughed. "Wow, that was risky."

"It was also very gutsy of you, young man," the teacher laughed as he pulled the blonde into a fireman carry.

"Promise me you will tell no one that this was part of the plan?" It had been the riskiest part, too.

"Lips are sealed," the man laughed as he winked with his eyes, hidden again behind his eyelids.

With that, the two jumped out of the craft.

"Where's your parachute?"

"Don't need one!"

Laughing merrily, Port dragged a screaming young man back to earth.

(And that's it for the battle! In case you didn't notice 😊)

#rwby #councilman arc au #battle for mount glenn #jaune arc #peter port #merlot

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lei-sam · 5 years ago

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Hello you art is amazing! Was wondering if you have any fic recs for good omens? Or fav authors?

Hi there!! Thank you so much! I really appreciate the comment!!

Oh wow! I feel really honored, no one has ever asked me about my fave fics, but I’m more than happy to oblige! Here’s a list (in no particular order) of some of my all-time favorites!!

Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken

Summary: Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them. ______________________________________

Slow Show by mia_ugly

Summary: In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.) ______________________________________

The Stars Walk Backward by Beckers522

Summary: The year was 1926. Anthony J. Crowley and his wife were in need of a tutor for their young son Adam. Dozens applied for the job, but only one stuck out above the rest - a kind bookshop owner from Soho. It was impossible for Anthony to know during their first meeting how much of an impact Ezra Fell would have on his family or, more importantly, how much of an impact Ezra would have on his heart. He wasn’t certain of much anymore, but one thing was for sure, Crowley knew he would never be the same again. _________________________________________

Car Trouble by summerofspock

Summary: Aziraphale’s car breaks down so he takes it to the first mechanic he can find. From there, his mundane life changes drastically as he finds himself befriending the man fixing his car. _____________________________________________

Angleterre by Scusi

Summary: 1793 - Aziraphale hadn't always been so cautious of loving Crowley. For the longest time Crowley excuses himself for the simple fact that he's a demon. After Armageddon, well, it has been a long time since Crowley has regretted it all. ______________________________________

how big the hourglass, how deep the sand by bibliocratic

Summary: After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about. And then Aziraphale disappears. ______________________________________

The Sandford Flower Show by Mussimm

Summary: Crowley had waited six thousand years, kept it all in check. But this was the slipperiest slope he’d ever set foot on and as soon as he’d indulged in a few discretionary acts of kindness he was falling face first into pining, tumbling into flirting, about to dislocate his knees on the sharp rocks of intimacy. Was this really it? What he had waited six thousand years for? A stupid flower show? Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away from him. Maybe… maybe this time he wouldn’t? Maybe they’d hold hands again. Maybe tonight with a bottle of merlot in them he’d finally work up the courage and just kiss him and he wouldn’t pull away. The very moment he’d thought it he spotted the problem at the flower show. _________________________________________

Flowers for Anthony by Atalan

Summary: Crowley didn't look up immediately when he heard the shop door open; he was just in the middle of finishing off a complicated bouquet, and the blasted ribbon was being difficult about things. "Just a sec," he said, scowling as the end slipped away from him again. There was a pause. And then a voice, softly, "There you are." An unusual customer walks into Anthony Crowley's flower shop with a very specific request. AU, series, complete, angst with a happy ending. ____________________________________________

Whatever a Moon Has Meant; Whatever a Sun Will Sing by Beckers522

Summary: There was a photograph, torn down the middle. Pieces scattered as far as the East is from the West. Thousands of kilometers separated them now, as the world fell to pieces around them. And yet, if someone were to look closely, if someone were to traverse the space between them and lay the folded and worn parchment flat on the table, if someone were to line them up just so, they might realize that the two pieces fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, Like the gears of a clock. Like a nut and a bolt. Almost as if they were made from the same stock. This is a tale of love and of loss. Of heartache and of hope. Told in three parts, follow Aziraphale and Crowley as they navigate the hardships of growing up, the horrors of war, and the miraculous wonder of finding love in the most unlikely of places. __________________________________________

So Hey, I Drew You In A Coffee Shop Before Christmas, You're Welcome by ServantOfMischief

Summary: Aziraphale decides to go to the coffee shop right by his bookshop just to relax a bit and read a book, even doodle a little bit if inspiration struck him. And inspiration just walked in the door in the shape of a redhead with the most ridiculous shades. ____________________________________________

Time is the Longest Distance by Beckers522

Summary: Six months had passed since the world hadn't ended and life was good. Life was more than good. It was more than nice. Life on Earth, here in his little corner of London, here with Crowley by his side was absolutely wonderful. Until the day that it wasn't. Until Aziraphale walked into Crowley's flat to find his best friend mysteriously discorporated with both Heaven and Hell staying silent on the matter. With Crowley trapped in Hell and Aziraphale unable to reach him, the pair set off to find their way back to each other. They will have to fight against Heaven, Hell, and Time itself to make their way back into each others arms once more. _______________________________________

A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street by akfedeau

Summary: After stopping the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale finally take the next step in their six-thousand-year friendship. But when a spate of miracles sweeps across Soho and Mayfair, they realize their amorous escapades may have an unintended side effect. As they scramble to restore balance and an archangel arrives to investigate, Heaven and Hell’s messengers learn that you can never have too much of a good thing.

(That last one has some of the most beautiful fanart I’ve ever seen!!! it is top notch!!)

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supremeuppityone · 5 years ago

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Chapter 107: Getting the Dirt (Without Getting Dirty)

Author’s note: This was written for @klaroline-events Klaroline AU Week - Day One: All Human. It’s also the much-requested sequel to Chapter 103 (The candles caught what on fire?). In the aftermath of Caroline being accused of corporate espionage, she’s not just living; she’s thriving. How will she react when Klaus comes crawling back?

Klaus’ POV is here: Chapter 112: A Dirty Business

Warning: Angst.

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity” ― Sun-Tzu, The Art of War

They came for her career. Her reputation. Stripped it all away until Caroline didn’t know who she was anymore. But she had no intention of letting the Mikaelsons win. The trouble with knowing that Rebekah had conspired with Stefan to commit corporate espionage (not to mention frame her) is that Caroline had no idea how to prove it. Which is why her first call (after she spent the day drowning in merlot and ice cream and setting fire to the things Klaus had left at her place) was to Bonnie. Besides being her best friend, Bonnie was one of the most infamous hackers in the world under her online persona, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Bon.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me this,” Bonnie commented, making a show of cracking her knuckles over her laptop. “Well, not this, exactly, but I never trusted that bastard from the moment you started dating.”

Caroline shrewdly observed her friend. “You’ve been compiling data on Klaus this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Not just Klaus. I’ve got dirt on his whole goddamn family.”

She didn’t bother hiding her self-satisfied smile. “Good.” However, that bloodthirsty gleam in her friend’s eye gave her pause. As did the next few sentences that tumbled out of Bonnie’s mouth — speculation about infidelity and the possibility that not all of the Mikaelson siblings were actually full-blooded Mikaelsons, shady business deals using intimidation and bribery — a seemingly endless list of long-buried Mikaelson family secrets.

“And don’t get me started on Rebekah’s sloppy frame job. You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to hack that nitwit’s email. She stupidly sent tacky nude pictures and videos to Stefan using the company server. When will you people learn that ‘delete’ never really means delete?”

“No,” Caroline swore, “We won’t do that. We’ll go after Rebekah and Stefan for the corruption and corporate espionage, but make sure none of their private stuff gets exposed. No one deserves that.”

Bonnie gave a dramatic sigh, taking a long sip of her beer. “Fine. God knows Kol and the rest of those idiot Mikaelsons have more than enough incompetence that’s bordering on illegal to take them all down three times over.”

“Just use what’s relevant to my case. We don’t get our hands dirty. We’re not like them,” she sternly told her friend.

“Which is why you need me.” An intimidating brunette suddenly sat down at their booth, reaching across the table to confidently shake Caroline’s hand. “Katherine Pierce, attorney. I practice plaintiff corporate law and primarily represent individuals as well as class action cases.”

At Caroline and Bonnie’s nonplussed expressions, she continued. “I’ve been following your story in the news and already have set up the framework strategy for commercial and business litigation, working the obvious angles of breach of contract, trade secret protection, copyright and trademark infringement, and other complex business litigation.” She flashed a wicked grin, reassuring Caroline, “We’ve got those bastards on all of the charges, or we can take our pick. What’s your pleasure, Caroline?”

Despite the woman’s brash interruption, Caroline couldn’t help but be intrigued. Boldness should be rewarded. She’d have Bonnie run an extensive background check, but Katherine had a powerful charisma that Caroline couldn’t ignore. “And what’s your angle, Katherine? You obviously have your own agenda with the Mikaelsons.”

Katherine flagged down the waitress and ordered another round for the table, winking at Bonnie as though she already knew the super hacker had started researching her. “I used to be married to one. Elijah.” She toasted the women when their drinks arrived, adding, “Until he started fucking his intern.” She drank deeply, slamming down the nearly empty glass. “Bitch needed to pick an accent. And stop clothes shopping in the kid’s section.”

Katherine focused her intense gaze on Caroline, not bothering to wait for her revelation to sink in. “So, are you in?”

_______________________________________

Three months later

Every instinct Caroline had told her to slam the door. Katherine was going to be livid when she found out she was talking to a Mikaelson without counsel present — especially Klaus. It had been three months since that awful day in Klaus’ office, when she’d been put on administrative leave and then ultimately fired. Not a single word had been spoken between them; their lawyers did all the talking these days.

“Leave,” she snarled at him, hating the way her heart still pounded every time she saw him.

The familiar steel in his gray eyes softened, and his voice was little more than a harsh whisper as he said, “You don’t mean that, love.”

“You’re right — I meant get the fuck out.”

He impatiently stepped forward, only for her to throw her arm out, blocking his way inside her house. He sighed in defeat as he said, “I was wrong. I know I can’t take back the reprehensible things I said that day, but I came here to apologize.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, hissing, “Seriously?! Do you think I’m stupid? Your revolting, shameless family obviously sent you here to convince me to take the settlement.” Her piercing blue eyes studied every microexpression, daring Klaus to try to lie to her. “Katherine and I may not agree on much, but she’s right about one thing — the only way people like you and your family get punished is to hit you where it hurts — your bank account. It’s all you care about.”

“No! I’m not like them,” Klaus argued, “I don’t care about the bloody settlement. That’s not what this is about.” He distractedly ran his hands through his wild curls, the desperation apparent in his voice as he confessed, “I was blindly loyal to my family and they cost me everything that mattered to me.”

Caroline didn’t bother to hide her judgmental tone. “Your reputation.”

“You.”

She absolutely would not react to the sorrow in his voice. She tried to be matter-of-fact as she shook her head. “We don’t need to do this. The court case is almost over and we’ll be able to move on.”

“Damn it, sweetheart, I don’t want to move on!” He suddenly dug into his jacket, pulling out a black velvet box that instantly made her heart sink.

Eyes widening in disbelief, she unwittingly had been repeating the same mantra in her head as she watched him. Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking dare.

And then the bastard did.

He opened the box, revealing a sparkly, heartbreakingly beautiful diamond engagement ring. It was everything she wanted. Used to want. From the man she thought she’d always love. You still love him, you coward. A strangled noise escaped without her permission, and she hadn’t felt this close to breaking since he kicked her out of his office. She hated how hysterical she sounded as she asked, “What the hell, Klaus?!”

He grimaced, lowering the ring as he halfheartedly admitted, “I know I’m too late. Every moment we had together was a gift and I threw it away. I just needed you to see that I want to commit to you. Nothing’s changed for me. I love you, Caroline.”

Fuck. Why did everything in this world have to be so hard? Her throat ached with unshed tears. “You’re right — it’s too late. You aren’t who I thought you were and I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”

He took a shaky breath, nodding to himself. “I understand.” As he started to walk away, he paused briefly, telling her quietly, “Rebekah wanted me to say ‘thank you.’”

Her brows knit together in confusion. Why would Klaus’ sister thank her? She was out on bond pending sentencing, but rumor had it that the judge wouldn’t consider a plea deal and already had doubled the Salvatores’ sentence after their failed attempt at bribing court officials.

“You kept the sordid messages and images she and Stefan exchanged out of the courtroom documents. She said it was a mercy she didn’t deserve and she thanks you for your kindness.” Klaus’ smile was wistful as he told her, “That tender heart of yours is just further proof I didn’t deserve you.”

Caroline found she couldn’t speak. There was too much between them and it hurt to breathe. She gave him a brief nod, blue eyes glistening as she quickly shut her door. She couldn’t watch him walk away. Coward.

_______________________________________

One year later

It would’ve been easier to take the money and run. But when had Caroline ever picked easy? Every time she started to question her decision, she’d glance at the impressive quarterly projections or wander the manufacturing floor and chat with her employees, and was reminded that she’d done the right thing. She’d made her parents proud. The undisclosed settlement that she’d won from Mikaelson Inc. had been even more astronomical than what had been speculated in the news, and Caroline invested nearly every penny into reopening the manufacturing plant in her hometown of Mystic Falls. Something good needed to come from her heartbreak.

The previous plant had shutdown decades ago, and as the prime source of income for so many, a lot of families had little choice but to abandon the small town. But then Caroline brought in modern business practices along with technology manufacturing jobs, and now her town was thriving. It somehow made her feel less broken to help the people she grew up with.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, noting she still had a stack of resumes to review before the latest round of job interviews. She contemplated the one on top, feeling guilty she hadn’t spent more time on it. While he was applying for an entry-level job at her manufacturing plant, the resume boasted an impressive amount of experience. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to her — word had spread about the impressive benefits package she offered her workers, and many new hires applied for lower-level positions just to gain access to them.

She flashed a smile at the resume. Provided that his interview went well, she intended to offer Nick a coveted day shift rather than the night shift. Her assistant’s knock on her door alerted her to Nick’s presence, and she glanced up with a welcoming smile.

And then almost fell out of her chair.

Klaus walked into her office, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Caroline was proud of how her smile didn’t falter when she thanked her assistant and asked her to close the door. Heart pounding, she gestured toward a chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat, Nick.” She glanced back at his resume, scoffing lightly. “Nick Smith? Seriously?!”

“I suspected I wouldn’t get very far in the interview process under my real name.” He eyed her carefully, tone serious as he added, “I’ve made some changes in my life and I would very much like this job. I need this job.”

“You’re the executive vice president of Mikaelson Inc., but you want to assemble microchips on my factory floor. Guess that ambitious little intern really did take everything when she left Elijah, huh? Or, maybe you lost a bet with Kol?”

Klaus chuckled, “I see Katherine is keeping you well-informed, sweetheart.”

She shrugged, “We kind of bonded on the battlefield. And she gets surprisingly chatty when she drinks.”

“But she didn’t tell you about me.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone light. “I asked her not to.” She tilted her head, studying him carefully. He was different. More peaceful, somehow. He was still achingly beautiful, and she felt herself lean across her desk, subconsciously wanting to be closer to him. “So, what don’t I know?”

“I quit Mikaelson Inc.,” Klaus bluntly revealed. “I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you, but my family and I aren’t good for each other. Or, anyone else.” He ducked his curly head, unable to look her in the eye any longer. “I hurt you. But if you’d allow me back into your life —in whatever role you’d be comfortable — I swear to never hurt you again.”

A stunned silence stretched between them; the only sound in the room came from the gentle splashing of the water feature in the corner. Klaus quit his family’s company?! He’d always lived by that ‘family above all’ motto he’d shared with his siblings. And it sounded like he’d left his whole world behind to start over. For her. She was reeling from unanswered questions (not to mention emotions) and she had no idea what to say.

“Perhaps this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to pressure you, love.”

The defeat in his voice and his world-weary demeanor hurt her more than she was ready to admit. Before he could leave her office, she raced to him, grabbing his hand as she blurted out, “Stay!”

Klaus momentarily looked down at their fingers entwined, as though memorizing every detail. When his gray eyes sought hers, there was a flicker of hope that hadn’t been there before. “Are you sure,” he asked softly.

“I...yes.” Caroline gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, adding, “But you’re starting on the night shift — you’ll have to earn the day shift.” Her tone contained a gentle promise, one that made her heart feel lighter than it had in ages. “And we’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

_______________________________________

Please review here.

#klaroline-events #klaroline fanfic #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #klaroline does corporate espionage #klaroline does angsty angst angstness

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revasserium · 5 years ago

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43 and Tsukki or Kuroo please 😊

send me a number and a character, and i’ll write you a drabble

43. the irish tradition college!au kuroo

the bar is dark, the music too loud, the floor sticky with too many overflowing egos slopped over the sides of conversations brimming with bravado. too many boys pretending to be men, their chests puffed up like birds, ready to flash their neon-feathers for the girls gathered in packs like hyenas, giggling high and pitched.

you nurse your glass of wine at the edge of the bar, wondering what on earth the point of it all was – welcome week and all this fuss, meeting people you’ll probably never actually talk to again, except maybe one kid who you’ll meet on your year abroad later down the line, only to be guilt-tripped cause you had no memory of meeting them during welcome week.

someone’s elbow knocks into your back, and for a moment, you consider turning to tell whoever it is off, but think better of it at the last second. best-case scenario, they apologize and don’t really mean it. worst-case scenario – well, it is a bar, and people do get into fights in them, especially when intoxicated. you sigh into your wine, only to feel someone tap your shoulder.

begrudgingly, you turn around, submitting to your fate, a half-assed rejection already forming on your lips when you meet the gaze of a guy who looks like he could be on the cover of teen vogue.

you bite your lips. he watches you do so, and the grin spreading across his own lips can only be described as wicked.

“i’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems like you’re still working on one.”

you blink. hot. really hot. like tall dark handsome and really tall and have i mentioned tall? and really really hot!

“uh… i am, yes,” you say, only to duck your head a moment later at your own obtuse ‘caveman-good’ type response.

“right,” the boy (man? god he’s so tall) says, squeezing an elbow onto the bar next to your drink so he can inch himself into the remaining space there. he quirks his head.

“do you even like red wine?”

you consider your glass of half-drunk merlot, “not really. especially not bar-wine.”

“then,” he makes a show of clearing his throat, “can i buy you a drink?” he says, purposefully lowering his voice, making it sound about ten times greasier than it needs to be. you find yourself laughing as he raps his knuckles on the bar to catch one of the bartenders’ attentions.

“two shots of jameson, please and thank you.”

your eyebrows hike up your forehead.

“going right for the nasty stuff, aren’t ya?”

he shrugs, “no use beating around the bush.”

your smile flatlines, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

the boy puts up his hands, his eyes widening, “oh no! not like that – shit, sorry –” and then, miraculously, he blushes. even in the darkness of the ill-lit bar, you can see the way his cheeks redden with color, the way his cool, smooth facade breaks for just a moment. it’s that more than anything that reassures you of his intentions.

“i just meant –”

you shake your head, “you really oughtta work on those one-liners.”

he laughs, nodding his thanks at the bartender as the shots are poured and passed towards the pair of you. he grins as he pushes a glass towards you and picks up the other himself.

“to finding better buzzfeed lists of pickup lines.”

you almost choke on your shot, wincing as it goes down.

he smacks his lips as he smacks the shot glass back down onto the bar.

“so,” you hedge, peering up at him with a smirk, your confidence bolstered by his recent blunter (it’s always nice to know that godly looking people still have their flaws), “do any of these buzzfeed lists include how to introduce yourself, because if so, you’re not doing a great job.”

once again, you watch as his cool-guy demeanor falters, revealing something much more authentic and endearing.

“kuroo. tetsurou – it’s nice to meet you,” he pauses, his hand twitching on the bar surface, almost as if he’s wondering if a handshake might be too strange under the current circumstances. finally, he extends a hand towards you.

you consider, briefly, the concept of just letting him flounder. but the alcohol is already buzzing through your system, and he’s much too cute to torture for that long. so, you take it and shake, offering him your own name and a smile in return.

he repeats it like tasting it for the first time.

and when he smiles right after, it feels like every other smile you’ve ever seen in your life pales in comparison.

when he asks if he can walk you home, you don’t say no. when you reach your apartment complex entrance, he doesn’t ask to come up, but you offer anyway. he agrees after a moment’s hesitation, but you don’t end up hooking up. instead, you find yourselves sprawled across the livingroom couch with a large pizza on the coffee table, nursing diet cokes and over-full bellies, laughing till neither of you remembers what the joke actually was.

you scroll through a buzzfeed list of bad pickup lines, and pick your favorite ones. then you go through a buzzfeed list of buzzfeed lists, and go through every single one.

when you wake up the next morning, with his arm curled around your middle and a warmth spreading from your chest all the way through to the tips of your toes, you don’t wonder if this might be the last time you see him. you go back to sleep.

when he kisses you awake several hours later, the sun casting long slabs of light across the mess of your livingroom carpet, the remnants of the night before straw across the room – from empty coke cans to the crusts discarded in the open pizza box, he does so to the smell of frying eggs.

you make coffee and the pair of you eat the eggs with chopsticks because there are no more clean forks in the pantry.

(”what do you mean just wash them? i’ve never heard of such a travesty.”)

when he tells you he should probably get going, you smile and nod. you wonder if he’ll ask to see you again.

he does.

“how about i take you to a place with real wine next time?”

you teeter on your toes, a flush working its way up your cheeks as you consider his offer, though both of you already know what you’ll say.

“what do you mean? didn’t you like the jameson shots?” you ask.

kuroo smirks, carding a hand through his hair, “well, if you’re really particular to them, i guess we can work them into the schedule somehow.”

“could we please? it would make my entire life a better place.”

he laughs, shaking his head as he leans against the door.

“you’re makin’ it real hard to leave.”

you lick your lips; his eyes follow the movement.

“then… don’t,” you say, simply, quietly.

hopefully.

he swallows, you watch his adams apple bob with the action. you almost hear his breath hitch as he mulls over the offer.

finally, he leans in, pausing for a split second before your lips meet to whisper –

“okay then, i won’t.”

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo #okay tru story i DID meet someone during welcome week only to have them be at my year abroad and then be like hey we met during welcome week #and i was like ..... we did? she gave me shit for it for like. months but now we're friends LOL #yo this got long #and hella fluffy LOL #haiCUTIES

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nataliedanovelist · 5 years ago

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GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.5

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Ao3 link here.

ch.4 - ch.6

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie was folding laundry on the porch to enjoy the nice weather. Soft, fluffy, warm towels made the farmhand feel proud of her work (the towels were kinda scratchy and stiff when she first came a month ago). Her eyes averted from her folding up ahead to her boss, who was chopping woods on an old tree stump.

His shirt was almost completely unbuttoned to help his sweaty body cool down. A golden chain just barely grazed his thick chest hair, showcased by the created V. His stance was strong and his arms tightened his muscles as he swung the axe down on a sorry piece of wood. Occasionally he had to bend over to place a new log on the tree stump, giving Jackie a very pleasant view through his jeans. After a few minutes of Stan’s show and of Jackie not getting anything done, her hands frozen on a towel in her lap, Stan stopped his work and turned away from the sun as he wiped his forehead dry of sparkling sweat; Jackie barely looked away in time and if it wasn’t for Stan’s eyesight adjusting to the lack of sunshine, he might have caught his admirer.

Fiddleford came out with a glass of sweet tea in his hand and breathed in the wonderful late-afternoon air. He noticed at once that something was slightly out of the ordinary, and one look at Jackie’s glossy eyes and Stan’s half-exposed body as he picked up the lumber told the Tennessian everything he needed to know. The second Stan entered the house to put the logs where they belonged, Fiddleford gently elbowed Jackie as he stood next to her rocking chair. “Well, kettle my corn, somebody’s in love.”

Jackie rolled her eyes and smiled smugly up at her friend. “Yeah, right. Stan’s just a cool guy. It’s not like I lie awake at night thinking about him.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling, tucked into her bed with one arm draped over her chest, and her eyes wide with energy. She could feel a rock being plunged into her stomach as it dawned on her that Fiddleford might have been right. “Uh, oh.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan was whittling a small piece of wood in his hands as he sat on the porch, rocking in his chair. The sounds of laughter made him glance up from his work and he smiled to see Jackie and Tate playing. It was a basic game of tag, but they were both laughing joyfully and Tate was grinning like it was the best day of his life. For a few minutes Jackie purposely went slow, but then she sped up, caught Tate in her arms, and plopped down on the ground to tickle his ribs. Tate squirmed and squealed as Jackie laughed alongside him, hers less force than the boy’s.

Stan smiled and watched them from the corner of his eye as he whistled a tiny tree; Tate seemed to enjoy the toy train he had made for him, so he was secretly working on tracks and trees and houses and people so the kid could build a village for the train to ride around. It was something entertaining for Stan to do in his free time and he knew it would make a good birthday gift or a present for the holidays. As he worked and watched Jackie play with Tate, his thoughts reverted back to his feelings for the farm-woman.

Was it wrong for him to be crazy for his employee? Probably, but who cares? They hardly had a boss-worker relationship; if anything it was a firm friendship that just came so easily it was like they had known each other for years. With Jackie, it was just so easy, but that didn’t mean it was predictable; Jackie was spontaneous, passionate, and different, everything Stan valued in a person. Not only was she a hard worker, but she was really smart, creative, the best cook he had ever met, and really really beautiful. Anyone would get a crush on her, so why should he? For the time, Stan was content that a woman as amazing as her would never have a crush on him, not in a million years, so with any luck his little crush on her will die and no one important will get their feelings hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the middle of May Stan and Ford told Fiddleford and Jackie about a hoedown that took place at the end of May to mark the beginning of summer. It was hosted in a huge barn and everyone pitched in to help with the food and there was music and dancing and everyone had a great time; word on the street was that it even beat the Northwests’ annual fancy shindig. So the weak of the party Jackie was excused from work on the farm so she could spend more time in the kitchen, meaning Ford and Fiddleford had to pitch in and save their investigations on the unicorns for another time.

It wasn’t a fancy party, but people usually dressed up a little bit, almost like going to church. Ford went for his blue t-shirt with green flannel and clean jeans and he polished his black shoes that clicked on wood beautifully. Fiddleford went for a more casual army-green floral shirt, a favorite from back at Backupsmore, and he put Tate in a red short-sleeved button-up. Stan opted for clean jeans and a light-merlot button-up, but Jackie was perfectly happy to wear a plain white dress that went down to her knees and came with noodle straps. She decorated the outfits with black heels to match her curly hair, which she somehow managed to control without losing its breath-taking fullness.

Stan found himself staring for a creepy amount of time, but she was too busy trying to get her food together to notice. The Diablo was packed full with food so Stan and Jackie drove in that car while Ford, Fiddleford, and Tate rode in the newly repaired blue truck. The large barn sat a few yards from a huge lake and at the top of a hill, a smaller barn filled with hay to the side and a white fence establishing the boundaries of the property. Already the barn was busting with music and laughter and vehicles and even two horses stood outside the party. Stan and Ford helped Jackie with the food while Fiddleford held Tate’s hand and had his banjo over his shoulder, and they entered.

The newcomers awed at the hustle and bustle. On a stage a bass, an acoustic guitar, a cello, a harmonica, and some spoons were being played by some townsfolk. Many more were dancing in the wide open space care-free. Kids Tate’s age were holding hands and swinging, Toby Determined was doing a lonely tap-dance, that dweeb Durland was spinning a lady too fast and making her cross-eyed, and Ma and Pa from Dusk 2 Dawn were holding each other as they danced. Most people were doing a big group dance together, but some were over at the long tables filled with good food.

Susan was stirring hot apple cider and spooning mugs full for people, Manly Dave had brought his family recipe of Cages Full of Meat, and there were platters and bowls filled with delicious ham, turkey, cobblers and pies of every berry and fruit that existed, green beans, collared greens, salad, macaroni salad, potato salad, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, fried okra, smoked ribs, smoked pork, boiled peanuts, jugs full of moonshine, and barrels full of taffy and candy. Jackie happily added her Lemon Meringue pie, grilled chicken, fried chicken, boiled potatoes, yeast rolls with cinnamon butter, cranberry sauce, spinach dip and crackers, and a huge pot filled with jambalaya made with Cajun sausage, onions, bell peppers, tomatoes, and rice. All that food could feed three New York Cities, let alone little Gravity Falls, but with all the dancing and activity going on the food was happily accepted and the night was off to a wonderful start.

Jackie happily chatted with Susan at the long tables while the men dispersed. Fiddleford was invited to play with the others on stage, Ford began to play chess with some of the old men in the back of the barn, and Stan happily took Tate out on the dancefloor and let him stand on his boots to lead.

The sun was soon gone but the night was lit up by not only the huge light fixtures in the barn, but the strings of lights on the walls, and rustic exposed lightbulbs at the door, and the little lights on the grass to highlight the walkway from the party to the rides home. Fireflies buzzed around as well; a few kids left the loud party to play among the bugs and let the flickering lights crawl into their outstretched hands.

As the moon got higher and higher into the sky, the part continued to be very enjoyable. While Tate was busy making quick friends with Tyler Cutebiker, Stan dragged his twin out on the dancefloor and made him dance. Fiddleford took a break from playing his banjo and somehow ended up dancing with Susan. Jackie happily danced alone by the tables and enjoyed the blissful music. As much fun as the party was, her energy was running out and she could do with some quiet. She decided to go outside and watch the kids play.

Out in the cool late-spring air Jackie breathed peacefully as she watched the children run around, but soon she wanted to be alone and explore her new surroundings. That smaller barn was a ways away, so she slipped into the shadows and ventured towards it. Jackie quietly slid the door open and smiled to find a single lantern hanging on the wall and the barn filled to the brim with blocks of hay. It smelled clean here and it was quiet and lovely, so Jackie made her way to a wall and sat on two blocks of hay, taking off her heels to rub her sore feet. No blisters, thank goodness, but standing and dancing for so long will make your feet ache.

In the silence and with nothing better to do, Jackie resumed her thought about Stan. Was it wrong for her to fall for her employer? Probably, but who cares? They hardly had a boss-worker relationship; if anything it was a firm friendship that just came so easily it was like they had known each other for years. Stan was just so easy to talk to, so comfortable to be around, but that didn’t mean he was predictable; Stan was spontaneous, passionate, and different, everything Jackie valued in a person. Not only was he a hard worker, but he was clever, considerate, a true-blue family man, and really really beautiful. Anyone would get a crush on Stanley Pines, so why should she? But Jackie could swallow that a man as amazing as him would never have a crush on her, not in a million years, so with any luck her little crush on him will die and no one important will get their feelings hurt.

The door opened slowly, still managing to make Jackie jump a little, but she smiled and relaxed at seeing Stan at the entrance.

He had been having a lot of fun at the party, but he had planned on dragging Jackie out to dance, having noticed that no one had danced with her (she must have danced with at least of one of handsome guys here and Stan just didn’t see it, there’s no way a girl that pretty had resorted to wall-hugging all night) and he planned to fix that, but he soon noticed that Jackie was nowhere to be found. Checking to make sure she didn’t get eaten by a mountain lion, Stan exited the big barn and watched the kids for a minute before guessing she was in the smaller barn away from the crowds and noise. He smiled when he saw he was correct and leaned against the doorway. “Hey, whatcha doin’ over here?”

Jackie shrugged casually. “Just needed some alone time.”

Stan nodded and drastically changed his plans to give her what she needed. He let his arm fall from the doorway and said, “Gotcha, okay, I’ll see you…”

“No,” Jackie said too quickly and felt herself go red with embarrassment. “I-I mean, I can be alone with you.” She quickly explained and then swallowed nervously. That didn’t make any sense, she wasn’t making any sense! But the way this guy made her feel didn’t make sense, either.

Stan saw her nervousness and smiled at it; the best dating advice Ma had ever given him was to never a date someone who wasn’t nervous around you; if they’re nervous that means they like you. He made a mental note to not put up too much of a brave front and then he entered the barn and closed the door behind him. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Jackie smiled, not as nervous now, and watched as Stan plopped himself down on the hay-coated floor, resting an arm next to where Jackie sat. He popped his neck and yawned, comfortable and relaxed, one leg bent up and the other laying flat. He turned his head to look up at Jackie, resting his square jaw on his knuckles, and asked, “So whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Jackie leaned forward so her elbows her on her knees and one hand was just under her chin. “I was thinking how this has got to be one of the best parties I’ve ever been to.”

Stan snorted. “Really? Guess it ain’t so bad. I’ve never missed a single one. Great graduation celebration or a ‘welcome home’ event for college students. One year Ford n’ I snuck out n’ went over to the lake to swim, but Shermie caught us n’ tried to pull us out, but we dragged him in n’ we all got in trouble for it.” He chuckled.

Jackie giggled along with him and commented, “I’ve actually never been to a lake. I’ve visited a beach, but not a lake yet.”

“We’ll fix that.” Stan said. “The beach, though, huh? Always wanted to see one. Where else’ve you been?”

“Everywhere.” Jackie said. “I was a bit of a traveler before stopping here. Never been outside the country.”

“What was your favorite place?”

“New Orleans.” Jackie answered quickly. “They had the most delicious beignets and seafood and the jazz was beautiful, and the ocean was so beautiful. I really liked southern California, too, the beach was amazing and I made a lot of Hispanic friends there.”

“Any reason why you left?” Stan asked; with such good friends and great places, the farmer couldn’t help but wonder why didn’t she stay.

“Too busy and loud.” Jackie said. “I love the occasional crowds, but I wanted some place quieter and easier to find work, so that’s why I came up here.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Stan said earnestly, in such a deep, meaningful tone that it made Jackie’s face hot again and she looked away as she gently shook her head.

“You give me too much credit, Stan…”

“No, Jackie, I mean it.” Stan swallowed nervously, making his Adam’s apple bobble, and he went on with his eyes on the beautiful girl above him. “I’m not just butterin’ you up, I think you’re real pretty, n’ I mean it when I say you’re probably the best thing that ever happened to our place. Even without your killer cookin’ n’ extra help, I’m just really happy you’re around. I don’t know how I can make it up to you, but I’ll think of somethin’.” He had carefully worded his compliment so Jackie could take it as a friend making a friend feel good if that was all she wanted, but he had meant it as so much more and wanted it to be so much more, so it was all up to Jackie now.

She noticed the nervous look in his soft brown eyes and smiled. Was there a possibility, a teeny tiny possibility, that he liked her the same way she liked him. She could be dead wrong, she could lose everything she had worked for the last few weeks and everything she had grown to love. Goodbye, Dot. Goodbye, Tate. Goodbye Pines farm filled with some of the best people she had ever met. But she took a gamble, tried to ease her nerves as discreetly as possible, and she said quietly, “You could kiss me.”

Stan’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and his brown eyes sparkled adorably. Jackie bit her lip to keep from laughing at the look on his face, her heart relaxing and her nerves settling as she realized how much he wanted to kiss her. His grin was the last thing she saw before he stretched up and she leaned down and they met for a soft kiss.

The amount of sparks that flew only through lips touching was unbelievable. As a strong hand cupped Jackie’s cheek and a smaller hand landed on the back of Stan’s head, the kiss deepened and it only got better. Holy Moses, it was far better than anything Jackie could have imagined in her head, all those night daydreaming about this moment, and more, and it was better and full of more bliss than she thought it would be. She was putty at Stan’s touch, and as another arm wrapped around her waist and the kiss included it’s fair share of tongue, Jackie slid down from her little seat until she was sitting on the ground beside Stan.

Warm chuckles of pure joy leaked from their lips and for a while it was nothing more than hugs and kisses, but it was everything. Stan was blown away that such a beautiful woman wanted to hold him and kiss him, of all people, and he knew better than to question a good thing. His heart was roaring like a lion in his chest, his face was warm despite the goosebumps on his arms, and while he was beyond grateful for just a kiss he wondered if he was lucky enough for more.

They separated for air and Jackie rested her head on the cushion of Stan’s arm, his free hand on her knee. Stan’s cheeks and ears were rosy pink, his five o-clock shadow unable to hide how the girl in his arms made him feel. Jackie smiled at him, unable to believe she was so lucky, and put a hand over his heart to enjoy his heartbeat, but then she slowly unbuttoned his shirt a little to let his chest hair be showcased by a proud V. At the same time, Stan’s hand slowly went down her bent leg, closer and closer to her hip, pushing her white dress up. With a gleam in their eyes and one sure smirk, they both knew what they wanted.

(If you want smut, CLICK HERE! If you’re not comfortable with that, then keep reading.)

~~~~~~~~~~

There were still some stragglers at the party, mostly drunk men singing their hearts out, but Ford and Fiddleford were ready to go. Tate was asleep so Fiddleford gently tucked him in his car seat as Ford looked around for Jackie and Stan. It wasn’t a big deal to leave without them, they had brought two cars, but still. Curiosity had grasped his mind and he generally wondered where they were. Fiddleford cleared his throat and suggested, “Maybe we should go ahead home, Fordsie.”

“I suppose so,” Ford said casually and nodded in agreement. “But if they get arrested for trespassing, I’m not… SWEET LORD!” Ford put a six-fingered hand over his mouth to stop his screaming, but his other hand was pointing at the couple who had hoped they could emerge from the shadows undetected, but that clearly wasn’t going to work out.

They were covered in hay. Both Jackie’s long black hair and Stan’s brown mullet were frizzled and out of control, like someone had shaken their hair wildly. Or grabbed it tightly. Jackie’s white dress was missing, but she held Stan’s button up around herself tightly to preserve what little dignity she had left. Stan, shirtless, had a dopey grin on his face with hazy eyes, like he was sleepwalking. While Stan was oblivious to his twin’s scream, Jackie’s face was scarlet with embarrassment and she rubbed the back of her neck as she gritted her teeth.

Poor Ford was a mumbling mess. “B-B-B-But… you… you two… you… and you…”

Fiddleford patted his shoulder and instructed gently, “Stanford, get in the truck.”

“B-B-B-B-But…”

“I know, I know, just get in. Leave ‘em be.” Fiddleford guided his best friend into the car and even closed the door for him. While Ford buried his head in his hands to try to collect himself, Fiddleford gave the happy couple a thumbs up before entering his vehicle and heading home.

Jackie wanted to disappear and never reappear.

Stan, however, was far too busy repeating a single thought in his head to even register what was going on in front of him. “I’m gonna marry her.”

#GF #fanfiction #gravity falls #gravity falls au #farmer au #jackie asante #stan pines #jackiestan #gift #oh lord send me to hell...#thank you so much for reading!#more to come!

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starryandersen · 4 years ago

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pirates of the carribean?

hi lol long time no see this is the first chapter to a fic i’ve been working on (see i promise i’m trying to write!!) so lemme know if y’all want me to continue it it’s pretty much a pirates of the caribbean sidgeno au lmfao so anyway

It’s a beautiful spring morning that Sidney awakes to, the coals at his feet long gone cold only to be replaced with the gentle breeze drifting in through the opened windows, bringing with it the warm ocean air tinged with seasalt. The sounds of young Jake rummaging through his wardrobe in preparation of today’s events are what had brought him from his slumber, but they are nearly vacant now under the song of the gulls and the thrum of the waves at the manor’s foundation.

“Master Crosby, your father instructed me to dress you for tea with Mr. Johnson at noon. I’ve been sent with a gift from the captain himself.” Jake calls from behind the dressing screen, before appearing with a flat white box in his arms. Sidney sits up, allowing him to set the box at the foot of his bed before folding the sheets back. He holds the jacket out for observation, a stunning navy blue that will pair perfectly with Sidney’s favorite undershirt, a gentle cream blouse with lace ruffles to fall below his chin. It’s tailored crisply at the waist, detailed with classy gold buttons and neat white trim. It’s certainly a tactful gift, one to show just how much money one is able to be at play with.

“It’s beautiful, really, but wow.” Sidney breathes, earning a meek chuckle from Jake. “Oh, come on. You must admit, it’s a bit much.” The young servant frees the laugh he’d been keeping in his chest. He lays the coat back in the box and purses his lips.

“It’s flashy, is what it is. Were he a less respectable man, I would even go as far to suggest that he be compensating for something.” That punches an inappropriate snort from the young heir, a sound that would make his mother clutch at her pearls at the impropriety of it. Jake doesn’t continue, only flits from the dresser to the foot of the bed as he arranges this morning’s attire. The corset hangs menacingly off of his arm as Sidney finally pulls himself from underneath the covers.

“I’d say he’s just respectable enough to hold true to that assumption.”

The tea is bitter and the captain is far too eager to discuss politics with the governor for tea to be deemed a success, but the sunshine feels nice on the back of Sidney’s neck and the fresh air clears his head of thoughts riddled with marriage and decorum; the afternoon could have been worse. After his father has unsubtly excuses himself to attend to a new skill his youngest has mastered with the lance, Sidney is eager to make an escape back to his chambers, or simply to sit with his mother and stitch. He rises from his seat in the courtyard, brushing off his new jacket— which sits stiffly on his shoulders, making it notably difficult to move his arms as usual— and glancing between the captain and the entrance.

“Shall we perhaps take a stroll through the gardens? I hear the roses are lovely at this time of year, and would hate to waste such a day.” The captain suggests, unabashedly unaware that his company is no longer desired, but Sidney hasn’t the heart to reject him, so he accepts the outstretched hand pristinely gloved in white silk, and follows Mr. Johnson out of the courtyard, near the back of the estate. He’s right when he says the roses are lovely, now in the late weeks of April is when they bloom their fullest, flushed and upturned towards the sky to accept the warm kiss of the sun, to all they can reach. Velvet pinks and crimson reds and petals the color of a splendid merlot invite them into the evergreen of the bushes, their fat and smiling faces spelling out a private welcome. The pair walks slowly, towards the white marble fountain near the center of the garden, and Sidney stops to trace the delicate petal of a blush pink rose. His heart aches at the familiar sight of the blossom, among the waxy leaves that he had learnt so well as a boy. The flowers that hold the whispers of his first love, the roots that breathe his deepest secrets, the thorns that were the first to watch his heart break. He can’t seem to look away.

“Sidney, are you alright?” Jack calls from a few steps ahead, having noticed the absence of a presence on his arm. The young heir shakes his head, presenting him with a pleasant and fabricated smile; one saved for dinner parties and soirées with the Nova Scotian elite, that pleases his father and his band of socialites alike.

“Yes, just many memories of this garden from my youth. These were the old stomping grounds of— of me and an old friend.”

The telltale bounce of pebbles off his window shakes Sidney from his studies, rushing to the sill to push the shutters open and lean over the thin railing of his balcony. As he’s done every day for years, Evgeni stands on the pathway below, cradling a variety of small rocks in his palm. The sun that filters through the branches of the great oak tree overhead dapples across the young boy’s cheeks and shoulders, warming the honey color of his eyes that call to Sidney from high up on his balcony. He feels as though he could jump from the heights of his window and float gracefully down like the wispy dandelion seeds carried by the gentle breeze. Evgeni would still be there, waiting to catch him.

The moment they retreat to the seclusion of the gardens, Evgeni boldly takes Sidney’s hand, curling strong fingers around it. It feels as though Sidney’s heart is filled with spring sunlight, and that his chest is moments from bursting open, the rays of warmth shot between his ribs.

“Beautiful Sidney, spends all day inside and never gets to breathe the sun. Now I fix.” Evgeni will say, when they’re curled around each other in the meadow, watching the clouds drift slowly over their heads, making their way on their own journey. Sidney envies their freedom and their lack of conformity. No one tells the clouds how to act, who to love, what to say. No one tells the clouds who they are. They just glide by, at their own meandering pace, going nowhere in particular, wherever they please. It’s one of those days that Sidney is so fed up with aristocracy, and that his only momentary reprieve is to breathe in the sweet scent of lavendar and thyme Evgeni’s housemaids use to soak his clothes to rid them of the day’s sweat and dirt and ink. One of the things Sidney loves the most about him, he never went anywhere without leaving a trail.

“Personally, I don’t want to marry anyone right now. I’m so— don’t they know how much time I have? I haven’t even turned fifteen!” He gripes, burying his face into the crook of Evgeni’s shoulder, soft cotton drying away the night’s tears of frustration. “They treat me like, like I can’t think for my damn self! Oh, Zhenya, why can’t they be more like your parents?”

“I won’t let them marry you. I tell them, Sidney so young! Sidney so child! Nobody want to marry him.” Evgeni tightens the arm wrapped around Sidney’s shoulders, pulling the boy closer against his chest. The words first settle stiffly in his own head, not quite offering the empty comfort that they were meant to.

“You think nobody wants to marry me?” The young boy pushes himself up onto his hands, staring down at Evgeni with all of the intensity he can muster. Some of his curls fall into his eyes, and something on his face must allow for the fond chuckle Zhenya lets out, reaching up to cup his hand over a rosy cheek. He’s quiet for a moment, sweeping his thumb across Sidney’s cheekbone. “Zhenya, say something!”

“Of course they want marry you! Sidney is… perfect, everyone want! But you don’t want, so I’m not let them. Lies, make them seem like there is no point.” This is somewhat comforting, but the shrieking gulls and plump clouds remind him of the true uncertainty on his mind. They give him the strength to speak it aloud.

“Would- would you marry me? If we were free, no one telling us what to do. No rules.” He asks hesitantly, keeping his eyes on the tall, limber stems of the wildflowers within the grass. He can feel the way Zhenya’s heart stops and picks up with a skipping double pace.

“Sidney… of course. I would leave everything for marry you. But you too important to throw life away for me.” He finally answers, voice even softer than before, barely above a whisper. He brushes a curl from Sidney’s eyes, gentle and sleepy gaze looking at him in a way Sidney can’t place but it makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. He can’t look away either, the soft features of Zhenya’s face warmed so beautifully by the yellow sun, pink dancing across his nose and cheeks. He’s beautiful, Sidney’s always known this, but he’s never looked so perfect as right now.

“Oh, Jake, it was dreadful!” Sidney cries the moment the door to his chambers is finally closed. He falls onto the bed sideways, feet and head hanging off either side. It feels good to finally loosen up after such a stiff and proper meeting. He will forever be grateful for the young first mate to come dashing across the gardens, calling the captain urgently to the fort on the edge of the shore. Sidney thought nothing of it save for the flawless escape it had made for him.

“I’m sorry to hear that Master Crosby.” Jake shakes his head, moving away from the laundry he’s folding to sit at the foot of the bed. “I knew you wouldn’t like him from the moment I saw him. Far too boring, he is. What did you think?”

“I think I’d put my hand on a hot iron before marrying him. Imagine spending the rest of your life with someone so plain.” Sidney sits up to strip himself of the coat Jack had gifted him, desperate to change into something a little more informal. “I couldn’t get rid of him, it took an urgent call from my father to free me of his company. He’s a very nice man but I’m not sure I could’ve talked about sailing for much longer.”

“You need a man not only wealthy, but engaging. To keep you at your wits. I spoke to the blacksmith about his daughter this morning, and he said the same thing. Marriage is changing, these days.” Jake loosens the corset as he speaks, relief pushing out Sidney’s back and hips, spine settling back into place. “I’ll have one of the dinner maids let your father know you wish to speak to him.” After each failed suitor— typically a genial man with no personality or taste of fun—, he’s grateful for a servant like Jake who understands his unspoken necessities. He hasn’t grown this close to anyone since his youth. A nasty bubble of bitter nostalgia floats to the roof of his mouth, and he hastily swallows it down and prepares his reasoning for refusing Jack’s proposal.

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #fic #my work #pirates of the caribbean au #lol thats so funny why

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